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

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn 

 

He froze.

 

"You...", he said, trailing off. 

 

He opened his mouth, once, twice, again and again, but no words came forth. 

 

You're dead.

 

You're all dead.

 

He had thought about it during his escape, of course. He had argued with that coldness that gnawed at his hearts, a knife in his conscience. They had been fools. They had been weak. They should have scouted, or scanned, or done anything but run blindly after the fleeing enemy. If he had not retreated, he would have joined his brothers in death. It was bad luck and their many myriad mistakes that had led them to inglorious destruction.

 

But they had been his brothers.

 

My brothers are dead. 

 

His eye, all of a sudden, turned to the one-eyed bear and he was filled with a cold fire through his body and soul, burning and freezing, clawing at his hearts dead he'd join his brothers in their pyres traitor there was no escape dead TRAITOR DEAD DEAD 

 

The vox burst from the Magos cut through his frenzied mind like a ship through a comet field, and for once he was thankful for that tech-priest. It was time to leave, and fast, but he would not run like he had from the Guard. He could not-

 

The bear looked at him with its button eye. 

 

TRAITOR

 

He hesitated. DEAD Something primal, deep within his hearts, told him to take the bear and TRAITOR run.

 

And he ran.

Edited April 9 by BadgersinHills

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik: 

 

Atesh released what could only be described as a squawk of surprise at his old comrade's face.

 

"Shocked you recognized me, Sarge.  Glad to see you got off the Eye!"

 

He shook the proffered hand, relieved to be back in friendlier surroundings after the arduous hike from the damned medic's.

[Mazer Rackham]

Bounty:

 

Crux'as & Atesh (sounds like a magic show, but Penn & Teller it ain't):

 

Sarge shakes firmly.

 

'Of course I recognised you - got the old sight, haven't I? Get the feeling for the Old Masters of Ways.' He taps his nose, then laughs. 'In truth, I knew you were coming. I take it we have you two to thank for all the ruckus we're hearing?'

 

He waves away the immediate companions, the Lookout, however, stays.

 

'I go by Isidor Cain now, not my real moniker. Lost to time that one,' he says wistfully, shaking his head. 'Anyway, will you be joining us for a bit of fun?'

 

Razor:

 

Kraggan:

 

+No Magos, we have a few minutes yet.+

 

Varne:

 

You can hear the sound of someone very quietly scuffling around in what sounds like a metal box, then you hear the flex and realise the quarry is inside an air duct somewhere in the room.

 

Obadiah:

 

Defuse Test:

D100: 76 Fail, 1 DoF

IP Rerol: 91, oh yeah, lots of DoF.

GM OOC: Going to have this as Thainn being flummoxed, and unwilling to just do stuff. This buys you a chance of not eating dynamite.

 

'Got six main terminal cables here, and as far as I can tell, three are decoys which will short-circuit and discharge the capacitor which means we'll be scrubbin' wur tits ahfae the walls for the next week, two are duffers, and do nothin', and last one is what we want.'

 

Thainn looks at you.

 

'Feeling lucky, son? Gonnae have tae cut 'em individual. Give me your best guesses. One at a time, if'n ya please.'

 

1. Intact
2. Intact
3. Intact
4. Intact
5. Intact
6. Intact

 

GM: Nothing but guesswork here. Pick a winner.

 

Edited April 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Mojake]

Varne

 

+Varne to bridge. Deckmaster, can you flush the air ducts around the starboard armoury? It seems we have a rat that needs forcing out.+

 

He pushed the door fully open, sweeping the room with his auto-senses and keeping a wary eye before making each step. He spotted Hagga's prone form, the ceramite of his leg twisted, but he was clearly alive. The Doom Eagle scanned the room, looking along the air ducts for any sign of their prey moving around.

 

Spoiler

Perception Test (for both traps and looking for their target):

• Power Armour & Heightened Senses: +20
• Target: 59
• Roll: 3 (5 DoS)

@Mazer Rackham let me know if there are any difficulty modifiers that need applying retroactively. 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Armoury:

 

+Roger, activating fire-damping systems now. Let's see how the rat likes Halon.+

 

No explosions, random acts of terror or enemies leap out at you. For a moment, the miscreant is still, then you hear the shuffling again from under your feet. There must be a drain or duct grate somewhere on the floor/deck.

 

It takes thirty seconds, but the Halon begins to hiss through the ducts.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga groaned and carefully pulled himself to his feet. Already his gene-hanced body was compensating for the injuries it had suffered. Just as well. He wasn't about to let the little get away so easily.

 

Varne's attention shifted from the ceiling above to the floor below. Hagga looked around the Armoury, using Heart-Eater's fire to light his search. If the bomber had accessed a floor duct, there must be an open hatch here somewhere…

 

Awareness Test: Per38 +10(HS) +10(Autosenses) = 58, Roll: 19, 4DoS

 

“Eska, veni,” he hissed softly. The hound entered through the ruined portal, picking her way slowly towards him through the piles of fallen equipment.

 

 

[Mojake]

Varne

 

He watched Hagga climb to his feet and set the canid after their quarry. "Well, the charges are placed on the platform. We will be ready to detonate once we reach a safe distance," he relayed, watching Eska clamber through the wreckage. "What is that beast you command?"

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He sighed heavily.  "Can't we just heave this thing out of the hangar into the void?"

[Mazer Rackham]

Obadiah:

 

Thainn nearly swallows his beard as he sucks air in. His face registers shock at the utterly preposterous notion.

 

'Naw, we cannae! What are ye, boy, a fun sponge? Och jings, I knew it! Should've asked that loony with the tail - at least he coulda held the light fer me!'

 

He continues to grumble, as you realise he might be sweating, but he's enjoying himself mightily.

 

'Ah'll dae it mesel! G'wan, bugger ahf and gae us heid's peace, man!'

 

Armoury:

 

Eska indicates a trail leading to a grate at floor level, from which a thin vapour is eking - the Halon gas.

 

GM: You may make further Perception Tests, gentlemen.

 

Edited April 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Cautiously, the Executioner moved closer to where Eska pointed. The wisps of gas gave him hope that the enemy had been put down. Halon was only mildly toxic, but it would displace the oxygen in the narrow ducts very quickly, leading to suffocation in a matter of minutes.

 

Of course, that assumed that the saboteur didn't have a rebreather or some form of bionic augment.

 

Hagga softly edged his way to stand close to the grate, peering in from an oblique angle.

 

Awareness Test: Per38 +10(HS) +10(Autosenses) +10(Eska Assist) = 68, Roll: 54, 2DoS

 

 

He frowned, considering Varne's question, and some of the things he'd seen the hound do. He replied in a low, distracted tone.

 

"Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. So far, she's been strong, fierce, and loyal, and that's all I care about."

 

 

 

Edited April 9 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Armoury:

 

Hagga:

 

There's a very small, simple knot made out of what is presumably more deadline, on the grille itself, in the corner of the metal frame.

 

Edited April 9 by Mazer Rackham
Bit of clarity.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Carefully, Hagga reached out with Heart-Eater's full six foot length, placing the very tip of the burning power blade lightly against the knot. After a few seconds, the heavy cord began to melt from the intense heat, and finally fell away from the grill. Hagga stepped back even further immediately, cautious of another detonation.

 

 

Edited April 9 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

The line drops, proving no tension holds the grate shut. It appears then, that the trap was to open the grate in haste, and discover whatever was inside, and, from the light of Heart-Eater, you can see the barrel of the combat shotgun that was aimed at whoever would be impetuous enough to yank the grille up, and no doubt pull the trigger lurking somewhere in the darkness of the duct.

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Xerxes looked up from his work at the message and the spread of warning markers near the signal origin. It would seem the transformation of the mutants head had run deeper beneath the skull.

 

A return signal would only invite discovery and for now it was more important to falsify logs to explain the soon to be disappearance of Grenz and allocation of servitors to secondary locations. The fool could not even find a valuable location to immolate, had they struck at the arbites or sisterhood then perhaps access would have been possible rather than the lockdowns and pict-scours that had been triggered.

 

Doors had closed, but the patrols would be looking for a rogue psyker not tech adepts and servitors in the wake of such destruction and they would likely need a safe path between the picters back to the dock. Such a path could be used to carry many things.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga nodded to Varne, indicating that the Doom Eagle should cover the duct access with his bolter.

 

Then he carefully reached down and took hold of the edge of the grate with his fingertips. The plate should now lift without pulling the trigger, but the bomber was a cunning son of a bitch. Maybe there was a secondary trigger, or a backup device? Maybe the shotgun was supposed to be seen, with a worse trap waiting for the overconfident? Hagga didn't mean to get caught out twice.

 

With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the cover spinning away from the hatch on his left side. At the same time he was jumping to his right, away from the open duct, leaving it clear for Varne to put a few bolt shells into anything that might emerge.

 

The grate clattered violently against the left hand bulkhead, and for a moment the wisps of halon became a steaming cloud rising from the duct.

 

Edited April 9 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Xerxes:

 

It is a simple effort to plot a route around the picters you are aware of or can influence. The rest will have to be down to fate. Commanding the servitors to do your will, you make your own fateful opportunities.

 

The timing must be correct to the second, with no fool interruptions.

 

You observe the patterns, the after-echo of your limited scrapcode detritus still providing patchwork vision for the hunters in this hour of action.

 

There.

 

The path to the Arvus will be clear for several moments in key sectors. Now, to move your loot through the gaps in the noise....

 

GM: Just handle your transition to the landing pad narratively A.T. 

 

Edited April 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

A nod from Crux'as to the leader, noting the friendly greeting to Atesh.

 

"Greetings, Master Cain. My companion, with whom I believe you already know, has indeed provided some interesting problems for the authorities to deal with. I am Bardum, representing the Crimson Claw Syndicate. The ladies of House Padruk have sent me here to take account of your situation and bring that information back to the Syndicate. From there, we will be able to assist in the "fun"."

 

The smile turned dark and hungry.

 

"We look forward to dealing a blow to the current Administrator. And others..."

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

 

Another heavy sigh.  "Fine.  Start with number two, then number five.  I'll give you another number after that assuming we're still alive."

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh: 

 

"I have no clue what ruckus you mean, Cain.  I did see some dry foliage while I was walking around; poor lack of irrigation for a farm planet.  As for fun.....well, I'd love to hear more of that after my happy friend here is...well...happier."  Atesh stretched and scratched his head under his cloak, idly picking down from his otherwise scarred and bald pate.

Edited April 10 by FabiusV4lcoran

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor - Various:

 

Hagga:

 

No movement stirs within the vent. From the door, Staff Eisner clears his throat. 'I can check it out if you wish, lord.'

 

There's a measure of keenness that you understand. Everyone is united in the purpose of revenge.

 

Obadiah:

 

There's a snip, then a snap of a plunger depressing. The bomb looks quite dull, and feels heavy, lifeless. The Squat's face lights up, then is suddenly, swiftly doused in dour when he realises he might have been caught out. He reaches forward and slaps your knee, once.

 

'Well, that's it lad. Fun's over. Ah'm away to try mah luck with Mrs Miggins. You can stay here and lick that, if you like.' He rousts his doughty posterior and waddles away with a certain amount of swagger.

 

When you look inside the casing of the bomb there is only one red wire. The rest are different colours. The red wire is the only one cut.

 

Bounty - Camp:

 

Crux'as:

 

'Well met, Master Bardum. House Padruk has been quite supportive. Whether they'll last the distance...well, I can't say.' He breaks off to smile, recognising your impulses.

 

'Nothing like causing people trouble to stir the wits. As you've seen we've got some promising folks here, but we could always use more help. Trouble being made elsewhere, supply drops, that kind of thing. We can do quite a lot with a goodly supply of demolitions.'

 

'The current administrator is well liked - but the nobles here will turn on him soon enough when there's sufficient trouble-' he glances at Atesh 'and our friend here has certainly started that fire.'

 

Atesh:

 

Cain finally inspects your arm. 'Let's get that arm dressed. Then our lad here can get you back to where you need to go. When the time comes, you can count on our support.'

 

GM: Essentially you guys can hot-foot it back to the Arvus, with the objective of gathering support/intel complete. Your forces are as I stated in the previous GM instruction (Quality of troops, number, etc). Let me know if you want to see/talk/do anything else, but for now boys, that's pretty much a wrap. Feel free to narratively hookup with Xerxes/AT, and get off-world before the window closes.

Edited April 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

 

Perhaps this one is not nearly as loyal to House Padruk as they might wish. Well, that could be useful.

 

"Demolitions? I think that could be arranged." Crux'as smiles wide.

 

"Mayhaps those most...fervent in their desire to assist House Padruk could be put in positions to demonstrate their loyalty. The hottest fires, so to speak. The others, we can use those who have more pure hatred or mercenary instinct in a different fashion. The Syndicate can always use those sort."

 

After getting Atesh's arm seen to, the twosome talked some more to Master Cain and his senior men to get their specific logistical needs. Then it was time to head back to Harville, to see what Xerxes had done in the interim. 

[Mojake]

Varne

 

"I can check it out if you wish, lord."

 

"Perhaps somebody less integral to the functioning of our warband would be appropriate," Varne flatly directed towards Eisner, distaste for the man's lack of caution evident. He gestured towards Eska, "is it resilient to explosives, and can it reform if killed? Failing that, Eisner, fetch an able-bodied menial."

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Work cloaks and a tight escort of the bulkiest servitors available, two carrying a portable genatorum between them held aloft by servo arms that it might be angled to obscure the view from any chance encounter with a picter or roaming servo skull.

 

The rest carried with them with them what tools, oils, and components could be carried and aided in ensuring the deteriorating puppeteered tech-priest remained upright. It was best to be first to the shuttle lest the others were bringing the trouble they had caused with them.

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor:

 

The ship pulls away from the platform as planned and begins to make a series of manoeuvres which take her back the way the intrepid party came. Even with the attempted sabotage, the job was much easier than anticipated, and with a hold full of press-ganged slaves, and the tanks of HE₃ recovered from their lumbering wallow in null-g, matters in this small system are hastily concluded.

 

A short warp skip is planned, from Upsilon to a neutral, unmapped system, just as a precaution to prevent any immediate pursuit.

 

GM: Just to move things on for folks I'm going to take the liberty of sending Eska in to pull out your 'rat' so we can close this portion of the game up. I can do that, since I'm like, you know, the GM. I have a sneaking suspicion someone will try to eat the saboteur's brain. I wouldn't advise it. Anyway...

 

The miscreant is dragged from the vent, his right arm at an awkward angle, but it soon becomes apparent why. He's quite dead. Foam abruptly spews from his mouth, in thick gouts from whatever virulent poison he took. His other weapons are missing. It appears he realised the game was up, possibly got stuck in his attempts to flee through the duct, and decided to prevent interrogation.

 

He carries no identifying marks, papers, objects or any kind of cybernetics. His hands are rough from manual work, and he appears to be about nineteen years old. His clothing is a simple bodyglove carrying armoured panels at the elbow, knee and across the shoulders with a simple ballistic plate front and back. No superior technology except for a mono-edged knife found among many crewmen of the strike craft fraternity for cutting free of crash harnesses, survival and last-ditch self defence.

 

In the wake of the Razor, Platform Opal detonates in a series of tearing explosions, scattering debris into the planet's orbit and sending the drilling derricks down into the crushing depths of the gas giant. How much of the carefully laid preparations will take root is unknown, but it also hopefully the demise of evidence you were here in the form of bolter rounds and heretical technoglyphs.

 

Platform Opal is no more.

 

Bounty:

 

The landing pad is absent of authorities by the time you all rendezvous - the fire has well and truly taken hold, and a diversion suggested by Cain as a form of goodwill, is underway. All three heretics return to the Arvus, with Tarh also taking his seat. Mithra, the giant tortoise appears sad to leave the lush world, but a bucket of fresh brambles has been taken, and the beast sits looking at it, craning its neck to try and nibble the tops off, thick with their berries.

 

The pilot takes control, begins her ceaseless chattering again, as though she hasn't seen another human in fifty years, and throttles up to leave.

 

There is no warning from the port or the Arbites. They have their hands full.

 

GM: The mortal party is taken to Perugia Station for rendezvous with the Razor when she returns (which will be in a few days). The mortals can amuse themselves until then.

 

GM: This part of the game is a wrap. Finish off whatever threads you were pulling, and conclude with the ship moving out. I'll deal with rewards etc in OOC in due course.

 

Edited April 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

In a rented hostel cell on the floating station sat the Smiler. Waiting was not an unpleasant time for him, as it allowed for meditation and research. He couldn't imagine that extended periods of inaction would be enjoyable for some of his other companions. Kraggan would probably find the lack of stimulation madness-inducing, for example. The Razor would come soon enough, and then plans would be decided on and actions begun. Anticipation flowed through his thoughts like a prickling fire, the blessed combination of excitement and nervousness that occurred before the action began.

 

<Crux'as, attend!>

 

The meditation was shattered as his patron's Voice echoed through his body. The flares of anticipation departed as the Voice burned in him.

 

I hear and attend, great Wildweaver. The Smiler focused on the dark part in his undermind, the portion of his being that called to the aether.

 

<We are pleased with you. Continue your schemes and plots for the glory of the Fated Ways. A minor token of our appreciation, is Nom'zas.>

 

The burning left him panting as it faded away. In its place was a faint whispering, a small knot of emotions that chittered and bounced. Crux'as looked down, his dueling blade feeling strangely heavy. The blade leapt into his hand and the chittering roared, overpowering his senses. Fighting back, bringing his own will into the noise and forcing it into ball in the back of his mind. 

 

Hunger, Deception, Pain, Need!

 

"So you are Nom'zas." The Smiler looked at the sword with wonder. To his eyes it was the same dueling sword it had always been, sleek and deadly but no more than the weapon of any other noble or rich man. In his mind he felt the edge seething and splintering- a weapon that longed to lodge shards of itself into the bodies of others. A quick slash revealed another secret, that the sword could make reality itself slightly warp to mimic a blade longer or shorter in the same swing, never quite appearing to show its true dimensions. 

 

"Oh my new friend, I believe we shall have some excellent times together."

 

The laughter of the man and daemon in his head was disturbingly similar. Long and full, it echoed in the small room.