[DH1e] The Damocles Contingency (RPG IC)

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Slowly he composed himself.

 

He was still pained from the fight with Helene.

 

He suffered in the mind from the Nobles attack.

 

He'd always been blessed with outrageous fortune with bullet-craft.

 

 

"Be all my sins remember'd."

 

 

THEY ARE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

...eh?

 

Reynard sat in slightly bewildered silence as Scourge gave his speech and moved on without waiting for a reply.

 

...death and glory…? I'll take the latter if it's going, but I'd rather avoid the former.

 

Anyway, he wasn't sure how much help he'd be in a straight-up, knock-down fight. Scourge was born for that sort of thing. He wasn't. Maybe it was time to start looking for an exit? Maybe Locke would let him go look for LeCroix Senior, though Reynard doubted the old Hiver had enough value in the Inquisitor's mind to justify it. He frowned, pondering silently for some time.

 

Then the psykers came out of their sanctum and revealed the restored hammer. Its cleanness and brightness - holiness? - shone out so strongly that Reynard could feel it across the breadth of the great Hall. He wasn't sure he liked it. Too pure, too exposed, too stark. He wouldn't have touched it if they had asked. When Bardas suggested that Scourge take it up, Reynard had to agree. It was the perfect weapon to be wielded by a death-seeking, religious fanatic.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Tower:

 

The gathered humans rise as Inquisition Cell: Virtue make their plans and minds known.

 

Locke looks Scourge up and down, before his eyes shift to each face in the team, a glimmer of amusement in them at this turn of events, returning to Scourge.

 

"Then we must train your hands to use the blessed maul properly. It delays us, but vengeance delayed is not vengeance denied."

 

He looks up into the Tower, perhaps seeking guidance, maybe treating this as one more hurdle he must leap before his great task is accomplished.

 

"The Emperor knows our plight. We return to the Halls of Judgement, you all have leave to undertake whatever travails you must whilst preparations are completed, but undertake that which you can complete in short order," his voice firms, the command tone running alongside the paternal encouragement. "The clock still counts our lives in seconds, and with each delay our enemy recuperates."

 

His mood shifts. "Lord Seer Rhodanik, my Acolytes may have requests."

 

"For restoring her ladyship to us, they may ask as they will."

 

++ END OF ACT II, PART ONE ++

 

Players, please do not post. Thank you.

 

Edited June 26, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Part close

[Mazer Rackham]

CHAPTER TWO: ALEA IACTA EST.

 

MISSION CLOCK: 1800 HRS ZULU.

DAMOCLES CONTINGENCY: 16 HOURS.

 

+++++++

 

The World of Damocles:

 

The liberated Strategium begins plans for the final assault, dispatching whoever can be spared to make headway against the Golem. The route has been identified by tracing the tagged, fleeing drone, and the central lift shaft has been locked off to await the brief build-up of Inquisition forces.

 

Whilst plans are put in place, the warships make final preparations, and move into final bombardment position.

 

The next sixteen hours will run, precious seconds a grain of sand, through a deadly bottleneck, into the tomb of dust and forgotten sins below.

 

GM: Players may post as discussed in the OOC.

 

Edited June 28, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Cleanup

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Locke gave his orders and Reynard frowned. Did he have time to go looking for old man LeCroix, or should he get back to the Halls? He knew he wanted to pick up some heavier firepower, something that could handle the murder-servitors when they inevitably had to go back into the depths… but his promise kept nagging at him.

 

He wandered across the apse and down the stairs, moving through the flow of supplicants still entering, fools eager to see a 'miracle'. A voice caught at him suddenly, a child's voice. It sounded like… Alyce? He looked around, couldn't see any sign of the little girl through the crowd… but he did immediately spot a tall, thin figure that he recognised.

 

The Magister, Lady Gwynne's colleague, the one that had been taking the youngsters to a place of safety! Reynard couldn't remember the man's name, but he supposed the old psyker had got it right. This tower was probably one of the safest places on Damocles right now - not that that meant very much.

 

And there, through a gap in the throng, yes, that was Alyce! And just behind them, with his head hanging low, there was Seb! Reynard didn't much go in for portents or answers to prayers, but this was a sign enough for him.

 

+Back in half an hour.+ he voxed the team as he slid through the crowd. He grabbed Seb's arm and the boy looked up in surprise. When the youth recognised Reynard, his face twisted with sudden… despair? Hope? Hatred?

 

"No time to explain, kid. I've got a lead on your da. I don't know if we'll be in time, but I'll be damned if I won't give it a shot. Come on!"

 

Without waiting for an answer, Reynard turned and hurried out through the portal onto the great bridge. He looked around, searching for… There! The Arbitrators had set up a small enclosure where aircars could bring in the important people, while the commoners had to walk. As he moved forward, he noticed a very flashy looking vehicle. Big, luxurious, blacked out armaglas windows. Hmm. Well, being an Inquisitorial Acolyte had to have some perks, right?

 

Seb caught up at that moment and saw where Reynard was looking.

 

"You can't steal that! It's Fabian Canthus' personal transport!"

 

Reynard grinned.

 

"Reeaally…? That's even better. It'll get us straight through."

 

Setting his shoulders at their most authoritative, he strode up to an officious looking, uniformed man who stood rubbing his sleeve over the already gleaming hood of the fancy aircar.

 

"Keys, now!" Reynard barked.

 

"Wha…"

 

"Keys, man, now! By the authority of the Seal itself!"

 

"But this is Lord Fabi…"

 

"Tell Canthus to take it up with Inquisitor Locke!"

 

Reynard snatched the keys and climbed into the pilot's seat, waving for Seb to get in at the rear. Then he slammed the door, gunned the engine and smiled evilly at the chauffeur as they lifted off.

 

"Don't worry. We'll have it back in thirty minutes, not a scratch on it."

 

"Probably."

 

 

 

Edited June 28, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Tower of Echoes

 

Kerr Restal:

 

+Reynard?+ he asked, and then saw The Weasel surge off on a personal mission.

 

+Success then!+

 

 

He headed to the holy man of the Tower that Inquisitor Lord Locke had addressed.

 

"Lord Seer Rhodanik, I am need of your services. I am in need of some spiritual healing." Kerr Restal described the encounter with Helene, the ex-Governess.

 

"I am fine and hale in body, yet I believe that I am wounded in spirit." he brought forth a heavy pouch from a deep pocket.

 

"Here is a Thousand Thrones." Kerr Restal said, giving over the pouch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge entered the training room once again to train with the mighty Cephas with no shortage of trepidation. The man, if a gene-forged demigod could be called as such, was a terrifying instructor well beyond Scourge's modest abilities as a career soldier. But the God-Emperor had summoned him, calling him to take up Hywelsbane, a holy relic of incalculable worth and power, and he would not be found wanting.

 

He had arrived early for their bout, and he knelt in the centre of the dojo, centering his mind with reverent prayer. Where he had been practically shaking with anticipation earlier, now he was calm and resolute, almost relaxed given they had but a scant sixteen hours remaining to destroy the Golem before the flames of Heaven engulfed Damocles like Shadom and Gamor of long past. This was not some friendly sparring match after all – the lives of millions were on the line and he was there to learn, to progress, to fulfill his birthright. 

 

He would not be found wanting.

Edited June 29, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Restal:

 

The older man chuckles, although not unkindly. "Although a generous donation never hurts, one cannot purge sin with coin, my friend."

 

His hand sweeps to take in the plethora of pilgrims, before taking off his own surplice and offering it to you.

 

"Help the needy, perform acts of life other than death. I see who you are. You believe you deliver the ordination of Him on Terra, but I tell you, that you kill and murder not by God's will, but on the order of men."

 

He leaves you to contemplate your choices.

 

Scourge:

 

The rasp of plasfibre cloth on armour plate is your only warning. There is no crackling sizzle from a power field, but the air is suddenly cut with a horrifying slice.

 

GM: Parry (You may make an unarmed Parry with your vambrace) or Dodge!

[Lord_Ikka]

Nicios

 

Nicios spent time in communion with the other psykers of the Adeptus Astropathica. He needed to focus his skills and train his mind towards a more violent vocation- his enemies up to this point had been able to be disrupted by his telepathic assaults, but frequently of late he could have used more prosaic abilities. 

 

Working with several of the more militant-minded psykers, Nicios gained experience in projecting debilitating psy-screams and lances of pure mental force. These would be useful against both foes corporeal and those of the aether.

 

I am ready. Praise the God-Emperor and let our enemies tremble.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

The aircar handled just as smoothly as Reynard had thought it would. It was clearly built to a far higher standard than most Hivers could even dream of. Quick too. It took less than twenty minutes - admittedly at a much faster pace than Fabian's chauffeur might have wished - for them to arrive at the medical centre. Just as Reynard had hoped, there had been no problem entering House Canthus territory while travelling in its master's limousine.

 

Now he circled above the complex. There, the sign of the healer was proudly displayed at the highest point, a snake-like double helix flanked by a pair of curling white wings. Not far below it, there was a landing pad where important patients could be received or discharged. Reynard scanned the area carefully. It could fit with what Gwynne had said? High up? Windy? But he couldn't see LeCroix Senior anywhere on the flat, open surface.

 

He frowned thoughtfully. Unpleasant as the idea was, he needed to think like Greyson. Why would the mercenary have brought him out here rather than leaving him in a cell somewhere? To bully, coerce and threaten the old man, of course.

 

And if he still didn't break? What would you do then, you evil-minded :cuss …?

 

Of course.

 

He would have thrown him off the pad. Efficient, not even a single bullet wasted. But if Gwynne was right, maybe the old man had beaten the merc after all?

 

"Seb, I'm going to take us under the superstructure of the landing pad. Keep your eyes open!"

 

They swooped lower and only a few seconds later, the boy let out a sudden yell, his voice high with tension. He pointed.

 

"There! Da! Reynard, there! On that beam!"

 

"I see him, kid. Well spotted. We haven't got any climbing gear, so I'm going to bring the car in just below him, as close as I can, line him up with the back doors? You'll have to open them and help him in, ok?"

 

Seb nodded.

 

"Fine, fine, just hurry, please!"

 

It wasn't easy. The wind whistled and whipped around the cabin as Seb opened the rear door, rocking the vehicle, and Reynard had to struggle with the controls to keep them level. But they managed. LeCroix Senior wasn't dead yet, just as Gwynne had foretold. Tough old sod, though obviously at the very limits of his strength. When Seb reached out to help him across the gap above nothingness, he reached back with his one good arm. For one horrifying moment it seemed that he would slip, toppling into oblivion, but then he was across the threshold and aboard.

 

"...Son…"

 

"Da…"

 

They embraced silently for a long moment. Then Senior suddenly slumped downwards, his weight held upright only by Seb. Worriedly, the boy lowered his da onto the plush back seat and checked his condition.

 

"He's still breathing, Reynard! But he's weak. Exhausted! I can barely feel a pulse."

 

Reynard nodded.

 

"Then let's get him topside."

 

He pulled the aircar out from under the pad and landed atop it, as close as he could to the entrance. At the moment the aircar touched down, a medical crash team with a gurney appeared through the double doors, hurrying towards them. Reynard got out and pulled from his pocket the medical passcard he had retrieved from the wreck of Voyager's shuttle.

 

"Orders from Lord Fabian," he yelled, waving it. "Take care of this man. VIP. Give him the works. Restoratives, cybernetic replacement, rejuvenat, anything he needs. No names, no questions asked. Understood?"

 

The orderly saluted and they wheeled the old scrap merchant away towards the entrance. Reynard turned to look at Seb, trying to decide what to say. No point in telling him about the battleship that was going to blow the whole Hive to dust in way less than twenty-four hours. If it happened, there was no escaping it. It would be over before they knew it was happening. He handed the passcard over with an outwardly cheerful grin.

 

"Take this. It'll get you in and out of here. Make the most of it."

 

He looked down at his chrono.

 

"I've got somewhere I need to be. See you around, kid."

 

[A.T.]

Falk

 

For all their losses now was the time for a show of strength. Word would have spread about the attack on the Halls of Judgement but word too would be spreading of the hammer, a shining relic of the Emperors will and judgement now brought upon this world.

 

The arbites were organised into shifts of rest and prosecution, assigned not to sectors but to watch over and reign in where needed the faithful that had been roused to action, and to be final arbiter of guilt where heresy had risen in the golems shadow.

 

It served dual purpose to disguise the build up of the assault force. The less the golem suspected its position compromised the closer the noose might tighten before it could flee.

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

The once proud halls of the Arbites were far from hale, with battle damage on display as if on purpose wherever he looked. Having heard about the assault of the Golems hoard and the reconquest of these halls was one thing, seeing the result quite another.  The worse had been cleared of the vital areas, and fallen Lawmen taken away, but the remains of destroyed enemies had just been shuffled into spare corners, something to be dealt with later, when time was less pressing.

 

Crouching to examine one mangled body more closely it was not hard to see that the servitorisation of this individual had been recent, and marked the same hall mark of the production line he had found in the sub level. How many innocents had the Golem thrown at the precinct like bullets from an autogun, for some unknown objective at that.

It should trouble him that they were ignorant of why so much had been expended to take these halls only to retreat. Yes it had weekend the Arbites, and with that one source of opposition to the Golem and its plan, but there had been more to it and they simply did not know. That was something for Locke to fret over, for Bardas it was too much. He was no military mind, schooled in strategy and tactics.

 

Offering a short prayer to the unfortunate victim at the core of the combat servitors remains Bardas stood up and hastened to catch up with the rest of the party as they headed to the Strategium , the time was ticking towards all their doom after all.

 

---

 

With the aid of one of the remaining Verispex they set up a communication relay channel to connect to Comptroller Secundus Maximus Lazlo, so that the Deadman had a way to reach the remains of the untainted Adepts of Mars.

 

This done Bardas retreated to the refectory, charge battery under one arm, it would feed his gifts while he stilled his hunger. A hunger far greater then he would have supposed, even with events of recent days. Now seated, almost mindlessly consuming the food in front of him, Bardas took stock, he was in far better shape than he had any right to be given recent days, and especially after losing three limbs.

 

Errantor Xerxia had left him with another gift, aside from the three new limbs. The Autosanguine had been quietly working unnoticed to help with the integration of the new limbs; however it had been driven into overdrive while he was in the GUTS, repairing and undoing the damage of Radiation as best it could. Finding the plate empty Bardas queued once more, if he ever saw the Magos again he had even more to thank her for.

 

While starting on the second meal a datapacket arrived from Lazlo via the relay, it was more then he could hold within, so let it flow on into a datapad. The transfer took what felt a long time; there was a lot of data.

 

Lazlo had been busy since his departure, extracting and correlating records. It took a while to get the bigger picture. It was a timeline stretching back years, noting all the events that had forced the Comptroller into his current role. While not complete it was hard evidence of the slow corruption. With additional files linked to each timestamp. A few had been specifically flagged for His attention.

 

The first, amongst the oldest on the timeline, led to several short documents. A shipping manifest across the hive from a market frequented by trade caravans to the holdings of House Tirant, an inspection report of salvaged tech, supposedly from a downed Arvus light cargo hauler, and a contract of sale in respect of the same salvage.

 

Another was just a few months ago, this time there was also a video file, Bardas opened it first. The grainy low res frottage, no doubt from a security eye, was hard to make out at first, but as he watched begun to make out details. Another market, bartering between hivers and the outsiders, items unloaded.

 

The accompanying documents were another shipping manifest, much like before, and an inspection report. The first thing that caught his attention was a mismatch of time stamps. The inspection report was supposedly done while the cargo was mid transport according to the manifest, and not upon the arrival in the reclamation workshops that turned such salvaged tech into new components.

 

The second was several items that on their own could be from anywhere, but together, with those specification and notes of previous repairs, they could be from his shrine. Without images he would never know for sure, but the more he read the more he recognised, and the timing fit, not neatly, but well enough.

 

As he was about to go back to the timeline to see what else had been flagged for his attention Bardas caught site of the agent that had arranged the shipping manifest. Jonas Van Bosch.

 

I should have told that servitor to hug him for longer. Bardas thought as he skimmed torugh several more time stamps and associated files.

 

One a shaky cam recording of some of the others, engaged in combat with the recorder, some sort of servitor if Bardas had to guess. The last few frames confirming what he had just worked out, a shot of a hallway with the Clinic at the far end.

 

Another was a compound of a swarm of eyes, a servo skull pack searching for something. Another a audio file of a com intercepts from Arbites operations.

 

The last flagged file was only 27 minutes ago. Another video clip, just as grainy as the res, but clearly the same market place. This time however the camera was not static, but moved to follow a specific group. From the viewpoints movement Bardas suspected Lazlo had spectated this directly, taking control of the camera when it suited him.  When the individuals stopped for a moment the camera zoomed in, clarity resolving what had been mere shapes into the garb of House Tirant. While the face was still obscured by circumstance, Bardas was willing to wager a few thrones that it was Van Bosch.

 

Lazlo had even provided direction on how to reach the Market quickly, and unobserved. The message was clear, the Comptroller wanted Bardas not only to see this, but to act upon it. Perhaps Van Bosch was fleeing, or hiering mercenaries form the caravan guards, either way it would pay to look into it.

 

Glancing at the clock ever counting down the doom of Damocles Bardas reckoned that if he harried he might just have enough time.  

 

On his way out of the Arbites precinct he asked one of the guards to pass on a message and the dataslate with the evidence to the Deadman and his colleagues.

 

---

 

He had not been sure from the camera feed as there where many such places where the outer world connect to the Hive, but the Market plaza was one he knew. He had been here days and days ago, seeking the raiders.

 

At first glance the Market was as bussy as ever, the mingling of Hivers and Caravan folk, the loading and unloading of cargo, the haggling over prices, the acquisition of supplies and such goings-on as he had seen before. However as we worked his way across towards where Van Bosch had last been seem Bardas picked up on a different sort of story. Hivers hiring caravans to take them and precious possession away from the hive.  

 

One Caravan Guard was lecturing a group of about 50 Hivers, mid hive workers judging by the quality of their attire; on how to survive in a sandstorm should one arise.

 

 A few rows over Bardas witnessed a merchant guild buy out an newly arrived caravans goods and having their works dump it to one side so as to speed up the loading of the clans own possession and valued personal so that they could depart. A group of outland folk where muttering in their own tongue about the waste of half a year’s journey for their cargo to be just left in such a state, but if the crazy hivers where paying to the sky and back then the clan would reap the riches of these fools.

 

Coming at last to the right quarter of the plaza Bardas slowed, then took up position from which he could observe, scanning the crowds for Van Bosch or his bodyguard.

Nearby a group of stevedores were hauling sacks from a Ridgehauler, at first Bardas paid them only as much attention as required to not get in their way and attract attention to himself, but then two voices struck a chord of familiarity. It took him a while to place them however, as he had been barley conscious at the time, Skinny and Grog.   

 

Reaching out to tap the nearer on the shoulder.

 

+Is the Chief about?+

 

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge's eyes snapped open just in time to see the tail-end of the blow, but he was unable to avoid it and the force of it drove him onto all-fours while starbursts bloomed within his vision. 

 

Remove thy impurities with the tender lash… 

 

Knowing another blow would be forthcoming, Scourge surged to his feet and lunged at Cephas, attempting to rob his opponent of any reach advantage afforded by his bastard sword. The servos of his powered exoskeleton propelled him to the weaker side of the Angel's guard, and he deftly initiated a routine joint manipulation on Cephas's sword arm. 

 

 

 

Dodge Test: 42 (Ag) + 10 = 52

Dodge: 1d100 92: failure, 4 DoF

 

Full Action: Grapple: 41 (WS)

Grapple: 1d100 38: success, 0 DoS

Edited June 29, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Scourge:

 

Cephas nods, briskly, although in admonition or applause is unknown. He allows you to come to grips with him, refusing to dodge. His free hand bound, he instantly reverses his sword in a gleaming squint of silver, and lodges it between the powerpack, and your spine.

 

Cephas:

Action: Attempt Control Grapple.

Opposed Str: Pass, 3 DoS

[Machine God]

Kerr Restal:

 

Rebuffed he turned and walked away.

 

"I only kill those who need to die. I don't harm the innocent!"

 

He went off to help Falk.

 

 

 

 

 

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Grappling with an Angel of Death was pure folly, bordering on madness: not only were they imbued with inhuman strength by the blood of the God-Emperor that pumped through their veins, but their decades upon decades of combat experience made any stratagem he could devise a mere bump in the road to either avoid or flatten. And yet, what was he to do? Being so unarmed, his options were to flee or to disable his opponent. Seeing Cephas's ploy, he strained and tried to twist away from the seeking blade while maintaining the joint lock on his adversary. 

 

 

Opposed Strength Test: 37 (S) + 20 = 57

Opposed Strength: 1d100 54: Success, 0 DoS

Edited June 29, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Scourge:

 

Cephas wins x 3 and takes control of the Grapple.

 

The Astartes uses the long lever of his flanged, spear-tip sword to wrestle you into position before he breaks the lock, releasing you from him.

 

End Grapple: Free Action for Controller.

 

The sword blade scrapes free, before being pushed into your chest, the force behind it enough to put you into measure, and beyond arm's reach. Carefully he steps around, the point still scratching your beaten plate, the already ruined plastron. He steps away and returns to guard posture, before quickly turning to place the long sword on a tall arming bench.

 

+Scribe. Hywelesbane.+

 

One of Locke's Frateris enters, the case straining his arms, before placing it reverently at your feet and withdrawing.

 

Cephas takes up a weapon of his own, a smaller maul, it resembles a short warhammer with a piercing beak on the reverse. It is a powered weapon. He sees you looking at it.

 

+A Corvus Hammer. Granted to me for service.+ He gives a few practice swings. +Arm thyself. Do not ignite the weapon. Learn it first.+

 

He takes a guard.

[Mazer Rackham]

Bardas:

 

Grog turns quickly, his fist balling, but when he sees it's you and his brain catches up with his ears, he instead turns the blow into a friendly bump on the shoulder. Still enough to make you stumble a bit. "Skinny!"

 

The thinner man turns, a quick flash of recognition and a wink. "Yeah, he's about. What's up?

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge adjusted his neck and rolled his shoulders before kneeling to place his hands on the weapon case, never taking his eyes off of Cephas. Feeling around for the clasps on the chest, he popped the lid open and, in spite of himself, drank in the majesty of the mighty daemonhammer. There were dense foliate scrolls wrought across the length of the two-handed warhammer, and intricate carvings depicting warriors battling mythological beasts worked in gold and silver over the base adamantium with a master artisan's care in minute, eye-watering detail. The bold and terrifying =][= of the Inquisition atop of the head of the hammer had been carefully filled in deep carmine and outlined in gold, and the grip along the long haft was a finely tooled leather. Further, the arming rune for the hammer's power field was subtly integrated into the shaft, practically flush with the surrounding material. It was an unbelievable work of craftsmanship, obscene in its beauty. Needless to say, it quite stole his breath. 

 

But Hywelesbane beckoned to him, wordlessly commanding him to take it up. 

 

Wrapping both hands around the weapon's shaft, he lifted it and stood before his Astartes instructor, shoving its carrying case aside with his sabaton, and taking a few test swings. While heavy, he found it to be reasonably well-balanced despite the concentration of weight in the block head, and it handled a bit like the other polearms he had trained with while a youth, similar to a hammer of ancient Schlüzerne in principle. In practice, however, it was, somewhat ironically, far closer to a labourer's maul, clearly intended to be used by a warrior in power armour to take full advantage of its bone-crushing mass, and to counteract its decidedly more unwieldy nature. A weapon of finesse, this was not – this was an implement of raw, savage power in all of its vulgar glory. 

 

He offered his sparring partner a stiff bow and barreled into him without any warning or further ceremony, swinging the immense hammer upwards in a vicious uppercut from under Cephas's guard at the last moment. 

 

 

Full Action: Charge: 41 (WS) + 10 (Charge) + 10 (master-crafted) = 61

Charge Attack: 1d100 1: success, 6 DoS

 

Hit location: 10 (head)

Edited June 29, 2023 by Necronaut

[Trokair]

Bardas

 

+I am looking for this man, he was here within the last hour.+

 

Bardas brought up the best image of Van Bosch that Lazlo had supplied on the dataslate and showed it to the two.

 

+The cam capture is not clear, never caught his face, but if it who I suspect then he bears some reasonability for the destruction of my home, and the home of so many others. His master was involved in the death of Hive Secundus  and Tertius.+

[Mazer Rackham]

Scourge:

 

Cephas:

Parry: D100: Pass, no DoS.

 

The Corvus Hammer replies, but only in the nick of time, clouting the mallet-headed weapon away with a dull, metallic thwack before he is forced to stop it with his chin.

 

The weapon returns in a vicious backswing, going for your armpit. There is no angry vox-grunt, no anger in it. It simply is the reflexive strike of a trained warrior.

 

Cephas:

Half Aim, Called Shot (Arm)

D100: Pass, 1 DoS

 

Bardas:

 

"Bloody 'ell you say!" Skinny's jaw drops open as he processes. "I's seen that chin before. 'E's down on quay four, right, Grog?"

 

"Yer. Inspecting the loadin' cranes."

 

You can hear the whine and clank of the cranes from your spot. Jonas Von Bosch must be close.

 

"Fancy a quick shuftie?" Skinny says. He checks his belt for his tools, hand idling by a sheathed knife not uncommon in gangs, butchers and corpse-grinding plants.

 

He pulls it, cleans under his nails, a grin as wicked as the sharp, skinning edge.

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Mazer Rackham
Bardas

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

It took another fifteen minutes to return to the Halls of Judgment. Well within the limit Locke had set, though Reynard's pace had resulted in a few close calls with other pilots. He parked the aircar in the same hangar where Cutter and Solomon were working on the Voivode. Hopefully they could get the gunship flying in time, just in case the Cell needed a quick exit from Damocles. Giving the two men a friendly wave, he climbed out of the driver's seat and moved around to the luxury passenger cabin. Might as well see if Canthus had anything useful in there?

 

Reynard ran his hands over the soft, dark groxhide interior, noting the top-of-the-line vox equipment in one corner and the refrigerated bar in the other. He opened various drawers and small cupboards with minor success. Then his eyes fell on the armrest in the centre of the back seat. Something not quite right there... just slightly wider and deeper than it needed to be?

 

Gently, Reynard moved his fingertips over the top and sides of the armrest. It would have to be… somewhere around… there? With an audible click, the hidden catch released and the padded top of the armrest slid backwards into the cushion behind. Revealed beneath was just what Reynard had suspected - an emergency gun chest, for personal defence in a last resort. A pair of matched holsters filled the space, several spare clips beneath them. He reached in and drew one of the weapons. Perhaps unsurprisingly - considering that House Canthus was well-known as Damocles' premier arms manufacturer - Fabian's sidearms of choice were the best.

 

Bolt pistols. Matte black, blocky. Ugly compared to his long, elegant laspistol, but undeniably well-made and infamously deadly. Very similar to the one carried by Greyson. It didn't look like this pair had ever been fired in anger. Reynard marvelled again at the state of the Imperium, that even a lesser Lord could have such wealth hidden away just in the possibility of needing it… while men, women and children starved in the depths beneath them. Well, at least he would put them to a more fitting use in the next few hours.

 

And if we can save the Hive, then perhaps Canthus' excess will have some value after all?

 

Quickly he unstrapped the holster of the combat shotgun and put the long weapon to one side, then replaced it with the new holsters, one on each hip. Spare clips disappeared into pockets. Then he carefully shut the secret compartment. As he walked away he passed one of the Arbitrators' menial staff coming the other way.

 

"Excuse me. When someone has a moment, could they return Lord Canthus' limousine to the Tower of Echoes?"

 

He smiled.

 

"No great rush though…"

 

He walked on, heading for the training cages. Perhaps he could find the Astartes and get some tips for using his new sidearms?

 

As he hurried through the Halls, Reynard had to pause as a team of Judges carried the body of one of their fallen brethren past him into the medical wing. After a moment's consideration, he followed them in. Bodies had been laid out in rows, their dignity protected by thin sheets. Many had died in the Golem's attack, but their actions had saved others. Reynard and Lady Gwynne were most certainly among them. He stood in respectful silence for a moment, then turned to go.

 

Reynard frowned and stopped. Weapons and beetle-black armour had been removed and piled in a corner. These would go back to the stores, ready for a new generation of Arbites to take up… if Damocles survived.

 

His eye was caught by a stack of rigid carapace plates. He lifted one up, holding the dark tactical armour against his chest, noticing the hook and spool of high-tensile wire built into its curving surface. If it kept him alive, and his living somehow resulted in the success of their mission, then he was sure whichever Arbitrator it had belonged to would have been happy to donate it? It wasn't like they needed it anymore, either…?

 

With his wealth of 'borrowed' equipment, Reynard hurried on towards the training area, feeling much more confident about his chances of survival. When he arrived, however, he had to let out a quiet chuckle at his own foolishness.

 

Cephas and Scourge, both clad in their powered armour and wielding colossal mauls, stood in the centre of the room, hammering at one another in seemingly vicious combat. Suddenly a simple breastplate and a brace of pistols didn't seem quite so impressive…

 

Maybe he'd just wait here until they finished?

 

Spoiler

OOC: I thought I'd be a bit creative narratively with where/how Reynard is getting the new gear I want to take, but to be clear, ruleswise I'm still paying the appropriate costs for everything I buy!

 

Reynard's Purchases:
Carapace Chest Plate = 600TG
Clip Harness = 25TG
Bolt Pistol 250TG x2 = 500TG
2 Bolt Pistol Reloads (16×8 x2) = 256TG
Frag Grenade = 10TG
Total = 1391TG

 

Barter Test Roll: Fel45, Roll: 22, Success plus 2DoS = Discount 10+5+5 = 20% discount.
1391 x 0.8 = 1113TG

 

4TG remaining. Oh well, it's only money… 

 

Spoiler

…and before anyone can ask, the total weight of all of Reynard's Inventory:

Carapace Chest Plate 7kg
Mesh Cloak 1.5kg
Two Bolt Pistols (3.5 ×2) = 7kg
2 Reloads (0.35 ×2) = 0.7kg
Command Laspistol 1.75kg
3 reloads (2 hotshot, 1 regular): (0.175 x3) = 0.525kg
Red Dot Sight 0.5kg
2 Frags (0.5 x2) = 1kg
2 Knives (0.5 x2) = 1kg
Rebreather 1kg
Photo-contacts 0.5kg
Cartograph (same as data-slate?) 0.5kg
Stablight (Glow Globe) 0.5kg
Clip Harness 2kg

 

Small items (of Negligible Weight):
Microbead
Chrono
1 pack of Lho sticks
Electrical Tape
Anti-tox/rad Pills
Multikey

 

Total: 7+1.5+7+0.7+1.75+0.525+0.5+1+1+1+0.5+0.5+0.5+2 = 25.475kg

 

Str3 +TB3 means max. Carry before reaching Encumbrance = 36kg

 

10.525kg to spare. 

 

 

 

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

Scourge allowed the momentum of his parried blow to carry him just outside of Cephas's reach, and whip him around into a flurry of blows in response to the counter-attack.

 

And the dance of death continued. 

 

 

Dodge: 42 (Ag) + 10 = 52

Dodge: 1d100 3: success, 4 DoS

 

Full Action: Swift Attack: 41 (WS) + 10 (MC) = 51

Swift Attack: 2#1d100 77 25

Attack #1: 77: miss, 2 DoF

Attack #2: 25: success, 2 DoS

 

Attack #2 Hit Location: 52 (body)

Edited June 29, 2023 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Scourge:

 

The dolorous blow thumps a strange tone across the training room. Even with the weapon unpowered, it has likely left a significant bruise, if not broken bones.

 

The Marine isn't even slowed, the head of his maul threatening from an unexpected angle.

 

Cephas:

Half Action: Feint

Opposed WS: PASS, 4 DoS

 

Edited June 29, 2023 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Scourge:

 

His brief moment of satisfaction in scoring a body blow on Cephas disappeared in a flash when he realised his sparring partner's hammer was crashing back towards him again at meteoric speed, the previous gut shot taken in stride, little more than a bump in the road. He saw his doom unfolding in front of him in slow-motion, but was a fraction of a second too slow to adjust to Cephas's feint. Scourge was to be the proverbial nail in search of a hammer. 

 

Opposed Weapon Skill: 41 + 10 (MC) = 51

Opposed Weapon Skill: 1d100 18: success, 3 DoS