[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

The Hangar:

 

"Reynard," Gwynne's voice is tiny, hoarse. "Reynard, water. Please, for Throne's sake."

 

The cadaver bag flops over as she weakly tries to fight her way out of it, resembling some manner of silk-spinning caterpillar.

 

The shuttle retreats, blasting off into the murk beyond the hangar, rear hatch closing up.

 

The GUTS:

 

More light blink as your staggering augmetics propel you forward. leading you on after the turn. Some small voice echoes that you are close now. Only flesh is weak, to trust in the strength of your steel.

 

The Panopticon:

 

Restal, Falk, Nicios, Scourge:

 

All three of you are ushered to the Praefector, his face stern, but drawn. Stim-blush affects his neck, where Medicae have no doubt been ordered to deploy adrenals to keep him going during the assault on his precinct. He pulls to his feet to greet you properly as you enter.

 

"Gentlemen, please take a seat."

 

Locke stands at the window, turning to greet you with a welcoming but tired smile. Sorrow etches fatigue into the corners of his eyes.

 

"It pleases me to see you whole, my Acolytes. Have we lost friends in your travails?"

 

On the sole picter covering the outside approach, his body blowing and exhausted, the shape of Scourge tramples into view, and is quickly admitted. Alongside him, the Arbites with shields are also gratefully received. With the door to the eyrie still open, you can hear the rough humour of men glad to find something has survived.

[A.T.]

Falk

 

So the golem had already withdrawn, but in success or forced back? "It exposes itself striking here with its own power rather than that of its minions", perhaps why it built its influence so slowly and indirectly, "how quickly does the trail fade?"

 

The investigation now reaches its final stage, execution.

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge staggered into the Panopticon bruised and battered and pushed past the remaining guards to see Locke. He knelt before the Inquisitor Lord and doffed his sallet, laying his boltgun on the floor next to him.

 

"My liege, I bring tidings: the precinct hath been largely returned to God's servants. The fighting was savage, but we reaped a mighty toll. Frater Cephas goest now to cleanse the strategium of the remaining abominations. He giveth his kind regards."

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

Spoiler

Radiation check                                                                                                                       

D100: 43 – Moderate Radiation

 

Voices, Bardas stopped, was he actually hearing them or was the toll of the radiation lying to him. A prayer muttered, his gifts cheeked, and yet no definitive answers.

 

However St Geiger’s counter was less agitated here, so onwards was safer, perhaps.  

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: I'm going to leave Nicios to answer Falk's query first/in tandem with the conversation below.

 

The Panopticon:

 

"Rise my son," Locke tells Scourge, kind, paternal. "You have discharged your obligation. If Cephas is gone to the Strategium, he will deliver it. Between your efforts here, the day is won."

 

Praefector Drake nods. "This is so. Once our comms are re-established and properly purged of taint, we can meet the enemy in co-ordinated strikes. They will pay dearly for this transgression."

 

As the men speak, the screens and feeds into the Eyrie are restored. The Strategium comes into view, mechanical bodies bifurcated in staggeringly clean cuts. Of Cephas there is no sign, but a ration bar sits in full view, atop one of the consoles. Locke gives a lopsided smile.

[Machine God]

The Panopticon

 

Kerr Restal:

 

His auger-prosecutor burbled and chimed happily as comms were restored within the Eyrie. Screens and feeds came to life, on one he saw a ration bar perched on top of a console.

 

 

 

"Cephas, When the Walls Fell" he chuckled.

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard turned immediately when he heard Gwynne's voice, and hurried across the hangar. His hand dipped into a pocket and pulled out the sealed water flask he had taken days before from the body of Greyson's man at the market.

 

"Of course, my Lady. Here, allow me."

 

He reached out to assist her in tearing away what was left of the now tattered body bag, then carefully lifted the flask for her to drink.

 

"I am glad to hear your voice. Wasn't sure if what I gave you would cure you or kill you faster."

 

 

Edited June 18, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Hangar:

 

Lady Gwynne sips the water, resisting the urge to gulp. She gently pushes the canteen away when she's had enough.

 

"Even brackish, from near-death it is the finest vintage," she gasps. "Thank you, Reynard. The Emperor has need of us both yet."

 

With your help, she frees herself from the mortal shroud about her, surgical lines and monitoring cables sprouting from her flesh. She is clad only in surgical body wraps, enough to protect her modesty whist surgeons go to work unobstructed. Gwynne pulls up on your shoulders, standing up, tearing the lines free with unsteady hands.

 

"Ugh. Unh! First, something to stop the draught, your comrades head for the Tower of Echoes, and I am...underdressed."

 

Her ruined eyes manage to contort in a frown, something unpleasant on her mind.

 

"I cannot feel Helene, nor Magda. I am alone."

 

Clinging to your shoulders for support, Cutter closes on you to escort and assist with getting her inside. She is still discoloured, but even as you watch, the bruising and livid lesions fade. The distilled wisdom and millennia of Aeldari medicine is almost incomprehensible to mankind, use to cataplasm and counterseptic, and the butchery of a surgeon's knife.

 

"You seek a father, my rescuer," she calls over her shoulder. "Tell me of him whilst I enrobe. I will grant what I can to repay you."

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

"Lord Inquisitor, we must hurry to dispatch the Golem. It may be resting now, but it is merely gathering it's strength to finally overrun this world's defenders."

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

"Here, my Lady."

 

Reynard quickly removed his long coat, uncovering well-made shirt, waistcoat and trousers beneath, with several small pouches, holsters and sheaths revealed around his belt. He swept the coat around the third sister's shoulders and then smiled, for the garment somewhat swamped the smaller woman.

 

"I will need it back, I'm afraid, but at least it will keep you warm until we can find something more appropriate. Your sisters have left this world, Magda taken by De Grassi and Helene by the servants of Inquisitrix Galleus. I am not sure which is to be pitied more."

 

He paused. His father? He hadn't thought about the elder De Carabas in years. The legend of the scoundrel had been useful in Reynard's travels, the family name a key that had opened a few doors in certain… less than reputable… places. But seeking him? Hardly.

 

Or did the blind psyker see things more clearly than he did himself? In truth, he knew little about De Carabas beyond the underhive tales. That his mother had fallen for the man, of that he was sure, but she had always refused to speak of him further. But how had the old trickster viewed her? As a conquest, a highborn notch in a bedpost? Or as a mark, a tool to be used for a job and then discarded? Or something more?

 

Reynard shrugged, slightly uncomfortable.

 

"A rogue and a thief, by all accounts."

 

He grinned self-deprecatingly.

 

"I am, apparently, my father's son. I know little more and care less. But… I suppose if there is something you can see, I would be… curious… to know it?"

 

 

Edited June 19, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"The day takes a heavy toll" Falk answered to Locke, "but we had not expected the golem to withdraw so readily. If it were not you it sought to confront then surely Gwynne and we have yet to locate her."

[Mazer Rackham]

The Panopticon:

 

"I agree with Adept Nicios," Praefector Drake says, "the villain is fleeing. We must chase him down, and deliver justice before he strikes again, yet Magister Falk speaks rightly. It did seem that we were under the boot. Why would such a creature break off when victory seemed so close?"

 

Locke absorbs all of what is said, letting his immediate trustees voice their opinions and options before making any decision. "This devil is a blasphemer not only to man's laws, but the way man behaves. Petulant, fickle, random. However, we cannot discount that this withdrawal is also a lure. We must proceed with caution, but proceed all the same. We no longer play the game, gentlemen, it is playing us - and there are no moves left but those we must make."

 

"We must prioritise Lady Gwynne, as Falk says. We will take Hywelsbane to the Tower of Echoes, and collect Lady Gwynne on the way. We do have one advantage - Drake?"

 

The Praefector grimaces. "We have a bead on a tracking round, embedded in one of the beasts. It falls back even now, and once we are fully online, we can gain a proper mechanical trace on it."

 

The Hangar:

 

"I was speaking of the elder cross," she replies, a gentle smile tugging her lips, "but give me your hand."

 

She stills as you take her slender hand in your swarthy, rugged mitt. The air around you cools enough to prickle flesh.

 

"Shoals of rock, scattered in dark velvet, a smile in the dusk. A desperate flower taking root in exile from the garden. Petals, gold leaves falling to seed Graens, springing up through the cracks."

 

"Yet the roots are deep, rich soil waiting only for the plough, awaiting spring."

 

Gwynne breaks off, to clamber through the Voivode's port hatch, tapping with her hands to feel for the sill.

 

+Woo-oo! Fweet-woo-bloop? EEeep-woo-fwoo-eet!+

 

"Oh, hello," she tells the servitor.

 

Cutter clears his throat. "He says to visit the fourth cabin, my Lady, a previous occupant was of the female persuasion. There should be clothes there."

 

"Thank you, both," she replies, smirking.

 

Cutter smiles as Gwynne vanishes, before it turns into a fixed, rictus grin. He waits a good five minutes before he marches over and jams his head through the hatch. He checks she's not around. He barks at the co-pilot. "Don't you ever ask if she's single ever again, especially when 'my friend really likes you', you hear?"

 

+M-o-o-p,+ the servitor replies. It sounds utterly dejected.

 

Edited June 19, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Hangar

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Spoiler

OOC: Herp derp, that should have been obvious which 'father' she was referring to.  Still, I'll try to weave my error in.

 

 

Reynard shivered as Gwynne turned and climbed aboard, and not because he lacked his coat. The display of such uncanny power put him on edge. Her words were fascinating, though...

 

He was distracted a moment later by the co-pilot's beep and Cutter's quiet rebuke. So, Cutter was interested in Gwynne? Why the hell not? Good for Cutter.

 

Not to mention that if Reynard kept quiet about the pilot's crush, Cutter might forget his own previous slip of the tongue about his parentage. He offered the pilot a friendly grin.

 

"Could you get on the vox, please, Cutter? Try and find out what is happening in the rest of the Halls? Let our allies know that Lady Gwynne is recovering?"

 

When Gwynne emerged a few minutes later, she was clothed in a fairly simple travelling dress. Nondescript, dark, typical of what an Inquisitorial agent might wear to keep a low profile. It looked rather elegant against her paleness, though. She held out his coat and he took it back gratefully.

 

"Apologies for my previous idiocy, my Lady. Of course I should have known that you were referring to LeCroix Senior. I suspect some of my recent experiences here on Damocles have made me… contemplative…? about my own past."

 

He frowned, then dismissed the thought for the time being.

 

"Regardless, if you are able to provide any information about Seb's father, I would be most grateful. As, I am sure, would he."

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

GM (OOC): Don't be too hard on yourself, Lysi, you're dealing with a psyker, a breed whom can be esoteric at the best of times.

 

The Hangar:

 

Cutter nods to Reynard. "I'll try, but Helene seems to have ripped off the comms node. Might have to do it the old fashioned way."

 

Gwynne has found a scarf, matching her travelling ensemble, which she ties about her face, covering her eyes. He hand finds a four feet length of antenna rod which was once part of the comms array. She gives it an experimental tap on the deck. "This will do nicely."

 

She stills again.

 

"The old man of the cross, bears his name poorly. He lingers between life and death, thick with regret. A high place, the wind his witness and only solace. He lies now, sheathed in agony where the shadow of Caduceus falls."

 

Her mien shifts, and she walks with tentative steps, growing in confidence to steady walk, the tap of her makeshift staff an accompanying metronomic tick. "The Tower of Echoes calls to us."

 

Cutter sticks his head out. "Solomon and I will try and restore functions to the old girl. Good luck, Mister Smooth."

 

Edited June 19, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Pulling the stopper from his canteen with his teeth, Scourge took a long pull of water and leaned back against the wall with a satisfied sigh. He caught his reflection in the reinforced glass of the Panopticon and was shocked by the sight he saw: a new shock of grey hair coloured his beard, deep rings clung beneath his eyes like colonies of bats, and the dark snakes of neural link cables still jutted rudely from the side of his roughly shorn scalp. 

 

Thou hast been to the wars, ye vagabond knight!

 

He rubbed his eyes and took another swig from the waterskin before returning the stopper.

 

"Where doest thou bid me go, Pater? We must find Reynard and the fair Lady Gwynne, aye? There ist no telling what devilry hath befallen them."

 

He was still breathing heavily and returned his sallet to its perch to hide the failings of his years. A monstrous and anonymous steel rook sat in judgement of the foes of mankind atop his head once again. He did not doubt that Cephas had saved his life over half a score times during the vicious melee in the precinct. He was getting old; between the multiple visits to the chirurgeon and being on the move constantly for the past however many cycles, he felt himself succumbing to the vicious mockery of time and a lack of sleep.

 

He asked again, any responses from the others having fallen upon deaf ears, "Where doest thou bid me go, my Liege?"

Edited June 20, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Caduceus…? That seemed pretty clear, for once. When Sebastian had come to Drexler's office, Greyson and his mercenaries had been operating out of the Canthus Medical facility. That was downhive, of course, but perhaps some part of the hospital reached the outer skin of the Hive? That could explain the sense of height and feeling of wind? If so, he would have to ask Locke's permission to borrow an aircar and go check it out soon. It didn't sound like the old man had much time left.

 

Assuming the Inquisitor wasn't dead already. Without the security of the Voivode's network, he didn't want to try his vox to find out. Gwynne seemed sure they needed to go to this 'Tower', so he would have to follow her for now.

 

As they walked, he thought suddenly of the vial hidden in his pocket. As the third Aldario sister, Gwynne had a right to be included in deciding upon how he used it. He grimaced, then spoke softly.

 

"My Lady, I have a question I must ask you. Please forgive me if it seems odd or even unkind, but I think I need to know how you feel. If it was within your power to either assist Lexandro De Grassi to completely cure your sister Magda… or to provide Inquisitrix Galleus with a way to control and if necessary destroy Helene… which would you choose? You cannot accomplish both, only one or the other is possible."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Panopticon:

 

Scourge (et al):

 

Locke sighs deeply before offering answer. He knows how long you've been on the go. "First, my son, you and your companions must rest. We have a store of rations below, sate your hunger and thirst properly, and try to get some sleep."

 

Drake's turn. "We've got a lot of information to sift through. Once we've assessed the damage, and the best route forward, we'll let you know."

 

The Hangar Exit Ramp:

 

Reynard:

 

Lady Gwynne's pace is much smaller than your own, so easy to maintain. You could easily be a couple abroad in the hive for a gentle promenade. She doesn't answer your question right away, but appears to mull it over.

 

"Why ask this now?" she responds, conversational. "Surely you've had ample chance to prove which path is the right? A noble heart is always burdened by the choice between two evils. Many times, a person will ask a seer which is the right path, and do what they want anyway, branding the seer a charlatan. It is much easier to teach children letters."

 

Her face contorts in disdain.

 

"No, Reynard. You must prove the right of it to yourself, for it is you who must rise every morning and judge the shadows in your soul."

 

She falls into silence, albeit companiable, broken only by the tap-clack of the stave.

 

Edited June 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Falk

 

"With your permission Lord Locke, I would continue upwards with what men can be spared to the first location we decerned of the Golems attack, both to secure Gwynne and determine what mischief Greyson has been up to", he glances at Scourge half in question, "for I see he and his men are no longer with us".

 

"There is also the question of the tech adept Bardas, all contact has been lost since his approach to the mechanicus and I fear their involvement in this can no longer be ignored". The golems forces had been clad in distinctive red, if the rot ran too deep they would face more than simple murder servitors below.

[Machine God]

The Panopticon

 

Kerr Restal:

 

"Don't argue with the Inquisition, that way lies death" said Kerr Restal, headed for the refectory.

 

"Eat, drink and get some kip, for tomorrow we die!" 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Panopticon:

 

Falk:

 

"The Mechanicum - yes," Locke replies. "We're hoping with a clinical strike we can cut out the kanker. Once we've broached the threshold of the Tower of Echoes we will send dispatch for a complete Mechanicus oversight team. Ones who can be...trusted. It is my hope that Adept Bardas prove resourceful, and act as liaison for that task. The Coggers are insular, that will benefit us."

 

He clasps his hands behind his back.

 

"We have some time before the Damocles Contingency is activated, but not enough to juggle the pressing priorities. If Greyson and his operatives are still here we will find them, and bring them to justice after the immediate crisis is dealt with."

 

The screens fill with new information as the Strategium updates the databanks of the Panopticon. Intellicams and securi-picters springing into life to play a similar scene over and over, dead Judges, shattered, robed bodies.

 

"Damn the hide of the Daemon!" Drake growls, slamming his fist onto his desk. "Justice demands a head!"

 

"One hour, Magistrate Falke," Locke says, "then take whoever you can round up and head upstairs as an advance party. We'll follow and keep you up to speed. We'll tie this into our main operations."

 

He looks around, then his tired eyes resolve into stern determination. "Good luck."

 

Edited June 20, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Revised.

[Mazer Rackham]

The GUTS:

 

Bardas:

 

As you stagger through the tunnels, your vision blurs and disjoints from the ordeal. You reach the final door, marked with the numeral '101', a strange binharic joke if nothing else. The door grinds open, allowing you to stagger into the room. It is a mostly empty cogitator cluster, but one of the ordinal pulpits is filled with a multi-armed priest. Of lesser rank than a Magos, given the nature and number of his implants, his mechadendrite manipulators pull levers and switches to seal the door behind you.

 

Attendant Servo-skulls flit back and forth, maintaining sockets plugged into several control terminals, the cabling disturbing other bundles, and running over trailing wire, showing the installation of these control nodes are recent. No picters stare balefully down into the room, and none of the servo-skulls take heed of you.

 

+I am Comptroller Secundus Maximus Lazlo,+ the voxspeakers advise.

 

An old and augmetic head turns from the serried bank of cogitator screens to regard you.

 

+You are not of the Malifactor. Not of the Executor. Perhaps we can help each other.+

[Trokair]

Bards

 

+Greetings Lazlo, and Omnissiah bless you for your assistance so far.+

 

There was a crate against the wall next to the door he had just entered by, it would not be a comfortable seat, but that was of no concern right now. Once seated to rest he looked back towards the Comptroller.

 

+Forgive me the lack of decorum, these passages are wearying. I am Bardas, a Tech-Sentinel tasked with stewardship of a small temple in the mountains far from here. +

 

 

+I gather you know that something is amiss, and I would be grateful to learn all you know on the subject. In short, a warp tainted Silica Animus is at large on Damocles, and circumstance suggests it is in league with some of the Senior Magi. Preventing a fate akin to Hive Secundus and Tertius is why I am with the I and down here.+

[Mazer Rackham]

The GUTS:

 

Bardas:

 

+The All-Seeing Eye? I think you are deeper in the sump than I. Yes, I am aware of the villain poisoning our clade,+ Lazlo replies. +It began slowly at first, small cells of manufactora servitors, then extended influence. My parameters prevented my interference - however,+ he shrugs with a small whine of servos, +they also insulated me from malign influence.+

 

His wizened, metallic brow pores over the small domain.

 

+I have been forced to process datastreams for the Executor - as is my function - yet due to my...unique position, I have been able to control small sub-systems, spreading my influence to things beneath notice.+

 

This last is offered with a small glint of emerald light. Perhaps a wink.

 

+I have freed certain conduits. I am unable to make use of them, but if so powerful an institution as the Inquisition is abroad, they can.+

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

+With your leave, I will inform them of what you have wrought, for perhaps, as you suggest, they could make use of it in the battle against the corruptor.+

 

+From where you stand you must see far, are our kin redeemable if the  Abominable Intelligence falls, or is the rot to deep and only purification by cleansing fire any chance for the salvation of their souls?+

 

+In the Control room for the Thermal Stack, the subversion of the normal terminals by the jury-rigged cogitator, was that your work or theirs?+

Edited June 21, 2023 by Trokair

[Mazer Rackham]

The GUTS:

 

Bardas:

 

+I commune with few of the true faith. Yet we stand, small cogs in the grand machine, forced to turn it, lest it all crumble, yet doing our best to make it turn slowly...+

 

+For example, since you mentioned it - yes, the Rigging of Adept B S Jury* in the Thermal Control Room. Yes, this was facilitated by adepts who think and believe as I do - in the Omnissiah. We cannot hope to outnumber the Malifactor, but we can outmanoeuvre him. He is vastly capable, and utterly devious, but conduits and couplings which do nothing vex him, for he cannot connect to it - so leaves frustrated.+

 

A sad sigh escapes Lazlo.

 

+Yet my comrades were rash, I warned caution. They would not hear me. Slow is the race of resistance. By the Law of Ohm himself.+

 

He shrugs, his servo-skulls about their normal business. They flutter higher with his shoulders, demonstrating they are under his direct, remote control.

 

+Yet I have means to vex the Arch-anticog. For example, remote circuits can be opened, others can be closed. I can divert power to machines, lifts, doors. Not long, but long enough for a desperate man to get through...+

 

*

Spoiler

Adept Antoninus Blockhead Slipshod Jury, Fabricator Sub-Merit of the 14th Order of Catafalgious 432.321.M38, was a notorious saboteur of Mechanicum Best Practice, and repeatedly castigated and censured for his disassembly of STC devices and rebuilding them incompletely, or as he put it "always with a few spares left over". He was excommunicated by the Priesthood of Mars in M39, and died whilst awaiting trial, when he was crushed by a thirteen-thousand tonne press he'd been maintaining by wiring into the main grid earlier in the day, to "give it more juice". Fourteen servitors were electrocuted and set on fire in the accident, since the whole press was live, which in turn set off a chain reaction in the ammunition fabricatorum where he was working under house arrest.

 

The seventeen mile wide crater (Jury's Out) can still be seen from orbit, and is regarded as the biggest contribution to the Mechanicum Adept Jury ever made.