[RT] The Silent Architect (IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

The command lift deposits you aft of the bridge, and you are caught up in De Wiart's wake as he storms onto the bridge, the large semi-circular deck splits into three distinct tiers, with his command throne atop it. He drops into this now.

 

On the second tier is the command sanctum, with an array of crash couches for passengers or observers, and the most vital command pulpits for gunnery, augurs, comms, an astropathic duct terminal for short range aether-relay, and one main helm with two immediately slaved to it. Beyond this is the lower tier which houses all the ancillary and support officers and personnel of each station and function. It is a clear delineation of hierarchy, and serves also to reinforce the notion of delegation.

 

The bridge, with its tall, arched and baroque filigreed armaglas windows, has a clear view over the line and prow of the ship, the dorsal batteries in a serried rank, staring out into the abyssal night. Hololithic projectors are set into the ceiling, to leave the main command dais clear. Cogitator banks and terminals form crenellated, concentric bastions at the terminus of the santcum. A large holopicter screen sweeps broadly in a concave pull across the front of the bridge, the projectors a tasteful, and unobtrusive frame.

 

Armsmen hurry to take security post at the main doors of the bridge within, and without. More station themselves in anti-boarding alcoves with clear lines of sight and dictated fire arcs across the tri-stepped dais. De Wiart himself has no cover whatsoever on his throne, and anyone foolish enough to approach or attack would instantly be cut to pieces by searing lasbolts from their Accatran bullpup hellguns.

 

'Situation?' the Rogue Trader demands.

 

'Port Authority, your Grace,' a commsman calls over his shoulder. 'Claims we have illicit xenotech, and they want a search.'

 

'Impossible!' De Wiart seethes. 'They can search my arse!'

 

'Hail request, sir, coming from Damocles Bastion Fleet picket group.'

 

A brief gesture of irritation fires the whole picter into livid colour. Upon it is the sneering face of an Imperial Navy Officer. It takes a moment to realise this is the same man who threatened a noose. 'Well, well, well. Captain De Wiart. Who would ever have thought it? Hold fast and prepare for boarding.'

 

'Damn your eyes, sir! I will not! I have a Warrant of Terra!'

 

'What a shame,' the Lieutenant drawls. 'We'll just have to use force.' He kills the link.

 

'Sir! Two Cobra class, breaking formation.'

 

De Wiart thinks, pauses, takes a breath and thumbs his ship-comms button. 'Attention all hands! Attention all hands! Action stations! Set Condition One Zulu across the ship!'

 

There are a chorus of acknowledgements.

 

The Rogue Trader continues. 'Mister deBrae! Get this tub moving to the Mandeville! Miss Sola, run our guns, give me some teeth! Someone get down to the cargo deck and tear our manifest apart! Mistress Sun-Hai, get me a beacon!'

 

Blast shutters begin closing.

 

'Malvolio - get me a secure message off to Viceroy! I want to know if we've been had! Perkins! Where is that blackguard?'

 

'Here, your Grace.'

 

'Break out the gulping grog, and put some music on!'

 

'Music, my lord?'

 

'Yes, Perkins, music - Terran pipes or something!'

 

Perkins looks more than a little perplexed, but bows and vanishes to carry out the instructions. A minute later and he's handing the glasses from an ornate silver tray and heavily influenced military pipe marches pump through the bridge.

 

GM OOC: PC's can narratively discuss or post what they're doing, how they feel or how they wish to behave, ask De Wiart or any of the bridge officers questions, etc.

 

Edited February 11 by Mazer Rackham
Typo - BLAM.

[Machine God]

Restal:

 

Kerr Restal wondered. 

 

Xenos tech, but The Golem was destroyed? 

 

He made a fist and looked for the pulse of the I on the back of his ungloved hand. 

 

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard ignored the glass that was thrust towards him, and frowned at De Wiart. He enjoyed a drink as much as anyone, but this hardly seemed a smart time for it?

 

Why did they want the Trader so badly? Did he really have xenotech aboard, or was that merely an excuse to allow them to take their revenge for Von Cassal's death? Or for some other, older offence? The Lieutenant had previously called De Wiart a pirate. Reynard had assumed that was just a way to insult a spacefarer's honour - but maybe it was a genuine charge of criminal behaviour?

 

Of course, Reynard didn't actually care if the Captain was as infamous as the mythical Black ‘Ron himself…

 

I'm hardly in a position to throw the first stone, now am I?

 

…but he didn't want to escape one deathtrap by jumping headfirst into another! Unfortunately, it looked like it was too late to worry about that right now. If the StarChylde wasn't going to stop, and those Cobras weren't going to give up their pursuit, the only way for Reynard to survive was to do whatever he could to help De Wiart get away.

 

He was no use here on the bridge, though. He didn't know a damn thing about naval tactics. What had the Trader just said about searching the cargo deck…?

 

“My Lord…?” he called, loudly enough to try and get De Wiart's attention and be heard over the sudden tumult, “...what are you looking for in the ship's manifest? Can I do anything to assist?”

 

 

Edited February 11 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Restal:

 

Your hand remains stubbornly silent. Whether to vex or reassure you is unknown.

 

Reynard:

 

De Wiart stirs from staring at the screen. 'Yes, yes my fellow! We took on "machine parts" spares for the salvaging cradles and engines. My Master Technician would know more - lading, where did that cargo vanish to?'

 

A woman looks up from her console. 'Cargo Bay, your Grace, Zone Four!'

 

'Give this man the manifest! Smartly!' De Wiart indicates you. He slugs back one of the shallow glasses, sees your disdain for the gratuity, laughs and takes another as the dataslate with the manifest is produced.

 

GM OOC: You can flick through this with any narrative you wish, it's a simple slew of ingress of crates, all serial numbered. A Routine (+10) Scrutiny Test will reveal more.

[A.T.]

Malvolio

 

Several dozen of the ships crew swarmed forward as the guncutter landed to exchange travel cloaks for fresh attire, armourers, tailors, and medicae staff at a more discreet distance alert to any call, and beyond them representatives of each department lest the captain be impatient. The supine and learned classes aboard the ship were an ecosystem unto themselves as they rushed ahead of the officers through the lesser hallways, some spending a lifetime unseen ensuring that the others were suitably presentable before their betters.

 

The order of it was pleasing as each toiled in unity to wield a hammer such as this in the name of the Emperor, and no doubt the ships seneschal had already seen that preparations were made for the newest to arrive.

 

 

Standing at the captains left hand he weighed the augers and the whispers of the void on the ascent to the bridge, each step from the world below quieting the voice of the masses allowing the signals of the void to be heard once more. But such things were quickly set aside by the call of the imposter clad in the garb of the Emperors service.

 

Malvolio had witnessed many such disputes in his time amongst those of the noble classes, those who carried the Emperors warrant or served in a position above the common man. It was their right to such dispute but this one stepped above his station and flaunted his duty.

 

"As you will it". The depth of this mans ignorance would quickly be known should the ships vox receive no reply, though by his actions he had already signed his own death warrant.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Taking the slate, Reynard avoided looking at the Captain and his surprising - and now slightly worrying? - level of alcohol consumption in a combat situation. Instead, he started to scroll through the seemingly endless lists of supplies required by a deep-void vessel heading out into the black.

 

Spoiler

Scrutiny Test: Per33 +10(HS:Sight) +10(Routine) = 53, Roll: 38, Pass with 1DoS.

 

 

 

Zone Four… Machine parts… machine parts… there.

 

“This? Is this it? Where did these ‘machine parts’ originate?”

 

Xenotech?

 

Edited February 11 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Bridge:

 

'Throne knows, they're just parts!' De Wiart jabs his chin at one of the armsmen. 'Get Sergeant Kaplan, take this fellow down to the cargo bay. Rip those boxes open, look for anything untoward - and bloody space it after the jump!'

 

The hololith fires up with a tactical map, showing the two Cobras on intercept.

[Machine God]

Restal:

 

'Throne knows, they're just parts!' he heard De Wiart blather.

 

"He means whereabouts on Hive Primus, idiot!" said Kerr Restal, grabbing the manifest and leafing through it. "I guess Viceroy didn't inform you about The Golem."

 

 

 

PER 31/2 =15 +10 (Fate Point [Charmed: 10, Fate Point not used up]) +10 (Routine) = 35. Result: 17, Pass 1DoS

 

 

 

 

"Now then Reynard, lets go to the cargo bay with this nice man and check out the 'spare parts' for our Host."

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Bridge:

 

De Wiart stares at Restal, momentarily dislocated, before shifting his gaze to Reynard and back. 'I haven't a clue what you're drivelling on about.'

 

He dismisses both of them with a curt flick of his hand, that deftly snatches the penultimate shot glass and drains it, turning back to the hololith.

 

The chosen Armsman hurries past. 'Follow me.'

[Lord_Ikka]

Castinius

 

"Aye, Lord."

 

Castinius moves to the helmsman's station, his second moving to the tertiary tier and the bound servitors continuing their basic functions. His hands moved to the controls, taking firm grip the reins of the massive ship. 

 

Release boarding clamps, get away from this lumbering fuel ship. 5 minutes to detach, 4 minutes of small maneuvering jets to get to safe distance for full power burn.

 

"My lord, nine minutes to full power. Detaching from the fuel ship and ordering all light tenders away."

 

Castinius turns to the sensorium operator, "Hostiles' heading and speed to intercept?"

 

The Cobra-class destroyers were slower than the Starchylde and had weaker armor, but not nearly enough for the Rogue Trader's vessel to overcome two-to-one odds. Like the Starchylde, the Cobras would be armed with torpedoes and a battery of cannons, though they would be shorter-ranged than the modified ones mounted by the clipper. If Castinius could maneuver the clipper properly or if the Cobras were far enough away, out-running the destroyers was possible. 

[Mazer Rackham]

Castinius:

 

Tactical evaluations are routed through the Com-Tac.

 

Cobra Class Destroyer:

Spoiler

Speed: 10
Manoeuvrability: +30
Detection: +10
Hull Integrity: 30
Armour: 15
Turret Rating: 1
Space: 35
SP: 30
Weapon Capacity: Dorsal 1, Prow 1 (Torps)

 

One of the Augurmen takes his eyes off his scopes for a second. 'Cobras are one-hundred and thirty AU's, port bow, sir. Manoeuvring speed to clear the traffic lanes.'

[Lord_Ikka]

Castinius

 

Castinius looked at the navigation panel as the servitors updated it with the augur's information. He began calculating the trajectory needed to reach the Mandeville point while keeping out of the destroyers range. It would be close...

Spoiler

Navigation test

Target - 41

Roll - 13

Result = Pass, 2 DoS

 

[A.T.]

Malvolio

 

"If it is your bidding I shall prepare the choir and divine our path from this place, or do you choose to confront those who mock you here and now?"

 

Once in open space it would be the workings of the machine spirits and scions of Mars that would resolve any pursuit, but here and now there were many decisions to be made and many paths open to both the Chylde and the vessels beyond. The guidance of the God Emperor would light the Chyldes way while the others still stumbled in willful ignorance as it had been many times before.

 

Post to be modified based on any response/jamming on the comms prior to this

 

Malvolio has a once per 'combat' ability to attempt to enhance a manoeuver action, such as a stern chase. As raider-class ships the cobras will likely gain ground quickly but a little astropathic boost can get a head start if the pilot passes their roll well enough

[Mazer Rackham]

The Bridge:

 

The heave and shudder of the keel brings Starchylde to life and wakefulness. The tremor is well known to the crew, the ship a little rough around her edges has a good adventuring heart. Leaving deBrae to his endeavours with a slap of his knee in approval, De Wiart turns to Malvolio.

 

'I would prefer it to be as you will, my friend, but just deserts will be spoiled, and our coffers empty, should we tarry...' He offers a small smile, turning it into a request, rather than a demand. He trusts you can tell the difference.

 

GM OOC: Once completed, De Wiart snaps his fingers, gaining the attention of one of the young Ratings.

 

Petrus:

 

'Boy! Boy, come here!'

 

The lad must be all of sixteen, and he's not alone. There a few younglings among the crew that you have seen. Perhaps sons and daughters of the crew, maybe waifs picked up in ports across the cosmos.

 

He runs and staggers to awkward attention before the Shipmaster's throne. 'Yes, sir! Uh, I mean, Your Grace?'

 

'Gather your young scallywags and go to the infirmary. Get bandages and medicae packs ready, there may be trouble. Show Hospitaller Kovac the way, will you?'

 

De Wiart looks at you a certain way, a strange, distant gaze that was not present before.

 

Edited February 12 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Malvolio

 

Deparding the bridge Malvolio begins his descent, the astropathic chamber held apart from the rest of the vessel lest the power of the choir press upon the crew. The vaulted halls quickly make way for the more cramped and reinforced interior structure of the ship, the supine classes replaced with servitors and the occasional watchful overseer. Pale red lights along the route illuminated the guilded cages that held a few of the ships murder servitors... Emperor have mercy on any who would stray unbidden into this place.

 

But Malvolio himself walked without fear for there was no fate before him but the one the master of mankind had laid out.

 

Soon enough his path ascended once more into the light. For all its technological wonders the astropathic chamber was one of the Chyldes greatest, at its heart a towering circular room surrounded by galleries of adamant statues, the facades heroes of the Imperium containing aetheric foci and grounding rods to even the flow of the warp. A faint blue light visible only to those touched by the Emperors grace flowed through the air between the hexgramatic wards engraved upon the ground and far above while servo-skulls circled beyond the threshold droning hymms and filtering the incense in the air.

 

The choirs work had already begun as soon as the word was passed voicelessly from the bridge and the traceries of incense in the air flowed in new forms. As head of the Choir it was Malvolios place to interpret the wisdoms passed down by the God Emperor and the calls of his fellows rose in volume and tempo as he gazed into the paths before him.

 

Divining the Way - Psyniscience focus test at base -20

Psyniscience 43, +10 (assistance of psyber-crow) +40 (adjusted psy rating bonus, fettered power) -20 (difficulty) = target of 73

Roll: 49 - pass

Result(d5): 4

 

The next manoeuver test the ship makes will gain 4 extra degrees of success  - or more likely this will add to the ships stern chase test somewhat evening the odds (normally raiders like the cobra have a 4 success advantage over transports simply by virtue of their class)

[Necronaut]

Petrus

 

The bridge was a chaotic hive of activity, and he felt ill-equipped to render any assistance. Orders were shouted across the cavernous chamber over the music and the groaning of the ship as its mighty engines roared to life in the void. He was snapped back to reality when the rogue trader uttered his name, assigning a number of menials to render aid.

 

Turning to his new master, he met the man’s odd gaze, holding it for a few tense moments, then inclined his head and intoned, “Thy will be done."

 

He followed the rating and his gaggle of fellow cabin boys to the lifts and their way deeper into the ship, headed towards the more reinforced core of the vessel. The younglings were all a-chatter about the potential of a duel with the navy picket ships; most of them had not witnessed combat or the inevitable fallout, the human toll. They passed by innumerable nooks and crannies with mono-task servitors slaved into all manner of arcane machinery, and more of their kind thumping along the dimly-lit corridors on their myriad pre-programmed duty routes. As they neared what he presumed to be the infirmary, Petrus jogged to catch up to the youth De Wiart had designated, and tapped him on the shoulder, "Right, lad, what is thy name?”

 

The boy knuckled his brow and replied, “Connor, sir!"

 

The grizzled veteran smiled at him, seeing a vague memory of himself in the juve. "Connor, when we reach yonder infirmary, gather thy companions at the entrance and await my instructions.”

 

"Aye, sir!”

 

Petrus pushed ahead and stormed into the medicae bay, such as it was. Owing to a crew made up of mostly servitors, the facilities were more modest than those he had previously seen on Imperial Guard transports in his days as a line trooper. He suspected the Mechanicum temple was much more expensive to handle the pressures of servicing the vast army of lobotomized, bio-mechanical crewmen that crawled throughout the ship like a vast hive of insects. 

 

He was pleasantly pleased to find there were far fewer servitors here, most of which seemed to have been modified to render medical assistance. The bloody things made his skin crawl, believing servitordom to be a fate worse than incarceration or service on the front lines. He had to wonder at what level of desperation must have driven De Wiart to so heavily automate his ship and either replace or convert his crew into the fleshy automatons. A question he would have to ponder another time. 

 

Petrus made directly for the nearest human he could find.

 

“Hail, medicae. I am Hospitaller Petrus Kovac, newly seconded to thy ship. I wish to inform thee that we are to prepare for triage forthwith, and I am here to render assistance. Our master hath run out the ship’s guns, and the Imperial Navy art in hot pursuit. Thou mayest address me as Petrus, if it pleaseth thee.”

 

Turning back to the gang of cabin boys, Petrus flagged Connor over. “Connor, lad, divide thy companions into two cohorts: one to collect and prepare bandages; the other to inventory and prepare medicae kits.” The youth scurried off, and the boys started sorting themselves out, quietly chattering all the while. 

 

“Now then, show me to thy storeroom…”

 

 

 

Scrutiny Test vs De Wiart (untrained): Per36/2 = 18

D100: 86; failure with 6 DoF

Command Test (cabin boys): Fel33
D100: 19; pass with 1 DoS

 

Edited February 15 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Cobra Destroyers:

Pilot Test 1: PASS

Pilot Test 2: FAIL

 

The Starchylde:

 

The Orion Class comes about as deBrae urges it to move, swinging down from the mooring gantries and aligning with the Mandeville Point for a greyhound straight. Off in the distance, marked by the ping of augur repeats, one of the Cobra Destroyers clears the shipping lanes, while the other is stalled. The nimbler of the two lurches forwards, a bloodhound loosed to the chase.

 

We're basically using an I-go-you-go here on a slightly modified version of the Stern Chase rules.

 

Castinius [ ]

[Lord_Ikka]

Castinius

 

Castinius' hands dance on the panel, moving the ship in a smooth curve towards the Mandeville point.

Spoiler

 

Pilot (Starship) Test

Target - 48 + 40(ship bonus) = 84

Roll - 28

Result = pass, 6 DoS (+4 from Malvolio?)

 

 

Edited February 14 by Lord_Ikka

[Trokair]

Sola

 

The central hold of the Sparrowhawk remained quiet for the rest of the ascent, perhaps the newcomers were not so green and knew how to survive when the a breach or field failure alarm sounded. It was no longer her problem.

 

---

 

Arriving on the bridge Anastasia headed to her station, overseeing the bank of consuls that the gunnery adjutants manned.  The three servitor cogitators were of course on station, plugged into their controls they never left, but the two crew stations were also filled.

 

Even in port, when there should have been no need, she had drilled her staff to be vigilant. Indeed she could see that they had run several training exercises and prepared gunnery solutions if any of the other ships in orbit proved hostile. Which indeed they might.

 

Suspect cargo searches where not unknown when Planetary Governors or Navy Command wanted to throw their weight around, and so soon after the events below, nothing for it but to see it through.

With the orders given the Captain had chosen his course of action. Inwardly she disapproved of his habit to drink at the outset of an engagement, better to save it for when they were in the clear.        

Edited March 30 by Trokair

[Mazer Rackham]

And with that, Castinius scores enough DoS to escape!

 

The Starchylde:

 

The pursuit grinds on for several hours as the Rogue Trader vessel, under deBrae's expert hands, supported by the unique hull, forged by the shipwright's art and the precognitive touches and direction of the Master Seer, finally outstrips the Cobras behind, lagging due to their poor start at the course.

 

A wing of gravity and using the mass conveyor to mask some movements, buys the star clipper valuable time, in which to eke out kilometres to AU's and finally VU's. The augurs report the running mates well out of arms' and weapon's reach, and just as well, when the Navigator's voice coolly breathes into the hull spaces.

 

+The ordained path is found. May the Emperor shield our souls.+

 

The emergency klaxon sounds again, with a long-ringing bell to warn of pressure doors - previously open to allow easy traffic between compartments - sealing sections of the ship.

 

On the bridge it is a little more frenetic.

 

'Gellar Field generator online and reporting excellent resonance, sir!' one of the support crew chimes. A chrono on the main screen lists the countdown to translation, the stars and anything beyond thankfully obscured by dozens of layers of warded adamantium and ceramite ablative.

 

Five...

 

'Navigator blister is in commune, Astronomican parapsychic levels strong.' Another.

 

Three...

 

'All blast shutters fast! All supernumerary crew to crash couches!'

 

De Wiart absorbs this. 'We are the pilgrims, master, we will go, although a little further it may be-'

 

He's cut off as an indescribable lesion erupts in front of the starship. Only the Navigator can see it, but the augury and holo-orrery depict the great tear in the reality of vacuum as one dimension breaches another. A sharp electrical tingle rises in everyone's teeth, some hair stands on end, all feel the awful vertiginous pull of deep and terrible freefall. The warp seems to reach out with grappling hands and never-lightning wracks the ship.

 

One!

 

Starchylde ploughs through the gap, her metal bones constricting as the unpressure thrashes her intrusion, repelling the real from the twisted unreal.

 

You drop through the gap into hell's mouth, and the door closes your pursuers off with a hateful slam.

 

GM: We'll call the main prologue complete there, gentlemen. I'd encourage anyone who wants to complete any posts pertaining to their current *tasks* as it were, to go ahead and get them up. Otherwise, they can be completed when the game resumes with Chapter One in a few weeks.

 

Note that going forward, De Wiart will take a step back to let PC agency take over a bit. As always queries and shouting in the OOC.

[Machine God]

Restal:

 

Down in the hold opening up boxes looking for the xenos contraband Kerr Restal sensed the start of the chase.

 

The Starchylde had started to run for the Mandeville. It was a good job that the crates were lashed down tight but the spares began shifting and sliding about the deck. He noticed the armsman climb up a stanchion bracket and  he instructed Reynard to do the same.

 

"Starchylde's running for the jump the deck is too dangerous, we just have to enjoy the ride. Think happy thoughts and pray to the Emperor" said Kerr Restal.

 

Warning klaxon's sounded and what few lights there were in the hold dimmed to red.

 

'All blast shutters fast! All supernumerary crew to crash couches!'

 

 

There was a horrible screech like tearing metal, like a thousand nails dragged down a thousand blackboards and the air turned blue.

 

 

"Whoah!" uttered Kerr Restal. "Warp Translation! We are now in hands of the Navigator and Gellars Field."

 

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Malvolio

 

Faint witchfire flashed around the chamber as the vessel moved away, the path of fate almost concerningly unobstructed as any chance of pursuit fell away. They had stepped upon the path and were now committed.

 

The others of the choir could feel it too but beyond this chamber the ship was quiet, a brisk departure was not uncommon and there was no haste in transitioning to the immaterium. The time of testing was yet to come.

 

Duty done Malvolio returned to the bridge knowing that the captain would want the Inquisitors gift close at hand. De Wiart had not moved from his throne nor would he until the matter at hand was concluded. "The tides of fate about this endeavour are strong indeed." Nothing more needed to be said, fate like the Astronomican was a beacon that would draw many eyes towards them.

 

"The Emperor protects".

[Lord_Ikka]

Castinius

 

After the translation, Castinius handed back control of the helm to his second. With the ship now in the Navigator's control, the helm was placed on watch-keeping status. deBrae would return to the station if the Rogue Trader himself needed the Master of the Keel, for the return back to normal space, and for his normal shifts. Until then, his time was his own. His master would call them together once he had determined a target, then the officers of the ship would help him determine the path to accomplish the mission.

 

He walked the two miles to the training cages and small arms firing range. Here was where Castinius could put any and all troublesome issue to rest. The clash of melee, the comforting jolt of his wrist when the bolt pistol fired, the fury unleashed was cathartic to him. He nodded to the master at arms in charge of the firing range and acquired several magazines of bolt pistol practice ammunition. He settled into the firing stance, placing bolt after bolt into the targets. 

 

Soon he would have to go and deal with the new members of the crew. He would hold judgement until he saw them in action, until they proved to him that they would be of use to the De Wiart dynasty.

[Lysimachus]

Reynard:

 

Reynard held on tight as the Starchylde shook for several long moments. Crossing from one dimension into another was always hard on a ship - perhaps the greatest stress on the hull of all.

 

Assuming a sudden warp storm didn't tear it in half, of course.

 

Reynard frowned. He hoped this Sun-Hai had skill enough to avoid such a fate. There was certainly nothing he could do about it.

 

Best to focus on something else. He let go of the stanchion and returned to searching for the crates that De Wiart had been concerned about. Reynard still wasn't sure exactly what the Trader was looking for, so he was just trying to keep his eyes open for something that didn't seem to fit.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

++ CHAPTER ONE: THE GOD-BREAKER'S YARD ++

 

 

 

Location: Mandeville Point #01104

Carthage-Umbra Terminus, Galleo Astropathic Duct Ordinal #23-44-90/B.

Date: Damocles Orbit +3 Weeks.

 

The Warp conduit was chosen and navigated well, avoiding any incidents on the flight through the aether, however, that does not mean the Starchylde was unscathed. New dents and dings scatter the hull, even clipping the mechanical spider-limbed salvage cranes un the belly of this metal beast. The ship made a small detour, dropping out of warp to leave behind some contraband discovered in the hold.

A small crate of Xenos-like artefacts, there was no doubt to the experienced Senseschal that it was reproduction - facsimiles of Tau objects and ephemera, designed to merely to rouse enough suspicion to impound the frigate, and schedule her Captain for execution. Now it floats in a survival pod, with a locator beacon aboard from the Chylde's own array, and a boldly scrawled note wishing the 'Navy bastards' better luck next time.

 

This is all behind the ship now, instead what lies to their fortunes is ahead.

 

The Chylde, sowing a series of warp jumps to confuse any trail, erupts into real-space one more.

 

Within the map room, a great hololithic orrery with several screens reveals the Inquisitrix's pre-recoded message given to the crew's keeping.

 

'We search for the Silent Architect. It is a vessel of tremendous value, but it has been missing for millennia. Gone into the darkness, no beacons or tales of it's fate have found their way to us. Until now.'

 

The lights and lines of brilliant luminescence reforge into a smaller ship, a Sword Class frigate.

 

'This is the First Mandate. Terminally damaged in heavy ship-to-ship action, it was discovered by a salvage crew operating under the direction of another Rogue Trader. It was brought into the ship-breaking yards located on the planet of Demeter-Seven. It has mostly been gutted and stripped, the only pieces intact are the prow, drives and bridge.'

 

The corpse of the ship renders. It is a sad thing, replete with the ravages of being in a gunfight, a meteor shower and the clutches of intermittent warp travel.

 

'Significant components of the ship were bought to refit other ships. One of these was a cogitator array containing the logs of the flotilla the Mandate belonged to. It has been confirmed, by shipwrights and hullmasters in the shipyards of Port Maw, that a hull, numbered SC-009-887-Omicron/9D-Rho.30M was part of this group. The hull number and configuration match eyewitness datalogs of the Architect.'

 

The hololith coalesces into the Inquisitrix's pretty, if stern face once more.

 

'Unfortunately the star maps of the Mandate were not bought by the same merchant. Go to Demeter-Seven, find the breakers' yard carving the ship apart and find those star charts. It is only a matter of time before a rival to the De Wiart household obtains it. If they do, they will have our gratitude, and my favour may wane.'

 

'Good hunting, Starfarers.'

 

The hololith displays the co-ordinates of your first labour - the scrapheap.

 

GM Note: There are further details on the datavault, but it's just text. Interrogations or questions can be answered by some of the NPC's or I can feed Spoiler text to a PC, and what they want to reveal is up to them, however it is limited.

 

Questions and shouting in the OOC.