[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge stood aghast for a few moments at the grievous wound Lady Gwynne had just sustained, at the poisoned dart that should have struck him instead. Suddenly, Reynard's voice was in his earpiece, snapping him back to reality. Wordlessly he scooped up the convulsing form of Gwynne and sprinted towards the valkyrie in great, bounding strides, knocking arbites and onlookers alike out of the way without any heed. Wounds like this were almost always fatal. 

 

I hath failed I hath failed I hath failed I hath…

 

He ducked his head low against the punishing jet wash and catapulted himself aboard the dropship through the open hatch landing hard on his side, Gwynne's dying body held safe against any further harm.

Edited April 30, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

GM Note: The wound will require a Difficult (-10) Medicae Test, representing an assessment, before any healing can be attempted. This Test must be made and any consequences resolved by me, before making any further healing actions.

Edited April 23, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Fighting back tears of gut-churning rage, Scourge roared over the vox, +NICIOS, GET THEE TO THE VALKYRIE! THOU ART HER ONLY HOPE!+

 

I hath failed I hath failed I hath failed I hath…

Edited April 30, 2023 by Necronaut

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Ears ringing from the explosion and the roar of the Valkyries engines Falk could make little out on the comms as he pushed on, "I want one alive" he called, signalling the assault.

 

Even without a clear sense of the words the tone of the vox had changed, were they too late?

[Marshal Valkenhayn]

Solomon:

The landing pad has devolved into blood and chaos. Standing braced against the artificial dust storm conjured by Cutter's hover, the sergeant watches the lady fall, her attacker die. Tracks the progress of Scourge and Reynard, the former hurtling past him with the lady in his arms, latter allowed to pass the sentinel without comment.

With the VIP now aboard, Solomon spares one final sweeping glance for the chaos around him, before retreating back through the door. Bulk briefly filling the entrance, he shifts to one side and takes a knee, covering the approach while sheltering against the inside of the sliding door, ready to put his shoulder behind it and ram the thing closed if the need arises.

"The Lady is aboard," he reports, words perfectly calm in direct contrast to the tension of his new cell mates.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Gallows Comms Tower:

 

Without a word, one of the Judges covers, whilst the others pump out live rounds, replacing them with hard baton and shocker rounds.

 

With this simple technique it becomes clear why law enforcement favours the smoothbore shotgun. With a change of ammunition the weapon becomes a tool, a breacher, a flamer, a riot control device. It must be all of these things, and at a moment's notice.

 

As you storm the landing, the other Judges with you using lethal rounds to suppress, you see two men, one of them slumped against the windowsill, head half blown off, the other backing up, trying to get out of the open, southern window. It's quite a plummet, but this man has looped a cable around one of the desks, leading to his drop harness. Not a great solution, but it would break his fall.

 

The two Judges with less-than-lethal rounds let fly, battering the individual in head, torso and arms. He drops to the floor convulsing, eyes staring as the shock rounds deliver the voltage, and the baton rounds punch the breath from his lungs.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"Secure them, get them outside" Falk shouted to the nearest judge, pushing back through to get to the landing site as the vox became clearer. The chatter was still there but the arbites relay was signalling in clearer code designed to cut through the noise of combat with distinct phonetics. The fact they they had broken comms silence on this at all was a concern.

 

The sniper he had seen was using a needle rifle... "hold the transport!" he called into his comms as he rushed outside shotgun flailing from its strap across his shoulder. He had it here, somewhere, the vial that was handed to him at the watch station where all this started. Hands shaking in a rare rush of adrenaline and concern that it might have been smashed in any of the recent battles... de-tox from the Inquisitions own armoury. "Make way!"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Comms Tower:

 

Two of the judges grasp the prisoner, and cuff him, wrist and ankle. They then begin to drag him down the stairs.

 

The third Judge checks the fallen officers.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arena Gambling Pits:

 

Restal:

 

A handsome, and exquisitely attired page takes note of your arrival, stepping out of the shadow. You couldn't have missed him, and he doesn't want to be. His carefully coutured hair, pulled into a powdered tuffet matches his ornate, brocaded topcoat. Over this ostentatious garment, he wears a servant's sash in the colours of House Cassal, one of the Noble Families. He gently thumbs a Throne Gelt Sovereign. As he comes forward properly into the light, you can see the golden chain trussing his waist, complete with bars and a crest amulet.

 

A Licenced Gambling Broker. Behind him is a huge brute Ogryn. The heavy-set bruiser is attired in a similar way, robed in better quality clothes than a hive scab could even lay eyes on. The Ogryn takes little interest in the game, where the Broker reads both the game, and the people.

 

"Dice you say?" He grins like a shark dark eyes looking you up and down. "What stakes make your heart sing...chancer?"

 

He can't have misheard your comments about the Arena.

 

The gamblers look up, make room for you as they carefully shuffle around to roll again under the gaze of merchant of fortune.

 

And broken fingers.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

"If we were drinking then it would be Knobel or Shock, but we ain't" answered Kerr Restal, standing straight. 

 

"An astute gentleman like yourself couldn't have failed to hear me mention the Wrestling. Show me the way and I'll see you right, otherwise you'll be wearing the Ogryn!" 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Arena Gambling Pits:

 

The Broker laughs. "Better follow me then, unless of course you're volunteering to go into the ring, with a spiel like that?"

 

He turns and leads off. The Ogryn touches what would be his forelock, but the abhuman is shaven-headed. He lets you go first, keeping a respectful, if threatening to flatten you if he fell, distance.

 

As you go up, you can see the organised gabling establishments, and 'bookies' the semi-professional betting clerks who fall far  below the Brokers in the pecking order. The noise picks up, and you can hear the grip and tumble of a wrestlers practicing their trade in the ring. Several amateurs in the small cup leagues pass you, oiled and ready to commit brutality.

 

"Everyone is passing bricks," the Broker says, tapping along with his silver-topped cane. "So we throw as many bouts as we can. Be a good fellow and throw some gelt somewhere, will you?" He stops, turns. "Otherwise, be seeing you." He wanders off, the Ogryn lurching after him.

 

From here, you have a great view of the gamblers and gawkers. From a pict feed sweeping the stage, by happenstance, you spot the target. Third row back. Not bad for a tech menial.

 

GM: He's currently 50 metres from your position. There's a passage down to the ringside which will lead out to the arena itself. You will lose sight of the contact until you pass into the open. The bout he's watching will give you another three minutes.

[Machine God]

The Arena Gambling Pits:

 

Mark seen, Kerr Restal headed into the arena.

 

He stopped at a bar on the way in and bought three beers. He stopped at a table to take a large mouthful from one cup and swilled the beer around his mouth, he overfilled the other two with the remnants. He set off with the two beers acting the tipsy drunk as he hurled the mouthful of beer in his mouth onto the floor.

 

In the arena he turned for the stairs, looking upwards he saw that Mulk was still sitting down in the third row. He climbed the steps, turned into row three and walked over to Mulk.

 

He stopped next to Mulk where he placed the beers down on a table, turning to get to his seat he 'accidentally' fell over onto Musk.

 

"Oi, what are you doing! Get off me alky!"

 

 

Grapple Vs Mulk

WS 40 = 40. Result: 25, Pass 1DoS

 

Sleight of Hand: Place tracker in pocket.

AGL 35/2 +10 (Fate Point [Charmed: 5. Fate Point used] ) = 27. Result: 01, Pass 2DoS

 

3 Thrones for 3 Beers

 

"Whoops, I so sorry, Sorry. Here let me wipe that up. I'm so sorry." Kerr Restal apologised loudly and profusely as he got off of Lupus Mulk. During the commotion of getting off he placed the tracker within one of the inside pockets of Mulk's jacket.

 

During the commotion the wrestling bout ended, with lots of loud cheering.

 

"Hey your boy won! Congratulations!" said Kerr.

 

"Yes I won a pretty packet! Now would you please leave me, or I'll call security" said Mulk.

 

"Hey you got on tips?" asked Kerr as he walked off.

 

"Yes. Get Lost in the 4.30!" shot back Mulk.

 

"Nice' sniggered Kerr Restal as he left the arena.

 

He caught a Cab back to the vicinity of the Halls of Justice and tipped the driver with another ten.

 

He voxxed to the ident that Locke had already given him.

 

+Coup Counted+

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Kerr Restal:

 

"Good work," Locke replies, "Haldane will track this viper to his lair. Come back to the Strategium, we've got a situation."

 

The Gallows:

 

The Arbites and ground crew make way for Falk as he hurries to the Valkyrie. Cutter has the bird now resting on skids to make it eaiser to handle after the sudden shift in weight from Scourge's rapid entrance. He keeps the engine burning.

 

+Thirty seconds!+ he calls, echoing his earlier words to Solomon. +After that, we're airborne with the lady!+

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

Nicios rushed to the transport, steps behind Falk. He had been moving in the opposite direction at Falk's urging, but heard the commotion at the landing pad.

 

Nodding to the newly-recruited warrior at the door, he brushed past all and set to Gwynne's side. Taking out his medikit, he jabbed his anti-tox injector in her neck- the right side, opposite side of the body from the needle wound in the left arm. 

 

Before trying to deal with the medikit any further, he reached out and touched the wound. His powers were not able to directly deal with poison, but he could help the intial anti-tox dose and stem bleeding before turning to more mundane healing.

Spoiler

 

Manifest Psychic Power (Healer)

Threshold - 7

Roll - 5 + 5(WPB) = 10

Result = Target heals 4 (1d10 roll of 8 / 2) points of damage, Critical damage first

 

Manifest Psychic Power (Staunch Bleeding)

Threshold - 8

Roll - 4 + 5(WPB)= 9

Result = Target halts Blood Loss, if there is any

 

Medicae Test

Target - 63 (43 + 20 medikit)

Roll - 48

Result = Pass, 1DoS

 

 

Removing the needle and bandaging the wound were simple and effecient procedures. Nicios grabs one of the six stim doses, slips it into the injector that had held the de-tox and injects Gwynne. 

 

He had done what he could. Now it was in the hands of the God-Emperor. 

 

 

Note - Nicios now has used the de-tox dose he was originally equipped with and has 5 remaining doses of stimm in his medikit. 

 

Edited April 24, 2023 by Lord_Ikka

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

"They must be late for a funeral," Khosh mutters.

 

+Mine no doubt, best to leave them waiting.+

 

"The distance doesn't matter, honoured friend. When travelling in the desert, one feels like they are standing still. Only the time matters. It shall take a couple of hours. Then we must track the D'reg to whatever stone they lay under."

 

+Indeed, the trek on foot from home was not one for counting steps, for if I had my feet would still be out there, aimless.+

Casting an eye of the Tauros as he is directed to a seat. Sturdy but dust beaten, and was that a welding scar running along its width behind the seats. Perhaps the back had once been from a separate vehicle, or was it the front.

 

+Not up? Ah well I do not expect it to be a concern, not compared to sand rattling round in my skull.+ Taking a moment before they set of Bardas took off his goggles to adjust them, eyeless sockets glancing at the driver and the horizon before he donned the goggles again, the seal cleaned and refreshed to sit airtight once more.

 

Hearing the other nomad board behind him Bardas muttered under his breath ah short Machine incant before half turning to answer.

 

+Shenzi says to keep your greasy hands of her, unless you got a proper gun oil bath for her.+

 

The snicker of the Driver told Bardas that for now he had been accept in their company.

 

 

Turning to the secure vox channel Bardas glanced back at the bones of Gladius.

 

+Cephas, so that I don’t overdo my tan, how long until the fireworks?+  

Edited April 24, 2023 by Trokair

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212/The Gallows:

 

Nicios:

The bleeding wound is the result of a hail of needle filaments, horrific razor-sharp crystalline shards rending the flesh. Yet, even as your psychic power fights to stop the bleeding, the black blotches spreading from the terrible wound increase, thicken. Gwynne howls in agony, before falling completely recumbent in Scourge's arms.

 

A foul smell of petrochemicals and toxic acid wafts up from the wound. As you begin the mundane medicae rites, you remove several of the green-black filaments she was shot with, which remain in her flesh. Binding the wound is more successful, over-bandaging staunches the flow via more conventional means. Finally, the de-tox takes some effect, and her sharp panting eases to shallow breathing.

 

She is deathly pale, and her skin carries an odd, waxy sheen.

[Marshal Valkenhayn]

Solomon:

+Roger.+ comes the simple response, Solomon holding position as the final members of the Cell pile aboard. Twenty seconds are counted as he sweeps the open grounds, giving just enough time to see if the prisoner will be brought to them or kept at this facility. Then, without a word he applies his shoulder to the hatch and heaves it closed, cranking the bolt to seal them all in.

+Battened.+ Comes his verbal report of what Cutter's control board tells him, the cabin sealed and ready for pressurization. +But we've got loose cargo.+

A single, unreadable glance is given the fallen Lady and her entourage, taking in the desperate work being done to insure she survives. Nothing he can do there. It's all down to Nicios, the woman, and the will of the Emperor.

Clicking the safety on his shotgun, he releases it to dangle against his side much as Falk's own, reaching up to grip one of many straps that hang from strategic points along the ceiling. Boots braced wide, he prepares himself for launch, keeping clear of the others as they continue to work.
 

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

"Good work," Locke replies, "Haldane will track this viper to his lair. Come back to the Strategium, we've got a situation."

 

 

He got the vox message as he was entering the dormitory. He used a blanket from one of the other beds to wipe the last residue of beer from his duster and then he retrieved and clipped on his las-carbines.

 

He headed casually to the Strategium and ate his jagga fruit.

 

 

Silently he entered the Strategium and approached Inquisitor Locke.

 

"A situation?"

 

 

 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

The Halls of Judgement:

 

"Bluntly," Haldane says with a sigh, "the retrieval operation is not going well."

 

He adds some colourful afterthoughts.

 

"Language!" Locke blurts, face open in genuine surprise, for once. He recovers his disarming, benign posture with a polite cough. "What he means to say, is that the Cell are in dire straits. We just got word from Cutter they've recovered Gwynne, but she's at death's door. You will accompany me to the Hector's Revenge. Bodyguard detail."

 

He stares up and through the strategium ceiling. "An Apocalypse class battleship. How apt."

 

"Hyronimus," Haldane forgets himself, face paling. "You can't. Thirty million people...all you've done so far - your agents..."

 

Locke's jaw hardens, his eyes hood, as he brings forth a box of Pluvian obsidian. He gently opens it, the light sparkling off the gold and rubies within.

 

"I am an Inquisitor Lord. It is my duty to prosecute the mutant, the heretic, the daemon. Old adversaries breathing down our neck. What can I do? The Golem must never leave this planet. Charter me a flight, and keep an eye on Mulk. You're in charge."

 

"Yes, lord," Haldane replies, resigned. His tone is utterly flat, a wrongness unusual in it.

 

Locke gets the message. He gestures to Restal, and heads for the spaceport.

Edited April 24, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard moved back as the Valkyrie took off, trying to give Nicios space to work. How the hell had this happened? When his shot had hit its target, he'd thought they were in the clear. Now? If he was being totally honest, it  looked like Aldario was on her way out.

 

He stood, taking hold of another ceiling strap opposite the Naval trooper. Veteran, by his garb. A 'Breacher', was that what they called themselves? He wondered if the soldier was a permanent addition to their little crew. He nodded to the man and pointed to each of the team in turn, quietly listing names.

 

"Reynard. Falk. Nicios. Scourge. You?"

 

[Machine God]

The Halls of Judgement:

 

"Bluntly," Haldane says with a sigh, "the retrieval operation is not going well."

 

He adds some colourful afterthoughts.

 

"Language!" Locke blurts, face open in genuine surprise, for once. He recovers his disarming, benign posture with a polite cough. "What he means to say, is that the Cell are in dire straits. We just got word from Cutter they've recovered Gwynne, but she's at death's door. You will accompany me to the Hector's Revenge. Bodyguard detail."

 

 

Kerr Restal took position to Inquisitor Locke's right, with his las-carbines drawn.

 

They headed to the spaceport for a ship out of the hated gravity well. 

 

"In His Name!"

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Falk

 

No time for recriminations or self-doubt, at least not until they were in clear. Falk grunted with effort as he threw the remains of the assassin onto the valkyrie and waved the judges in with the other.

No time for consideration of those fallen in duty, the second man was thrown in behind him as the Valkyrie lurched skywards. He glanced across to Gwynne and then started to strip the corpse, every pocket and pack for some clue as to the type of toxin used.

No time.

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212:

 

The airframe shudders as Solomon slams the door and calls the vessel secure. Cutter nods at him briefly before heaving on the Valkyrie's combi-cyclic, working the pedals and collective to throw the craft into the air in a forward VTOL lurch.

 

Pilots call it 'viffing'.

 

Everyone on board reacts to it differently, if they notice it at all. Engines whine as power is hammered into them, g-forces threatening to pull stomachs up and down as the aircraft mauls its way to altitude.

 

"Come on you bastard!" Cutter growls, his gauges and dials needling in and out of the red zone with violent jerks, depending on how he flexes the avian muscles of the vessel. You hear him again on your voxbeads.

 

+Padlock, this is Vector, all chicks on board, White Swan almost extinct. Request permission for civilian medical unit.+

 

+Denied,+ Haldane's cool voice responds. +Bring the clutch to the nest. Come straight to the hangar, south-face.+

 

Falk:

 

The rummage of the pockets finds a few things. Pack of smokes, some loose Thrones, a ticket stub for a rented aircar. The most telling thing, is the cartridge of the needle rifle. The needle precipitator is a strange design, more organic than mechanical, yet it is a bastardisation, as the top has a welded connector to feed into one of the exotic weapons manufactured by the Imperium.

 

GM: You will require a Hard (-20) Search or Scrutiny Test to discover anything more on the body. You may receive assistance as usual.

[Marshal Valkenhayn]

Solomon:

"Solomon." comes the Breacher's rough voice in response, free hand lifting to toggle his helmet back to local atmosphere. A puff of air vents itself from his helmet, wasting some but likely saving him precious minutes of breathable oxygen in the long term. 

"Down from the Crimson Dawn. Guess we're crew now."

Releasing his hold on the ceiling, he steps along the bucking deck with the swaying gate of someone who has some experience in turbulent aircraft, casting a single glance over Falk's shoulder as he passes by on rout to the copilot's throne up front.

"Check the smokes." he advises through a grunt, recalling the numerous data sticks, notes, and photos he has found in similar packets over the years. That is all the advice he has, however, soon slipping into his chair and taking over secondary systems for Cutter.

Contributing aid to the search test.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Xenos? or... He remembered the reports of the cultists and slid the cartridge towards Nicios, "could this be the work of a witch?" He looked down at his injector, the antidote they carried, perhaps...

 

Too many unknowns, what more did this assassin hide?

 

 

Search: 9 vs target 37 (47-20+10) - pass

I feel that my dice are buidling up false confidence as to betray me at a critical moment :p

 

Edited April 24, 2023 by A.T.