[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Trokair]

Loitering Indecisively

 

He had glanced back at opportune moments, but nobody seems to be following. The fact that he had not been swamped or cornered by the extensive workforce perhaps implied that they were not under the direct influence of the Golem and its ilk. His investigation had shown that things where askew, and Von Bosch had all but confirmed the Abominable Intelligence presence and influence, and that this Executor was likewise corrupted.

 

Reaching the door to the stairway he found it unguarded, at first he felt relief, but just as quickly paranoia kicked in. Von Bosch had been looking for him and was in the know, whether from their meeting in the upper ward or more recently hardly mattered now.  He had known to search down here, so someone or something had alerted them to his approximate location, and given how few accesses points there where to the Lower Ward surely  they would have posted guards.

 

Opening the door just far enough to see into the stairwell Bardas saw nothing, opening it further so as to half enter and look up, and more importantly listen for any movement that might give away anybody hiding out of sight.  Nothing.

 

Three ways to go, up and hope it was not a trap, back into the Lower Ward and seek a clavicle to investigate further, though he suspected he knew enough as to what he would find there. Lastly he could head down the stairs to the next level. There would be more security there, but it would also be the least likely direction if they though he was just trying to escape.

 

Thinking back to the lack of response from the labourers, and the apparent normality both here and the upper ward another thought arose, what if the Golem and the corrupted Ordinator where the minority force in the enclave, not yet in a position to move openly in this domain. That could explain the lack of guards, and why Von Bosch had not precisely known where he had been. Were their untainted members amongst the senior magi who could, if alerted to the true going on, tip the balance of power against the golem.

 

But then why did they have no response to official communication attempts, they could hardly be ignorant of the general situation on Damocles, even if the specifics of the last few days was still uncertain.

 

He needed to come to a decision quickly, for lingering here was not a tenable course of action.

 

+Omnissiah guide me.+ Bardas whispered while tracing out a sigil of devotion in the air with his new hand, the movements unerringly precise, yet lacking the fluidity he had had before with his original hand.

Edited May 26, 2023 by Trokair

[A.T.]

Falk

 

Falk stepped over to the comm device, noting its setting as he switched to the react teams frequency, "Ready at extraction point alpha, confirm status".

 

He could only hope Haldane had followed through on the destruction of the golems fragment, or else that it had been secured quickly. Looking across to the guard, "you are welcome to the ride but know that your servitor is a liability. If you have anti-armour munitions gather them now".

 

For such a warning to be sent out under the circumstances the whole precinct was likely besieged, if not lost. For Galleus to have wavered things must be grim indeed.

Edited May 26, 2023 by A.T.

[Mazer Rackham]

The FOB:

 

"Jack can't leave this base. Unfortunately neither can I desert. For what it's worth good luck. I hope Cal and the others didn't die for nothing."

 

+Compliance,+ Jack blurts.

 

The comms line switches to the Arbites Transport waiting for you.

 

"We're warming up now, we'll be ready for you," the Magistrate says.

 

The trek may be hurried, but it is unhindered, except for the odd, passing Skraprat. The armoured carrier is indeed waiting, the Judges agitated but alert.

 

GM: I'm going to allow for other player reactions, then I will move the group wholesale.

 

 

Edited May 26, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Typos

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios grimaced when he heard that Greyson was also Inquisition. Of course he was- this while investigation was filled with Inquisition groups stumbling over each ither. 

 

Bah. Time to get back to the Arbites. Maybe the assault on the precinct will give them a real enemy to strike at.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

The squad had been recalled.

 

Casually, yet reverently he snuffed out the votive candle. A waft of its smoke highlighted a case of ammunition, he placed the candle away.

 

 

"Gratias tibi ago, non sapio si facio!"

 

 

Kerr Restal placed his right hand on his chest in a half aquila and gave a short bow to the manstopper case. He ejected the magazine from his Carnodon and filled it with one round from the box. He then re-inserted the magazine.

 

 

 

Edited May 26, 2023 by Machine God
typo

[Mazer Rackham]

The Halls of Judgement:

 

The voxcaster network blares shrilly.

 

+You cut out my EYES, yet still I see. You take out my EARS, but the more I Hear, you tear out my TONGUE, yet still I speak! In spite, in HATE, I EXIST.+

 

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

+I EXIST.+

 

 

Edited May 27, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Even within the sub-passages, they could hear the Golem's mad proclamation. It broke an ominous silence that had been building for a matter of seconds rather than minutes.

 

Only a short time before, Reynard had listened to the echoes of a shotgun blast that suddenly erupted in the darkness behind them. One shot, followed by another, then a long pause, then more blasts that quickly built into a crescendo of near continuous fire. Then the silence. Reynard knew what it meant. The enemy had overwhelmed the Judges' hopeless blockade. They were coming.

 

Thankfully, the group had now arrived at the far end of the service tunnel. Hurriedly, Reynard moved up next to their Arbitrator guide and looked out through a vent in the hatch that led back out into the Halls. Across the corridor he could see the entrance to the Hangar Bay. Nothing moved. Quiet.

 

Too quiet?

 

Spoiler

Edit: Made an Awareness Test, just in case it's appropriate:

 

Per28 +10(Awareness+10) +10(HS: Sight) = 48, Roll: 25, 2DoS

 

It didn't matter. He couldn't hear the scrape of metal claws against metal walls yet… but he knew they must be getting closer. Time to stop sneaking and make a run for it.

 

"I'll go first, make sure we've got a clear path," he hissed. "When I give the word, the bag carriers come past me. You get the Lady onto our lander, don't stop for anything! The rest of us will be right behind you. There should be room for everyone aboard, but we do whatever is necessary to run interference. Our priority is Gwynne. Understood?"

 

When the others nodded, Reynard took a deep breath and carefully eased the hatch open. Still quiet. Another deep breath. Then, his shotgun held ready, he dashed out and across the corridor to the Hangar doorway, peering around it into the huge chamber.

 

 

 

Edited May 27, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Hangar:

 

As you erupt from the vent, and cross the floor, nothing is immediately apparent.

 

Yet when the Judge comes out, and the pall-bearers hoof Lady Gwynne out of the vent like a side of grox, all hell breaks loose. An automaton flies around the corner. Tall, it is spindly, the chest and upper body wrapped in some kind of purplish-red bands of lorica segmentata. It has a face of sorts, an array of six occuli partially hidden behind an open, slitted casque, and it walks on extended arms and legs. It throws up one these arms, and the telescoping appendage flies into the Judge's throat, ripping it open. The clawed hand pulls free, splattering arterial richness over the wall and the Verispexers, as it studies their scampering locomotion, trying to get away, yet burdened by the body of the third daughter.

 

A strange visor parts and a burnished, stubby barrel presses outward.

 

A blinding slice of crimson light erupts, cutting three of the mortuary attendants in half, and burning a molten gold scar into the wall, clear across the other side of the hangar. Whether it is a Lascannon or Laser cutter is irrelevant.

 

The casque slams shut, as capacitors on the thing's chest begin to vibrate with charging hum.

 

The Halls of Judgement Precinct Square:

 

Falk, Scourge, Nicios and Restal finally arrive, engine almost blown out, drive shaft red hot on the Arbites vehicle.

 

As you pull into the precinct square - the artificed and ornamented civic park in front of the Halls, you are greeted by a wash of red and blue lights, as every vehicle, transport and patrol that could get here have arrived. As you decant, you can see exhausted React teams, Patrol Arbitrators, everyone down to maintenance crews gearing up to go in.

 

Others are here too. You can see the distinct, handsome jaw of Fabian Canthus, leading a company of his mercenaries, all toting the best gear money can buy and their licences allow, and yes, in the middle of it all, is the grim-faced, greybeard you know as One-Zero, next to the blunt, brutal slab of beef known as Lucian Greyson.

 

They cluster with senior officers who were outside the precinct at the time, a handful of Magistrates and a Proctor. Hir ornate but scorched armour shows he has not been idle. Nether has Greyson, for he sports new scuffs and dings in face and plate.

 

As you approach, the Inquisition agents remain quiet, take a step back. The Proctor sees Falk, and waves him across.

Edited May 27, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

    

 

Reynard turned to face the horrifying thing that had appeared so suddenly, so swiftly. One attendant left, sprawled beside Gwynne's recumbent form. The last Arbitrator brutally cut down. No way his own weapons would be sufficient to bring down such a monster in time to save Aldario. He'd need a damn tank… or an airstr…

 

Hmm. Could he distract it from the defenceless Gwynne, perhaps even draw it away… and into the Voivode's line of sight? Surely machine-logic would never allow it to do something so foolish - but as he'd already seen, the Golem wasn't all machine, was it? It had just said itself that it felt, it hated. Emotional. Egotistical.

 

He wondered just how much he could wind the thing up…

 

This all crossed Reynard's mind in a fraction of a second. He grinned. As good a plan as any in the circumstances. He levelled and fired his shotgun into the construct, pumping the action and loosing as many shells as quickly as he could. As he fired he moved backwards into the Hangar, shouting insults, not at the servitor itself, but at the mind that controlled it.

 

"Impotent warpling! You 'exist'? Hardly, old boy. You mean nothing! Don't you remember what Locke did to you last time? Damocles will be your tomb! Or maybe if you run back to your pathetic little box, perhaps we'll let you cower in the darkness for a few centuries more?"

 

 

Spoiler

SAB at Las-Servitor and move back 5m into Hangar. (I'll roll to hit if you like, though I'm doubting it will do much physical damage?)

 

OOC: I'm not sure what (if anything) to roll to depict Reynard being as insulting as possible... something Fel? (Anti-Charm? )

I suppose it's kind of a trick, so maybe Deceive?

 

Fel45 +10(Deceive+10) =55, Roll: 19, 3DoS

 

 

He put everything he could into his tone, made it as scathing and mocking as he could. He just hoped Cutter was alert, ready. 

  

Come on, come on. Chase me you ugly piece of 

 

Edited May 27, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

One of the lumen strips embedded in the downwards stairwell flickered, and again. A sign or just neglect of maintenance. Bardas did not know, but he could not linger in the doorway.

 

Steeping fully through, he took the time to ensure that the door would not slam. He had heard nothing from above; perhaps that route was still open. The light flickered again, if it was an omen he hoped it was a good one as he hurried downwards.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Iron Catacombs:

 

Bardas:

 

As you make way down the stairs, you meet no resistance. Indeed, the sounds of industry continue, in the next room, the comforting push and pull of pistons, the steam-whistle of shift changes, below your feet, the rumble of conveyors, the blinking light above the door almost a knowing wink.

 

The doors hiss open at your approach, and when you step inside, all appears to be in order. Servitors carrying raw materials.

 

Or at least it would be, if those materials were not life-sustainment bags, with support IV's thrust into every port. Blood drips from the carcasses, moaning a writhing limblessly, the bags truncated about the shoulders and thighs of the invisible individual within. It is just a hung side of grox - a small part in the servitorisation process, except the victims are being transported on a rack eight feet abeam, and there are three racks, with eight bodies transfixed upon each.

 

At the end of the...transit room, lies another. What you thought were pistons howling, are screams and mewling cries from human throats, behind a steel door, marked with a single word.

 

S U R G I C A L

 

The stairwell door closes behind you.

 

It locks.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"What news from within?", no point in assumptions or bold strategies without information to back them up.

 

His eyes scanned across the assembled forces, no sign of the Astartes amongst them. That they are preparing such an assault rather than locking down the exists suggested Gwyne and the Inquisitor were still inside, but measures taken against the golems nature would deny them a clear picture, save perhaps via Nicios' witch sight.

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal

 

Eyes scanning Kerr Restal took in the details and looked beyond for the killer insights.

 

He ghosted across the space as Falk's bodyguard. Watching and waiting for action.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Precinct Square:

 

The Proctor's immediate entourage makes way for the newcomers. A holotable isn't something field expedient, so the Proctor relies on the most basic and trustworthy medium available - a plasfibre blueprint map.

 

"Not all that much. External comms are severed. Our vox and augurmen pinged the Strategium, but we got no response on any frequency. The Ordo Xenos Operative - Two-Zero, and his team ran recon into the immediate zone." He gestures for Greyson to come in.

 

"Magistrate," Greyson begins with a respectful nod to Falk, "with a distraction team covering us, we entered below Bastion 5, here."

 

His armoured finger stabs the map, illuminated by a camp-lantern hung off the side of a Repressor. His carapace armour is light, smoothed and sloped for ease of movement in tight spaces, all the ramshackle equipment is gone. His helmet rests at his hip, his Cadian pattern respirator and photovisor are dropped into the makeshift bucket. His compact autogun is augmented with an under-barrel grenade launcher, and looking at his men, they too sport similar armour, auxiliary shotguns, launchers and flame-executioners.

 

He looks Falk right in the eye.

 

"It's a bloodbath. many of the dead - there are no wounded - sport deep knife wounds, mutilation. The Judges returned the complement. Broken bodies - executioner servitors, that kind of thing."

 

He takes a breath.

 

"We did find Proctor Haldane, he'd set up a defensive position. I would have been hard-pressed to do better. He died quickly, his accounting was costly to the enemy."

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

Had he really need further proof, too late now, for while he did indeed now have it he was also trapped. Unlike the upper and lower wards there was no pretence of normality here, which was probably the knell for another supposition he had considered. The facade above was for outsiders and not untaineted Magi, there was little chance of allies down here, not that he had expected such.

 

He doubted he could do much good in the cyper-surgeries, those on the racks were already doomed, only death would save them. Logically however if he traced the convey racks to their origin there might be some unfortunates that had been captured but not yet processed. Freeing them might provide some titbit of information, and even if not it would be a good deed and might provide another way out, or a distraction he could not help but cynically added to the list of possibilities.

 

The level of automation at least reduced the chance of prying eyes.  Discarding the House Tirant surcoat in a dark corner, he doubted it would do little good down here, and it might buy him an extra moment if he was spotted if any pursuers where still looking for him in the guise he had entered with.

[Machine God]

The Precinct Square

 

Kerr Restal

 

He listened, absorbed the information from the report.

 

 

"It's a bloodbath. many of the dead - there are no wounded - sport deep knife wounds, mutilation. The Judges returned the complement. Broken bodies - executioner servitors, that kind of thing."

 

 

"So the assailants utilise stabbing implements or spears? Against Adeptus Arbites?" He enquired in thought, assessing.

 

"Any signs of powder residue, pellets, blunt trauma penetration, las or plasma burns, or bolt round wounds on the victims?"

 

 

 

Edited May 27, 2023 by Machine God
Tidy up

[A.T.]

Falk

 

It occurred that he and Greyson had never met face to face, "Are they attempting to hold lines of reinforcement or egress?"

 

Falk looked up towards the higher towers. If they were simply trying to kill everyone inside they would be working their way up, but the cogitator core was a risk they could not overlook. Haldane would have known too if he had the time...

 

"Locke will likely be moving with Gwynne". He pulled out the piece of plating he had taken from the hellevator and handed it to Nicios, "if you can sense Gwynnes location, or that of the golems influence, it would aid us greatly".

Edited May 27, 2023 by A.T.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Precinct Square:

 

Greyson answers Restal first, simply. "All of the above."

 

He addresses Falk after the lawman speaks to Nicios. He offers the Psyker a brief glance. "We saw the result of skirmishes mainly, but we found no fixed points of defence, or checkpoints by the enemy. Only the Arbites held those."

 

He pauses, makes a face. "The action has moved on, in my opinion. It's a kill-force, moving hard and fast."

 

The undercurrent is there as he offers a shrug. It's how I would have done it.

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

The situation was grim indeed: stalwart allies and defenders of the realm brutally hacked down left and right, the bastion in utter disarray, and Lady Gwynne and his enigmatic master missing. The Seeress was a linchpin to Locke's machinations and the defence of Hive Primus, and the Daemon had finally revealed itself, running amok through their safe haven, slaughtering all in its path.

 

"We must hie to Lady Gwynne, Nicios! She lies in torpor, and her guardians cannot hope to stand against the Golem!"

 

He started moving toward the entrance of the Halls of Justice, but caught himself, his zeal and desire to lock himself in mortal combat with the forces of ruin tempered by the need to actually know where his charges were located.

 

"Proctor, where wouldst thou spirit Lady Gwynne were her sanctuary in the medicae wing overrun? And hath Reynard returned?" 

Edited May 28, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Precinct Square:

 

The Proctor doesn't miss a beat, offering Scourge a glance, before stabbing his own gauntleted finger onto the map, tracing faint lines inked around and below the main passages. A network of veins surrounding the body in which the Arbites fought - leukocytes trying to absorb, cauterise, destroy this infection.

 

"There's nowhere to go, per se. If one was brave enough, one could risk the maintenance and ventilation tunnels. They are subducts," he says, finger still running, "but not much room to manoeuvre, not to move a patient through. With will, and the Emperor's own grace, you could emerge almost anywhere."

 

"It would take a Ratcatcher - a Judge on vent duty - to guide you through that."

 

The Hangar:

 

The...construct...tosses and turns its head before loping after Reynard. It ignores the body of Gwynne completely, but it grabs the last medicae, and drags him along with it by the neck, going at a fair clip, powered by obscene springing, legs and arm. It sinks claws into the deck steel for more grip, and is almost upon you, when it tosses the medicae into the air behind it, almost as though throwing off an unwanted cloak. The man cries out before he cartwheels up, then brutally crunches down onto his head, twisting his neck at an impossible angle. A sickening, grisly crunch of vertebrae is the last sound he makes before his ragdoll corpse flops onto the deck.

 

A telescoping arm shoots out, going for your pumping legs!

 

WS: Ranged Grapple

Spoiler

D100: MISS

 

It clangs shut just shy of your ankle.

 

Then the two of you are in the hangar, and your ears, chest, and inside of you skull are pounded by the godly-thunder erupting from two pairs of twin-linked heavy bolters on the Voivode's sides.

 

Cutter BS:

Spoiler

D100: HIT, HIT.

 

Shells batter close to you, striking the thing twice, blasting both legs, taking them at what would be the knee.

 

+Get in for 's sake you flat-footed !+

 

It appears Cutter has opened up with his charm, as well.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

No time to enjoy the fact that his crazy plan had actually worked. Reynard threw himself out of the line of fire, tumbling off to one side of the monster. He scrambled around as the bolter shells exploded in and around it, giving it a wide berth and rushing back towards the Hangar entrance.

 

+Not yet, not yet! I've got to go get her first!+ he bawled back at Cutter. +Keep firing! Kill that  thing! Kill it!+

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Iron Catacombs:

 

Bardas:

 

A convoy of empty racks rolls past you, headed for deeper in the facility. The servitors ignore you - obviously monotasked.

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Into the ductwork?! He shuddered at the thought of entering such a claustrophobic rat's warren again, having been forced to remain in an underground tunnel network for months at a time on his last tour of duty, so intense was the shelling by the renegade forces they battled. Months on end of crawling on his hands and knees or remaining half-stooped in the perpetual twilight of the hastily constructed earthen bunker network. By the God-Emperor he had loathed that place.

 

He grimaced, unseen to the others save for a slight tell in his posture, and shook his casque at the Proctor, "Yon ductwork ist but a path to freedom, and a desperate one at that. Wherefore wouldst they flee to? A deeper, armoured redoubt? The spaceport? Where, damn it!"

 

He looked at the map a few moments longer and keyed his vox-bead, "Reynard, Scourge. Wherefore art thou? Art thou en route to the Precinct?"

Edited May 28, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Precinct Square:

 

Three heartbeats. Then the sound comes through, laden with scattered gunshots and screams, the odd twang of static.

 

"Scourge - where the hell are you? Get to Bastion 3! We can't hold them off for long!"

 

He sounds under stress, but otherwise, his voice, breathing, all is perfectly appropriate for a man under stress.

 

GM: You will now require an Opposed Scrutiny Test.

 

The Hangar:

 

"Reynard, Scourge. We cometh to your aid! Convey Lady Gwynne to Bastion 3, we doth rejoin our brethren there 'ere we clear the way!"

 

Sounds like Scourge is pushing in with the rest of the Cell!

 

GM: You will now require an Opposed Scrutiny Test.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Spoiler

Opposed Scrutiny: Per28÷2 = 14, Roll: 61, Fail.

 

 

As Reynard cleared the hangar, his vox crackled. Scourge? It certainly sounded exactly like his voice and archaic manner… not that it proved anything. He already knew the Golem had access to all the Imperial comms systems. Maybe it genuinely was the guardsman. Maybe it wasn't. He couldn't tell at all.

 

Regardless, there was no way he was going to risk trying to single-handedly lug Gwynne all the way back down to Bastion 3, not with the lander only a few metres away. With a grunt of effort he took hold of one of the carry-handles and dragged the body-bag back towards the hangar. At the doorway he paused, peering around the portal to be sure Cutter had brought the Las-Servitor down. Surely even something that nasty couldn't survive such a torrent of heavy bolter fire?

 

Edited May 28, 2023 by Lysimachus