[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"We will endure, Proctor." Of all the things that could be offered rest however brief was most appealing, and devices that might shield them from the witch and the unclean were the province of the Inquisition not the Arbites.

 

"Three hours", a thought cross his mind, "did you recover any civilians in your raid of the Canthus facilities?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

Haldane makes a small, affirmative grunt. "We recovered some who Canthus were sheltering, ones who'd been using the premises for business, or general visitors, when the barricades came down. Anyone of particular interest?"

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"LeCroix. If they didn't kill him on the way out he might have overheard something. It seems that Greyson and De Grassi have both been gunning for the antidote, it makes me wonder what plans they and Dreyfuss had for it beyond Helene as her death hasn't slowed them a step."

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

"Perhaps they neither know, or believe any report of Helene's death. Perhaps she wasn't important dead. These men are a drug-addled princeling, known for his mercurial ways, and a group of mercenaries, who like the clink of gold. I'll keep my ear to the ground."

 

He frowns. "I'll send a fast patrol to the Sanctum, if you'd like, but I wouldn't hold my breath on it, Caleb. As for LeCroix senior, he hasn't been indexed for processing by the React Team. He's either not there, or he's in a bag."

 

Haldane shrugs.

 

"There are plenty of corpse-shrouds around the Canthus Holdings, within, and more without. It was siege by looters, raiders, criminals. We've confirmed several low-level bounties. I think we're going to see a significant drop in criminal activity after this." He grins, ruefully. "Well, for a few days anyway."

 

"Anything else?"

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

The door shut with a gentle click, and Scourge stood silently in the hallway for a time, staring at the portal, wondering at the strange noblewoman he had just met and travelled with to an island of relative calm, a woman possessing dread powers and responsibilities beyond the ken of a mere line soldier like him. He turned to one of his arbites escorts and grabbing the man by the arm bade him, "Prithee, good man, guard this door. Allow none to disturb Lady Gwynne whilst she recovers. I will return anon to relieve thee." 

 

With a curt nod, Scourge departed and walked back out the way he came in at a brisk pace, his enormous sabatons thudding down the hallway. He eventually reached the canteen and availed himself of the sustenance they had on offer. He was known to the rank-and-file of the Gallows as an agent of Locke and they gave him a wide berth. This suited him fine, and so he ate in silence with only his absurd collection of weaponry to keep him company, which he reverently stacked against the bench where he supped.

 

His vittles consumed, he rose and made for the modest chapel. Lighting a candle upon entry, he doffed his sallet and carefully knelt at the altar of the God-Emperor, not wanting to cause any damage to his surroundings now that he wore the remnants of Lady Valkyrie's war-plate. He clasped his gauntlets and prayed for the Master of Mankind's guidance and favour on the eve of battle as he had many, many times prior.

 

The seeress's parting words had left him ill at ease, and he sensed this might truly be his final campaign, his final dance with death. He would seek out Nicios and Locke later, before they all went their separate ways, as there were matters that still weighed upon him which prayer could not assuage. 

 

+++

 

Scourge returned to relieve the Arbitrator a little over half an hour since his departure. With another curt nod the other man returned to his duties and the Penitent assumed his watch. He stood outside her room until summoned by Locke, boltgun in hand, barring the portal to any who might wake or otherwise bother Lady Gwynne.

 

Her words repeated themselves over and over in his mind while he guarded her bedchamber, "... Unaware of the chains that bind you to fate."

 

Bind you to fate.

 

He swallowed and blinked as a bead of cold sweat ran down his face. His long crusade might soon be at an end.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"It's a pleasure to see you, Master Karthago. Indeed, a coincidence, but one that saves us both some time? It is about my sidearm."

 

Reynard drew the long-barrelled laspistol, running his fingers over its simple, elegant lines. He paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then he shook his head, as though to clear his mind, and smiled faintly at Karthago.

 

"It is a fine weapon, a precision piece, one that has served me well for… well, my entire life. A… gift… from my maternal grandfather to my mother, and from her to me. An heirloom, I suppose you might say! However, I have noticed in recent years a slight diminishing of the power output when it fires? I wonder if there is a problem with the energy transfer from charge pack to emitter, or perhaps the focusing mechanism…?"

 

He shrugged.

 

"It is beyond my ability. But I currently have a few Thrones to my name, and I thought… hoped… that a man of your skill might be able to service and restore it to its former glory?"

 

The gunsmith wordlessly held out a hand and, with an odd reluctance, Reynard passed the weapon over.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Scourge:

As you pondert the meaning of the messages rolling around your head, feel them almost lash your back, over and over again with each repetition, a doleful cry comes from within Lady Gwynne's chamber. The sounds of her small frame falling, banging into the fittings is muffled by the door. You hear the peal of her staff tumbling over, the hollow clatter of the metal pole on the deck floor.

 

Her voice is urgent, fearful.  "Scourge!"

 

Reynard:

 

Karthago empties, makes safe and field-strips the weapon, breaking it down into the constituent parts. He does this so naturally, it's almost done before you realise it's in bits. The strange dismemberment is uncomfortable, due to your sentimentality for the thing. He looks at the bits and pieces, testing screws and pins with a finger. Lifting the barrel, he peers down it, from the trunnion end, holding it up to the light.

 

"Yeah, no ., Shen Herlock," he says, eyebrow raised. "Your focus array is misaligned, third oculus ring deformed, even your prismatic transom has clouded." He turns the barrel and jabs the afflicted component at your face for you to see the damning evidence.

 

"What have you been feeding this thing?" He speaks to the gun, making the question rhetorical. As he takes an interest in the lower TMH, he licks his finger and rubs it around the main discharge capacitor module. It comes back black. "I though so. Arc scoring. Just because you can run overcharged packs doesn't mean you should. My God, what a pleb."

 

He shakes his head. "Good piece too. What has he done to you girl, eh?"

 

He takes the pistol to an armourer's bench, where he arranges his tools, as though setting up a dinner place for a five course meal, each wrench and key aligned in order of use. "Johan? Bring me the grease kit. And you," he jerks his chin at Reynard, "bugger off elsewhere for a bit, and don't try to stiff me, or I'll put your barrel on backwards, so you'll blow your own head off."

 

Karthago bends over the pistol, clucking his tongue, as he strips the weapon down to small pieces and bare frame.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard had to bite his tongue at the 'pleb' comment. If a former Stormtrooper didn't understand the occasional need for a hellpistol, who would?!

 

Instead he smiled.

 

"I wouldn't dream of it, Master Armourer. Your colleague there will need two hours to recharge my clips, will that be sufficient time?"

 

He didn't say that they were hotshot packs. Karthago probably knew already, but there was no point in poking the bear without reason. Resisting the urge to tell the gunsmith to be careful with his pistol, he left the store.

 

Next stop, food. Then somewhere to sleep for a bit. That should be more than enough time for Karthago to finish his work.

 

With an odd, uncomfortable feeling of lightness on his hip, Reynard walked towards the refectory.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Shaking his head, "a thousand investigations to pursue but the task at hand must take priority. We will be ready to move on Lockes command and no shortage of leads to follow until then."

 

"Have the mechanicus yet responded to these events?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

Haldane makes a face when you mention the Mechanicum. "We have requested a Memorandum of Understanding, and issued Emergency Powers Citations of Compliance, but the Cogs have either ignored us, or deflected us by insisting it is an 'internal matter without grounds'. However, Locke is in dialogue with the Fabricator Prime Ordinal, stressing the nature of our case. Given the...sensitivity, we're expecting a reply by the time you return to HQ."

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

"I will take up no more of your time then. Good hunting Proctor."

 

Three hours. Double checking his chrono he found a cot near Gwynnes room, noting the guard outside, and sought what rest he could.

[Mazer Rackham]

GM Note: Gwynne's panicked cry comes about an hour after Scourge takes up stag, and an hour and a half into Falk's sleep.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge stiffened at the sound of his name and turned to face the door, wondering if he had actually just heard his name called. 

 

"Lady Gwynne? I am here; dost thou require, ah, assistance?"

 

He stowed the boltgun wondering what could have happened inside and whether he needed to enter armed. Casting a furtive look up and down the hallway, his concern for the blind woman quickly overwhelmed his sense of propriety and he turned the door handle. 

 

"I trust thou art decent?..."

[Mazer Rackham]

The Commandant's Chambers:

 

As you enter, the question dies in your throat. Lady Gwynne lies prone on the floor, her modesty protected by the sleeping shift clinging to her slight body. Her hair is a dishevelled mop of silver, blindfold and travelling cloak hang up neatly, but you can sense the fear in the room, even as you see the desperate grasp for her walking staff.

 

She speaks with her mind as well as her throat, such is her distress.

 

"Throne! Scourge - the bed, the bed!"

 

A quick glance reveals an insectoid device the size of a small plate, silently, but swiftly clambering over the sheets. It's black-laquered, armoured segmented body arches, rearing up with a dripping syringe, needle mandibles click and clatter beneath an array of eight augur occuli, whilst pincer-manipulators pull and clutch at the bedding as it turns to face this new intruder. You have not seen the exact thing before, but it resembles the deadly swamp scorpions you have seen in the past, although this...thing...is definitively a mechanical beast.

 

The beady eyes regard you malevolently as it tries to work its way round, scuttling sideways to find a spot to launch at the prostrate woman, poison leaking from fangs and stinger.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

It took him half of a second to take in the scene, but he registered the nature of the threat immediately and his eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits in anticipation.

 

Assassin! 

 

With his first step into the chamber, his axe appeared in his hand, and he instinctively flipped the head around to have the sharpened billhook on the reverse side facing out. His second step catapulted him towards Gwynne's bed as he interposed himself between the prostate woman and the fiendish contraption, his axe a flashing blur of steel.

 

Unfortunately the murderous contraption was either far too agile for Scourge, or the stoic warrior was hindered by the cramped conditions in the bedchamber and his blow struck wide, instead hammering the bed with the force of an artillery shell, shattering the frame and rending the mattress asunder.

 

"Flee, Lady Gwynne! And bar the door!" 

 

 

 

Half Action: Half move into room

Free action: draw axe and shield (quick draw)

Half Action: Standard Attack: 36 - 10 (tiny) = 26

Melee attack: 1d100 86: miss, 6 DoF

Doh!

Edited April 20, 2023 by Necronaut
Bloody spoilers & formatting >:(

[Mazer Rackham]

The Commandant's (now even more spartan) Chambers:

 

The creature is catapulted off the bed by the tremendous blow, bouncing around the room in a metallic clatter. It drops a few spans from Gwynne, but she doesn't waste breath responding. As you whirl about, you hear behind you the drag of her decorated stave as her hands find it, the scrape and tap. In a moment she is orientated, and scrambling for the door, slamming it shut behind her.

 

The mechanoid creature makes a sideways leap, and vanishes into the wreck of the room.

 

It is in here...lurking somewhere. You can feel the tiny eyes staring, watching, maybe even annoyed at your interference. It bears little threat to your armoured hide, but if it gets loose...your eyes spot a small ventilation grille on one side of the room, mirrored on the other, under the bed. This must have been where it came in, for the grille has been removed. You won't be able to cover both exits for this deadly pest.

 

You may make Search actions for free, with opposed Concealment Tests.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

"Show thyself, foul pest!"

 

Not wanting to let the machine escape, nor allow it the opportunity to catch him unawares, he carefully shifted into a half crouch and poked around with the head of his axe, prepared to smite the mechanical assassin at a moment's notice. 

 

Search (untrained): 36/2 = 18

Search: 1d100 15: success, 0 DoS

That's about the best we're going to get, statistically speaking…

[Mazer Rackham]

The Quarters:

 

Spoiler

Scorpion: Concealment

AG: FAIL

 

The mechanical menace evades you, until you look at the blade of your axe.

 

Caught and cornered, it's sitting on the weapon, clinging to the haft. It witters at you almost smugly before it starts sparking and smoking.

Edited April 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge yelped in surprise and smashed his axe into the wall in an attempt to batter the mechano-critter into submission. 

 

 

Swift Attack (WS): 36

Swift Attack: 2#1d100 33 46

Attack #1: 33 - hit, 0 DoS

Attack #2: 46 - miss, 1 DoF

 

Attack #1 damage (if no dodge): 1d10+1R + 5(SB), Pen 2 (unsure if AP is applicable in this case since this is more like blunt force trauma)

Battle-axe Damage: 1d10 7 + 1 + 5 = 13 damage

[Mazer Rackham]

The Commandant's soon to be destroyed Quarters:

 

The significant thump of Scourge's weapon into the wall results in a crunch of mechanical limbs, and a string of rapid bleeping from the small machine. It tumbles down onto the floor, smoke billowing, as its little eyes flash red, getting faster and faster.

Spoiler

In the business, this is called foreshadowing.

 

Edited April 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge felt a moment of smug satisfaction at crushing the offending mechanid, which was rudely interrupted by the ominous flashing red lights and rapid beeping. His eyes widened in horrified realisation and he hurriedly backed away, fumbling the door open and slamming it behind him. He then remembered the blind psyker waiting for him in the hallway. 

 

Taking Gwynne by the arm, he quickly led her away, apologetically telling her, "Forgive me, Lady. 'Tis time to make an honourable retreat!"

Edited April 21, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Corridor:

 

The explosion crumps the air in the room, the blast following you, and whilst it would not have done much damage to you, ensconced in your heavy plate, it does blow the bloody door off, and a billow of smoke, dust and light debris follows into the corridor.

 

Anyone not wearing such sturdy protection would have been killed, one way or the other.

 

Judges, half dressed, and fighting fatigue appear from bunkrooms, boots on, shotguns ready.

 

"We are well, thank you," Lady Gwynne coughs through the dust. "I will not soon forget your aid, Scourge."

 

A senior Arbitrator appears. "All right, everyone as they were - if your billet is safe, go there. I have a few fresh heads to look at this. Verispex Matthias!"

 

A short man appears, carrying his kit, and vanishes into the room, before relative peace is restored.

 

"Madam," the Arbitator says, "if you come to the field office, we have a very comfy couch." He nods respectfully at Scourge.

 

I'll wrap us up here shortly. If anyone wants to do/buy/punch anyone/thing, feel free to flex your narrative muscles.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

The blast woke Reynard and he hurried out, just in time to see Gwynne being led away. He didn't know the details, but it was clear that the enemy was desperate that the Lady not be brought back to Locke. They'd have to be extra careful on the last stage of the journey.

 

Everyone went back to sleep, but Reynard checked his chrono. Was that close enough to two hours? Pulling on his boots and grabbing the rest of his gear, he headed for the supply store.

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scorge's steel helm hid his deepening scowl and the growing fury smouldering in his breast. The perfidiousness of their foes knew no bounds. As he watched Lady Gwynne be led away, he realised he was clutching his battle-axe in a death-grip, ready to dismember anyone or anything that vexed him. With some concentration, Scourge relaxed his hold and returned his sidearm to the belt loop on his hip.

 

He needed to clear his head. 

 

+++

 

He strode down the hall with a powerful, bounding gait, propelled by the purpose invested in him and the servos of his powered suit of armour. He wanted to roam the same streets they had traversed earlier meting out justice to the quarrelsome youths and blaggards who terrorised the populace. He wanted to… 

 

The portal to the chapel was suddenly to his left and he came to a grinding halt. Prayer would help clear his mind, focus him on the present.

 

He entered the chamber again for the second time in as many hours and knelt before the stone effigy of the God-Emperor, bowing his head before the skeletal rendering. The Penitent did not speak for some time, and eventually removed his sallet and set it on the floor next to him. He ran the fingers of his right hand over his scalp, feeling the razor stubble and scar tissue and sutures and neural-link ports and shielded cables through his heavy gauntlets. The past few days had rendered unbelievable changes upon his flesh in the service of the Inquisition.

 

Clasping his hands, Scourge bowed his head and closed his eyes. "We are beset on all sides by evil, Lord. The hive is in utter peril. We dance upon the knife's edge. Our foes are either immortal abominations, immune to mortal arms or faceless scoundrels who strike unseen. I hate them, I hate them all!" 

 

He clenched a fist and smote the floor next to his ceramite sabaton, leaving a slight imprint of his knuckles in the plasteel. 

 

"Direct my ire, Lord! Show me the snake hiding in the rushes that I might wring its vile neck!"

Edited April 22, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gallows:

 

Reynard:

 

Karthago sees you approaching, and gives you a lopsided smile. The bench he's occupied is strewn with bits and pieces, which he carefully sorts before putting them into boxes, tins, and swiping off the swarf. There's an item in the middle of the work area, covered by an oily cloth. He pulls the cloth free to reveal your pistol. And yet, it isn't. The barrel has been changed, the lower frame and receiver have been altered, but the grip, buttplates and few pieces you recognise, remain. It all looks a lot cleaner, almost new, but for that worn-in look, and the dings from where you dropped it that time.

 

"No chat. We do business. Replaced the firing stud, bevelled the stud well or a smoother pull. You'll need to use short magazines, the catch won't take anything heavier. Rebarrelled it with an Accatran donor. Swapped your knackered discharger for a cut-down lascarbine one. The beefier trunnion soaked up your space, hence running stunties. Rebalanced her."

 

"One hundred and twenty-five Thrones, straight. That's the line."

 

Nicios/Scourge/Falk:

 

The rest of the time passes quietly, the verispex team going about the place with an auspex. The Senior Arbitrator who took charge of the blast scene is ordering people searched. A locker has been seized on discovering a crushed remote guidance augur.

 

At that moment, the Imperial Navy Valkyrie promised by Lord Locke arrives. The Arbites vehicle controller waves him off, and a vox officer tells him to go into a holding pattern. The channel switches to a general patch.

 

+Virtue callsigns, this is Cutter. Bring out your dead, your chariot awaits!+

 

The Arbites run out to form a defensive cordon to keep everyone back, and protected, after the security breach only a scant few hours before. When Lady Gwynne appears from the main block, she is attired as a verispex agent, and mixed with an entourage of others of different hights and builds. All are female, dressed similarly. It is clear they are not all the Arbites Investigators though, some look very out of place - as though more comfortable in carapace armour. Cleverly, their discomfort hides Gywnne's slight hesitancy even further. Close arms keep her moving in the right direction for the landing pad. A male Arbitrator carries Gwynne's staff, banging it about as distraction.

 

They are taking no chances.

 

If anyone wants to interact further, go ahead, if you have any posts, finish them with stopping by the landing pad.