[BC] The Blackest Heart (Part II) (IC)

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

After the grinning one left, Atesh relaxed slightly.  He was excited to wander his own and see what he could figure out.  

 

An idea started to percolate in his head.  He remembered how, when he was young, the filthiest of the gods had sent one of his plagues among their village.  While it spread slowly and only killed a few, its effects were inevitably fatal among those who fell ill.  Atesh remembered how his village feared rumors of additional outbreaks, that the plague one would continue to watch and visit the village.  He remembered the rituals of cleansing, changing fire performed by the prior Seer.

 

If the only location of medical assistance for this town...which, while apparently small to wider Imperial standards, was still much larger than the settlements Atesh had experienced...was any sort of distance, that was a possible choke point.  Atesh knew enough of the Imperium to know the haves were not generally altruistic enough to worry about the health of the have-nots.  He also knew enough of basic humanity that resentment would flourish there.

 

Atesh decided to stroll towards the medical complex and keep an eye out for more downtrodden parts of town on his way.

 

"Slovik, last question, if I may.  I know the hospital is outside town.  I need to restock supplies; which way will get me there with greatest speed?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor:

 

All:

++Fifteen minutes to translation.++

 

Hagga/Mourn:

 

Jellicoe points to a maintenance access conduit (OOC: It's a Jeffries' Tube for the Trekkies) which travels further into the bowels of the engineerium works. Your mechanicum knowledge is hazy on such matters, but sufficient to know it is one of a network of ducts allowing maintenance servitors and Adepts to conduct safe observations and minor adjustments to the excessively temperamental and complicated machines within. Heavily shielded, it is the perfect place for a stowaway, with lots of room, an integral air supply, and easily coverable access.

 

'We could flood the pipes with argon gas, so the Screwjacks tell me, sirs, but not while we're about to hit the Aether,' Jellicoe advises.

 

Indeed, there exist the effects of a stowaway, a small spirit-fuelled stove just within the conduit hatch, a bedroll, neatly tied, and a kitbelt with a water canteen and ration sack. A weapon cleaning kit is bundled up hurriedly, demonstrating what the 'guest' was in the middle of when disturbed. The bulky holster on the webbing, is pointedly empty. A modified shotgun shell pouch is partially open, revealing an array of bolt shells trussed within.

 

That same gruff voice rolls out of the tunnel with a thick, rich accent now devoid of vox distortion.

 

'I can see ya there, ya big bastards! You come any closer wi' your heebie-jeebie horse, and Ancestors willing, I'll blow yer ing head off!'

 

Harville:

 

Crux'as/Atesh/Xerxes:

 

Slovik nods. 'Of course - if you wish to quit the town gentlemen, there can be had ferries. The fastest is a fee-paid ground car service, or a more sedate and pleasant trip could be had by the stage-wagon which is provided by the municipal treasury. Alternatively you could always take the pilgrim trail, which is a well-signed footpath which runs alongside the road. The roads to our major infrastructure are metalled - to retain our rustic charm, and provide value for money for our taxpayers, the others are not.'

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

“No one here gives a  about your sorry little arse! Now, if you come out of there without causing any more trouble, I'll give my word of honour that no-one on this crew will do you any harm. We'll drop you off wherever we stop next, or hell, you can join up and maybe turn a nice bit of profit for yourself? It's a genuine offer…”

 

Hagga growled in the back of his throat.

 

“...but if you force me to squeeze in there and drag you out, I'll make you wish your mother never even made eyes at your father!”

 

 

Edited March 31 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor - Engineerium:

 

'Alright, alright, hod-on tae yer kelpies, man. I won't shoot if yae doesnae.'

 

The doughty shape of a Squat slowly resolves in accompaniment to the clumping and bumping of a man tumbling through tight spaces. He comes out slowly and carefully points his Bolt-shotgun anywhere but at the welcoming party. His bolt revolver is tucked into a sturdy riggers belt. He makes the weapons safe with careful, deliberate movements, and stows them about his thickly muscled person. Like all Squats, he carries himself with an unexpected swiftness of foot and his hands grip with surety and strength.

 

'Well ye huvnae shot me, and I havnae shot you, so it seems we've got an accord, like.'

 

He sniffs and runs a finger under his nose before stroking a voluminous and exceptionally handsome beard and moustache combination into a tame condition from where it was frazzled by the static in the conduit.

 

'Formalities then, since we's bein' cordial. Brodin Thainn, er...Squat...Prospector. Aye. Prospector.' He sniffs again, with a shifty glint in his eye. His left boot heel carefully nudges a clanking bag back behind his bedroll.

 

He can't quite look directly at Hagga, due to the Bloody Warrior's Mark, and starts grabbing up his meagre possessions.

 

'Since, uh, you boys look well busy, and a wee bit tetchy, I'll just grab my stuff and be going. No hard feelin's, eh?'

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga's shaggy eyebrow rose in curiosity and suspicion.

 

“Hold, Prospector Thiann. I am Hagga Rykaz. I said we'd drop you wherever we stopped next. You can get off then.”

 

The Executioner smiled bleakly.

 

“We aren't there yet. And that… accord… you spoke of depends on us doing no harm to one another. I would view the taking of anything from our vessel as ‘harm’.”

 

He leaned in ever so slightly.

 

“What's in the bag?”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor - Engineerium:

 

'Oh, er, aye, I doesnae want t' put you out of your way, like - er this, bag here?'

 

He gently hefts the bulky satchel, and carefully handles the items within. They make no sense to your eyes, except they are chunks of mechanical 'bits' possibly filters, there are lots of flanges and fittings for gaskets - or at least that would be your guess.

 

One of the adepts approaches, looking at the gubbins spread out on the deck, looks up at you snorting dismissively. 'Just junk sir, these are used engine and manifold parts. They aren't much use to this pattern plasma forge. Probably left over from a refit.'

 

'It was a just a few bits for a pal, like,' Thainn explains, shrugging. 'His ships are a wee bit past prime, you know?'

 

Even so, he deftly takes a step sideways to give everyone a little space in case tempers fray.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga listened to the Adept, then nodded.

 

“Very well, no harm done. I am… curious… as to how you came to be aboard this ship, Master Thiann? What do you know of it?”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor - Engineerium:

 

'Me? Oh, not much. Just that yer plasma condenser inject valves are about fourteen weeks overdue for replacin'. I huvnae blagged them, by the way.'

 

With the disarming of tensions, he goes about collecting up his kit as though there aren't two quizzical super-soldiers watching him.

 

'Well I was with a wee mining outfit operating out of Juno, and a pal said there was extra scratch for some old parts, so er...I went...Prospecting. I called him, but he never turned up afore you, uh, set sail.'

 

He bolts and belts on his possessions.

 

'Erm, can I find ma own billet? You know, if I'm sticking around?'

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

“Hmm, I would say that the choice - and quality - of your billet depends on how useful you make yourself during your time with us? You know there's no such thing as a free ride. We've only just taken ownership of the Razor, so if you are aware of issues that our Adepts should look at…?”

 

Hagga paused thoughtfully.

 

“Also, if you are a miner, do you know anything about facilities for atmospheric helium mining from a gas giant?”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor:

 

He grins. 'Enough to bore you to death, big boy.'

 

Thainn throws a toolbag over his amply muscled shoulder, and swaggers off to find his billet. He's whistling a merry little ditty.

 

You know the one.

 

++++++++++

 

LOCSIT: KATARIS-41 MANDEVILLE POINT

TRANSLATION: COMPLETE

COMPLICATIONS: NONE

TIME INDEX: INCIPE +30 DAYS

 

The Razor breaks free of the swirling Neverlight to emerge whole and complete into the Kataris 41 System. Blast shutters open and the ship relaxes from the terrifying unguided jump it has just made. Not for the first time does the bridge crew thank whatever they hold dear that up to date charts and forecasts were obtained from Perugia Station back in Ithyca. Whatever codes and protocols Kraggan applied were effective in the extreme.

 

Sensitively guarded and expensive forecasts are not simple to come by.

 

Still, the relief flooding through them is short-lived. They know well the mission, and the bridge, which is in fact the only strategium in the small-hulled vessel is crammed with the presence of the huge Space Marines and the command staff of the so-called first shift. The array is completed by Thainn, who is still covered in his weapons and freshly laundered hardened Squat voidsuit. His rig is replete with kit and karabiners, handy for absolutely anything he needs to hang off them, and he is never without at least 20 yards of good, sturdy line.

 

It is here you can get a better look at him.

 

Weathered and swarthy, many alien suns have graced his flesh, grey eyes to be almost colourless, they are intense under thick brows, his abhuman physiology suggesting he was 'quarried' rather than birthed. He's let it slip to the others on the work crews around the ship he is near three centuries of age, but his vitality, according to Mrs Miggins hasn't suffered for it.

 

The only 'person' who seems to want to avoid him is the ship's cat, Stinky - and whenever he comes into the room, he threatens it with his bolt revolver until it leaves - and it always leaves. Trinkets and trophies and useful little bits and tools hang around his rig, the straps of his webbing criss-crossing his armour plates. His abilities have been much in demand, and things that worked after taking a good kick, now are keen and eager. He has not trespassed into Magos Kraggan or Xerxes' workshop demesnes, but instead has busied himself putting together a toolkit which fits into a custom-built hard case he can carry into any conduit or space he can fit - and his stature allows him to fit into many such places.

 

He seems uncomfortable here, as though cramped quarters and a good technical challenge are his preferred purview, but there have been stories of him engaged in wrestling bouts with the strongest crewmen and rumours of the best grog still magically appearing from junk parts. Speaking of junk parts, he has also been more forthcoming about his...Prospecting. He was part of a small Squat mining clan who got involved with Pylar Grenn - yes, that one - and got into debt. The parts were to help the man out and clear the trouble.

 

'I still owe the man,' he says, 'a debt is a debt.'

 

He has said no more about it since.

 

Now, his keen engineer's eyes watch the hololith of He₃ Mining Platform Opal, and plot approaches to the gas giant, Kataris Upsilon.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

“Battlestations!”

 

Ukalegon waited a moment as the general call was given and the running lights dimmed to a grim and hellish red, soaking them all in a baleful and hateful light.

 

"Helmsman, take us in slow. Silent running, minimum power. We don't wish to raise suspicions," Ukalegon murmured from his position next to the human the others referred to as ‘Claude.’ 

 

He surveyed the hololithic projection of the system and softly gave further orders to some of the others, "Comms, Augurs, locate any navigation buoys or anything else that might record our presence and display them here. We will deal with them later.”

 

He turned to look at the Executioner and nodded at him, his steely blue eyes regarding the other warrior with whom he shared something of a blood bond.

 

"The floor is yours, Hagga." 

Edited March 31 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Rykaz nodded back respectfully to his closest brother, appreciating his naval strategy, and looked around, firstly at the gathered Astartes. Ukalegon wasn't the only one who had chosen to repaint his armour. Though the reds and blacks weren't applied in the same patterns, and each Marine retained some reminder of their former allegiance, they were starting to look like a damned unit.

 

“It pleases me greatly, brothers,” he offered grimly, “to feel like part of a squad again. Corsairs of the Razor's Edge! I am eager to go into battle beside you all!”

 

They stood beside the hololith projector, examining the layout provided by the Seneschal now overlaid with additional data provided by the Razor’s own augurs. Again he was struck by the difficulties of destroying the actual target, the rigs and helium processors, without affecting the workers dwelling in the habitat along the third arm. Maybe it was as Jaina had said? Maybe Strabo didn't really care about collateral damage?

 

Still, the Executioner intended to take the man at his word. If at all possible, he would see this task accomplished without the murder of innocent civilians.

 

“So, brothers, Magos, Prospector…,” he addressed the others standing around the glowing three dimensional projection, “...any thoughts about how to penetrate that structure?”

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

And so they dispersed, each to their own. He had reviewed what little they knew of this place on the way down and suspected that the mobile silos might become a vulnerability, vast and numerous their servicing would be frequent yet likely too mundane for true tech priests. There would be no cause to suspect a gradual subversion of their systems but it would be unwise to assume without learning more of the mechanicus presence here.

 

Besides his research would benefit from more... localised testing that would not threaten the integrity of their vessel. The servitors aboard Juno station had a controlled aggression, an ability to co-operate amongst themselves to a degree, which meant that they could be controlled or at least directed if there was a way to ensure the infection did not cause them to deteriorate ahead of schedule.

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

After confirming the best route to the pilgrim's path, Atesh set out on a meandering path through town.  He wanted to note as much of the city's infrastructure as he could; he kept an eye peeled for sewer access and water towers.  He also tried to keep a mental tally of which parts of town were more destitute than others; where one saw beggars, and where were the locals looking more upright and clean.

 

Atesh had not yet solidified the specifics of his plan, but first he required information.  As he learned from the Changer, betrayal is best served by forewarning.  He considered questioning a local under cover of a health survey on his way through town.

[Mazer Rackham]

Bounty:

 

Xerxes:

 

As you wend your way around you notice the usual security holopicters operating in networked patterns to provide coverage. Some are overt, others less so, but your implants detect presence if not outright spotting them. Your journey takes you to Depot Master Grenz, (GM OOC: I'm assuming you're going here, correct me in the OOC otherwise) and his clade of agrarian maintenance workers. The abode of the Omnissiah is small, but that is to be expected from such an outpost.

 

The only real difference is the habits and robes of the Mechanicum force here, wearing the Ryza Orange, as opposed to the Martian Red.

 

As you approach the ferromagnetic deck plate with the Opus Mechanicum emblazoned upon it - and impeccably clean to boot - a chime sounds announcing communion disruption - a stranger has entered the hold.

 

The person who must be Grenz, judging by the markings on his vestments and the superior augmetics, slowly flies across the floor on repulsor transit. He arrests at the threshold and communicates with you simultaneously in Binharic and Low Gothic.

 

+Greetings, Adherent. Announce your function at this locus.+

 

Atesh:

 

The pilgrim trail is, as Slovik stated, well signed. It corresponds exactly with your mapping dataslate, and as you near certain landmarks, a short snippet of information is granted about the commissioning builder, its age, what materials it is composed of, that kind of thing. You spot several drainage grates and flow-pipes leading from the metalled and stone-sheathed roads, but without works access exploring them does not immediately become apparent. It is possible however, that there are aqueducts or spillways further outside town.

 

Harville generally maintains several quarters, but as you would expect some slum-dilapidation, as with other Imperial cities, the population is not centralised here, and whilst the mercantile section is obviously poorer, it is reasonably maintained. Even when you reach what would be described as a pauper district, the drudgery simply peters out into nothing.

 

It strikes you perhaps that with food readily available to farmers, and work aplenty to occupy manpower, the dispersed population in their fields would have sufficient support to keep them from clogging up the doors of the well-heeled around the world capital.

 

The streets themselves are broad, enough room to build as wide as they are needed for bulk haulers or, more likely armoured carriers. Still, there are plenty of folks about, from a few walks of life - manual labourers in the green robes of field and farrow, as well as the merchants and petit-bureaucrats moving around delivering messages, collecting supplies for meals and the like.

 

Everything seems to go at a slower pace here, potentially to do with the heat and distance.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

A frown creased his features as he stared at the hololith.  He glanced around the bridge, at the human faces trying hard to pretend they weren't paying attention to them, and then his eyes snapped back up to the 'lith.

 

"Strabo said not to murder everyone, and even if we wanted to kill them all that's an issue because any idiot can tell the difference between a poison splinter and a mass-reactive wound.  On Endymion, we fought off more than our fair share of knife-ear raids.  They take prisoners, presumably hauling them off as slaves, as many as they can."  He paused, blue eyes darting around the group.  "So why don't we just press-gang them?"

 

He began a slow pace around the hololith, warming to the idea.  "And not just the workers, but the security team as well.  Swapping down from the Dredge gave us better crew efficiency, but we're still not fully manned.  That's a lot of void-capable staff right there.  We present as a Loyalist Chapter, out in the open, tell them there's a credible threat from...raiders or xenos or whatever.  Dock, evacuate the station, stuff the eldar bodies and gear Strabo gave us in a few spots all rigged up to look like an unsuccessful defense, then blow off the processors and withdraw.  If anyone comes to investigate, the obvious conclusion is that the knife-ears seized the station, there was a fight they won, and they dragged off the whole staff."

 

He stopped in his pacing, then turned and squared up to Hagga.  "It doesn't fit exactly what Strabo wanted -- " he paused to spit on the decking, " -- but it serves our purposes and fits with the spirit of his request." 

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Varne considered Obadiah's idea. It was a solid plan to bolster their numbers, no doubt, but it wasn't without its flaws. More torment inflicted on the unnumbered masses.

 

"We have no intelligence on the staff numbers, Obadiah. We may overload and outnumber our current crew complement, inviting a revolt that would take a heavy toll when they recognise the ruse. Furthermore, I do not entirely trust how forthcoming our patron has been. The crew aboard that station may be battle-ready, it may be riddled with factional conflict that could pose threat to the Razor's Edge. There are many variables that rely on blindly trusting the word of a... profiteer," he sneered the final word.

 

The Doom Eagle stepped up to the hololith, "the low-risk and clean route is to destroy the platform in its entirety, with shaped charges clustered around the proximal boundaries of the three arms of the platform; here, here, and here," he pointed to each location on the rendered model in turn. "Two charges per cluster, oriented with the payloads ejecting at opposite joints of the hexagonal struts bearing the load of each arm. I believe the magos is more familiar with the sacred rites needed to arm these explosives, so I will stand in as our plan B saboteur if Kraggan falls. Do you concur with my assessment, tech-priest?" 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Rykaz listened as Barzani spoke, nodding thoughtfully. A typically subtle plan from a Mantid, but it was certainly a way to keep at least some of the population alive. The Razor was still only half crewed, under specs by around eight thousand men. Not that he would take all of that shortfall from the mines, it would be a poor idea to suddenly have a full half of their crew made up of pressed, untrusted mortals who might decide to band together and mutiny.

 

Then Varne spoke before he could answer, but his words were much in agreement with Hagga's thoughts.

 

“It's still not a bad ruse to get us in range and aboard," he grunted. "From there, you and the Magos can make best use of those explosives to destroy the facilities. And maybe we could take some of their numbers without allowing enough aboard to become a threat to us… What is the estimated size of the population aboard the platform?”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: At it's peak the platform would hold somewhere in the region of 2,000 workers tasked with various routine, specialist, and mono-rote employments. On a clean-down and strip, this would be closer to 200, with the bulk of those being maintenance workers and repair crewmen broken up into three 8-hour shifts, with work being scaled back to R/A/G priority repairs and servitor refurb duties.

 

GM: At peak times, a stockpile of 1,000 servitors (both adapted and standard) for heavy plant operation and support would be engaged. Given wear and tear, this would approximate 800 units in service, with the rest being refurbished during the down-time.

 

GM: TL;DR, there are 200 humans and 800 Servitors at work in the mandatory 'cooldown' period.

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: I'm going to take the liberty of moving Crux'as on as well, since I've rolled his compatriots forward - I'll be going from the cues in the IC above and any OOC interactions.

 

Bounty:

 

Crux'as:

 

The relay-stage wasn't as bad as you'd feared. Being a visiting business investor has brought some perks, especially with your silver-tongued slipperiness making them see you as one of their own - at least for as long as you needed. The gossip has flooded through your ears, the sniping, the contempt, the ingratitude and petty impositions of life and the competition of different institutions and their avatars. It is here, good word has it, that the remnants of the Padruk family linger.

 

To say the planet is ripe for rebellion, is, however a gross overstatement. Embers here linger, true, but the stat of affairs is stolid contentment. At least, overall. That has only spurred you however to drip the right word in the wrong ear, and soon you find your path leading to the gates of Jerall Holdfast, a manor house and grounds which sprawl over several hundred hectares of arable land, dotted with the buildings you've come to expect on Bounty - silos, farming plant sheds, worker barracks.

 

The manor itself is not unpleasant by Imperial standards, fortified, and replete with frescoes and murals denoting the great status of House Jerall, who seem to have conquered worlds, overthrown empires and fed the entire Imperium in the process. The whole suggestion of hubris drips into your subconscious in delicious, seditious nectar. At the gates there are House troops, and, in the background to this somnolent early evening, is the crackle-pop of lasgun drill.

 

Three men await your decanting from the cyber-horse-drawn stagecoach, watching you with hooded stares and slung lasguns of the local type - a pattern akin to full-stocked hunting rifles, down to the rustic wood which embraces the magical technology of photon acceleration. They watch your transport pull away, quite deliberately ignoring you until the coach is over the hill.

 

'Hold there, sir,' one of the sentries challenges, evenly. 'State your business.'

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

His bucolic surroundings were beginning to intrigue Atesh.  It seemed to him that the higher one was, and the less outward strife, the further one had to fall with greater shock.  

 

The intrigue quickly turned bitter.  While hardscrabble in nature, Atesh had considered himself an educator and skilled laborer in a society.  His illusions were quickly being dashed.  The Astartes referred to him as some sort of hedge witch with no power.  The mortals obviously had no use for him.  He was quickly figuring out that his understanding of the ghost world was a fraction of what he thought he knew.  He came to the conclusion that he must prove he was more than some filthy savage.  Some filthy mutant savage, to boot.

 

It would be fine.  Atesh was adaptable.  He continued down the pilgrim trail, inspecting the fields around him and continuing to study irrigation patterns as best he could on the way to the medical facility.  He decided the best way to occupy his time was to study how dry the crops seemed, and fantasize about what a proper conflagration could do to Harville.

Edited April 1 by FabiusV4lcoran

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"+Location screening. I have been tasked with assessing this site before the arrival of high value individuals+"  The arrival of the shuttle would not have gone unnoticed and a warp vessel no matter how small represented a vast ongoing investment in fuel and repairs that would beggar most nobles.

[Mazer Rackham]

Bounty:

 

Atesh:

 

GM: The irrigation channels are appropriate to the size of the field and crop, so as you pass by the tall corn stalks, they are regular and concrete channels with feed points from collection channels. Some of the channels have pipes which feed them, which you suspect may come in from higher elvations or even recycle overspill from river escape.

 

GM: It is, however a summer season on this world. A fire would burn violently and for a long time before remedy could be made...in fact, give me a Hard (-20) Willpower Test.

 

Edited April 1 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga frowned. How strong were their defences? Were they any threat to the Razor? If there were only two hundred mortals aboard - and unlikely that more than a quarter of that number were actual fighters - did they even need subterfuge? Maybe they could just sail in and demand what they wanted?

 

No. Varne was right. Everything they thought they knew came from Strabo, and could be utterly false. It could be a trap. Better to get aboard with a minimum of fuss.

 

“They haven't hailed us yet. Nothing in this system except us and them, so why wouldn't they make contact? I'd guess maybe they haven't seen us yet. Should we try to slip as close as possible, or hail them and lie our way in? What weapons do they have, and how close can we get before they have range?”

 

 

 

Edited April 1 by Lysimachus
Strabo, not Nydax! Mixing names up!

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

Spoiler

WP (40) - Hard Challenge (20)=  20

Roll:  42

2 DoF