[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios was far enough back to not hear the grenade tumble on the ground, but the flash still seared his eyes.

Spoiler

Toughness Test

Target - 31

Roll - 50

Result = Failure, 1 DoF

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Infirmiary:

 

The murderous servitors slam up against the door, sparks flying as they claw at it without purchase. One of them stops, turning its head as though listening, and reaches for the hatch containing the booby-trap. Wordlessly it follows the bomblet down as it tumbles, before the fire and shrapnel tear it and a comrade asunder. The limbs flail almost comically as they launch out and flounder, the bodies finally falling still, as blood and oil slowly ooze down the armaglas window ports.

 

For hard moments, nothing happens, then a shadow is cast over the scene as a shambling brute lurches into view and begins to ponderously tread down the corridor towards the security door. Red optics glower from under a hood, and thick piston-legs propel it forward at a bounding, if unsubtle gait. As it closes, it lopes from side to side, as though trying to go two different ways, before slamming up against the door with a massive crash of flesh and metal on metal. The door repels it, but plascrete dust spumes from the sill.

 

The monster is ten feet in height. It recoils, shakes a large cranium and the light catches the bonding rivets and bands of flexsteel binding it together. A great scar runs up its mangled chest, and you can discern the thick cables pressing through the flesh, pulsing with grisly fluids and obvious chems, a myriad of injectors laced into the flesh of the thing, between the thick metal staples holding it together. Two pairs of human arms dangle from broad, misshapen shoulders smocked thickly with expensive robes, each arm gone at elbow to fit a weapon, on the smaller pair of arms, are extending claw-manipulators, whilst the burlier limbs carry a saw-blade, and a jackhammer drill.

 

All are caked in gore - the only difference between what belongs to it, and what is from the Judges, is the slick, oily slime staining it.

 

Razor-fingers clack, as it stares, assesses, calculates. What has been delayed does not look like it will allow being denied.

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: I'm going to bring Bardas and Solomon up a bit.

 

The Lower Wards:

 

Bardas:

 

As you wander with your dataslate, you are of course ignored. Another tally-check is of little concern to the Mechanicum, even this half-way house operated by the Tirant Fabrication Conglomerate.

 

You happen upon more containers, identical to those going for disposal, yet these contain less hard machine parts, and instead textiles, soft plasteks. IV bags and drains, cannulas and stim-jectors litter one of the bins, whist another contains all manner of clothing. Robes of every type and colour, House Tirant menials, couriers, cleaning staff. Filthy rags from the dispossessed, glittering cloth from professional strumpets, even garments foreign to the hive. Male and female, adult, and even the small robes and little boots of younglings.

 

Lost in inspecting these crates, you don't immediately notice as two servitors approach. As you back off, they study you briefly, before placing more crates containing the same materials down. The clothes look like they are earmarked for recycling, not disposal. Indeed, this is confirmed by another brainless, drooling drone wheeling across on the conventional tracked locomotion, picking up a crate from the side of the stack, and trundling away with it, to a sector marked as 'Textile Refurbishment'. Huge vats of crimson dye lie beyond, your view obstructed from any more by the closing of the security door.

 

It becomes apparent that if you wish to progress from here, you must obtain one of the Servitor clavigers.

 

The Ordo Xenos warship Kerberos:

 

Solomon:

 

The lift-off from Hive Primus is routine, but the lack of comms with your Cell fellows is not. There's nothing for it though, shouting into the void will accomplish nothing. Your ascent is untroubled, the cipher-interrogation automated, and responsive. A good sign. Thunderbolt fighters come down to take a look at you, but no vox-comms are offered, nor do you think would be replied to.

 

As you broach the atmosphere, the slide of gravity and g-force changes, as expected, and the deadly ships of the Bastion Fleet to which you belong are mere silver dots in the distance. What is not immediately apparent is the ship you're here to meet. Nothing pings on your auspexes, no LIDAR repeats, nothing. Even looking out through the window provides little clue as to what lurks in the purple-black velvet.

 

Suddenly, navigation lights blaze into being, emerald signal lamps on the port side, rubies on the starboard. It orientates you immediately, but the plane of approach is wrong. The ship has not rotated to neutral, and is coming at you from 'below' a black-hulled Carcharodon, the sable skin swallowing light, the angles of armour plating lost to ballistic matte paint. A golden letterbox opens in the prow, spilling internal launch bay light out of the mouth, illuminating the only colours on the prow - a three headed beast, and as it closes, your external picters read the monstrous lettering of a hand-applied mural.

 

"Here be dragons."

 

The silhouette against the planet is all wrong for a ship of the line, but no less impressive. It is a blocky, squat battering ram.

 

An Astartes Strike Cruiser.

 

+This is Kerberos,+ the female officer from before cuts in. +Your augurs are being jammed. Shut down and hold position.+

 

It swallows you whole.

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

To go any further he needed a way to bypass security, not just be ignored by it. Some of the servitors on this level had been fitted with claviger, similar to the one on the Ordinator’s escort. Presumably only those that had been tasked to carry out jobs that required such free movement within the enclave had them, and just being in the company of some as before was unlikely to pass muster.  

 

He needed to find a servitor stationed in an out of a way place, with a tasked that would keep it in its place for a long time that nonetheless had roaming rights. Continuing his slow meander  as an ‘inspector’ he searched for a likely candidate.

 

Spoiler

Search (untrained Basic) or Scrutiny (untrained Basic), whichever is more relevent

Per: 34 / 2 = 17

D100: 82, Fail , 6 DoF

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Lower Wards:

 

Bardas:

 

As you search fruitlessly, and spy even less so, you turn the corner as nonchalantly as a Machinenpriest can, only to bump right into Von Bosch. He is startled, but quickly regains his composure.

 

"Ah, my dear Adept! What in the Cog are you doing down here? A little off the beaten track, yes?"

 

The Tunnel of Death:

 

The doors continue to edge ever closer together. It is now or never to commit to bursting through to the other side, yet the choices thereafter, are...not great.

 

Falk [ ]

 

Edited May 21, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Bardas being Bardas

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

Bardas took a step back to properly looked over the information guide.

 

+01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00111111+

 

He queried, with a audible emphasis on ‘01111001 01101111 01110101’.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

...Throne…

 

Reynard gawped up at the monstrous thing for several long seconds. Then he shook himself. As long as it was on the outside, it didn't matter how horrifying or deadly it was… but he wasn't sure how long the door would keep it out there.

 

He stood up and started looking around, trying his best to ignore the hulking creature looming beyond the armaglas.

 

"Where are the medical staff? We need to evacuate the Lady Gwynne to the Voivode in the hangar bay as quickly as possible. Where is the other exit from the Infirmary wing? Get moving, now!"

 

Then he flicked his microbead.

 

+++Haldane? Locke? I'm with the asset. Moving soon. Is Cutter waiting for me? Any other updates I need to know about?+++

 

 

Edited May 21, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk

 

They were committed now. Just a few more strides...

 

Don't think it's actually Falks turn - be he passed his toughness test a page back and will make a full run, on the assumption he things he can make it. Sadly don't have the sprint talent yet.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Lower Wards:

 

Von Bosch offers an effete bow. "I am merely a small gear in the great machine, my friend, I go where the Omnissiah wills - as an analogue interface, I am the grease on the wheel, so to speak."

 

He clucks his tongue as he peers over your shoulder, looking into the bins.

 

"And you have been ever so squeaky. Do be a good lad and come along quietly, won't you? We have an audience with the Executor. An Ordinator Maximal, empowered by the Golden Liege and Mars herself!"

 

He lays a hand on your elbow. His grip is remarkably firm.

 

One of the heavy servitors stomps out behind him, the powerful hydraulic clamps ratcheting open.

 

"The Omnissiah is manifest. His Will Provides in all things, no matter the material!" Von Bosch looks exceptionally pleased with himself.

 

The Infirmiary:

 

A third Judge, the sentry posted by Haldane, appears. He is equipped for battle, and fresh. Your earpiece clicks, and as your attention shifts, he waits, composed.

 

+Reynard, Locke. I'm on the emergency channel. The enemy is trying to secure the Strategium, so consider all doors and vox-comms compromised. Haldane...he died well. Worse than he deserved,+ Locke's voice creaks. +but better than I'd hoped. Cutter should be already there, he was on standby since I met Racel. You're going to have to use the sub-passages. I've put out a 'Prairie Fire' alert, but God alone knows who'll answer it.+

 

The line crackles, cuts.

 

//I see you, little Fox. I hear your heart beating. You are nothing but a small, prowling mouse, in my maze. Run, hide, hope. It is so delicious...because you're going to DIE here...-bbbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttt//.

 

+Reynard! Reynard, are you there?+ Locke returns.

 

GM OOC: Oops, yes, my bad - it's Scourge (the order isn't hurt, just keep chugging away).

 

 

Edited May 21, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
GM being the GM

[Trokair]

Bardas 

 

Shrugging off Von Bosh’s hand Bardas put away the dataslate.

 

+Run little Jonas, this does not concern you. By your own analogy you are not a gear, merely the oil, mind that you do not burn. There are eye on this place by the Omnissiah’s Will, perhaps an Acuitor from the Cydonia Mensae+

 

 

Turning to the servitor.

+Care to lend your arm?+

Edited May 21, 2023 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

+++Still here, my lord. Received and understood. I hope to see you soon. Reynard out.+++

 

Reynard did his best to ignore the Golem's interruption. Again it struck him that the entity had an weirdly childish, attention-seeking streak that jarred against the cold Machine logic one would expect. The touch of the daemonic…? He shivered imperceptibly, then forced himself to get on with the job in hand.

"Is the Lady ready to be moved? I would appreciate volunteers for gurney - or stretcher? - duty and to assist with Lady Gwynne's medical needs in transit…?"

 

He looked first at the Infirmary staff, and then around the three armed Judges.

 

"Fastest route to the hangar, gentlemen? The Lord Inquisitor suggested using the sub-passages. Wise, for we are most certainly being hunted. We will need to protect the Lady from anything we encounter on the way."

 

He sighed, and finally addressed both groups.

 

"This task will be exceptionally dangerous… but I believe it holds out a far better chance of survival than remaining here. Are you ready?"

 

Edited May 22, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

The concussive blast sent Scourge reeling, and he lost all control of his gross motor skills. He went down in a thunderous heap, his armour kicking up sparks where it scraped along the floor of the narrow passageway as his momentum dragged him another few meters until friction finally reasserted itself and brought him to a halt. He raised his head and attempted to look down the hallway, but the searing light from the photon-flash grenade had all but burned out his retinas. He was dimly aware of a stream of blood pooling in his left ear and running down his neck from a ruptured eardrum. His only companions were darkness and a deafening ringing somewhere in the 3.9 kHz frequency band. It was all he could do to breathe after having the air forcefully driven from his lungs. 

 

Falk vaulted over him and continued on, the vibrations from his footfalls announcing his presence. Scourge tried to call out, but his lungs betrayed him and only a dry croak escaped.

 

 

OOC: Scourge is stunned (possibly also blinded and deafened?) due to his failure vs the grenade-induced toughness test. Considering he was running full tilt in 40kg of powered armor, physics had to be appeased. How long will he be down for? 

Edited May 22, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Infirmary:

 

"We'll never get a gurney through them, they're only slightly bigger than ducts," one of the medicaes replies. He licks his lips. "We could perhaps use a bodybag. It has several sturdy handles and should be tough enough to withstand being pulled about."

 

He rushes to get one, and the others break into movement, picking up breathing apparatus, crash bags used by mobile medics, which are backpacks with all manner of equipment.

 

The Judges begin loosing the bulk of their armour, keeping helmets, beltkit and respirators.

 

It looks like you've formed a party.

 

"Fastest way is via the mortuary furnace," another medicae grins. "At least we'll be warm."

 

The Tunnel:

 

GM: Scourge will be Stunned (down and out) for 1 Turn).

 

Falk already gone, so (I think!):

 

Nicios [ ]

 

The Lower Wards:

 

"Of course. I must know my place," he says with a sneer. "However, I think you should also know yours. There is indeed a great eye watching! This hive has been chosen by the Omnissiah, and given one of his most divine instruments. Whoever does not bow to the Executor, shall be cast from our clade."

 

He makes a gesture, and a helot approaches, armed with a long-hafted wrench.

 

"You of all people should know this...Bardas. Even Magos Krupp saw the light in the end. Adept Xerxia eludes us, which shames me, since she is prodigiously gifted." He shrugs. "You could have done this the easy way. Now we shall do it the Martian way."

 

The Servitor does lend you an arm - both of them in fact, as it lunges for you.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard nodded at the good suggestions, even as he looked around the room for… there. That should do the trick.

 

He picked up the aerosol can, containing liquidised plaster, from a shelf of medical supplies. Intended to be sprayed onto a broken limb, on contact with air the liquid would harden into a light, flexible, opaque cast.

 

He turned and started liberally coating the armaglas window where the hulking creation of the Golem stood outside planning its next move.

 

"Always better if they don't know for sure what you're doing… or where you've gone."

 

Just before the final part of the window was covered, Reynard couldn't help himself. With a cheerful grin, he raised his middle finger towards the monstrous servitor. Then the thing vanished from view behind the clean white surface.

 

Probably a really bad idea, but from what he had seen the Golem might actually be susceptible to that kind of mockery... and even when things were at their worst, Reynard tried to find pleasure in the little joys of life.

 

"Right. Let's go."

 

Edited May 22, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Infirmary:

 

In response to your antics, the brute outside decides to give you the finger too - as the shuddering jackhammer noise punches a chisel blade through the plascrete of the security door jamb. It begins to radial the corner, separating the door from what holds it in place.

 

Definitely time for you to leave.

 

The Tunnel:

 

The doors stop grinding, coming to a halt with a strangled clank of gears ceasing.

 

+Alright you bastards. I can hear you puking your guts up in there. Had enough, yet? I've got a crate of those things, you can have second helpings, if you like.+

 

There's a pause, his accent is a touch mangled by the vox distortion of a respirator, but he doesn't sound local.

 

+If you agree to come out nice and slow, with your hands up, we'll talk. Otherwise I'm going to tell Jack to stuff his heavy bolter into there, and make man-jam. You dig? Maybe I should anyway, for killing Cal!+

 

Another pause.

 

+So what's it to be, ers?+

[A.T.]

Falk

 

A bluff or a realisation, either way his words suggested a weakness. Keeping a hand high and moderating his pace to hide the sound of his steps as best as possible behind the thunk of Scourges staggered steps Falk called back, "your last friend died with Galleus's lies on his lips and her poison in his veins, she has sent you to fight the true servants of the Emperor in ignorance because she courts the demonic, and by now you must have seen enough to suspect this truth yourself."

 

 

 

Still advancing, slower to let the others catch up and to conceal the sound.

 

Question - how 'open' is the door - are we talking just a small gap or still plenty of room to run through?

[Mazer Rackham]

The Tunnel:

 

GM: Shoulder width for a normal human male, plus a span of about six inches either side - so, about 3ish feet? So, one at a time. He isn't dumb. Scourge will have to get through sideways.

 

+Hazard of the job. The true servants of the Emperor? What the hell does that even mean? Truth is what we're told it is.+

 

There's a schloop sound, then a hinged tube being clacked shut.

 

+No more Mukaali-crap. You give your word, or I'll see if you blend. Got it? Five seconds.+

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Falk kept closing, trying to adjudge the nature of the sound, judging the range for a frag grenade...  logic implied it was all a ruse to buy time, no suggestion Greysons men had anything so conspicuous as a heavy weapon of that type nor could this 'Jack' hope to brace such a weapon for autofire before taking fire himself. The trads in the corridor suggested something more mechanical in nature, a servo frame perhaps.

 

"It means we do not serve ourselves. Galleus will see it all burn before she admits she was wrong and you walk towards that same path. The truth is what is, and I give my word that you are given here the choice to aid this world against a true enemy of mankind, or to die for nothing but misguided ego and pride".

 

Scruitiny: 44 = pass

 

Charm test ?

[Mazer Rackham]

The Tunnel:

 

GM: Falk can indeed try Charm. As a trained interrogator, you have picked up on his irreverence. He's not a dyed-in-the-wool believer. This will equate to you finding a common ground, or maybe making sense to his pragmatism. Persuading him his boss is nuts etc.

 

If you want to embellish, that's fine, otherwise the Roll will do. His disposition is a Step down, thanks to his armless buddy, (-10).

 

GM: This close, Falk can also hear the subtle buzz and whirr of a small motive engine. About right for a servitor that would fit down here, given the track spacing and width.

 

Edited May 22, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Almost at the door. The next few moments might decide whether this would be another dead end... though he feared the man had already made his choice. Exitus Acta, what words might turn this fate?

 

"Help us stop the Inquisitor, whatever the cost, before she spreads this madness further".

 

 

Lore test - i'm not sure which of Imperium, Underworld or Inquisition (if any) might be suitable for understanding some oath or tradition that these men might have taken that might be challenged given their (so far) suicidal determination : 35 = ?maybe? - narrow pass if something Falk is skilled in, fail if basic (i.e. War)

 

Charm: 4 = pass, 3 extra DoS

[Mazer Rackham]

The Tunnel:

 

+Madness? Ego? Sounds like you speak from experience - you've met Roughshod Racel then?+ the man replies, but the edge is gone from it. You can make it out off to your right, the small motor and the echo is throwing off precisely where, though.

 

+Alright. You know the drill. Just come out nice and easy, like I said. If your mob is like mine, you'll have a Seal. Show it, and we'll be civilised. Jack, light.+

 

+Compliance,+ a vocaliser replies.

 

A spotlight falls over the end of the tunnel. Your lenses compensate, but the flare wash obliterates any shapes beyond a few feet - although it does taper narrowly to the left. You can see the floor is scuffed from foot traffic, and smeared with pooling blood from a nearby corpse. You can see the body separated from the limb. The man's face is frozen into an 'o' of surprise, but his weapons have been policed.

 

He's in a dark flak coat, old, worn clothing, kneepads sewn onto trousers, much like an industrial hiver. Boots are common enough, gloves. His body armour is light carapace breastplate augmented with up-armoured hard plates in flak pockets. His gear is similar to Greyson's men, but his photo visor is different, and his respirator is civilian - good quality - but civilian.

 

Greyson's men utilise military gear, helmets and visors on the Cadian Kasrkin pattern - at least when you've seen them.

 

 

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Holding up a hand to the others to be ready Falk shoulders his shotgun and activates the light of his electoo. The cannon at his shoulder would draw the eye but was clearly out of quick reach, the other arm held as to show symbol illuminating against the ground as he stepped forward.

 

First rule of interrogation, don't be obvious about it. "You aren't exactly what we expected to find down here".

Edited May 23, 2023 by A.T.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Ordo Xenos FOB:

 

Falk:

 

"Makes two of us. Jack, drop the lumens by half."

 

+Compliance.+

 

The light gently bleeds off, and you can see the portion of the room permitted by the angle you're standing at. You can see a clear kill-zone, for at least ten metres.

 

"If you look in Cal's left boot, you'll find his Seal."

[Trokair]

Hugging Servitor

 

Bardas had seen the Servitors intent from the shifting of weight as it had tensed for the lunge.

 

Spoiler

Dodge (Untrained Basic ) Learned today that Tech-Priest cannot learn Dodge until level 4, if I have accidently dodged at full AG previously this game sorry.

Ag:36 /2 = 18

D100: 96 Why do I try?

 

In the split second as the servitor closed Bardas saw that there was no way to avoid the arms, he should have started moving sooner. Instead he leaned into it getting closer to the servitor arms outstretched and then closing.

Quietly, just for the servitor to hear he spoke fast.

 

+ 01001000 01110101 01100111 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 00100000 01100001 01100011 01100011 01100101 01110000 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100011 01101001 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100011 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 00101100 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01110010 01100101 01100101 00101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01001000 01110101 01100111 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01110100 01101111 01100011 01101111 01101100 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01010110 01101111 01101110 00100000 01000010 01101111 01110011 01100011 01101000 00101100 00100000 01101101 01100001 01111000 01101001 01101101 01110101 01101101 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01101110 01110011 01101001 01110100 01111001 00101110+

 

Spoiler

Tech Use Test

Int:39 +10 (Tech Use +10)=49

D100: 15, Pass 3DoS

 

Binary from above for ease:
+ Hug protocol accepted and reciprocated, end protocol in three, then initiate hug protocol with Von Bosch, maximum intensity.+

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Omnissian Group Hugging Session:

 

The Servitor clutches you without any changes on it's lobotomised face, before casting you aside like a bag of bolts, and engaging in what can only be described as a rather enthusiastic grapple.

 

The menial with the wrench looks confused, tries to lunge for Bardas, but is stopped by Von Bosch's asphyxiated squeals as the machine-man begins to crush him.

 

"Help!"

 

The menial beats at the servitor, imploring it to release the analogue interface, encountering grudging recalcitrance.

 

You are thrown against a bulkhead door, but are otherwise unharmed, if not for a few bruises and dings in your chassis. This would be an opportune moment to escape what was no doubt meant to be a grisly end - and from the amount of clothes, many have suffered it, from all walks of life.