[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge sat silently, cradling Gwynne Aldario's form, still numb with shock at how events had transpired for the worst mere moments ago.

 

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

 

"Lord, protect this good woman, thy loyal servant. Bathe her in thy healing light. Delivereth us from this evil…"

 

He trailed off and lapsed into silence, bracing himself and Lady Gwynne against the violent lurching of the V-TOL aircraft, cursing Locke under his breath for his apparent taste in pilots, and himself again in turn for failing to fulfil his oath. He spared a moment to look over his shoulder pauldron at Falk pawing at the corpse of the assassin, and his lips curled back baring his teeth like a feral dog.

 

"I pray thou hast brought one back alive, Falk. One shouldst like to speak with him. In private. That we might learn from one another." 

 

Spoiler

 

Edited April 30, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"Calm yourself Scourge. If there is one alive to interrogate, we will do so calmly and with the God-Emperor's justice in mind."

 

Nicios' words were delivered in his blandest tones, but an unearthly light glowed in his eyes for a brief moment. 

 

"Save your fury for the head of the serpent that strangles this world."

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212:

 

Falk:

 

With swift hands, you follow Solomons suggestion, twinned with your own hunches. Inside the packet of smokes is a folded picture, a pict-capture from some remote augur or other, which perfectly resembles Lady Gwynne. On the bottom of the picture there is a series of numbers, handwritten in black ink.

 

1-0-1-4.-3/6-3-2-9.-4

 

You discover nothing more, no papers, ID, no obvious signs of mutation. The corpse is 'sterile' information-wise. He had a tattoo on his arm at one point. It has been lasered off, leaving a broad scar.

 

Nicios:

 

GM: A Sense Presence will be sufficient to detect the nature of the needle precipitator, but do handle it with care.

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge shook his head at his comrade's admonishment, looking down with grave concern at the silver-haired woman in his arms, willing her to live. 

 

"In battle there ist no law," he said quietly to himself. 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Necronaut

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

With another look towards Gwynne and Nicios Falk clambered to his feet to check on their prisoner, determined not to let him escape the Emperors justice as he gagged the man so that he could not bite down or call out. To Scourge, "make sure he doesn't choke".

 

The numbers might be co-ordinates, vox codes, perhaps a time and place. Distracting the pilot on approach seemed unwise and so he set about searching the second man. He knew it was only to take his own mind off the attack and calm his nerves, Gwynne had saved his life in the elevator and now he had failed to repay that debt.

 

Intelligence check to identify the format of the numbers

INT 38 - roll 40  - fail

[Mazer Rackham]

Falk:

 

The second man, your live prisoner, shares the same telling characteristics of the first, some small sundries, a handful of Thrones, a pack of jerrat-chew gum, stylus. He also has a DNA locked compact datapad, and a compact stub pistol magazine. The weapon is gone, likely lost in the capture. Searching his waist, you can see that his jacket has one of the pockets cut out, (right hand) corresponding with a wheal on his flesh from where a weapon would have been trapped in his belt. A press switch for a covert vox unit is in his other pocket, (for his left hand).

 

Like his counterpart, small scars mark surgical operations where visually distinguishing marks like moles and warts, have been removed.

 

He remains silent, attitude overall quiet, but he glowers at you, breaking off to regard Gwynne's limp form, assessing.

 

GM: As with the other man, any further reveals will require Tests. Since you have learned how these men conceal things, you are wiser to their tricks (similar to a criminal, but different enough to be interesting) a Difficult (-10) Search or Scrutiny Test may be made.

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Passing the picture to Reynard, "what do you make of this? I'm sure the ..." he trailed off, checking the mans comm system. Best not to take chances.

 

Another glance to Gwynne and Nicios and then back to Reynard. "Greysons men do you think?". He nodded towards the clip that Nicios was inspecting, "it matches no Imperial weapon that I have ever encountered".

 

 

Search roll 38 vs target of 37 (47 with assist) so pass or fail depending on assistance

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"I will see if any pyschic residue remains."

Spoiler

Manifest Psychic Power (Sense Presence)

Threshold - 7

Roll - 5 + 3 + 5(WPB) = 13

Overbleed x 1 - not applicable here

Result = Pass

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212:

 

Falk:

 

As you rummage around the pockets and gear of the second man, and turn away to query Nicios, the prisoner twists his head, gauging.

 

At that moment, your hands converge on his boots. Unable to take them off, you detect he's got something hidden in there.

 

Once you find it, he starts thrashing around, kicking out at you, although trussed as he is, he resembles a giant caterpillar convulsing on the deck of the Valkyrie.

 

Nicios ONLY:

Spoiler

You sense the hands of ancient craftsmen, songs of birth, of growth. Although metallic, you can sense the life force of something old when the stars were young, echoes of birth pangs of a jealous god. A dark womb of spiked roofs and spinnerets, angular plating and cruel eyes. Bladed barbarism, and terrible torture.

 

Within the crystalline needles lies a wrathful scourge, a toxin that flexes, even as you scry it. It rapidly expands....!

 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"Xenos-scum. Pirate-aeldari. Foulness."

 

Nicios throws the dart to the side, away from any potential victim.

 

Moving to the prisoner, he plants a boot in his stomach, stilling the convilsions.

 

"You dare bring the filth of the soul-eaters here?! You dare!"

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

"Nicios. Take her," he said, flatly.

 

He gingerly passed Gwynne over to the psyker-chirurgeon and rose, thudding over to the bound, prone man. Taking a few seconds to judge the prisoner's chaotic, thrashing movements, Scourge dropped suddenly, landing heavily upon the assassin's legs, knees-first, trapping them in place under his armoured sabatons. The man gasped and howled in muffled agony through his gag as his legs were crushed between ceramite leg plates and the plasteel deck. Equal parts annoyed and amused by the blaggard's attempts to resist him and Falk, Scourge pulled the man's gag free to listen to his pained cries and groans unfiltered. 

 

"Hast thou something to say, ye ugly bastard?" 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Necronaut
Altered to conform to prior posts

[A.T.]

Falk:

 

Seeing the clip skitter across the deck plate Falk threw the clothes of the corpse across them, leaving the prisoner to Scourge as he ensured the clip was secure. In a low voice, "do not deny him his interrogation, ensure that he can still speak".

 

Pulling his manacles and knife he reached for the boots, "keep us steady pilot".

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212:

 

Scourge:

 

The man grits his teeth, sucks in air to fight the pain by breathing through it. He looks up, then across at Gwynne. His calculating look is replaced by a brazen desperation.

 

"I've got a couple of Thrones for your whore."

 

He spits at her, landing on her clothes. She doesn't stir.

 

He forces a laugh through his pain.

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Greyson's men? Perhaps. Certainly professionals. The use of xenotech poison made him again wonder if De Grassi might have equipped them? Very few people would have the resources to obtain such exotic means of murder.

 

Taking the picture from Falk, Reynard examined the numbers. What did they mean? The location for the assassins' attack? Unlikely - although possible. Or did they tie back in with something they had seen before, whether in Dreyfuss' research or the binharic codes and communications uncovered by Bardas? He struggled for a moment to bring the various sequences of numbers back to his mind.

 

Spoiler

OOC: I honestly can't remember if this set of numbers relates to any of the previous sets (and I'm unsure of page numbers, etc, to go back through and find them) but I hope if there is a similarity/connection, Reynard would see it?

 

 

Then the assassin started to make a nuisance of himself and Scourge violently stepped in. Slightly amusing, and probably a salve for the Knight's state of mind, but perhaps not the most productive interrogation technique.

 

While Falk wrestled with the man's boots, Reynard picked up the locked data-slate. Gene-coded, but what kind of reader did it use? Fingerprint? Retinal scan? Bodily fluid; saliva, or even blood?

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

GM: The numbers conform to nothing you can recall from your previous in-game experience.

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge sighed heavily and grabbed the man's face in a crushing, vice-like grip, twisting his head painfully to look the hired killer dead in his eyes. He shook his helmed head and clicked his tongue at the churl's lack of manners.

 

"I admire thy bravery, cutthroat," he said over the sniper's pained and panicked groans, "but one shouldst not disrespect thy betters. I was wroth 'ere now, but now, now thou hast mine attention."

 

Rudely shifting his position on man's legs, he fished about into a belt pouch, pulled a rag regularly used for cleaning his weapons and forced it into the man's mouth.

 

"Thou shalt speak again when I desireth it, but for now be still and keep thy forked tongue betwixt thy lips, while ye still possesseth lips and tongue to form words."

 

Grabbing a fistful of the man's hair, Scourge leaned in close and whispered in the man's ear, "If she dies, thy suffering shall be legendary." 

 

He slammed his captive's head into the deck plate with savage force and released him, a small clump of hair falling away from his fingers. Blood pooled under the assassin's smashed face where it leaked from his broken nose, and he gurgled and wheezed and whimpered unpleasantly through his ruined nasal cavity. 

 

"Please resume thy search, Falk," he said pleasantly. 

 

 

Intimidate Test: 37 + 20 (Power Armour) = 57

Intimidate: 1d100 8: success, 4 DoS

 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard walked over and knelt down beside Scourge and the barely conscious killer. He dipped the tip of one of his mono-edged blades into the man's slowly pooling blood, then held it up in one hand and the data-slate in the other.

 

He raised a questioning eyebrow towards Falk as the Arbitrator continued to pull at the boots.

 

"Worth a try, do you think?"

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Reynard:

 

The blood does nothing but trickle across the face of the compact dataslate. It does however reveal a tiny, concave dip and hidden lens beneath the plastek, which corresponds with a slight crescent shape in the frame.

 

GM: The compact dataslate/pad, is about the size of a modern mobile phone (oblong shape). The recesses are in the top and left side of the body (screen facing you) and roughly where the face-capture camera would be. Simon says wait for the flash.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard sighed. Of course. Now the killer had a broken nose.

 

"Scourge, turn him over."

 

Once done, Reynard leaned down, pulled out the rag and not very gently cleaned the blood from the semi-conscious man's face. Then he held the slate up so the picter could do its job. Hopefully.

 

 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Spaceport:

 

Restal:

 

Locke has changed into something more formal, a uniform of rich black, with leather belt and cross belt, supplemented by a tasselled red sash at the waist. His blouse carries flamboyant gold-wire epaulettes, thick with frogging, but no outward signs of rank on the boards. A stole in the red of the Frateris Order he leads roams from the back of his neck, the golden aquilas fluttering, drifting as he walks. All stoop is gone, and a grimness sits about his jaw and features of an Imperial Official abroad. He carries an ornate duelling stave, ebony shaft enwrapped by silver filigree dioramas of holy scenes and texts, and this adds a monotonous thump to the procession of his knee high, black cavalry boots, which are buffed to a black-glass mirror finish, by his own hand.

 

As he moves, the fold and sway of his clothes betray mesh body armour, masterfully woven into the cloth.

 

He strides into the Spaceport to take shuttle to the battleship in orbit.

 

They expect him.

 

He is flanked by four companions. The first, is the lithe and purposeful assassin, Kerr Restal. Behind and to the right - as is proper for a right-handed principal - the killer's guns dissuade the few menials and Inquisition serfs brought in to convey whatever documents and recording implements, whatever tech-arcana the Inquisitor Lord requires.

 

The other three attendants are the cherubim servitor constructs he was accompanied by in the Templum. Two carry a rich cloak of scarlet-lined black, the other a censer of argentum root, the trail of pale smoke glimmering with silver particles, to ward off evil, and enhance concentration. It also happens to react violently with poisons, turning blue in their presence.

 

As the party approach the armoured and armed Aquila Lander, a Naval Party of prime assaulters, men who Solomon would call peer, snap to attention in their reflec-imbued void suits and carapace armour. Hellguns, shotguns and power sabres rack with impeccable unison as Locke gains arm's reach.

 

This, finally, is how a Lord Inquisitor arrives, how he greets fate. When he speaks, all the weight of his experience, and authority fill his voice with deep certainty, and an irrefutable presence. He proffers his ornate seal.

 

"I am Garrad Hyronimus Locke, Inquisitor Lord, Sectoris Commandantus. My word is law, my seal is law. On behalf of the Emperor, and Imperium, I hereby requisition your vessel, to convey me to Hector's Revenge, and her Captain, that they may do His Will, and mine."

 

A Flag Lieutenant steps forward, snaps to attention. "I obey. May His will be done."

 

"Well, Kerr, here we go."

 

The Cherubs drape Locke's shoulders with the cloak, clipping it in place. The party folds around Locke and Restal as they march into the lander, and take off, heading for orbit, and a rendezvous with an Armageddon.

Edited April 25, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

The Spaceport:

 

Restal:

 

Inquisitor Lord Locke strode into the Spaceport with grace and deadly air. 

 

Another attired as such would be a popinjay, but not Inquisitor Lord Locke. His stoop had disappeared, his back straight he commanded attention. He carried an ornate duelling stave, ebony shaft enwrapped by silver filigree dioramas of holy scenes and texts, and this added a monotonous thump to the procession of his knee high, black cavalry boots, bulled to a black-glass mirror finish.

 

As Locke moved, the fold and sway of his clothes showed Kerr Restal the mesh body armour, masterfully woven into the cloth.

 

 

 Inquisitor Lord Locke was expected.

 

 

Kerr Restal had taken up position, behind and to the right of Inquisitor Lord Locke - as is proper for a right-handed principal - his guns dissuaded the few menials and Inquisition serfs brought in to convey whatever documents and recording implements, whatever tech-arcana the Inquisitor Lord required.

 

The other three attendants were the cherubim servitor constructs he was accompanied by in the Templum. Two carried a rich cloak of scarlet-lined black, the other a censer of argentum root, the trail of pale smoke glimmered with silver particles, to ward off evil, and enhance concentration. It also happened to react violently with poisons, turning blue in their presence.

 

 

Everyone was a potential target, even the cherubin. Kerr Restal was on constant alert.

 

 

Breachers, reflec-imbued void armour. Eyes drawn to weak spots for guns and blades. Hellguns, shotguns and power sabres drew him towards bullet time. He breathed on his internal oxygen supply, his bloodstream swelled by endorphins and stimm trace. He stayed true to his mantra's, he was on duty.

 

 

Inquisitor Lord Locke had requisitioned an Aquila Lander to convey them to the Hector's Revenge.

 

 

"Well, Kerr, here we go," said Inquisitor Lord Locke.

 

"By your command!" Kerr Restal replied.

 

 

The Cherubs draped Locke's shoulders with the cloak, clipping it in place. The party folded around Inquisitor Lord Locke and Restal as they marched into the lander, secured themselves and took off, headed for orbit, and a rendezvous with an Armageddon.

 

Back to the Void.

 

 

 

 

Edited April 25, 2023 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

Valkyrie 212:

 

Reynard:

 

The device bleeps and comes to life, presenting a basic operating menu. Several folders are locked behind a password. The only one which is not, contains picts of Gwynne and the Aldario family. There are a lot of files, covering everything from the clothes they buy, to medical procedures, who they're romantically involved with; everything.

 

Solomon:

 

Gwynne's breathing begins to thin again. The blotching now makes her arms and neck appear as though she's been crushed with bruises. Cutter notices, as you do, as the Cell has been uploaded to the life monitoring systems within the Valkyrie. He swear and begins to push the engines until they are straining, the angles and turns he requires become more reckless as he fights gravity, crosswinds and dodges idiot civilian traffic.

 

More and more systems are slaved to your control, requiring you to take the second stick.

 

"Together," Cutter barks. You can feel the strain the bird is under, can hear it in Cutter's voice.

 

GM: I will now require three Piloting Tests, which will increase in difficulty as Cutter calls upon you. This is an 'extended' test. Your Degrees of Success and Failure will incur bonuses and penalties respectively to the time it will take to get the Valkyrie home. You must make:

• 1 x Routine (+10) Pilot Test
• 1 x Challenging (+0) Pilot Test
• 1 x Difficult (-10) Pilot Test

Feel free to ask questions in the OOC.

 

Falk:

 

As you wrangle the man's boot off, his smelly foot notwithstanding, a solid lump of metal falls out in a dark blur. It slides across the Valkyrie deck with a few tight sparks, until it comes to rest, the meagre light of the interior bulbs reflecting off an ebonised, gold-edged ingot so familiar to you all. A ruby glares up from a skull.

 

The seal of the Inquisition.

[Marshal Valkenhayn]

Solomon:

"HRMH." is Solomon's only response, the taciturn warrior slamming a switch that toggles the life signs off of his display. She's still dying. Watching it happen in real time isn't going to help.

The chatter of the rest of the crew grows distant as the craft begins to shake, view beyond the canopy stretching into a greyish blur. Lights smear across his vision as they whip around air traffic at ever-increasing speeds, the veteran soldier doing all he can to try and keep up with the more experienced pilot.

 

    TEST 1/3
Piloting (Military Craft): 38 + Routine +10 = 48
Roll: 13 (3 Degrees)

Weaving through traffic with minimal swerves and sways, Solomon is able to tag whatever craft might pose a danger of colliding with them, marking them out for Cutter to avoid as they plunge into the maze of plasticrete canyons that weave their way toward the surface, metal struts and antennas weaving between the buildings in a mess of interlocking infrastructure.

    TEST 2/3
Piloting (Military Craft): 38 + Challenging +0 = 38
Roll: 100 (CRITFAIL)
Spending Fate, 1/2 remaining
Roll: 57 (-1 Degrees)

Having taken over radar and navigation, Solomon has just finished marking an oncoming cargo VTOL as potential trouble when Cutter whips them in a tight turn around a corner, pulling hard on the stick to lift them just clear of a tumerous add-on that juts out into the canyon. Unfortunately, though they've missed the structure, the  mess of radio equipment bolted to the top is now directly in their path, a tangled mess of pylons and cables far too vast to avoid.

+BRACE!+ Solomon barks over comms, gloved finger tightening on his joystick's trigger even as he jerks the reticule around, a hail of laser fire shredding a line of destruction through the metal jungle. There isn't enough time to clear a clean path, but rather than smashing nose-first into the web like a foolish spider, the Valkyrie barrels through the disintegrating wreckage, bucking and shuttering as debris rains down upon them.

 

    TEST 3/3
Piloting (Military Craft): 38 + Difficult -10  = 28
Roll: 63 (-3 Degrees)

Emerging out the other side, the Valkyrie tips its nose skyward and hurtles between intersecting traffic, Solomon flagging craft after craft, keeping one eye on the map, and scanning for inert obstacles, when all at once a light flashes at the corner of his vision and his control stick goes live.

Perhaps if the two of them had trained together before now, or if Solomon had the instincts of an ace pilot, he could help the other man muscle their craft through even more death defying stunts. However, as the Valkyrie takes another sharp turn, the Breacher is startled into jerking back on the stick at the same moment Cutter shoves it forward, the craft doing a lurching little jig in the air before the Sergeant has the wits to release his hold and allow them to nose forward just in time for the top of their craft to scrape noisily along the bottom of a bridge, sparks and bits of armor plating showering in all directions.

"Cutter..." the veteran grunts, the faintest note of warning creeping into his grim grumble of a voice. Hitting another control, he routs full control back to the pilot, casting a single glance over his shoulder to see just how badly the rest of the crew has taken being bounced and thrown around like pebbles in a clothes drier.

Turning to face forward, he slams a couple more controls and returns to flagging ships, adding a terse, "Slow down."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Flicking rapidly from one picter image to the next, Reynard examined the lives of the Aldarios. He searched for faces he recognized - was that De Grassi amongst them? - and tried to work out just how long these assassins had been in position, watching and preparing for their strike. Images of the family members shopping for clothes had certainly not been taken in the last few days!

 

The sigil fell to the deck with a clang, drawing his attention away. There was a moment of absolute silence. Then suddenly, everything was confusion as the Valkyrie rose and fell wildly, impacts and a hideous scraping and shuddering. He managed to grab a strap and hold on for dear life. Several times his feet left the deck, weightless in freefall or spun by inertia.

 

"Throne," he muttered when the chaos seemed to subside, "no point in getting us there two minutes earlier if the journey kills us all anyway."

 

He looked around the small cabin, checking that no-one appeared much worse off than they had before. He couldn't see the Inquisitorial sigil. Had one of the others picked it up or was it lost under a bench during the pilot's 'manoeuvres'? No matter. They'd all seen it. The question was, what to do about it?

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Falk reached for the seal, his mind racing. A trophy taken from one of the fallen or an agent of those who would have used the golem against the xenos? The other had carried no such sigil...

 

And then the world began to spin as gravity shifted. Falk clipped himself against the hull of the craft as he scrambled to secure the poisoned darts, "secure Gwynne and the prisoner". Were they under attack?

 

Fighting against the increasing forces within he grabbed at the mans legs and free manacles trying to lock him to the door rail before he slid away.