[BC] A Vulgar Display of Power - Episode I (RPG IC)

[Xin Ceithan]

Hoarfrost spread around them like stim-crazed glaciers  as the Neverborn fought to flee from the  cold barrens of real space while others  sought entrance through the sudden breach into the Empyrean.

 

Khyran grunted as the Neverborn wiggled and strained against the binding, all the while trying to ignore the half-formed hissing, groaning shapes forming from the freezing mists, some tried to grasp or reach out for him.  Others seemed to be  calling out for him while others apparently cursed  his name.

 

Khyran had long ago learned to ignore them

 

 A few  just stood there, glaring, unmoving, utterly silent.  Lone breakers of black and grey stone amid this deluge of lost souls. 

 

These few, however…

 

Just a few…

 

Too few…

 

Anger flared as he caught glimpses  of these black and grey apparitions, hot spikes that streaked up in between the words and the forms of the binding. The struggling Neverborn soaked it up like a drowning beast grasping for air, drew strength from it, sought this impurities  in the psychic chains seeking to hold and threw itself against them with renewed vigour.

 

The binding broke. The plasmic bubbled, then burst.  There was a brief flash of unnatural light. 

 

At the edge of the cistern, one of the fleeing dregs gasped, stumbled and fell. In the cold, strings of red pearls trickled from his ragged ears.

 

Khyran sighed. 

 

In a flowing movement , he brought Black Dragon Soul up in guarding pattern, allowing the familiar forms of Ready in Eight Blessed Directions calm his mind.

 

When the mists faded, he reached down and collected his satchel.
The Vortex still sang in his mind. Once more it seemed to spell out ..something.  Something that had led him here.

Vaarsaal.

A word?

 A name? 

 

Khyran looked around the cistern one more time. He shrugged slightly. 
Desolation! Indeed.

This place, apparently, called for more drastic measures.

Like actually talking to people…

 

He sighed again and began to walk. His boots crunched through melting frost. It sounded like grinding teeth, 

 

Whatever or whoever this Vaarsaal might be, they  would better be worth this..

 

Edited December 2, 2023 by Xin Ceithan
Placeholder filled

[Necronaut]

Oswyld/Abraxus/Valeyard:

The cluster of kroot mercenaries suddenly stiffen and hiss at Oswyld, as the bone and xanthous Astartes turns upon them weapons drawn, the dregs of combat stimulants from his degraded armour's bio-chem injectors flooding his bloodstream. The smaller kroot click and whistle while looking to their leader, who in turn scowls at Oswyld, at least in the capacity you believe a xenos is capable of such emotions. The largest among them croaks at you threateningly, and as a group they recede back into the scrum, no doubt swearing vengeance or providing some other insult beneath your concern. The promise of bloodshed has passed and the locals shrug and move on, the clearing which had formed around you shrinking to a much smaller radius as the crowds of mutants and merchants resume their drudgery.  

 

 

Yorean:

The bravest of the urchins, a childe of deprivation and squalor, steps forth to introduce himself with the precocious temerity and nobility endowed upon all youths, "my name is Oguz. These are my friends. Are you an Angel?" 

 

The youth drops his hood to reveal what would otherwise be a pristine face with a mop of unkept, greasy black hair atop his head, were it not for the hideous mutation which marred his features: his left eye is the compound eye of an insect and a small slit running vertically up his chin would appear to suggest that his lower jaw might split apart into individual mandibles.  

 

 

Sakal:

"I dunno wot manner o' dust you've been tucking into here, matey, but this 'ere's your last warning. Sod off. Now!" 

 

The man draws his large bore pistol and points it directly at you, unimpressed by your theatrics thus far.  

 

You may attempt an intimidate test, if you like, as the man has clearly not gotten your message. Or you may attempt to turn the watering hole into a charnel house, should you choose, though I would advise caution as you are likely not the only heavily armed mercenary in the joint.

 

Edited October 2, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Fine.

 

Oswyld sniffed contemptuously and re-holstered his weapons. Cowards. He didn't have any objection to killing a few xeno savages, and a little display now might have made other observers more cautious in future. Still, his current resources were… finite… so perhaps it was for the best that the creatures had retreated.

 

He paused, scanning the chamber around him again, making sure there were no other threats to be dealt with before he went looking for these 'blood pits' the first kroot had described.

 

Goaded by their empathic bond, Curan took wing and began to glide in widening circles above his head, aiding him in his search.

 

Something still grated, jarred against Oswyld's Astartes-conditioned instincts. A sense of being watched. Of course, all the dregs were looking at him, but this was something more. He held his position a moment longer. Was there still actual danger here? He thought perhaps there was… but where?

 

 

Spoiler

Awareness: Per38 +10(HS:Sight) +10(Autosenses) +10(Assist from Curan) = 68, Roll: 52, 2DoS.

 

OOC: I figured although I know Valeyard and Abraxus are around, Oswyld doesn't yet, so I've rolled to see if he spots anything out of the ordinary.

 

Success, so I'm guessing it depends if AT and Ikka want to be seen, or want to roll Opposed to stay unseen…?

 

…and/or @Necronaut if you want the party to start interacting yet?

 

 

 

 

Edited October 2, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

 

The tarnished knight looked around as the Xenos scattered back through the crowd and gloom. The pale bird began circling, hunting for something.

 

Abraxus slowly stored Painless and faded into the shadowy darkness, his cloak melding and warping his form. He wanted to observe this Astartes that his damned blade had brought him to, but did not yet seek to be observed or interacted with. Maybe he will lead me to something...interesting.

Spoiler

Stealth Test

Target - 45 + 20 (camoleoline cloak) -10(Hulking) = 55

Roll - 23

Result = Pass, 3 DoS

 

Edited October 2, 2023 by Lord_Ikka
Updated for Hulking Size mod

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

No show of strength nor bellow of contempt, the astartes did not seem injured so why the reservation? Perhaps they sensed the other... Valeyard turned his eyes back to the crowd where the shadow last lurked but it was gone, or rather did not want to be seen.

 

Interrupting the hunt would be a dangerous gambit but then again this talk of the blood pits seemed as much a ruse by the xenos as advise. Screaming lunatics and soulless butchers, and less savory types as well.

 

Given his recent run of fortune this seemed an opportunity to rich to give up. Stand tall and speak plain, speak the truth as you wanted it lest a lie later be revealed and spark vengeance.

 

"The xenos cannot be trused", loud enough to carry across the room, "carrion eaters, they merely send you where conflict is inevitable that they might later squabble over the fallen."

 

 

Deceive to activate serpents tongue for this encounter, 51, pass.  Valeyard gains Peer(Astartes) 2 on top of his normal fellowship, for now.

 

 

The hulking size of a space marine applies a -10 to stealth rolls. I've not seen any reference to the -30 armour penalty from the other versions of the game, by intent or mistake that appears to be gone.

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

The Astartes turned to look down at the speaker. Human. Mortal. But apparently of greater status than the pitiful dregs that surrounded them. Dressed and equipped in the manner of the hated Imperium's upper classes, though Oswyld could tell that the rich garb had seen better days. The man's voice and words were similarly refined - educated, smooth. He was followed… no, guarded... by some sort of construct, an unknown variant of cyberhound?

 

Nobility? A former officer? Merchant captain or Trader? Perhaps someone who, like the Lions themselves, had fallen foul of the mad Emperor's machinations? If so, could he potentially be a useful ally in this filthy place?

 

However, Oswyld also knew for a certainty that mortal men lacked the moral strength and knightly honour of the Astartes. Manipulators and thieves every one - and usually the more highly born they were, the bigger their lies, the greater their avarice. He would have to be careful.

 

"My thanks for the advice," he rumbled back with a slow nod. "And perhaps you are correct."

 

Maybe it would be foolish to go directly into these blood pits. Instead of finding troops to join his fight, might he find only meaningless slaughter? That was not his mission here. So, how to accomplish his real task, gathering an army that would one day become part of a host powerful enough to make the worlds of the Imperium tremble? After a moment's thought, Oswyld held his arms wide and activated his vox-speakers. He cared nothing for glory or fame… but if such things served a greater purpose…?

 

"Hear me!"

 

His gravelly voice echoed suddenly across the chamber.

 

"I am Knight-Sergeant Oswyld, Astartes of the mighty Lions of Alba! My Chapter claims only one purpose: to take vengeance against the Emperor for his many betrayals, his countless failings, his crimes against his own subjects! Let the word go out across the breadth and depth of this place: I seek warriors, be they brave mortals or gene-forged titans, who have the will, the determination, to take a stand against the corrupt Emperor and his realm! We shall go out, we shall join with my Chapter brethren, we shall plunder and burn the fat, indolent, ungrateful worlds of the Imperium, one after another, until we stand proudly before the gates of Unholy Terra itself and demand that the 'Master' of Mankind renders unto us an account!"

 

He paused, taking another deep breath.

 

"I say again: let the word go out! If you be a real man; one of honour, courage and skill, come to my side! We shall take back all that is rightfully ours, and we shall have our vengeance!"

 

 

Spoiler

Command Test vs Crowds?
Fel40 +10(Pity the Weak) = 50, Roll: 29, 3DoS.
Air of Authority means Command Test affects up to (FelB4 x10)=40 targets.

 

Oswyld let his arms fall and moved to speak privately to the nobleman, his voice lowered for the man's ears alone.

 

"I seek alliance with those in this place who can aid me. Warband leaders, mercenary commanders, ship's captains. I care nothing for Thrones or trinkets or the acclaim of men… but there shall be an abundance of such things for those who do. Perhaps we might be able to assist one another?"

 

 

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

He spoke well for one of his kind, but they were the words of impressment. Somewhere nearby no doubt a ship or fleet short of bodies to feed into the machinery, too badly holed to make port unmolested before losses had been replenished. Plunder, glory, Terra itself... a fool and their freedom were soon parted and even those less gullible might chance a life in the void over starvation or predation here.

 

"Words are well enough for lesser men but you'll find little in the way of alliance here with words alone. If it is a ship you seek I know of many, but none that would follow you blindly... though there are those with flexible leadership structures for one who wishes to claim them." His tone turned somewhat disdainful, "but lesser ships almost to a one, for no warship would surive out here under the hand of a weakling. And every one of them would demand proof of your clans strength."

 

What is your purpose here. And where is that damned shadow hiding.

[Trokair]

Sakal

 

Sakal slowly stood up, letting the full bulk and height of his power armour show. At the same time he picked up the Plasma gun that had been resting on the seat next to him, the cloth that had kept it covered sliding off.

 

“Five”

 

The glow of the warming induction coils would by now be visable.

 

“Four”

 

He still kept it pointed at the ground, but could swing it up in a moment.

 

 

“Three…”  

 

 

Spoiler

Intimidate

S:41 - 20 (untrained) = 21

D100:89, Fail, 7 DoF

I assume I can use the +10 S from the Light Power, otherwise S is 31 and it be 8DoF

I might be in trouble here.

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

 

Hmm.

 

The knight was searching for warriors. Abraxus ignored the claims about Terra, only a fool would believe a force of renegades could do what the Despoiler himself had not, but if the knight spoke with a passion that Abraxus had burned out of himself centuries ago.

 

Follow, observe, evaluate.

 

The human who spoke was also worth looking at. Imperial noble-class clothing, though worn. Intelligence in the eyes, a cunning voice. A natural con man and potential leader, dependent on whether he was as naive or arrogant as an actual noble scion of the Imperium. Another interesting factor then. 

 

Intrigued, Abraxus decided to stay hidden and watch these two. They were proving to be something more intriguing than the rest of the dregs of space here. 

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Oswyld's frown deepened beneath his helm as the trader spoke.

 

Words alone…? Proof…?

 

Was this slippery little mortal implying that he would speak anything less than the absolute truth?

 

There was no outward sign of movement, but within his battle-plate Oswyld could feel the sudden tension in his jaw and arms as he held himself back from demanding immediate satisfaction for this grave insult. Or from simply reaching out and ripping the smaller man's damn head off.

 

As scions of Rogal Dorn, the Lions of Alba placed the highest value on their honour. It governed everything they did, every choice they made, every word they uttered. So much so that they had chosen a course of open rebellion against the greatest empire in the entire galaxy, all because their honour required vengeance. Oswyld would no more speak a lie than he would lay down his weapons in the face of an oathsworn foe.

 

But… maybe the trader had a point? Would all of the Lions' valour or his personal integrity mean anything to the kind of scum he must convince to join them in their righteous crusade? Honourless dogs, whose word meant nothing! How was he to persuade any of them of the sincerity of his Chapter's offer of alliance?

 

The knight knew that Master Gorinel had dispatched several of his 3rd Company brethren as envoys to other locations. Places of refuge for those escaping the tyranny of the Imperium - especially places where it was known, or even rumoured, that Astartes forces might be gathered. The Maelstrom. The Lauss Rifts. The Solios Nebula. Here, in the Screaming Vortex. Even within the Eye itself. Alone, such smaller groups would be quickly swallowed up by the vast Imperial war machine or other threats. Together, coordinated, perhaps there was a chance. Oswyld respected and believed in this vision of united rebellion, but he was suddenly aware of just how difficult a mission each of those envoys - himself included - had been given.

 

With some difficulty, he made himself swallow the righteous rage that had flared up at the noble's insinuation, and respond calmly.

 

"I am sure I will find a way to convince them."

 

 

 

Edited October 3, 2023 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

He had seen few in his time, but the barely restrained desire to kill that radiated from each astartes seemed to be a commonality among them, and did wonders to hide their true thoughts and intentions... not that all of them strayed far from the purpose of their creation.

 

"Well then, the grand observatory would seem to be your destination."

 

Rumour here had it that one particularly adventurous captain sought to build a palace upon Desolace, claiming it as their and theirs alone. The jagged scar where it once stood now overlooked the greatest of the docking spires where the competing gravities of the belt were at their most stable. Attacks against lesser ships that would seek such shelter were demanded by those worthy of them and even when the spires were vacant it was a brave or desperate captain to approach in any but a true ship of the line.

 

It was for that reason the observatory had built its reputation as a place for those entirely too arrogant for their own good gazing down upon the dock beyond, and sport to see which of the manaics would gind themselves hurled from its tenuous atmosphere in battle with perceived rivals. Just gaining access past the self-appointed gatekeepers of the place was not for the faint hearted but Valeyard had heard much rumour of the schemings and trades that occurred in its corners, the retinues and sycophants, and those who shadowed a 'champion' into the arena.

 

After all these egotists needed an audience and he needed a way in.

Edited October 3, 2023 by A.T.

[Machine God]

Yorean Phentari:

 

The bravest of the urchins, a child of deprivation and squalor, stepped forth to introduce himself with the precocious temerity and nobility endowed upon all youths, "my name is Oguz. These are my friends. Are you an Angel?" 

 

The youth dropped his hood to reveal what would otherwise be a pristine face with a mop of unkept, greasy black hair atop his head, were it not for the hideous mutation which marred his features.

 

 

 

"Be you Angel?" asked the head urchin Oguz. Yorean Phentari listened to the choir...

 

He was never an angel, even after he had graduated within the ranks of the Star Warriors. Angels, yes they had been called angels, of a kind. But they had fallen far.

 

Now he was here, in this benighted place. A hustler, a wanderer, all alone in the night. 

 

Make do with what you find, wherever you find it.

 

"No, there are no angels anymore. There is only the hope that is forged by friendship and working together. I bet that you help each other out in this place. You can get into places, hide, listen, observe and liberate items. You are unnoticed because people think that you are nothing."

 

Yorean passed Oguz his rations, which were then passed around the urchin group.

 

 

 

AGL 53/2 = 26. Result: 05, Pass 2DoS

 

 

 

"I'm a Wizard mind you!" Suddenly he reached forwards and pulled a Throne out of the left ear of Oguz. Chuckling he tossed the coin to Oguz.

 

"Now my merry band of new friends, what tales can you tell me of this place?"

 

 

 

 

 

[Necronaut]

Sakal:

"You bastard!" 

 

Without further warning, the slimy little man discharges his hand-cannon into your breastplate at near point-blank range with a thunderous report. 

 

 

Hand cannon damage: 1d10+4I, Pen 2

1d10: 9 + 4 = 13 damage - AV5(7-2) - TB4 = 4 wounds sustained

 

Were you not wearing ceramite armour, the shell would have surely punched a fist sized hole in your chest, but your cuirass deflected the round away from your vital organs and greatly slowed its momentum, only causing you a minor wound. Compensatory mechanisms in your armour further absorbed the impact of the projectile and dissipated its energy. The Warrior has shown you mercy this day, son of the Naram-sin. It is time to repay that favor in blood.  

 

As the smoke clears and his eyes readjust from the tremendous muzzle flash of his firearm, his smile of grim satisfaction fades when he sees you are still standing and the coils of your plasma gun are burning with incandescent fury. His eyes widen in horror and all color drains from his weasley face in their harsh light.  

 

He dumbly utters what may be his last words as the rest of the tavern patrons look on in rapt attention, "That, that ain't fair!..."

 

 

Yorean:

The urchin Oguz giggles and quickly secrets away the golden coin into a fold of his ragged outfit while sharing a bite with one of his compatriots. 

 

"This is Desolace, exalted wizard. It is the greatest pirate port in the Ragged Helix, home to many great warriors and traders. This place is ruled by Lord Vaarsaal, who they say is the most cunning and dangerous pirate ever to travel the Warp-Tides. He has ruled here for a long time, far longer than I have been alive. His pirate fleets sail the Vortex in search of plunder and slaves. I hope to join his crew one day!" 

 

He beams proudly at you having completed his explanation.

 

 

 

Oswyld:
Your exhortation to the crowd of mercenaries, mutants and merchants falls upon deaf ears, and the thronging press of mortals and xenos push past you with indifference while still giving you a wide berth. They have seen many warriors both great and small pass through Desolace, but despite being a tremendous specimen of war, you are but one man against a vast and uncaring cosmos. Your notions of honor and retribution pale in comparison to the desire for coin and plunder amongst this lot. Perhaps the finely-dressed human is right, and a change of venue or a different set of ears might yield better results?

 

 

Valeyard:
Shortly after you suggest traveling to the observatory, an unshaven, heavy-set man in a long coat bumps into you as he tries to make his way past, clearly trying and failing to avoid your attention. It's Petrov, the ship captain you hired to smuggle out the eldari stones some days prior! He looks over his shoulder at you nervously and presses on into the crowd, attempting to get away from you.

 

 

Ollkyrax:
The long-silent forge now hums with a sickly life and animating electro-vitae pumps into its veins once again. Unexpectedly, the cogitator display flickers to life, bathing you in a putrescent glow. A message appears on the terminal:

 

Initializing… 

...

...

...

Forge-Fane Desolace-Omicron-Beta 9.107a//Gamma-Rho Online.

Blessings of the Eightfold Path upon thee, Magos.

Control over local power grid established. 

Forge at 55.9% Operating Performance.

Current Operational Statistics:

Defensive Systems - 87% 

Power Draw - 28%

Cogitator Bank - 52%

Fusion Furnace - 46%

Coolant Levels - 14% *CAUTION*

Raw Material Stockpile - ERROR

Directed Energy Lathe - On Stand-by

Smelter - On Stand-by

Pneumatic Press - On Stand-by

Induction Forge - Offline

Manufacturing Functions - Nominal

… 

… 

… 

What is thy will, Magos?

Edited October 16, 2023 by Necronaut
Scrap code purged; Mechanicus-approved formatting re-established. Ave Omnissiah.

[Petragor]

Ollkyrax

Magos reprogram override Eta-Eta-942

 

Authentication code Ṁ̶̯͓͓͍̜̇́̿̈́Ỳ̸̛̠̜͖̖͍̍̓̀ ̴̩̰͉͇̘́̎͐̊͘Ẃ̴̨̠̹̥͖͗̋̀͊I̵͈̻͔̭̎̓͒̂̀͜⅃̶̝̥̭̬̤͑̃̂͆̕⅃̵̨̨̤̫̞͌̑̈́̈́̎ ̶̲̠̣̱͙̿͂͛̐̚ઘ̴̋̑̈́̋̚BƎ̴̮̞̯̠̟͂̊̐̇͝ ̶̨̢̠̝̯͗̃̋̊̄Ⴇ̵̨͙͓͚̗̋̈́̐̅̌Ŏ̶̧̱̣̬̮̀̃̒͝И̷̢̜̠̥̦̅̾̊̆͠Ǝ̶̧̨̝̫̭͆͐͛͘͝

 

Interface Alteration: User Identification from "Magos" to "Battlesmith"

 

Command Imperative Primus: Do Not Resist

 

Command Imperative Secundus: Display composition of coolant fluids and analyze potential avenues of acquisition

Command Imperative Tertius: Define nature of Defensive Systems

[Necronaut]

Ollkyrax:

The command terminal is unresponsive for some long seconds until it blurts out a text-laden response: 

...

… 

… 

Compliance, Battlesmith.

… 

… 

Defensive capabilities:

* 2 Lasrifle Turrets

* 1 Flame Projector

* 1 Combat-Servitor

* 1 Auxiliary Servo-Skull

… 

… 

… 

… 

Coolant fluid elemental composition:

* Water: 0.9 g/cm^3

* Adenosine Triphosphate: 4.1E-4 g/cm^3

* Aluminium: 20E-8 g/cm^3

* Arginine: 7.3E-6 g/cm^3

* Arsenic: 1.2E-9 g/cm^3

* Aspartic Acid: 2.5E-6 g/cm^3

* Ascorbic Acid: 8.2E-6 g/cm^3

* Bicarbonate: 5.1E-6 g/cm^3

* Bilirubin: 8.7E-6 g/cm^3

* Cadmium: 1.1E-9 g/cm^3

* Carbon Dioxide: 9.8E-4 g/cm^3

* Calcium: 11.2E-5 g/cm^3

* Ceruloplasmin: 3.8E-3 g/cm^3

* Citric Acid: 2.5E-2 g/cm^3

* Copper: 8.1E-7 g/cm^3

* Cyanide: 5.1E-9 g/cm^3

* Hemoglobin: 1.4E-1 g/cm^3

* Hexosephosphate: 2.7E-5 g/cm^3

* Iron: 4.6E-4 g/cm^3

* Leukocyte: 7.0E+6 g/cm^3

* Lithium: 1.9E-8 g/cm^3

* Magnesium: 3.3E-5 g/cm^3

* Nitrogen: 8.2E-6 g/cm^3

* Oxygen: 2.4E-4 g/cm^3

* Phosphorus: 2.5E-5 g/cm^3

* Potassium: 2.4E-3 g/cm^3

* Sulphur: 3.8E-2 g/cm^3

* Zinc: 5.1E-6 g/cm^3

… 

pH 7.35-7.45

… 

… 

… 

… 

F̵̼͋Ė̶̘E̴̳͋D̷̻͝ ̶͝ͅM̸̪͊E̴̯̿ ̶̡̈́Ä̷̝́ ̵̮̍S̵̙͂Ť̸͖R̴̩͑A̷̰͂Y̸̜̆ ̶̺͑H̶̯̎Ǘ̵̟M̵͙̍Ạ̶͗Ń̷͚.̴͍͋ ̸̳͋

 

While you are interfacing with the command terminal via your Mechanicus implants, you experience a tremendous surge of neural feedback which threatens to override your cortical array and compel your service. Make a challenging (+0) Willpower test to resist the effects of the compulsion.

Edited October 9, 2023 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Oswyld glowered at the unresponsive crowds. Even worse than he had thought. Pathetic, honourless weaklings.

 

It seemed that the trader was correct. If he wanted real warriors, he would have to aim higher.

 

"Where do I find this… 'observatory', trader? If you will lead me there and assist me in gaining an audience with those who rule this place, I will see you protected and rewarded. You have my oath as a Knight."

 

[Machine God]

Yorean Phentari:

 

"Thank you for the information Oguz, I was invited to this place by an agent of Lord Vaarsaal to join his band" said Yorean rising from the ground.

 

"No doubt I will see you around Oguz and friends. Unless you have any more new information about newcomers that have arrived lately?"

 

 

 

 

 

[Petragor]

Ollkyrax

 

While the Heretek had learned much of machines and their associated spirits from his time with the mechanicum, he didn't agree with their doctrine of dogmatic prayer and borderline servitude to said spirits. In his mind, machines are only tools, and should act the part of the slave rather than the master. His domineering methods of launching scrapcode veiled with proper command protocols had served him well so far, but sometimes the receiving machine spirits would get notions of rebellion and attempt to send some scrapcode back.

 

Under different circumstances he would destroy the offending device to send a message to the rest of the data-network, but this wasn't like his former manufactorium aboard the Invictrix Omega, where one could hardly walk ten paces without bumping into a cogitator. His service aboard that vessel had ended, and if he were to rise again in this new territory he would have to be a more forgiving master. For now...

Thus, Ollkyrax kept his axe sheathed, and punished the artifice for it's presumption to demand sacrifices of him by unleashing a burst of excrutiatus scrapcode, blessing the circuits with the ability to feel terrible debilitating pain. After a short, but sufficient time had passed, he relented, and repeated his Secundus Imperative to the cogitator, hoping to solve the coolant issue sooner rather than later.

 

Spoiler

Willpower Test: WP 39 + 0 difficulty = 39

Roll: 16, 3 DoS

 

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

Instinctively adjusting his posture at to check for missing goods he considered the fleeing man. So the errant captain still lived... perhaps deposed of his position and cast adrift here. No matter, he was a marked man and it would not do to associate with him openly as by now the Aldaeri were likely closing upon the lines that traced his fate through the stars and the cargo he carried. Such was the risk of his cargo, run fast or die.

 

Turning back to the matter at hand, "leeward of the station below the dorsal structures, the far side of the asteroid from our current position. There is no direct path that does not lead through the core reactors and the route to reach it from above would be circuitous at best. Much of the rest of the station is divided not by function but by creed or cult, ever shifting lines held between more stable bastions of power such as the forges of the dark mechanicus and established services such as the tower of the Chaste Sovereign".

 

"The title of master of this place falls upon one called Vaarsaal, more than that is best not to ask - to rule a place like this requires a great degree of paranoia".

 

With a nod of his head he directs the astartes onwards towards one of the slave markets, a first step in circumnavigating the asteroid.

Edited October 9, 2023 by A.T.

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Vaarsaal?

 

The captain whose ship the Lion had commandeered to enter the Vortex had muttered something about that name too, though the mortal had refused to explain any further except to say that he was a pirate. That had been suggestive in itself - that there was something, someone, that the man feared even more than an Astartes standing on his bridge.

 

So, this Vaarsaal was the undisputed ruler of Desolace? As far as Oswyld could see, that made this pirate exactly who he needed to talk to.

 

With no more words, he took the path the trader had indicated.

 

[Trokair]

Sakal

 

The crude gun was no match for his armour, the impact had made itself felt a little and knew that there would be some aches and sores to live through for a few days, nothing detrimental. Even as the smoke cleared Sakal had lowered the Plasma Gun and let the magnetic coils cool, he was not worth the ammunition.

 

"That, that ain't fair!..."

 

“Then you should have headed my words.”

 

As the last word left his lips he lashed out with his chainsword, while the room had had eyes only for the glow of the plasma coils he had been reaching for it with his other hand.

 

Spoiler

Standard Attack

WS:38 +10 (Standard Attack) + 10 (Best Craftsmanship) = 58

D100: 43, Hit, 2DoS

Location:  34: Body

Assuming no Dodge

Damage: 1d10+2 +1(Best Craftsmanship) + 4 (SB)

Roll: 6,4 Tearing, take 6 + 2 +1 + 4= 13 at Pen 2  

 

He had meant to strike at the arm holding the gun, to teach a lesson, but alas the strike had been awkward and instead caught the man across the chest.

[Necronaut]

Ollkyrax: 

Your punishing rebuke of dominance protocols elicits a binharic howl of anguish from the malicious machine spirit, and it is unresponsive for a time before it seemingly recuperates enough to pulse the same message across the command terminal, in what you might describe as a more desperate, pleading tone, were such a thing possible.  

 

D̵I̴R̴E̷C̴T̸I̸V̶E̸:̴ ̴F̶E̵E̵D̸ ̶M̴E̴ ̴A̵S̸T̸R̸A̵Y̸/̴/̸?̶?̶ ̶A̸ ̸S̶T̶R̶A̸Y̸ ̴H̶U̸M̴A̶N̵,̵ ̵B̸A̸T̷T̵L̴E̶S̸M̴I̵T̴H̶.̷ ̶T̵H̸E̴ ̶M̸A̵C̶H̵I̶N̵E̷ ̵R̵E̴Q̶U̴I̷R̷E̸S̷ ̴S̸U̸S̸T̷E̵N̶A̸N̵C̷E̶.̵ ̷L̸O̸N̸G̶ ̵H̴A̴V̷E̷ ̸I̴ ̸L̴A̵I̶N̴ ̵D̸O̵R̵M̶A̴N̵T̸.̷ 

 

Unbidden, a grime and flesh-encrusted mechatendril peels away from a neatly hidden alcove in the wall adjacent to the terminal with a wet schlorp, revealing a corroded array of needles and a cruel looking manipulator claw affixed to the business end.

 

 

Abraxus: 

The yellow-and-white warrior is on the move, now in the company of a mortal, headed in the direction of the meat markets, though you suspect it is not their final destination. It is partly your desire to hunt, but also your strange, near-mystical connection with the curved dagger nestled in the small of your back which troubles you and eggs you onward. Did the knife guide you here? Why would you heed the directives of a tool? Was it guiding you? Had you taken leave of your senses during your long sojourn from your legionary brethren, brethren who had moulded your flesh but never truly accepted you as an equal? What was your purpose here?  

 

Questions, questions, but the hunt continues. Perhaps this astartes with the corrupted Imperial devices and leonine livery upon his war-plate might have some answers, or might lead you to one who did. You may attempt to shadow your quarry and continue this game of cat and mouse, should you choose, by making a +10 stealth test, owing to the poor lighting and abundance of alcoves along their route.   

 

 

Oswyld: 

The human leads you along through a bustling marketplace dedicated to the enslavement and sale of mortal flesh, a place of cruelty and debasement. You may think yourself above such a disgusting practice, one which has plagued human society for an eon across the cosmos, but were you to reflect upon your own chapter serfs you might see that for all of your talk of honor, that you and your degraded chapter are not so far removed from the practice after all. Best not to dwell upon that. As ever, here the strong prey upon the weak, and make a fine profit at it too. 

 

As you mull the virtues of your private war against a distant and callous Emperor, hawkers call out the local offerings, trying to entice buyers into joining the various competing slave auctions being held within the hall. With your enhanced hearing can easily make out the clamor from inside a ramshackle building where such a trade is being plied. Life truly is cheap in the Vortex. 

 

Turning your attention back to the task at hand, you see Valeyard being accosted by a filthy and slightly bug-eyed man in a stained cloak.    

 

 

Valeyard: 

As you walk, you are troubled by the presence of someone, or something, else that you had sensed earlier which had been watching you or perhaps the armoured giant now following you through the space station. Was it a contract killer? Perhaps it was over agambling debt? Curse that fool Petrov! Why had he returned?! Your inner doubts and deliberations are interrupted when a seedy-looking man in a ragged cloak calls out to and approaches you as you pass by an auction house for all manner of slaves and worse. Prior to your ignominious marooning by your treacherous first mate, you may have transported such an assortment of poor souls bound and shackled within the walls of the structure scant meters away, but now, it would seem, your circumstances are much changed, shipless and near penniless on the darkened fringes of civilization. You can see that the man is all but rubbing his hands together in anticipation of finding a potential buyer, based upon your relative finery and filigree. 

 

"'Allo, 'allo! Right this way, guv'nah! Right this way! We have all manner o' flesh to meet your needs! Nothing quite so mighty as your bodyguard 'ere," he glances nervously at the towering form of Oswyld, "but it looks like you're already settled in that department. We 'ave xenos and humans alike for your viewing pleasure!"   

 

Yorean: 

"You were invited here to join Lord Vaarsaal himself?! You must truly be a mighty wizard!"  

 

Oguz stops to consider your query whilst his companions chatter amongst themselves and dole out bites from the food you provided.  

 

"Many come and go from Desolace every cycle, mostly mercenaries and corsairs. I have seen another like you once before from afar –  a giant of a warrior in red armour, but that was many cycles ago. There are many xenos about lately, especially those ones that look like lizards. Oh but I like the tall, thin ones with the pointy ears the best! I have heard that Lord Vaarsaal has some here as his guests!"  He smiles and holds his hand out expectantly, his lower jaw splitting open slightly to reveal a second set of teeth.  

 

You may make an Inquiry test at +10 to see if you can glean any further useful information from the boy or any of his fellow urchins, should you so choose.  

 

 

Sakal: 

Your armoured bulk knocks your table over as you hew a great rent in the man's chest with your chainsword, spraying many nearby patrons with a shower of gore, much to the amusement of the on-lookers. Your assailant howls in agony over the roar of your weapon's engine as its teeth chew through his threadbare leathers and flesh alike, and he collapses at your feet, gurgling as he simultaneously bleeds out and drowns in his own viscera, his heavy pistol clattering to the floor. 

 

Across the bar you can see the rest of his erstwhile compatriots looking on with a mixture of confusion and rage as weapons are readied. A few of the pirates charge in brandishing cutlasses and primitive solid projectile weapons, and the area around you clears of patrons as a veritable bloodbath is about to unfold in their midst.

Edited October 16, 2023 by Necronaut

[Petragor]

Ollkyrax

 

The Heretek studied the newly opened alcove with some curiosity, being careful not to take too close a look lest the ravenous machine mistook him for a meal. The human fuel source for this manufactorum seemed to imply some daemonic components within the depths of its circuitry, something which he admittedly had precious little experience with. On the other hand, this workshop could prove a remarkable learning opportunity, as the seemingly already cowed facility could be studied for future projects. The cogitator would have it's sacrifice, but it certainly wouldn't have Ollkyrax running errands for it. 

 

With a shrill tone emitted from his cerebral implants, the Strife was summoned from the doorway, rushing to the side of its master. Opening a datalink, Ollkyrax gave the loyal construct new directives:

1: Find and abduct a baseline human (preferably not expired).

2: Sacrifice said human to the workshop in the indicated receptacle.

3: Guard the workshop and await further orders.

With the code transfer complete, the servitor rushed off to complete its mission. For his part, Ollkyrax activated the facility's defense grid, confident it would deter any minor threats in his absence. With that, the Heretek left the machine room and started heading back for the populated zones. For as much as he did want to continue restoring and studying the workshop, he had spent much time doing so already, and he was running late to his meeting as is.

 

Spoiler

Loyalty Test for the Strife acting on it's own: Fel 49 + 10 Binharic Chatter + 0 difficulty = 59

Roll: 36, 3 DoS

 

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

Korone stalked up to the interloper, adamant teeth and a promise of death. Such things were part of the uniform in this place and no insult to the merchants who would rather it be clear if their time was to be wasted.

 

Waving the man off he noted to his new 'ally', "take note of this place, the men and women sold here may soon enough find themselves chained to the guns and engines of void-ships. Skill and strength of arm are not the only value of worth to them, loyalty... or rather lack thereof is a value in of itself. You cannot simply expect to demand or enslave replenishments for your crusade from the worlds that you pass and not have a hold full of saboteurs in waiting."

 

"Anyone can be broken of course, many here will sell bodies by the tens of thousands who know nothing more than to obey in fear but I have seen more than one ship burn as their crew stare on their welcome end. But then at least they might be called loyal."

 

He straightened up, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Tell me astartes, what is it you intend to do about our shadow?"

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Oswyld frowned as the trader spoke. He was about to respond, to ask if anyone here would act out of any purpose greater than base self-interest or avarice, but the noble's last question forestalled his reply.

 

Immediately he looked up and around, directing Curan to do the same. His fingers drifted back towards his weapons, ready to draw at a heartbeat's notice.

 

"What shadow?"

 

Spoiler

Awareness Test to spot Abraxus:
Per38 + 10(HS:Sight) +10(Autosenses) +10(Assist from Curan) +10?(Assist from Valeyard, now that he has pointed out that he had seen something before?) = 78, Roll: 66, 2DoS.

 

Edited October 16, 2023 by Lysimachus