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

[Machine God]

Yorean Phentari:

 

He listened to Oguz, who perhaps had more to say.

 

Yorean Phentari patted the pockets on his robes.

 

"And? Was there any more my fine fellow?

 

 

INT 35/2 = 17 (Inquiry) +10 = 27. Result: 03, Pass 2DoS

 

 

He whipped out his left hand towards Oguz and snapped his fingers, holding his thumb between index finger and middle finger.

 

"Cat got your tongue?"

 

 

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

Spoiler

Stealth Test

Target -  45 +10 (difficulty) +20 (cloak) -30 (armor) = 45

Roll - 30

Result = Pass, 1 DoS

Abraxus stayed still and silent, but his hands moved slowly towards his weapons. The human had spotted something off and it may have been him...

 

[Trokair]

Sakal

 

Ah, the table, that would be an annoyance to retrieve later. Even as he thought this Sakal refelected that actually little of value had been left on the table. He had holstered and stowed the Laspistol and cleaning gear respectively while the fool had talked and before he had taken up the plasma gun. So all that tumbled to the floor was the remains of his meal, a tankard and a half empty bottle, some oil stained cloth and crumpled newssheets, oh and some candles, luckily unlit.

 

Still it had been clumsy of him, and not befitting an elite of the Naram-Sin, the drill marshal from all those years ago would have been embarrassed one of his own had been thus. He needed to get back into a proper war, one where skills could be honed, not dulled by association with so many a civilian and blaggard.

 

Looking around the room, and at the Captain Alejandro's men Sakal placed the now inert plasma gun back on the adjacent seat.

 

Holding up his free arm, hand open.

 

“Now now, don’t be hasty to join this fellow, you all saw he shot first, and I had warned him. No reason to join him in the bejond.”

 

Making a show of cleaning the chainsword on the rags of the fallen, what little of it had remained unstained from its owners guts, Sakal none the less kept a vary eye on the lot, ready to spring into action should they fail to see sense.

 

 

“Go! Take this fool and drink yourself merry of his pouch, he won’t be needing it any more, just don’t do it here.”

 

Spoiler

Command Test

Fel: 34

D100:  25, Pass 1 DoS

 

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Spoiler

I'm going to assume that, as per the pages AT pointed out in the OOC, we should reroll a stalemated roll? Therefore…

 

Awareness Test to spot Abraxus, with the same modifiers as before:
Per38 + 10(HS:Sight) +10(Autosenses) +10(Assist from Curan) +10(Assist from Valeyard, now he has pointed out that he had seen something before?) = 78, Roll: 24, 6DoS.

 

 

Well, that was much better!  Based on Abraxus' previous target number, I don't think he can successfully equal/beat the DoS on that reroll, so Oswyld should (finally! ) spot him?

 

Oswyld continued to glare back along the corridor. There was something there…

 

A shape, utterly, perfectly still, skillfully obscured by the shadows and some sort of colour-shifting garment. However, it still stood out among the weirdly mutated freaks and hideous xenoforms by its inhuman size and the aura of physical power it carried. Oswyld was struck by a sudden sense of… familiarity?

 

Astartes.

 

As understanding hit him, he immediately jerked to one side of the corridor, inadvertently crushing one of the pathetic mutant dregs against a bulkhead as they failed to move quickly enough to avoid his sudden movement. Oswyld ignored the mortal pinned beneath his sabaton. The creature's agonised final breath hissed out, but the Lion simply tightened his hold on the grip of his plasma pistol, ready to draw and fire in a heartbeat.

 

"Your covert skills are impressive… cousin?" he cautiously voxed towards the shape, using an open channel, "...but there is no reason for further subterfuge, or for any other… unpleasantness. As I suspect you must have already heard, I seek allies here, not enemies. Identify yourself."

 

 

 

 

Edited October 30, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

 

Annoying, but at least he is somewhat observant.

 

"Cousin...? Perhaps." Abraxus let the camoleoline cloak go neutral colors, no longer actively blending into his background. Arms at his sides, weapons sheathed, he looked at the knight.

 

"Nul Abraxus, bastard son of the XXth Legion. You are looking for warriors, yes? My dreams and cursed fate brought me here."

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

XXth?

 

A torrent of hypno-indoctrinated information flooded Oswyld's brain. Ah, the Alpha Legion. Infamous for their co-ordinated, lightning fast attacks on multiple fronts. Feints within feints. Covert specialists. Saboteurs. Traitors.

 

The Lion made himself ignore the hate-fuelled emphasis placed on the last point.

 

After all, they were right.

 

Well, at least it made sense of Abraxus' seeming predilection for stealth. While he preferred open, honest battle, Oswyld understood the strategic value of such tactics. Perhaps the shadow-clad Marine could be useful?

 

However, the Legionnaire's reasons for being here concerned him. Guided by nothing more than dreams and fate? It smacked of the touch of Chaos itself, something that the Lions of Alba knew should be avoided like a deadly contagion.

 

Still, not like beggars can be choosers…

 

He nodded in greeting.

 

"Oswyld of the Lions of Alba. I am reliably informed that the ruler of this rock is one 'Vaarsaal'. I go to present my master's offer of alliance to him now. Perhaps, if you have no specific destination in mind, you might wish to come with us?"

 

Edited October 31, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

 

"Agreed. For now, I will travel with you."

 

Abraxus nodded at the tarnished knight. It might be interesting to see where this went, and Abraxus was ever searching for meaning and purpose beyond the challenge of the hunt.

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

XX... the double cross, Valeyard knew little truth of the legions but the names and titles they had been given were often more reliable than any stories or legends on their deeds.

 

A mortal travelling through this place with a single Astartes might be viewed as a curiosity but two was a dangerous proposition, as rare as the legions were here what he had seen of them was tribalism. Co-operation might give the impression of challange, of forces being rallied. If it was attention Oswyld wanted this would surely draw it, if this hunter was not one of Vaarsaals himself.

 

He could only hope that no more strays were drawn by Oswylds call before they reached the observatory, lest the wrong impression of their intent reach the ears of entirely the wrong people.

[Necronaut]

Sakal: 

 

Your sharp rebuke and commanding tone brings the pirates to a halt scant meters away. A few tense moments pass as you callously scrape the remains of their companion from your chainsword with your sabaton and wipe away the still-dripping gore, and they eye you up and down warily. Eventually one with a large mustache and mutton chops kneels down to snatch a pouch of lucre from his former comrade’s coat and stands again, equal parts fear and hatred burning in his eyes. His eyes flick over the runic script etched into your armour and they narrow in recognition of the totems and sigils of the Sargonic Legion, if not their meaning.  

 

“As you say, stranger,” he says with a scowl that quickly melts into a cruel grin with an assortment of steel and gold teeth in place of his gods-given set. “Young Jarvis shan’t be needing this anymore. Now then, get a move on or–” 

 

He is cut off as the rest of the crew joins him, bristling with weaponry. In the middle of the scrum of unkempt ruffians is a slight man bedecked in a riot of colourful xenos hides over what looks to have once been the uniform of an officer of the Imperial Navy. Your quick assessment of him reveals a powered rapier on his hip, and likely numerous other weapons besides hidden about his person. He stinks of some manner of narcotic that you cannot quite place and his eyes look slightly bloodshot. He smiles languidly and lays a hand upon the shoulder of his henchmen as he drawls, “Now, now, that is no way to treat our new guest, is it?”  

 

The other pirate stiffens and makes way for his master, a surly look darkening his features. 

 

“I am Alejandro Beauregard Montessa de Vega, captain of the Serpent’s Embrace. Charmed, I'm sure, Naram-Sin?”

 

 

Yorean: 

 

Oguz’s eyes widen and he giggles at your jape.  “You can see many xenos and other warriors deeper within Desolace in the blood pits. My friends and I like to go there to watch them dance their blades sometimes. Oh and they sometimes race their jet-bikes in the torus!” 

 

He looks about furtively and then says some words to his fellows in some incomprehensible gutter-slang dialect barely resembling Standard Gothic, likely polluted with xenos loan-words. 

 

"We must go now, master wizard. Maybe you will find another Angel here? Go with the Gods!"  

 

He bows and withdraws, his gang of urchins scuttling after him, cackling and chattering amongst themselves. They quickly disappear around a bend toward what sounds like a marketplace of some sort.

 

 

Abraxus: 

 

Your quarry has taken the bait, but was he truly your quarry or merely a means to an end? Your Harrow-Master would have smiled at your subterfuge, were it as such, but you have ever been a bastard son of your Legion, raised during the Exodus to the Eye, a youngling, not one who had truly been tested, nor one who has truly lived and died by his forked tongue and web of lies. The fires of Terra never burned in your helm lenses, nor have you ever known any truth beyond taking the lives of those whose continued existence were inconvenient to the inner circle, some of whom had been your own gene-brethren. As a hunter-killer and a young one at that, you truly were a misbegotten bastard, unwelcome at home and abroad, never a blooded brother who had served under the Warmaster – the True Warmaster, Horus.  

 

Perhaps what you seek is indeed real brotherhood, or a proper test for your skills. Perhaps this Astartes, many centuries your junior by the reckoning of Imperial savants, and his Lions of Alba, whomever they are, offer the promise of real camaraderie and purpose? At least until his life too hangs under the knife. 

 

 

Oswyld:

 

Your decades-upon-decades of hypno-indoctrination, while recently broken, still cause you to shudder with revulsion at the thought of allying yourself with a Traitor – a real traitor at that, bred and pure from what you can tell or are willing to believe. The blasphemous iconography of the XXth Legion, while largely unfamiliar to you with its nested serpentine coils and inscrutable runes, hardly touched upon in the forbidden shreds of lore availed to you as an officer of Alba, sends a thrill through your advanced trans-human body despite yourself.

 

Having gained such an ally opens up numerous possibilities, and lends some legitimacy to your claims of prosecuting your private war against the Imperium. Assuming, of course, he can be trusted. 

 

 

Valeyard: 

 

Any concerns you may have about this meeting and pledging of arms out in the open would not be unfounded – Astartes are seemingly somewhat of a rarity here on Desolace, and any gathering of them could be seen as a threat to the existing power structures given their potency in combat and propensity for mass-casualty events and maximized collateral damage. Corrupted servo-skulls flit about hither and thither on their myriad errands, and farther off a hooded individual draws a tarpaulin across the threshold of his shanty almost on cue, as if your gaze has triggered the response. Someone or something will surely have taken notice of this convocation.

 

 

Valeyard, Oswyld & Abraxus:

 

Sensing that you should maybe move on lest you draw more attention than a meeting of Astartes with a fallen noble already would in a dank and bitter freehold such as this, Valeyard deftly interposes himself and leads the way deeper into the strange asteroid base, skirting along the edges of some of the older and now disused mining passages to try to chart a more unobtrusive path to Vaarsaal’s seat of power.

Valeyard may attempt a Challenging (+0) Navigate: Surface test to guide the trio through Desolace along a less-trod path.

 

Ollkyrax:

 

The murder-servitor stares at you for a few moments, cogitating your instructions and utters a grating mechanical reply, “COMPLIANCE, MASTER."

 

Your hand-crafted monstrosity of flesh and metal stalks out of the laboratory, its weapons clicking and clanking and synth-muscles flexing horribly. You do not doubt its search for an errant human will be fruitful.

 

Khyran:

 

The shrieks of terror from the fleeing nearby common-folk and maddened, aetheric howls of the apparitions are sure to have drawn attention, with word, no doubt, spreading of a Warp incursion or worse.  Should you remain, others will doubtless come to investigate, for though Vaarsaal’s domain lies within the strange tides of warp storm, the Neverborn are not welcome to pass freely within his halls.

 

 

Edited November 30, 2023 by Necronaut

[Petragor]

Ollkyrax

 

Winding his way through the cramped corridors, Ollkyrax finally reaches the population center holding his destination. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the main street, his red cloak lets him blend in with the other Hereteks and Tech-slaves roaming the area, although some more alert individuals keep a wary eye on him as they notice the battle-damaged fabric and the carapace armor underneath. Still, he walks on unchallenged, and eventually arrives at his destination, the lair of his intended patron, Vaarsaal. He detects a guard wearing the Pirate Lord’s insignia, and approaches him with his Power Axe holstered, yet visible.

 

”I have come to speak with your Master. I believe he’ll want to acquire my services. Where can he be found?”

[Trokair]

Sakal

 

“If you know enough to see, and yet still ask, then you ought to know not to ask such things. So which hare you, desperate or … ?”

 

Sakal left the sentence unspoken, but the implication should be obvious to even such as these.

 

He had come here for a purpose, though the gods had not yet revealed what it was. Somehow he doubted it would be in service to such as this ‘Captain’. Perhaps the fool had angered one of the pantheon, and The Scholar had pulled on fate to deliver their will he mused idly.   

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Valeyard moved off to one side, heading away from the more populated areas, Abraxus not quite beside him. Oswyld paused for a moment. He was disinclined to conceal himself, to do anything less than march proudly wheresoever he chose to go. But…

 

With a disgruntled sigh, he followed. Perhaps their approach to this Vaarsaal should be made less publicly?

 

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

Though attention was rarely welcome here it had its benefits, perhaps the greatest of which was the ability to move unmolested through parts of the station that might have otherwise demanded payment, no crawling beggars with hidden knives or cramped passageways warmed by the radiation of poorly sealed conduits. The closer they got to their destination the more ...ordered things would become as the scum who relied on brute intimidation were replaced by those more deliberate in their actions.

 

This Oswyld still seemed intent on meeting with Vaarsaal, plans would need to be laid quickly should such a thing come to pass unfavourably.

[Necronaut]

Oswyld/Abraxus/Valeyard:

 

The rock you are traveling through is honeycombed with all manner of passageways, chambers, galleries, access tunnels and ventilation shafts thanks to the many, many years of mining before it was taken over and turned into a pirate freehold. Many of these are dead-ends or have been turned into hidden enclaves for small tribes of mutants and xenos. The intermittent dripping sound is less pronounced in these less populated corridors, much to your collective relief. The presence of Oswyld and Abraxus terrifies the rabble and you are able to make your transit unmolested.

 

You three, utilizing the natural gifts and training of an Astartes coupled with Valeyard's sense of direction within Desolace, eventually make your way to a larger cavern with another bazaar. This one, however, appears to be a cut above the previous ones you have passed through. Armed guards bearing the pirate lord’s personal livery and heraldry, a burning skull with crossed swords in this case, can be seen patrolling at random, armed with a varying array of weapons, preferably adorned with spikes or held together with gaffer tape, and armoured in stitched together flak and chainmail with the odd carapace plate mounted here or there.

 

Here the stink of the poor and downtrodden is less apparent, with merchants openly hawking expensive Imperial and xenos contraband alongside a cornucopia of weaponry, narcotics and a thousand other things besides. Any pickpockets or other ne’er-do-wells operating in this area are careful to not draw any attention lest they end up crucified or worse, as evidenced by the prominent display of three such individuals in the center of the cavern. It may seem odd to find such an island of relative normalcy in the heart of a Chaotic pirate kingdom, but Vaarsaal would appear to be a businessman first and foremost. It could be he is able to effectively turn the attentions of the various reiver captains of the Ragged Helix outward toward the Imperium's shipping lanes rather than squabbling amongst themselves over the table scraps to maintain a rude but stable peace. Or perhaps there is something far more sinister at play here.

 

As you are in search of the entrance to Vaarsaal’s inner realm, Valeyard gestures across the cavern toward a large set of blackened iron doors thrown wide open, where a pair of guards bearing chain halberds and autoguns are on duty, one of whom is being accosted by a red robed monk of some order or another.

 

A noble flanked by a pair of Astartes in mis-matched livery is sure to stand out here.

 

Ollkyrax:

 

The guard cocks an eyebrow at you and leans on his chain halberd heavily, his flak armour creaking slightly as he looks you up and down. He spares an exasperated glance at his compatriot standing watch across the portal to Vaarsaal’s realm and turns back to you.

 

“And just who might you be? Another up-jumped tech-adept from the Gods-know-where? Take your trinkets and peddle them elsewhere – Lord Vaarsaal has no time for scrap merchants!”

 

He notices the power axe on your hip hidden slightly by your robe and returns his withering glare to you, apparently unconcerned by a mere heretek.

 

Sakal:

 

The pirate captain’s eyes narrow at your thinly veiled insult, but his features suddenly brighten and he lets out a barking laugh and says, “Ah you Akkadians are all so serious! No, no, warrior, there is no desperation here!”

 

Captain de Vega daintily takes a step to the side to avoid the rapidly spreading pool of blood from your victim.

 

“You see, my friend, I have recently returned from Imperial space where I, ah, encountered some of your comrades, led by a Shar-Kali-Sharri, I believe? Which begs the question: why are you here, hmm?”

 

The shorter man dramatically pauses to examine his nails before continuing, “I could reunite you with them…?”

 

Most of the watering hole’s patrons have turned their attentions back to their grog and other delights as the bloodshed seems to have been an isolated incident, barely arousing their interest, though some still watch, privately wondering if these negotiations will beget a further offering to the Blood God.

GM: Captain Alejandro’s words are slightly slurred, and he is a difficult man to get a read on. His mention of your brothers-in-arms has certainly caught your attention. Make a Scrutiny Test at +0.

 

 

A Stranger In A Strange Land:

 

The human in sea-green power armour had managed to liven things up a bit and The Gutted Cardinal was finally living up to its namesake, but it seemed now the aggrieved pirate captain sought to mince words with the Naram-Sin legionary. Oh well, more’s the pity – here you had hoped for some further light entertainment, but it was not to be. You shrug your massive shoulders and shake your head in disappointment from your lonely double-wide seat at the bar, the worn and moth-chewed carnivore pelt shrouding your armoured bulk twitching briefly in a mockery of life as you down the dregs of pig-swill the mortals in this cesspit call “alcohol."

 

And yet, you feel oddly compelled to watch the proceedings unfold over your shoulder pauldron for want of anything better to do than spend your dwindling lucre on another litre of disappointment. The human handled himself well, disemboweling the diseased cur in one stroke. You had been wondering if you might see the plasma gun he had taken care to hide flare to life, but the result of his rising cut had been more to your liking. Most impressive.

 

Suddenly, something catches your eye, or perhaps more correctly, triggers your preternatural hunter’s senses, something behind the Akkadian in the gloom of the saloon.

 

GM: Make an Awareness test at -10 to cut through the smoky murk of the tavern to locate what piqued your interest.

 

Edited December 1, 2023 by Necronaut

[Petragor]

Ollkyrax

 

With an almost imperceiveable growl the Heretek draws his power axe, keeping it deactivated as he points the sharpened edge at the guard standing in front of him.

"Insult my craftsmanship again, and my next 'trinket' shall be gifted to your lord as recompense for your demise."

 

He lowers the axe again, keeping his finger on the power field's activation rune as he continues.

 

"As for my Identity, I am Ollkyrax, known to some as the Battlesmith. I earned my Epiphet aboard the Invictrix Omega, leading combat servitors of my own design to victory in numerous boarding actions and planetary raids. The Invictrix is currently undergoing repairs and thus I have travelled here, looking to work or failing that, to kill. Which would your master prefer?"

 

Spoiler

Intimidate: S41 - 0 untrained + 0 difficulty = 21

First Roll: 04, 2 DoS

 

Edited December 1, 2023 by Petragor

[Mazer Rackham]

Iorek 'The Bear' Redfang:

 

This green-clad warrior had promise, in contrast to the prattling, drug-addled fool. The names the adversaries bandied about meant nothing to him. What mattered was that the leader's lethargic linguistics were background to the panic of the gang - and they were indeed a gang - forced now to reassess the threat. Not an easy picking after all. It was amusing watching fools like this. Contrasting these...warriors to the squadron of mercenaries he'd recently been training was no contest.

 

Here be Fjúka - Chaff.

 

It was then something caught his notice, in the swirling mist and tabac-miasma.

 

Spoiler

Awareness Test:

Per: 40 +10 (HS) - 10 (Diff) = 40

D100: 21 PASS plus 1 DoS. (I know BC works different, but I'm rusty). 

 

Time to intervene, to shut the drugslugger up, if nothing else.

 

Redfang's hand slowly strayed to the pistol grip of his bolter, maglocked loyally at his waist. He hid the motion with his bulk. The posturing had to come to an end soon anyway, better to meet any trouble with a boltgun in his fist. In these close quarters the sheer concussion of the exploding bolts would burst eardrums, pummel breath from chests that needed it. Gryfalcon levelled - an ingot of adamatium and plasteel, the maw menacing the gang of walking corpses.

 

He stood up, using his massive bulk as a distraction for the green-armoured man, unearthing from where he rooted in what was the only comfortable seat in this forsaken dive. Cushions fell from him the way an iceberg turning over shed seals, until he towered over the puny mortals at a staggering nine feet, as broad as a hoary old Frost Troll, and twice as territorial. He'd give them the choice, of course.

 

+You whoresons have had your fun,+ he coldly told the gang, +begone, before I decide to have mine.+

 

He watched for what disturbed his senses.

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Oswyld frowned. A bold approach? Or use the distraction provided by the axe-waving red robe to attempt to move closer in a more circumspect manner? Or perhaps it would be wisest to simply wait here on the edge of the chamber and see what happened next? Surely the pirate lord must be guarded by greater threats than a pair of mortals armed with chainblades?

 

He looked to Abraxus.

 

“Thoughts?”

 

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

Assuming that he was addressed, and not turning back to confirm it, Valeyard noted, "if there is trouble they will seal the gates, likely just long enough to amass a force beyond to kill anyone foolish enough to linger at the entrance." He waved in the direction of the guards, "no need to leave men of real value exposed to pot shots and opportunistic thieves after all."

[Lord_Ikka]

Abraxus

 

"When talking with those that think they are noble, a bold approach is better than a subtle knife in the back."

 

Making sure his weapons were still easily accessible, Abraxus motioned to the door.

 

"Finding out what manner of ruler Vaarsal is will be worth giving up any stealthy approach."

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

“I agree,” Oswyld nodded to both of his companions. He also loosened his weapons in their sheaths. “An open handed approach… but if those two attempt to close those gates or call for reinforcements, we may be forced to deal with them more… quickly. I enjoy breaking a siege as much as the next man, but I do not wish to waste any more time.”

 

 

[Trokair]

Sakal

 

Spoiler

Scrutiny Test

Per: 33 /2 (untrained) = 16.5 becomes 17

D100: 31, Fail, 1DoF

 

While it was interesting that the Lords had sent further forces out beyond their realm he did not recall a Shar-Kali-Sharri. One aristocrat was much like another, and during his long years of training and service many a lord had come and gone in the eternal struggle to please the Gods and their 8 Paragons that ruled the Akkad. This was yet another, and one with ambition by the sound of it, if he had gone out to fight the Necrocracy. He wished his kinfolk well in whatever campaign the gods had decreed for them.

 

He was about decline the implied offer, for he had no need of it, and anyway this drug fueled man clearly had not grasped that he and his were not welcome here, when the giant moved. He had assumed that it was perhaps an Ogryn blessed by the Teacher or the Scholar, or a stable mutant of some girth. Instead it appeared to be one of the Chosen, though from the markings not one of the Teacher's own sons.   

[A.T.]

Valeyard

 

A bold approach it was then, though perhaps not so bold when flanked by astartes. Valeyard stepped forward towards the gate wondering whether the robed figure at the gate would shrink away or stand their ground.

 

 

For Ollkyrax

Aside from the space marines Valeyard is accompanied by two constructs - the first a servo skull of no particular note, the other some form of cyber-wolf of clearly superior construction. [/quote]

[Machine God]

Yorean Phentari:

 

Bidding his urchin friends adieu, he strode onwards through the throng of the marketplace. 

 

With the air of indifference he walked onwards until he saw the blue and yellow figures, flanking a Noble stood outside of a double door. 

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Oswyld:

 

Taking a deep breath and summoning every inch of military bearing he could, Oswyld marched proudly forwards, out across the marketplace. His weapons were undrawn, his hands held low but away from his body to show they were empty. He moved at a calm, measured pace - clearly not a charge, nor any attempt at stealth, but at a rate that showed his purposeful intent.

 

The guards had been distracted by the other visitor - as he came closer, Oswyld could see the augmetics extending from the red robe. Mechanicus? Interesting. - but he was sure it would be only seconds before their attention was drawn to his approach.

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Iorek Redfang:

 

There was a hint of perplexity about the shoulders of the green-armoured man. He was a stranger, but no-one should be stabbed in the back.

 

Gryfalcon's muzzle twitched, covering the gang, but carefully aimed away from the bar-room murderer.

 

+Ware behind.+