[Dark Heresy Actual Play] Wheels within Cogs within Minds

[EarthScorpion]

Dark Heresy Actual Play:
Wheels within Cogs within Minds

On Dark Heresy and Me

Let me just say that I am just as pissed off as everyone else about the announcement about Black Industries, although the main reason for me is the loss of Rogue Trader. Ah well. I’m taking it quite well, though, as I already can see how easy it is to change things. I’m probably going to add WHFRP to my collection soon, and use the basic, WHFRP for the peons, the basic citizenry (especially the Imperial Sanction Vermin Extermination Operative, and his trusty, yet vicious Cyber-Mastiff (Small)).

But I like the Warhammer Universe, both of them, actually. I like the grittiness, the pessimism, the fact that it isn’t Star Wars and everything is painted in terms of Light and Dark (Side). I started, well, I bought my first Warhammer miniature aged 7, which means I’ve spent the majority of my life involved in the hobby in some way or another. It helps that I’m in the UK, and it’s almost mainstream; I believe I heard somewhere that the majority of males under the age of 20 have bought, or had bought for them, some Citadel Miniatures product, which wouldn’t surprise me if that was true.

My personal version of the universe is a bit different from the “official” one, largely because I’ve given it an injection of competence, and multiplied the figures involved in the battles by quite a bit. The idea that one regiment of Guard can feasible hold a planet is just silly; in my version that is ten regiments, and even then they are basically holding the heavily populated areas and the strategic locations, rather than exactly holding the planet. As for competence, I’m a subscriber of the Mech-can-icus school of belief about them, rather than the Mech-can’t-icus. Essentially, I think that any tech-priest above the ranks of the technicians really does understand the physics behind their area of expertise for the most common technology, and most of the religion is actually the correct activities, instilled as a mnemonic. So, as an example, a technician performing the Rite of Activation a mining drill would not do this:

1.Spend 15 minutes praying before climbing in to the machine
2.Waft some sacred smoke over the control panel before chanting in binary at the machine
3.Press the big Red Button labelled “Go”.


He would instead be doing this:

1.Begin the blessed procedure by activating the power flow
2.Check the type of material thou are boring into in the “The Holy Book of Material Strengths (Mining Edition)”
3.Adjust the appropriate switches to thy needed levels
4.Insert the Token of Activation, then press the button which flashed red to inform thy co-workers than mining is in process. This must be done before thou canst activate the laser.
5.Move thy Main Control Lever upwards in a smooth gesture. Whilst doing so mutter the Prayer for Success in an Industrial Endeavour.

The distance can be seen quite well. The first makes the religion a waste of time, when you could actually be working. In the second, the individual is little different from a modern technician, with the religious features serving to aid memory. He doesn’t know that, and his immediate superiors may not, but any proper Tech-Priests will know that the figures in the book are carefully calculated by using that STC construct laser on many different materials, so that book can be used all over the galaxy, that the Token of Activation allow power flow to the laser itself, and that the need to press the red button is a hard-coded safety precaution.

Which brings me to another thing about the Adeptus Mechanicus (yes, I like them. So What?). Fundamentally, they are a Mystery Cult, with the further layers of revelation being more knowledge. The concept of knowledge itself is worshipped, not any knowledge itself. The STC is just a greater source of knowledge, and certainly the Imperium has designs now that were not found in any STC; the shear modularity of the STC means that the construction of a Rhino chassis armed with multilasers would be simplicity. I personally suspect that quite a few STC design are forgeries, using innovations in a way that maintains the monopoly of the Mechanicus over technology. Which is another advantage of the religious format; by using their procedures, you are de facto accepting their view of the world, or are at least pre-disposed to.

Back on topic, the place I am setting the game in is the Anargo Sector, which I have contributed to (Faustri Prime, Ahalraim and Q’shen being my planets). So, apart from this mandatory plug, I’m also linking so that you can “get” the sector better than I can explain. We'd also welcome any Dark Heresy fans who want to help map out an entire sector.

Themes

These are the intricate parts of the dark, gothic, and above all metal-inspired Warhammer 40k setting that call to me, and thus I choose to emphasise.

Morals are for those who Lack Responsibility, but what does that produce?

Let’s face it; the Imperium of Man is by most standards, one of the most “evil” societies in Sci-Fi. Compare it to most bad guys; they put such petty fish as the Dominion or even the Galactic Empire, at least outside of the silly baby-eating bits of the Extended Universe, to shame. They commit mass xenocide, will kill off a planetary biosphere to kill some members of the same species as them, discriminate against those who are too different, yell “Burn the Witch” in one breath, and go begging to an Astropath to send a message the next.

And yet. The xenocide is largely done for survival; all the large scale alien enemies they have ever encountered are hostile. Look at the other creatures; xenocide is the only way to survive. A chaos cult on a planet can remove the planet from existence in reality and condemn it to eternal torment. Is it not right to preserve reality? Mutants tend to fall to chaos; is it because of that treatment, or because of some heredity flaw. Likewise, a psyker can be the path into reality of a daemon, and they should not be trusted.

The Imperium is built upon a foundation of belief, yes, but upon it an edifice of pragmatism. There is almost nothing an Imperial Agent will suggest as a solution for a problem; trafficking with any of the Great Three, blackmail, the downfall of other Imperial organisation. The pragmatism can end up crushing the belief, but for many they can justify doing almost anything in the name of the Imperium. And that leads to the Puritan/ Radical split in the Inquisition, which is really an argument over what should be done, not what the end is.

Perfection Cannot be Achieved, and that which claims so Lies

Reality is always a bit tarnished. There will always be slackers in a society, always corrosion on the buildings, always corruption in the Church. Every time someone claims a perfect society, look at the underbelly. Look at the scummy Underhive under the beautiful spires of the hives, the beggars beside the massive cathedrals. It is for that reason I dislike the Tau; under their claims of a wonderful Greater Good is a hierarchal caste system; unless you are a Tau, you have no chance of any position of power, and the Ethereals hold the real power. In fact, look at the Chaos Gods; the claim to perfection is one of the major lures of Slannesh, coming under his/her/hir jurisdiction, while change, which can be for the better, is Tzeentchite.

Fighting Fire with Fire - using the Tools of the Foe

This ties into the first point; the necessity to do whatever you can do to preserve the integrity of the Imperium. To crush rebellions, prevent men from looking at what they should not and keep the Imperium from contact with aliens, inquisitors incite their own rebellions, study daemonology and forbidden texts (there is an amusing passage in one book where it notes that certain Inquisitors have a tendency to view the Imperial List of Forbidden Texts as a list of reading material), and deal with aliens. I’ve always found the Radical factions of the Inquisition the more interesting, especially the Istvaanians, especially since they have considerable canonical support that they might be right. And yet again, we find an occasion of them discarding their human empathy in the name of the distant idea known as Humanity. In Dark Heresy, of course, there are quite noticeable benefits to the use of the tools of the Enemy; Daemonic pacts can give you massive boosts, Xeno gear can be better quality, and it is far easaier to go around the rules than obey they,. But there is always a cost, whether in terms of favours owed, insanity or the corruption of your soul.

Everybody Lies; They Really are Out to get You

Paranoia is a day to day presence in the Imperium. Will they report you to the Church because you missed the sermon last rest period? Will your children report you for your links to an anti-Imperial organisation? Who is that pale man who you see whenever a ship comes to your world, and why do disappearances of small children triple whenever you see him, and you suffer blackouts?

The Imperium is set up so you are always watched if you have any authority. Very loyal orphans are integrated in all guard regiments via the Commissariat, to watch the leaders for any cowardice or treachery. The Guard and the Navy are separated, so a renegade Guard commander cannot seize a ship without a larger conspiracy, and even then they have to deal with the Navigator, who is kept separate, to prevent …accidents, and the ship’s astropath, who is likely conditioned to send off a warning if anything amiss occurs. The entirety of the Inquisition watches each other, and there is a specialist Ordo to watch itself full time. All psykers are tested; those which are not deemed worthy are killed or used to power the Corpse-God of Humanity.

Fear the Dark

The Unknown really is out to get you. Whether it is an alien species which will change your DNA and use you to subvert other worlds, the cultist with eyeballs growing into the palms of his hands in a dark alleyway waiting to strangle a young woman, or the five year-old witch locked in the dark basement by his parents, who fear the Imperium looking at their affairs if they find that they have produced a mutant, but cannot bring themselves to kill him themselves, and decides to listen to the voices because they tell him they will let him go, there is always something in the shadows. And the Inquistion dwells in those shadows too, and can be just as bad as any of the denizens of the dark, and as they flay you slowly with Nerve Inductors, they will assure you that they are doing this for humanity’s sake and this will end if you just tell them who you have been meeting in basements to overthrow the corrupt Governor. And then you should look inside, and look at your own flawed heart…

Gain 2d10 Insanity Points…

Characters

Quint Sigsimund - James
Career: Cleric
Divination: The Pain of the Bullet is Ecstasy Compared to Damnation

A trainee on the Imperial world of Elvard, near the Anargo sector, he was recruited to serve on the Argentine Zeal as the previous priest had suffered a heart attack. The local church hadn’t wanted to send one of its members onto a starship, there to live out the rest of his life, and so sent a random novice. He’s heard, in the six months he’s been on the ship, that the former priest had actually fallen down some steps when drunk and broken his neck, but periodic attacks of space-sickness have been taking up more of his attention. At the start of the game, he is giving a sermon in the chapel, on the necessity of faith. He knows he’s just reciting one he heard at the seminary, but they don’t know that.

Quint is a fairly tall man, aged 24, with a muscular build. He has dark coloured skin, dark brown hair and grey eyes. His appearance is somewhat hurt by the nervous tick that appears under his left eye when he is nervous, in pain, or feeling unwell. He favours, if in a fight, either an autopistol, or a Fabain Industries Griefmaker M, a pistol with an exceedingly large calibre.

Mithras Forge-Hall 32 - Richard
Career: Tech-Priest
Divination: The Gun is Mightier than the Sword

From the Hive World of Bourguise, before he was handed over to the Argentine Zeal as part of an old treaty with the Chartist ship to provide Technographers, he had never left Forge Hall 32. He doesn’t mind ship-board life much, as it is nicely enclosed and the machine spirits require quite constant maintenance on the aging ship, so he doesn’t have time left for such things as nostalgia. At the start of the game he is working on an ambarocapcitance cell in the Machine Cult Chapel, which has been built next to the Imperial Chapel in the name of saving money.

Mithras is tall for a lower hiver, reaching 1.75, and the remaining organic parts of his body weigh 65 kg, and he is aged 29 years. He only had the basic set of implants, and they are fairly average, not good quality, but not so crude that they cannot be hidden under the white robes of a technographer. With the pale skin of a lower hiver who doesn’t ever see sunlight, and green eyes, he has dyed his hair the bright red of the higher level Tech-Adepts. He has a prominent, non-functional electoo on his right cheek; his hive ID. In a fight he will use his Krieg-pattern lascarbine.

Hogan Drexler - Alex
Career: Arbitrator
Divination: Sins Hidden in the Heart Turn all to Decay

A local enforcer on the planet of Quechit in the Anargo Sector, he is slightly corrupt, with a tendency to let minor criminals go free with only a fine. Surprisingly, the fine never seemed to make its way to the local government. Only the fact that he was rather good at extracting confessions kept him away for internal scrutiny; using the evidence of one of his superiors in a compromising position managed to keep him safe. He was randomly assigned the task of accompanying some data files produced by the local bureaucracy on Quechit to Anargo Primus, the sector capital. Unusually, the individual who had ordered them had specified that they not be sent by Astropath, and the priority on the request was high enough that that could be granted. The Argentine Zeal is the fourth ship he has taken from Quechit; the passage between sub-sectors was difficult. At the start of the game, he is in the chapel, praying, as he was told to. The rules of the ship hold that all individuals not occupied on essential business should be engaged in prayer, whenever a transition through the real-warp boundary occurs.

Hogan is the tallest in the to-be-group, at almost two metres, and fairly muscular. His skin is tanned, he has bleached his hair blond and has blue eyes. He is now thirty; he was 28 when he left Quechit. Despite his height, he tends to slouch when he walks. He prefers his pump-action shotgun, which he obtained in a deal with quartermaster, and has supplies of both solid shot and scatter.

Havelock “Grim” Ve Tenari - Ali
Career: Assassin
Divination: There is no Substitute for Zeal

The first born male of the Tenari (“Ve” being the local term indicating “Scion of”) noble family on the Hive World of Tennat, he was trained as an assassin, as is convention in the matrilineal noble families. He specialises in long range killings with a rifle, but botched a hit on a lesser member of a rival family, accidentally killing the Matriarch of that family, without a valid Notice of Target. His family disowned him, buying him a ticket on a freighter, and telling him to leave the sector, making him leave behind his house-owned equipment. The Argentine Zeal is the third ship he has taken, and he hopes that skilled assassins will be on demand on the Sector Capital.

Possessing a wiry build, he is of average height, with tanned skin. His hair is naturally black, and he wears permanent contact lenses, fused with his eyeballs, of a shade of blue so dark it is almost black. He is now thirty, and was 27 when he left Tennat, having made stops on passing worlds along the way. He has a pierced right ear; before he would have had his house insignia there, but now it is replaced by a simple steel stud. He uses a practical hunting rifle, of fairly large calibre, with a custom red-laser dot installed.

[Chosalu]

Cool setting, also a fan of GW products. Looking forward to reading the play reports!

[Chris Cotgrove]

By any chance, does the Assassin possess a deep-seated hatred of mimes?

And does he call his contracts "appointments?"

Take a "Learn The Words" point, and keep on posting

[EarthScorpion]

Well, it was sort of a co-incidence; we rolled on the Archaic names chart, and it just happened.

First play is about half-way finished, at about 8 pages so far. My fingers hurt.

[EarthScorpion]

Prologue

Location: Aboard the Argentine Zeal, an interstellar freighter.

Date: 4.149.932.M41

Thought for the Day: Beware the Beasts that would Wear the Skins of Man.

“And thus we must put our Faith in the Divine Lord of all, the All-Mighty God-Emperor of Mankind.”

The voice of the young Novice, Quint Sigsimund echoes around the large hall. The hall is a hundred metre square, with fluted arches, and a vast stained glass window, taking up one wall. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that the entire window is dark, as the automated shutters are closed during passage through the Warp. Looking over his congregation, it is pitifully small; a bleach-blond man in the gear of some planetary policing organisation; he cannot recognise the crest worn over the mesh armour. Sitting next to him is a shorter man, with his dark haired head lowered in prayer, wearing some anonymous clothing. At the front is the pilgrim, perhaps the most faithful of them all. He remembers the sound of her walking; the entire left side of her body sounds like it may have been replaced by crude bionics. He can hear the damn Machine-Cultists next door chanting in their unholy tongue, sounding of bleeps and crackling.

(I’ve always imagined Machine Cant as sounding like a modem, but far more modulated and going into many more frequencies, including the near-infra-and-ultrasonic)

A small light flashes upon on his lectern.

“Let us lower our heads in prayer,” he says, making the sign of the Aquila against his chest. “We are about to make our final jump into real-space, unto the sector capital, Anargo Primus.”

The dark-haired man, Havelock Ve Tenari, although none on the ship know that name, lowers his head. The ship think that he is a big game hunter, which in a sense is true; he hunts the most dangerous species in the galaxy. The Borgae family has been remarkably persistent, and he has had to flee a few worlds already. They won’t find him on Anargo Primus, though; the entire planet, once a paradise world, is on the verge of becoming a Hive, and they won’t find him among that crush of humanity.

The Quechitian enforcer, Hogan Drexler, is nervous. He just has to complete the task set to him, and deliver this package to a local Administratum building, but he knows there is no way to get home. He will not have his passage back home paid for him, and so he will have to stay there. He’ll need to find employment, and the local enforcers might not accept him.

Next door, in the chapel of the Omnissiah, the technographer Mithras Forge-Hall 32 is perplexed. The power routers running through Cargo Bay C keep on discharging randomly, causing localised failures of the underfloor artificial gravity generators. Worse, the problem seems to spread every time they make another calculated jump. He hopes that there isn’t some central problem; he doesn’t want to have to pass it further up the chain. He logs the problem on the cognitor bank, and pulls out a screwdriver, chanting the Rite of Opening to ensure he remembers which magscrews to remove to avoid a short circuit.

The fabric of reality bubbles and a leviathan emerges from the Deeps. Were a man to look down the hole torn by the kilometre long ship, he would likely go insane. Every person on board feels as if an icy spike was driven into his or her brain, as the exit from the Warp and the deactivation of the Gellar Fields occurs. The experienced crew shrug it off; the less experienced travellers fall to their knees and clutch at their heads for the moment that it lasts.

“That is not a usual occurrence,” buzzes mech-wright Aldeus to his younger assistant. “I fear for the machine spirit of the Gellar Field; it has been doing this more and more recently. No-one on board this ship is qualified to deal with a device of such purity, in such a fundamental way. I believe it will be necessary to stop at the most blesséd Forge World of Anargo Secundus before we can leave this system. It is a gift from the Omnissiah that we can make the distance without the use of the Warp.

Back in the chapel, the hall lights up as the binary start shines through the newly unshuttered window. The window depicts Saint Sistina, in her customary sliver mask, smiting the various foes of the Imperium. The moment is somewhat ruined by a vast rocking hitting the ship, and the light leaving the window as the ship arcs violently upwards, before the drive cuts out altogether. A shrieking siren sounds throughout the ship, and the blast doors begin to seal. The mech-wright swears in Machine Cant, diving through the door in a surprising burst of movement; Mithras tries to follow, but is too slow. The door between the two chapels tries to close, before a harsh mechanical screeching from the mechanism announces that it has jammed. In the chapel, the inhabitants just look around in puzzlement, until after the door has closed. Hogan gets up, and pounds at the door with his fists, having no effect.

In the Mechanicus chapel, Mithras searches around, collecting all of the repair parts that he can carry, to aid in the repairs to the ship he knows will be necessary, and then uses a roll of the Omnissiah’s most blessed ductile tape to enact the Rite of Affixation and attach a luminator to his lascarbine, ensuring it is securely attached. Ducking under the door to the Imperial chapel, he goes over to the manual override by the entrance to the chapel, without talking to the inhabitants. He stops when he hears what is happening, the noise reverberating through the metal of the ship.

There is a barrage of lasfire and shotgun blasts happening outside. Havelock and Quint, hearing something, go over to the door, and listen too. Even as they listen, the rapidity of the blasts begins to die away, and stop within a few minutes.

“What in the name of the Emperor is happening out there?” asks Havelock, in a well spoken, with a hint of an accent; that of the Tennat hive nobility, unknown to the listeners.

“I have no clue,” replies Mithras. “I do not believe there could be an insurrection, and we have left the Warp, so a Gellar field failure is irrelevant. Nevertheless, I am obliged to protect this ship, and; you heard the shots die down, yes? Perhaps we won.”

(Aha. Aha. AHAHAHAHAHAHA! PCs say the funniest things.)

Quint shrugs, and then speaks, with a faint tone of contempt in his voice. “Yes, you’re probably right. Let me just change out of these ceremonial robes.” He walks towards the small vestibule.

Hogan overhears this. “Wait, you’re planning to go out there? All my stuff is in my quarters. You don’t expect trouble on a spaceship.”

“Same here, actually. I’ve got a hold-out laspistol with me, but the ship people insisted I leave my hunting rifle in my quarters”- Havelock

“I can open this door. Let me just perform the Rite of Opening on this door. I believe I know the codes” – Mithras.

Mithras traces a rune on the screen, and rests his hand on the panel.

“Thou art identified, and thy Rune of Identification hast been accepted. It doth look like thou are trying to open this door. Would thou require assistance?” repeats the cognitor, as it has been programmed, in Machine Cant.

“Door override: Alpha-Gamma-Xi-Phi-Forty-Two.” – Mithras, also in Machine Cant.

“Refusal of Assistance duly noted. Door opening. All bless the Omnissiah!”

While this is happening, Hogan is talking to the pilgrim.

“Are you alright, m’m? We’re going to find out what happened. You could come with us, which might be dangerous, or we could maybe seal you up in here, and return for you if it’s safe.”

From what he can see under the hood of her coarse brown hood, and the massive scarring on the left side of her face, she seems scared at the idea of being left alone. “I’d really rather come with you.” Hogan can’t recognise the accent, and there is a metallic buzz to her voice that seems to indicate a synthetic voice box. He’s never seen another individual with this degree of implantation who wasn’t a teccy, which means that she is, despite the crudeness of the implants, probably quite rich. Ingratiating himself to her thus seems like a good idea.

He begins to think it was a mistake when she gets up. There is a constant noise from her left leg, which is compounded every time she moves her arm. He is distracted when the priest comes out of his vestibule. The ceremonial white robe is gone, probably in the backpack he is wearing; he is wearing a heavy coat of flak armour. He is also carrying an autopistol in his hand, has a large calibre handgun at one hip, has a crossbow slung across his back, and has a warhammer at the other hip.

(Yes, an armoured trenchcoat. And he has a hand cannon and an autopistol. I’m sorry)


“I think we should know each others names, at least. I’m … well, I’m Novice Quint Sigsimund, but I should be initiated soon.”

The dark-haired man nods. “I’m Havelock Grim. I’m a big game hunter, you know, ambulls, faligions, peracries.”

Hogan looks at the dark haired man for a moment, suspiciously. “I’m Hogan Drexler. I’m an enforcer from Quechit.”

The pilgrim bows her head. “I’m Marietta Severina. I’m on a pilgrimage to Doravstor, and Anargo Primus has a direct link to that world.”

The tech-priest turns around from his ministrations to the opening device. “My name is technographer Mithras Forge-Hall 32. I’ve managed to open the door. All bless the Omnissiah.”


Hogan is feeling nervous enough, so he pulls out a lho-stick, and lights it. The priest glares at him.

“This is a sacred place. Would you mind putting that out!”

Hogan grumbles, but does as requested. The priest, smirking in an annoying way, leaves the room first, autopistol at the ready. He is followed by Mithras, with his lascarbine lighting the way with the attached luminator. The female pilgrim goes next, with a screech of metal, followed by Havelock with his compact laspistol drawn, keen eyes at the ready. At the rear is Hogan, wishing that he had something more than a baton.

The corridor is almost completely dark. The buttresses at the walls cast vast shadows, as the torch of the tech-priest shines down them. The ceiling is at least twenty metres above then, and covered in carvings. The torch light lingers on a particularly intimidating gargoyle, before the group heads straight on, towards the guest quarters. After ten metres, they can see that some of the walls have blast marks, from lasguns and shotguns.

“Whoa! There’s not even any attempt to be accurate. They seem to have just been spraying all over the place.” – Havelock

There’s a faint blue light in the distance, at floor level. It’s sort of at the edge of the perception; it can only be seen out of the corner of the eye. They stop to look at it, and in the peace caused by the pilgrim stopping her clanking, Quint and Havelock hear a faint scuttling. Spinning around, they can’t see anything, even when Mithras turns around to light the area. Running the flashlight over the ceiling, the narrow dot of light doesn’t see anything either.

“Come on. Don’t jump at ghosts, for we have faith as our shield.” – Quint

Havelock and Hogan exchange a dubious glance.

“The Emperor shields those who wear lots of armour,” mutters Hogan

Looking to the left, they can see the passage way to the guest quarters. More alarmingly, however, there is a patch of floor lit up with blue light, from the side of the walls.

“What is that?” – Quint

A drop of liquid falls out of the distant roof, and splashes on Hogan’s head.

“Look up at the ceiling. What is it?!” shrieks Hogan.

The raised light catches a vague movement, which is gone very rapidly. Hogan lifts his hand to his head. It’s black, and feels and looks like machine oil.

“Oh… it looks like machine oil. Must have been a leaky pipe. Sorry … Hogan, wasn’t it?” – Havelock

Hogan nods. Noticing that the Tech-Priest doesn’t appear to be watching too much, he subtly wipes the stuff on his hands onto the pristine white robe.

(Contested Challenging Agility vs Hard Perception test. Ricky rolled a 99)

Mithras walks to the blue lit area, and, with a careful push of his foot, drifts across, the blue area, landing with a noticeable thump on the other side.

“Look, the coggie did it safely. It’s just light.” With that said, Quint walks casually across the light, or at least attempts to. He ends up sending himself into a spin by the overpressure on the ground, and falls heavily upon his stomach as he exits the zone of no-gravity, knocking all the air out of him.

“Why didn’t you warn me, you fool!” growled Quint, after getting his breath back

The tech-priest looked at him in surprise. “You’re a member of the crew, too. It’s hardly my fault if you didn’t recall the fact that blue lights indicate a failure of the machine spirits responsible for the maintenance of the gravitational generators.” He looks at Quint’s blank face. “The generators are the things which stop us floating around.” He is interrupted by a creaking of the ship. “And the ship doesn’t feel too healthy.” He looks at the other… two? “You get across the blue areas by just jumping before you get to them, or you can crawl along the walls. Don’t step on the ground, or you’ll do what that person did. More importantly, where is the woman?”

Hogan and Havelock look around in puzzlement.

“There’s no way she could have got away. You heard how she walked. So she has either been killed, or went another way when we were shouting about the oil. Either way, no use looking for her.” – Havelock

“It’s a pity, but agreed.” - Hogan

After crossing the null-g zone without any further accidents, they finally get to the guest quarters. Mithras hears a pattering of feet behind him, spins around, and sees nothing.

“Get your stuff rapidly. I think we’re being followed by something.” He drops to a kneeling position, keeping his gun aimed down the wide corridor from which they came.

Havelock runs down the corridor. His door is quite near. He sticks the key into the lock, and turns. Luckily, nothing has been in there. He opens the rifle case, and loads it, pauses for a moment and activates the laser sight. It will show up more in the darkness of the hallways, but helps his aiming. He’s already wearing his body glove under a suit of anonymous clothing, so he fetches his stash of money, and the container with all of his ammunition, and clips them on. He leaves the room, and goes to join the tech-priest in watching the hallway.

As Havelock returns, Hogan goes. His room is nearer, and very cheap. There is a double bunk, empty, luckily, due to the fact that the ship is seriously lacking in passengers. He puts on his mesh vest, pulls out his pump action shotgun and thumbs in a full load of scatter shells, takes the rest of his stuff, then leaves.

“I have to say I’m feeling a bit more confident now we all are actually armed. What to do now?” – Havelock

“Erm.,. can anyone fly a cargo lander? I know there are several in the hangar bay.” - Mithras

“I’ve flown in-atmosphere aircraft, and am trained in void-craft. My father taught me.” – Quint.

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s get off this ship. We can alert the Navy on the way out; have them investigate. Ah… where is Hangar Bay A” – Havelock

“I have a map on this datasheet.” – Mithras.

After crossing the null-g zone safely, they reach the intersection again. To their right is the Imperial Chapel; to their left is the way to the hangar bay. Their passage, though, is ruined by the flash and roar of a pair of high-power lasweapons. Near blind to the dark because of the flashes, they can see a lone figure firing two pistols at the walls and ceiling. In the flash when the blasts hit the walls, they can see several somethings, moving very quickly and jumping between all the surfaces interchangeably. The figure lands a hit on one, and there is a scream, starting high and increasing in pitch, totally inhuman and sounding vaguely mechanical. From the flashes, the creatures are running away. The figure fires a few more times, resulting in another painful scream, and turns, holstering one pistol below her coarse brown robe.

“You are all seconded, indefinitely, to the service of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition, by my orders,” are her first words to the group, in a completely different voice to that which the “pilgrim” had been using. “I am Inquisitor Lady Tzarine Amaranthine, and I have orders for you.”

There is a shocked silence from the group. Finally, Havelock plucks up the courage to speak.

“Er… what were those things? My Lady.”

“Some kind of Xeno. They are not human, at least any more, as what they were doing is beyond the capacity of human endurance. They are not psychic, as I would have detected that.”

As she steps closer, without the noise of low quality bionics, it can be seen she has the Litany of Contempt tattooed in the form of Electoos, all across her head and no hair on her head, not even eyebrows. They sparkle in the darkness.

“They move very fast, and are tough, but they’re not that bright and not very aware unless you draw attention to yourself.” She notices that they are still staring at her. “Yes, the bionics are real. The sounds, however, were syth-fed from an equivalent limb, fed through a micro-cognitor which matches them with my movements.” She sighs. “You know, for once I would like to be able to take a journey for once without something happening which puts me back on duty.”

“So, yes. Your first task. You must make your way to the bridge, and send off a distress signal to the Anargo fleet. You, tech-priest. Take this.” She hands Mithras a hip-held com receiver. “Plug that in into your Type-Beta-VI port.”

Mithras does so, surprised at the fact that one not of the Machine Cult can recognise a data port on sight.

“That will allow me to communicate with you.” She frowns at them. “And don’t take the passage from which I came. I’m going back, and that place is swarming with those things.” She turns around, and drawing her other hellpistol, she walks carefully away, guns at the ready.

“Um… excuse me a moment, my Lady, but something dripped on me a while ago that looked a bit like oil, but not quite. I still have some, if you want to see. It’s… ah… on the tech-priest.” – Hogan

She turns around, and does something to her left eyeball that makes it glow a bright red. “Where is it?” Hogan gestures out with his left hand, after scraping some more out of his hair. She stares at it for a while.

“Hmm. Around 60% machine oil, 32% human blood, various anticoagulants, trace cordite, metal shards, trace other metals, trace other organic compounds. Interesting…”

She leaves it hanging, and walks off again.

“Well, we better do what she said,” says Havelock. He’s actually a bit pleased about his turn of events; the Borgae would never try to attack an Inquisitorial Acolyte.

Hogan sighs, and puts his head in his hands. “And we were so close to surviving. Right, tech-boy. You still have the map, yes. Let’s find a way to the bridge without meeting any more of those things. If they can take hellpistol blasts, I don’t want to meet any more of them.”

There is considerable debate about the most efficient way to go.

(Aided by a pre-made map of the ship, made in Paint)

It’s eventually decided that the best way to go is through the mess hall, continue down the ship, stop off at the armoury to see if there is anything there that might be useful, and then go to the bridge.

(If they’re already dead, we can just take their stuff – James. Thanks, James)

As they approach the mess hall, they can see that the lights are flickering

“That’s never a good sign” – Quint

Havelock risks a glimpse inside. The mess hall is quite literally a mess; weapons discharge has damaged or destroyed most of the furniture, and there is a hum.

“Looks clear. Let’s go, but slowly.”

Mithras looks to the left, where the luminosity variator should be. It’s taken a lasblast, and the circuits have fused. He thinks he can repair it; using a roll of wire he replaces the fused bits, which he picks out. Muttering a brief prayer, he flips the switch again, and the lights turn on, although he has to keep the pee dee low, to avoid fusing the wire again.

“Thanks… Mithras,” says the priest, with a hint of respect. “The flickering was getting on my nerves. Can’t you turn it up a bit, though?”

“I’m afraid not. The repair is quite crude, and the machine spirit will be offended and melt the wire if I ask too much of it.”

The group advances further. Havelock puts his moderately expensive shoes in a pool of something sticky. He looks down, and sees a pool of blood, surrounded by spent shotgun casings.

“Looks like some of the crew went out fighting. I think we should check the kitchen, possibly some survivors may have barricaded themselves in, or at the least we could get some food. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“I’ll just see if I can get the other lights working. This variator may be also able to be fixed, so we can light this place properly.” - Mithras

“Not too interested in food, are you? Do you still have insides?” – Hogan, in a sarcastic tone.

“Yes, I am still in possession of my biological digestive system,” says Mithras, wilfully oblivious to the sarcasm.

Hogan, Havelock and Quint head towards the kitchen. As they get near, they can hear a hissing noise.

“Gas?” whispers Hogan.

“We’re about to find out. Don’t shoot if it is gas; you might ignite it. May the Emperor guide our bullets on the count of 3. 1…2…3!” –Quint

Opening the door, they cannot see anything, without the torch attached to Mithras’ lascarbine. Hogan reaches for the variator, and eases it up slowly. He stops halfway up, as he sees the source of the noise.

Imagine a man, or in this case a woman, a normal human being. Now attach a large, crab-like creature made out of metal to her back. Force the crab’s limbs in, under the skin, so it controls he movement when it moves. It doesn’t care about the durability of the human body, so the limbs are bent to unnatural angles, and broken in places, following the natural bend of the creature’s limbs. The metal creature has modified its home. Armour plating covers her like loose skin, and metallic hair stick out of her. The lower jaw is missing altogether, and in its place is a feeding tube, running through her body back to the creature. The wrecked eyes glow a disturbing shade of blue. That is the thing they saw, wearing the body of a naval crew-woman as it jumped from the place it had sunk its bristles into the wall, to the floor.

Havelock was terrified. The monster was coming for him, he knew it, to wear him as a false skin. Was the woman still alive, in incredible pain, and kept so by the thing? His hands began to shake, with the rifle in his hands.

(Failed Fear Check for you, and a free insanity point into the bargain!)

“Kill the Xeno!” roared Quint, as he squeezed the trigger on his autopistol, hoping to get it in mid jump.

*Click”

(Weapons jams always happen at the most inconvenient times . James rolls a 99 to hit.)

[EarthScorpion]

This attempt was followed by the roar of the hunting rifle, but the creature, impossibly, ducked around the bullet while in mid air. The boom of the shotgun was also mostly ineffectual, with only a thin shard ripping through the flesh of one of the arms of the creature.

The creature paused for a second, on the ground, roared in a high pitch, and bounded towards the men incredibly rapidly, bones snapping as they were forced into an unnatural method of movement. Both Hogan and Havelock miss again, the incredible speed, and in Havelock’s case, the tremor in his hands. Quint drops his useless autopistol, and draws and fires the massive pistol in one action. The massive slug punches through the leg plating, hitting the creature’s limb within its host’s leg.

“Die, die, die!” yells Quint.

Hearing the roar of gunfire, Mithras runs as fast as his pathetically unaugumented limbs can carry him, to the other entrance to the kitchen, lascarbine at the ready.

The thing doesn’t even scream. It just shifts its advance, and brings itself to attack Quint instead. Despite its speed, through, it seems rather uncoordinated with its host’s body, and the furious swing goes wide, punching through a table.

“Don’t let it hit you!” yells Hogan, somewhat unnecessarily.

Hogan can’t fire his shotgun without hitting Quint, so he grabs his baton, and hits the thing as hard as he can. Despite that effort, the creature doesn’t even notice the blow bounce off its armoured plating. Havelock is forced to pull his shot, as the amount his hands were shaking meant he almost shot Quint.

The creature makes another blow attack at the Imperial priest, this time with the sharpened bits of wire protruding from its violated flesh, aimed right at his unarmoured head, but Quint manages to duck the clumsy, yet inhumanly fast attack. This does lead his next shot to go wild, blasting a huge hole in a storage cupboard.

(The creature hits this time, but Quint makes his untrained dodge. He manages to roll an 89 on his attack, though, to make up for that luck)

Hogan pounds against the creature. A lucky blow to a leg knocks off one of the plates from its leg, but the creature shows no signs of have being hurt. This time Havelock’s shot hits it, but the shot passes through the shoulder, and the creature doesn’t even bleed.

(Some abysmal rolling. They both manage to hit, but Hogan only does one damage, and Havelock does none, even after a targeting shot to a less armoured place.)

Shoulder barging the other door open, Mithras sees some horrible xenoartifact attacking the others. He snaps a hip shot off at the beast. Despite the half-darkness, the blessing of the Omnissiah was with him, and the crab-like creature has a large, melted hole blown into its back. Its scream is somewhat frantic this time, and it, kicking off against a table, turns to run from the three men, straight through the fourth, if necessary.

That proved to be a fatal mistake. Hogan dropped his baton on the floor, grabs the shotgun from his hip, and fires a shell, one-handedly into the monster as it jumps. The shell tears through its body and the host’s head, blowing a hail of sharp metal objects out of the shell of the creature, while the host’s head was separated from the body. It falls to the ground. Not wasting any time, Quint and Havelock fire into the body repeatedly.

(Three successes at short range with a shotgun, due to 4 extra degrees of success. Yeah. First one pushes it into Critical damage, second kills it, pushing it to a 9 on the Impact table. Third really kills it, as it does 6 damage to the head. Translation: DO NOT LET A PERSON WITH A SHOTGUN GET CLOSE. Dear gods, it’s like a gun from an FPS)

“We had to make sure it’s dead,” explained Havelock. “Who knows what aliens can survive?” It also made him feel better and stop shaking; at least the things can be killed.

“Bloody useless autopistol,” says Quint, working the slide. “Nevertheless, by the blessing of the Emperor we slew that beast. May the soul of the poor woman whose body it stole go unto the Lord, to sit by his side.” He walks over to where the head landed, reaches down, and closes the one remaining eye of the detached head. There is a faint squelching noise as the cornea on this eye deflates, covering his fingers in an aqueous humour. He idly wipes his fingers on the hair of the head.

“Though he will it,” intones Havelock, almost by automatic.

“Look over there.” – Mithras, pointing at the cupboard which had been hit by Quint’s stray shot. “It looks like there’s some packaging in there. Probably food, given this is a kitchen.”

Quint walks over, and checks. The cupboard is overflowing with packets of some freeze-dried food, he can’t read the writing in this dim light.

“Yes, it’s food. Not sure of the quality; just bring your light over here.”

In the light of the flashlight, the name can be read: Soylens Viridians. It is labelled as a fungal-based nutrient packet.

(Soylens Viridians is people!)

“Come on; let’s take all the intact ones. We’ll need some food if we’re going to be stuck on this ship” – Quint.

A brief session of acquisition later, and they are the proud owners of twenty-one packets of Soylens Viridians, which are mostly crammed into Quint’s backpack.

“You think we should contact… her. To tell her we killed one.” – Hogan

“Probably for the best. Let me just use this thing.” Mithras fiddles with the com-box at his hip. “My Lady? We have killed one of the things. It appears to be some kind of Xeno technology, given that it is made of metal, the mark of artifice, and does not look human made.”

There is a pause, then Mithras speaks, in the voice of the Inquisitor, rather tersely.

“Thank you, but I have had the chance now to actually examine a few. They are remarkably tough. Try to avoid getting in any more delays. Go as fast as you can. I need that message sent fast.” There is a crackle as Mithras gets back control of own voice,

“She’s rather abrupt, isn’t she” – Hogan

“The Ways of the Inquisition are not for you to understand. Only know that they protect us from the Shadows. Book of Instruction, Ophelia edition, Chapter 2, Verse 665.” – Quint

(Elf asked me for a theological quote. One successful Intelligence check later (Common Lore: Imperial Creed), and I have to come up with religious jibber-jabber on the spot)

“You know, that quote has two meanings,” mutters Havelock.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”


A while later.

“The corridor is wider here. And look, only the centre is lit.” – Hogan

“I know. It looks dangerous. We should stay in the light, so they can’t sneak up on us” – Quint

Behind them, Havelock slaps his hand to his forehead.

“Do you really think that these very fast moving, but not that perceptive, monsters are best escaped from by staying in the light. Where you are easier to see. And thus easier to eat. It’s better to lose a bit of time moving slowly now, than to have one of those crab things implanted upon your back and taken over.” He shivers.

“But the Inquisitor told us to hurry. Do you really want to disappoint her?” – Mithras

“Are you seriously telling me that you want to be eaten? She told us to get to the bridge without anymore conflict. Look, if you really want to be stolen by those things, I’ll go ahead, in the shadows.” He reaches down and turns off his laser sight. “Look, honestly, turn off the luminator. It might make everything much easier, and remember, they hiss, That should give us warning.”

Without another word, he moves off ahead, rifle at the ready, The other three stare at his back, then follow him down the middle of the hall. The priest has his unfeasibly large handgun out, the enforcer has his pump-action shotgun at the ready, and the tech-priest is shining his flashlight on his lascarbine down the hall, despite the wishes of Havelock.

Up at the front, Havelock comes to an intersection. It’s a four-way intersection, and he can’t read the signs on the way, written as they are in the strange argot of these Void Born. He pokes his way past a particularly ornate buttress, looks to his left and sees a group of three of those creatures, shambling towards him, showing none of the unholy speed or agility that the previous one had. They remind him nothing more than of a holofilm called “Malign Corpses”, which featured an underhive ganger, called Elm, killing unfeasible numbers of Plague Zombies with a shotgun and a chainsword. Looking back, he can see that those fools are still in the light, and the coggy even has his Emperor-damned flashlight on. He gestures frantically for the others to get to his side of the corridor, into the safety of the shadows. Thankfully, they oblige.

(A successful Fellowship check for our unfeasibly personable assassin (40), and thankfully (for them) Mithras made his Intelligence check, alone out of the three)

The tech priest, Havelock sees, reaches down and turns off his jury-rigged flashlight, and steps into the shadows, pulling the slightly dim enforcer with him. By now, the wet flap of naked flesh on the stone floor of the spaceship is too close, so he flattens himself against the wall, half hidden by the buttress, and waits.

The three things can be seen properly this time, not blurred by the rush of combat, or lying on the floor in surprisingly finely diced chunks. Two of the creatures are using the bodies of menial ship workers, both male, their heads held rigidly straight by the presence of the crab-like thing behinds them. The third one is a mess. It appeared to have been a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus when its body was still its own, and, as far as he could tell from the bloodied hunks of meat, had been female. All the implants, so sacred to the member of the Machine Cult, had been torn out. Her throat and windpipe were missing, as was one eye socket, where Havelock presumed an implanted eye had been. Moreover, the right arm was absent, and so the leg of the unholy technorganic parasite, which would normally have been threaded under the arm of the victim, forcing the limb to move, regardless of bones, waved in the air, thin, flexible, and razor sharp.

As the droning rattling hiss of their feeding tube passed, and then receded into the distance, Havelock darts backwards to the others.

“See! I was right. Now, show me the map, Technographer,” said Havelock, in a smug voice.

Looking at the map, the armoury is straight ahead. There may have been a great deal of gunfire when the things attacked, but there should still be useful things in there.

They manage to get down the corridor, to the armoury, without any further mishaps. The plan was to have Mithras open the door for them, using the override. However, when they get there, they find the massive, twin doors have already been breached, and there are drag marks along the floor from the armoury, heading towards the right.

“That wasn’t expected. Those doors should be able to withstand shots from a meltagun at short range” – Mithras, in a shocked tone of voice.

“Yes. If you look at it properly, the area around the hinges, and all the associated mechanisms are missing. It would seem that the wonderful ship didn’t reinforce the area around the door.” – Havelock, with a heavy helping of sarcasm.

It is pitch black inside the armoury. When Mithras shines his light at the walls, around the room, all of the registration cognitors, the charging ports and even the racks of weapons have been taken. It is as if someone has gone through the room with a moderate amount of care, and taken everything technological.

“I’ll see if I can get the lights working” – Mithras.

As he examines the luminator variator, the majority of it is missing, pulled out of the wall, whole. He thinks he can get a quick fix working, but he stands a great risk of offending the spirit of the Machine and causing it to reject the transplant.

A short while, and quite a bit of fiddling with wire later, Mithras thinks he has it repaired. He flips the switch.

(Ricky declares, “It… LIVES” while rolling the dice. He rolls a 92.)

The room flashes into brilliant brightness for a fraction of a second, and then all of the luminators on the ceiling shatter simultaneously. There is a brief hail of glass, an then the group wait in the room, in darkness, for a few minutes, to check that the botching has not drawn the attention of the things.

“Idiot heretic,” Quint mutters under his breath.

Luckily, the Tech-Priest fails to hear that.

“Right, we’ll just have to do this the hard way. Novice Quint, watch the door. Mithras; provide light. Hogan; help me look,” says Havelock, using his aristocratic heritage to the full.

Surprisingly, they comply.

We will now take a metaphorical interlude while a great deal of searching for loot… sorry, things which may be commandeered for the good of the Imperium, occurs.

(This group, like most PCs, seems to believe that other peoples’ possessions are just being looked after for them until they reclaim it.)

At the end of the search, they have found a pack of 9 scatter shells, which will fit the barrel of Hogan’s shotgun, 5 rifle-sized lasgun power packs, a number of replacement barrels for shotguns (better known as “Hollow tubes”), and, buried under the rubble from the door, the prize of a single, Varyix-pattern, lasgun.

“I’ll keep that, and some of those power packs.” – Havelock, after getting Hogan to dig through the rubble.

“Do you even know how to use that?” – Mithras (who is also the only one who knows how to use basic lasweapons)

“Of course. I’ll just continue using my hunting rifle because of the ranges we’re dealing with.

Quint, distracted by the debate, fails to notice another trio of the creatures until it is almost too late. He pushes his back up against the wall, and frantically gestures at the others.

At the last moment, Mithras, lacking time to turn off the light, points it at the ceiling, mercifully far away. They all hold stock still.

A different three can be seen through the doorway. Two of them, both female ratings, appear much as the others do; the third, also female, is being worn backwards. The limbs are broken in so many places that shards of bone stick through all over the abused flesh, and so they walk perfectly along the line of the creature’s metal legs. Her face is in a sick embrace with the creature, and its feeding tube sticks right through her mouth and out the back of her skull, along with the optical sensors, smeared with brain material.

(And despite this, all of them pass their Difficult Fear Check. I decided that that meant that they were adjusted to the creatures, and that they no longer had to make them for the basic ones.)

One of the “normal” ones looks into the room. There is a terrible, sibilant sound, as the whispering hiss of it inhaling, almost sniffing.

The creature seems satisfied. They continue along the passageway, opposite to the direction which the group needed to head.

There is a pause of around thirty seconds. Simultaneously, four men exhale the breath they had been holding all that time.

“Bless the Omnissiah.” Mithras looks at the others. “Especially in his visage as the Emperor.”

Quint looks like he is about to say something, but decides not to.


A while later, having passed several hundred metres of implausibly ornate and gothic architecture, they get to the intersection, right next to Cargo Bay C. The door is wide open, unsealed like the rest of the ship’s vital sectors should be, and blue light streams from it. Not much can be seen behind that azure veil, and staring at it for too long leaves the viewer with a headache and purple after flashes in their vision.

“I got a bad feeling about this.” – Quint

(There was then a lengthy tangent OOC, in which the words “Something something something Dark Side!” were used)

“That shouldn’t be doing that. There isn’t even that number of lights installed in the Cargo Bay, and the light is slightly the wrong colour.” – Mithras

“Ignore it. We don’t need to go in there, and it may be a trap” – Havelock

(The tangent is then resumed again)

The debate is interrupted by Havelock noticing a trio of figures within the light. They’re shambling towards them.

“Up against the wall. It’s dark there.” – Hogan

The new three creatures pass by them, and head to the right. Luckily, that is the opposite direction to the way they want to go; towards the Chapel, Mithras guesses.

“How close are we to… wherever she told us to go, anyway.”- Hogan

Mithras sighs internally; the blond man seems to have a terrible memory, for all that he can kill things with that shotgun. They follow the tech-priest’s lead.

“Not too far. The path to the bridge hugs the wall of Cargo Bay C, so we should just… continue straight on. Aha!”

The exclamation is followed by a brief inhalation on air through his teeth. The door to the bridge is locked down. Mithras attempts to open the door, but the Machine Spirit of this door will not accept his open code, citing a “V-V-Alpha-Forty-Two violation.” It then informs him that he should wait in his current position to be collected by a security team, for attempting to open a door he does not have permission to open. He returns to the others, who are standing respectfully backwards.

“The Machine Spirit refuses to let me through. It claims I am not enlightened enough.”

Hogan grins, and pumps his shotgun.

“Let me open it.”

He walks up to the door, and unloads a round into the control panel.

Surprisingly, all that happens is that the panel is destroyed, and ambaric sparks fly from the ruined electronics.

He frowns.

“That’s odd. It always worked for Inquisitor Jaghatai Tie in the holo-vids.”

The Tech-Priest is, not to put it too finely, extremely angry.

“Why in the name of the Omnissiah would you do it. That panel was part of the body of an extremely complex Machine Spirit, and you just destroyed it. It takes the labour of four Electroo Priests and a fully fledged Tech Priest to manufacture a new one!”

(I think it should be pointed out; the holovids lie. Just like cake)

“Please. Both of you. Shush!” Surprisingly Quint speaks out. “Do you want those … things to hear us!”

Mithras shakes himself a few times. “Yes. You’re right. Emotions are the Mind Killer, after all.” He looks down at the data pad. “It looks like we could get through the various officers and hereditary specialists’ quarters; although it will be longer, and the place will be more confined.”

“Where’s the entrance to these quarters?” – Havelock.

“Just back a bit, past a few turns” – Hogan, looking over Mithras’ shoulders.



They stand before a large door. The door actually has a veneer of wood, somewhat marred by the fact that the lock has been shot out by some kind of explosive weapon.

“Looks like a grenade, or maybe a bolter. And whoever did it was trying to get in,” Hogan points at the fact that all of the blast is inwards. “And they succeeded.”

“But she wasn’t using a bolt weapon. She was using those two hellpistols. Which means that…”

“Someone else is, or was recently, alive in here.” – Havelock, completing Quint’s sentence.

“Someone carrying a bolter, or something like that. And those things make a mess of people. A real mess. Like “red cloud of mist” messy.” - Quint

(Said by Elford after looking through the Critical Hits charts. Hehe)

The group, as a man, draw up their weapons, and look in all directions. Mithras turns back on his flashlight; Havelock, the red laser sight on his rifle.

“You, open the door.” – Havelock, to Quint.

“No, you open it.” – Quint responds.

They wait for a while more.

“Oh, for the Emperor’s sake!” Hogan boots the door as hard as he can, knocking it open.

There is no bolter-wielding maniac in the hallway beyond. However, the lights are on, and the air temperature is warmer than the rest of the ship, and the humidity comfortably higher. Having said that, though, the structure of the ship makes an alarming groaning and all of the lights flicker. One of them blows, a rain of glass falling on the blue carpet.

“Hmm. These people get it much nicer than we do.” – Quint

Along the well-lit corridors and carpeted floors, there are doors, not made of the plasteel of the rest of the ship, but actually of genuine wood. They are all locked.

“Why has there been no fighting here? And why are all these doors locked, if this is a place where people are meant to live.” – Havelock

“I don’t know; I haven’t been on this ship long, but I heard that this ship was originally going to be a luxury liner. Taking nobles from world to world, and all that kind of luxury travel. Basically, they did it for about a century, and then they couldn’t afford it. They sold off the expensive Chartist Licence, and became another cargo ships. There are some signs in most of the ship, even with the furniture ripped out. Did you see the ornate architecture, the size of your Imperial chapel? A normal ship wouldn’t have one a quarter of the size.” – Mithras

“I know. The chapel was far too large for the number of people in my congregation. Also, the ship is really undermanned. I’m still a novice, and yet I’m the only member of the Imperial Cult on this ship.”

“That isn’t entirely deliberate. Father Busque fell down and broke his neck, and both his trainees died in a pressure deviation after ignoring our warnings that the area is unsafe.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Quint, looking alarmed.

“The machine spirit of this ship is not as well maintained as it could be, and the Machine Spirits are overworked, keeping it running. Moreover, the Spirits were forged for a pleasure cruiser, not a cargo ship, and thus they cannot adjust fully. They do not even give us the necessary resource budget caused by the misalignment of certain parts of the ship caused by…” he pauses, to understand the reason the full tech-priests gave him, after reciting this complaints the more experienced ones have told him, “…inappropriate Del Tar Vees when the Rest Mass is taken into account in the blesséd Third Order Omniverisal Equations.”

The others roll their eyes at typical Mechanicus obtuseness, tempered by a sense that they don’t actually know what the hell he is talking about.

[EarthScorpion]

By this point they, from the map Mithras is carrying, they should be getting close to the lift which can take them to the bridge, raised as it is on a tower, protruding from the hull. They are almost there, when Havelock notices that one of the doors to the rooms is actually open. There is no sign of a forced entry.

“Wait; stop. A door. There.”

There is some debate among the group as they rest there, having walked a long distance throughout the stressful and labyrinthine corridors of the ship, about whether they should delay further to look inside the room.

(And we had dinner)

“Come on, let’s look. There might be something valuable which we can use” – Hogan, hastily adding the last bit on

He pushes open the door fully, shotgun at the ready. The spartan furnishing and, of course, large cognitor shrine, shows it as the room of one of the ship-born members of the Adeptus Mechanicus. There’s a large opening in the floor, as a floorspace has been opened. Whatever was in it, is gone now.

“Right. Someone came in here, and took something.” – Havelock

“Yes. Well observed. Genius.” – Quint, with just a hint of sarcasm.

“Well, can you see anything else. Novice?” – Havelock

While they bicker, Mithras touches his finger onto one of the cognitor port. It appears that whoever was one this didn’t end his interface, allowing anyone to look inside.

It’s largely related to the inside running of the ship; Mithras opens a few of the internal messages, but they are filled with wisdom he is not privy to, yet. One, marked with the codes for urgency, draws his attention. It’s discussing chronic gravitational failure that is spreading through the ship; random failures of the Ay Gee generators. Apparently, they’re focussed on Cargo Bay C, and there is a risk there could be a failure which would cover the entire ship on the Primary circuit, lasting for the minutes it would take for the localised secondaries to kick in. Attempting to cross-reference the Primary Circuit, Mithras finds that this covers all of the ship, apart from the Hangar Bay, and the pair of chapels. The message also goes into a long complaint, against the code of practice that the ship’s owners are skimping on reactor maintenance. There’s mention of instability, and “possible catastrophic failure of the reactor, which would lead to a failure of the Gellar Fields,” before Mithras is lost in the lengthy equations which explain the issue.

“Find anything interesting” - Quint, looking over his shoulder

“It’s all displayed on the screen… oh.” Mithras smirks. “You are not initiated in the blessings of the Machine Cant, are you?”

“You know damn well I’m not. Your cult won’t teach it to anyone else, and even if they did, you know that no proper human mouth could make those noises.” The priest is getting annoyed.

Mithras then explains a simplified version of what he had read, having made his point in the interfaith debate.

Meanwhile, Hogan has been searching the room, trying to find anything he can use. He isn’t having luck.

Mithras, looks up, irritated.

“Must you profane a sacred place of the Machine God, with your search for valuables?”

“I’m not looking for valuables. I’m… looking for any kind of weapon.”

Mithras sighs, and rests his hands on the cognitor’s desk. There is a click, as a small blemish recedes into the desk. The command input board of the cognitor rises up, revealing a small, silver chrono.

“Told you there’d be a hidden compartment. Hmm, looks valuable,,,” – Hogan

Mithras looks shocked. He snatches the chrono from the compartment. As he does, the container pops open, and a holo is projected from the open mouth. It is, unfortunately, quite corrupted, and all that can be seen and heard is a grey amorphous blob, and a crackling.

It is at that moment that Mithras speaks up, in the voice of the Inquisitor.

“What are you doing. I told you to go to the bridge, not engage in petty theft!”

There is a shocked, slightly guilty, and above all, exceedingly nervous silence. Mithras, finding himself unable to talk at all, thinks hard.

“How can you hear what is going on?”

She replies, using his voicebox, “It is a two-way transmitter, idiots. It allows you to hear me, and for me to hear you. Which explains how we could talk earlier. Now, get to the bridge. Quickly. There’s someone else on this ship, I think.”

There is a crackle, as she disconnects and Mithras regains control of his voice.

Havelock looks at them. “Do you think we should move quickly.”

“Definitely.” – Quint


When they get to the elevator, they can see there are two options. There is a lift, but there is also a staircase, which winds up into the towers of the ship.

They all choose to go up the stairs, without much discussion at all.

(And so miss out on a confrontation I had planned. I think they’ve all read the Mook’s Survival Guide; they’d also rejected an earlier suggestion to split up)

As they go up the stairs, they hear the rattle of the lift. It sounds like it’s descending.

“We could see who it is?” – Mithras, his voice, trailing away.

“Not a chance. We refused to go up the lift, and I’ve seen enough holovids to know that it’s a bad idea to investigate the lift on an abandoned ship.” – Hogan

“We continue up. But it’s tight quarters in the stairs, so, Hogan, guard our back.” – Havelock.

At the top of the stairs, there is a long vaulted chamber, leading down towards the main bridge. It’s well lit, except for a section of darkness, about half-way down. Along each wall is a bank of cognitors, with the sitting type of Mind-Machine Interface type of port. These banks, which should be manned by Servitors, are empty; the interfaces and the seats covered in cerebral fluid and the occasional brain part.

Hogan and Quint look a bit distracted and nauseous at the sight.

“What could do that?” – Quint

“The creatures. Those damn body thieves.” – Hogan

“But we haven’t seen any of them in ages. Since we got in this well lit area, actually. Maybe they dislike the light…” says Havelock, his voice fading away as he looks at the darkened area.

(Nice guess. Wrong, but logical.)

“You. Mithras. On the count of three, shine your light in the dark area,” he continues. “The rest of us will shoot anything we see.”

The other two nod, but they’re shaking.

“One. Two. Three!”

There’s nothing there, even after Mithras has swung his light all around.

(Sometimes a gazebo is just a gazebo. More rarely, a mysterious darkened place in a hallway on a ship where weird monsters roam is just a mysterious darkened place in a hallway on a ship where weird monsters roam.)

“Oh. Phew. Quick, to a library!” – Mithras

“Ah. Mithras? We’re going to the bridge.” – Havelock

“Oh. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”


The bridge is the last beautiful bit of the ship left. A vast diamonsteel window covers one wall, and the domed room is covered in the flaking remnants of a great diorama, of the sacrifice of Saint Sistina. More of interest, however, is the vast command bay at the centre.

“We need to protect this place while the technographer,” Quint says with a faint edge of disdain, “sends off the distress signal. Havelock and I can hold this door, while the enforcer protects him.” He unslings his crossbow, and sets it, with juddery hands watching the door. Havelock joins him, aiming his rifle down past the brain-splattered chairs.

Mithras lovingly runs his hands over the machine. The Machine Spirit is very aware, and it knows its body is sick. However, it refuses to let him send the message to the fleet, citing lockdown of higher systems, by higher authority. When he tries to request the identity of the command origin, it likewise cites a command to hide the identity. He manages to persuade the Spirit to let his see the functions he can access.

“+++Request Accepted, Technographer+++
+++You May View:
Previous Messages
Cargo Details
Ship Inventory
Schematics+++”

Disconnecting his hands, he swears loudly.

“What’s the issue?” – Hogan

“I’ve been locked out of all vital functions is the issue. Including intership communications.”

“But how will we send the message?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask.”

Mithras sticks his finger into the port on the com-link the Inquisitor had given him. As he speaks, the ship gives another creak, from under his feet.

“Apologies, Lady, but we’ve been locked out of the systems. An individual with a higher authority than mine has refused to let the Machine Spirit commune at anything more than a basic level.”

He waits
…
She speaks, this time into his mind, rather than using his vocal cords.

“Are you sure?” She sounds harassed.

“Yes. The Spirit was most adamant.”

“Can you access anything at all?” There is the deep thrum of a high power lasweapon being fired.

“The Machine most kindly gave me access to Previous Records, Cargo Details, Schematics and Inventory.”

“Good, good. Now, all you need to do is…” There is the twin roar of a bolt weapon, and a simultaneous blast. The line goes dead.

“Damn, again. You two, by the door. We need to think.” – Mithras.

They come over, and he explains the situation to them.

“Well, we can’t let the things, whatever they are, escape. What can we use?” – Quint

Mithras turns to the machine, and speaks to it in Machine Cant.

“Oh mighty Machine Spirit, reveal unto these who are not initiated into the glory of the Omnissiah what you have shown unto me. Empower Thy Projector, Use Language El Gothic dot Ex.”

The holoprojector powers up, and the arms begin to move, making a sphere around the projection.

“Let’s see the Previous Records, then.” – Havelock

The records of communications are displayed. Only one has been sent since the ship entered the warp for the last jump, and it was only about ten minutes ago. The destination was Fleet Command, but the contents of the message is totally unknown.

“Wait. So, a message was sent. But it wasn’t us, and it can’t have been the Inquisitor...” – Quint

“The lift. Who the hell was that.” – Havelock

“The person with the bolt weapon, probably. The one who I think was attacking the Lady.” – Mithras

“I think we should get off this ship. Let’s see the Schematics.” - Hogan

A plan of the ship lights up. It’s far more detailed than the one that Mithras has on his datapad. The entirety of Cargo Bay C is lit in the same eye-watering blue as the null gee zones.

“What is it with Cargo Bay C? We know the creatures come from there, and that it has no gravity.” –Havelock, in puzzlement

“And look. The null-g zones in the rest of the ship shift slightly. And, the creatures don’t like gravity. So, maybe that’s where they breed. So, if we could contain the threat, we could destroy the technoheretical threat.”- Mithras

(Successful Int check from Ricky, there)

“Let’s see what’s available. Oh, mighty Machine Spirit, display both Inventory and Cargo.”

They look at the extensive list of things that are on the ship. While doing so, Mithras is muttering and adding things up inside his head. He sees that the mass of that cargo is far less than the mass of the ship displayed on the schematics. He raises the issue.

“Smugglers” – Hogan says, definitely.

“So they smuggled the creatures. Or they hitched a ride… ooh. Look. On the manifest, in Cargo Bay C, there’s a lot of industrial grade mining equipment.” - Quint

“What type? Explosives?” says Hogan, with his eyes lighting up

“Nope. Mining lasers.” He smirks. “ Do you think that they could cut through a spaceship’s hull?”

“Certainly,” interjects Quint. “I put a few through maintenance back on Bourgeise. They can cut through hive walls, they can cut through a civilian spaceship.”

“But look. No power included. Won’t work.” – Havelock

They scan through the list again.

“Navigator suite? I didn’t think the ship had a Navigator.” – Quint

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. We’ve been making short hops, calculated ones.” – Mithras.

“I think we should look up there. There might be an escape craft, or maybe you could override the thingamajig from up there,” Hogan, with his eyes bright with ignorance.

“Might as well. And, remember, we don’t split up.” – Quint.

They climb up another, exceedingly tall tower on the top of the previous one, to the Navigator chambers. They are mostly abandoned, with only some of the gears the Noblis used, and a faint smell of cinnamon.

“I suppose they just couldn’t afford a Navigator. And they’ve sold off the escape craft.” – Mithras

“Wait a moment. Isn’t that one of the void shield level power packs. I’m sure they’re the same as the ones we had on our estate.” Havelock looks at the astonished others. “What?”

Mithras squats down beside them. It looks like they’re even fully charged. “Why would they leave them behind?”

“You know we’re going to have to carry them down these narrow and steep stairs? And I’d think it’d need two of us to carry each one.” – Hogan

Havelock turns on him. “You have a better plan?”

“Just saying.”

Okay. On the count of three we lift. One…”

____________________

It’s slow progress, but they’ve manage to get two of the large, and heavy power packs to the lift, at the end of the corridor which leads to the bridge.

“We can save some effort by putting these bloody bricks on the lift,” pants Quint.

They get in position, with guns facing the door. Hogan presses the Rune of Summoning for the lift.

When the doors ping open, it is empty. They put them down, set the destination, and then walk down the stairs. When they get down, the lift door is closed.

(Play dramatic music)

The Rune of Summoning is pushed again. The door opens… and they are still there. The power sources are picked up again, and the long and winding way through the posh quarters begins again.


Leaving the quarters, it is just a short walk to one of the three entrances to Bay C. The blue light is painful to look at.

“Right, in my recollection, the lasers should be… straight across. Pick up the power sources, and push with your legs into the null-g. Don’t let go, or we’ll lose them.” – Mithras

As they enter the vast hold, Hogan looks to the right, where the light is brightest. What he sees is a scene of horror. Silhouetted against a vast object, which doesn’t look of human origin, the stolen bodies swarm like ants. There are other things on it, which look like the unattached technorganic parasites. As he floats in this faux-void, he sees them attach what looks like some kind of mechanical arm to the thing, which he realises, they are building from scratch, using human technology they stole.

“Watch out,” says Quint, his partner in carrying this pack. There is a crate, which must have come unattached, floating through the void. After some work, they manage to scramble around the floating obstacle, carrying the unresponsive power pack. They push off again, heading towards the military green containers that the other two are gripping onto.

Above them they hear the hiss they have come to fear. There is one of the stolen bodies on the roof, arms bent impossibly far back. It screams, and leaps at them.

Hogan, drawing and firing his shotgun in one smooth action without having to aim, hits it in one of its legs. That sends it spinning rapidly, off to the side, but also sends Hogan into the group, where he has the air knocked out of him. Down by the container, where Quint has managed guide the battery to, the tech-priest is trying to open the container.

“What’s the problem?” – Havelock in a worried tone of voice. He aims a shot at one of the creatures, and hits it, sending it flying towards the thing they’re building. Havelock is forced to grip the container, wildly, to stop him flying out of control too.

“Use that lasgun you found. No recoil, so you won’t move when you fire.” By now Mithras is bludgeoning the lock with a pipe he collected. Havelock pauses, and switches to a weapon he really doesn’t know how to use. He begins firing rather inaccurate three-shot bursts.

Mithras, annoyed by his inability to open the lock, offers a prayer to the Omnissiah and blows it open with a burst from his lascarbine.

All of the other three are firing at the oncoming horde. Many are being knocked back, but the horde is still getting closer.

Mithras floats into the crate, manoeuvring behind the controls. Luckily, it seems to be facing the wall already. He begins the Rite of Activation. From outside, he can hear lasfire, the noise of an autopistol and the shotgun blasts. He connects up the two power packs, override the alarms from an unauthorised power supply, and activates the warm-up sequence. He goes to leave, but realises that the dead man’s handle must be depressed for it to work. He thinks for a moment, and then uses his roll of the Omnissiah’s most blessed ductile tape to affix it down.

“It’s done. Get out of here.” Having said this, he pushes off against the box, aiming for the door. One by one, the others break off from firing at the horde of creatures who are barely one-hundred metres away from them.

Havelock and Mithras manage their push offs near perfectly, getting to the cargo netting around the door, and swinging out into the normal gravity. Quint pushes too hard, flying straight out of the door, and falling painfully to the ground.

(Havelock gets a 09, Mithras a 12. Quint barely fails, and so takes two fatigue from the fall.)

Hogan, on the other hand, pushes off far too softly, and floated helplessly in mid air, stuck as the creatures get closer.

“Seal the door. Leave him” – Havelock

(In his justification, he had just read the “Death in Vacuum rules”, and didn’t like them.)

“Fire your weapon! Use it as thrust!” yells Mithras, preparing to close the blast door.

Understanding, Hogan points the gun and empties it. He goes flying out the door, onto his back, just as the door begins to seal and the shriek of air indicates that the laser has been activated. An ethereal shriek begins, and the door grinds shut.

“Right! Let’s get off this hulk!” Hogan is by now getting pretty psyched up.

“To the Hangar Bay!” The others roll their eyes at Mithras’ comment, but follow him as he jogs.

As they head to the hangar bay, a wind begins to kick up, the first movement of air a ship like this may have ever seen. It seems to be getting harder to run, too, requiring more effort.

“Were all the doors sealed? Is the void entering the ship?”- Havelock, panting

“Void isn’t actually a thing, but yes. One of the doors must have been open. The void can kill you. So, run!” – Mithras

They’re almost half way there, when the communicator crackles into life. It seems to be damaged; it’s skipping words.

“What in …hiss…eror did you do?” It’s the Inquisitor. She sounds angry, or possibly worried.

“We used a laser to cut a hole in the ship. Should deal with the creatures.” – Hogan

“But…hiss…you…hiss…al the door? Get to Hanga….hiss… A, there’s…hiss…ander.”

They ignore the communicator; it isn’t making any sense.

“Almost there” – Havelock. The air is by then getting worryingly thin. They’re forced to stop, however, by a brawl between the creatures. It’s a free-for-all; there is no loyalty they can distinguish. One seems to be winning, and has begun to subsume the others, the creatures flowing together like liquid mercury, being sucked into the feeding tube of the winner. The remaining ones seem to see the difficult they are in, and turn on the victor.

“What in the name of the Emperor do we do? They’re blocking the way!” – Quint

“Run through them. They seem to be interested in only each other.” – Havelock.

Mithras nods. He can agree with that.

“Madness! How can you expect them not to get us?” – Hogan, angrily.

Havelock, followed rapidly by Mithras, demonstrate.

(Both of them are from Hive Worlds. For them, the crowd is not difficult terrain, and they both pass the Agility check.)

The other two follow, although without the grace ingrained by practice.

(I didn’t expect that. These people are rather good at rolling low.)

The door to the Hangar is straight ahead. The air is by now so thin that they cannot run, and Hogan and Havelock are getting light-headed, from a lack of oxygen. Panting, Hogan manages to unscrew the wheel on the door where Mithras had failed, and the door opens with a gush of air, sucked into the neo-void. Quint, with the last of his strength manages to close the door behind him, and they slump to the floor, as a hissing from the ceiling brings a return of the vital air.

The door to the hangar ascends, when Mithras asks that of it, and they can see that this hangar is free of any of the creatures. There are three cargo landers, a gap for two more, and a slightly more posh looking one, that seems designed to carry passengers. It seems readied for flight, unlike the others.

Quint speaks for all of them, when he says, “So, I suppose we get on the lander, and sees what the Lady wants to do to us.”











I hope I get some comments.

My fingers hurt after that almost 15000 words.

[Space Monkey]

Excellent write up, EarthScorpion. An interesting story and a well told one, too. It looks like it was a fun session for your group. Bravo.

Was the initial threat of tech-heresy in this story, rather than xenos or psykers/Chaos, something you had planned from the beginning, or that you developed in response to the sorts of Acolytes that your players chose to create?

[Asklepios]

Quite brilliant - I admit to laughing out loud when shooting the locked door's control panel resulted in... a destroyed control panel and a locked door.

I submit that “That’s odd. It always worked for Inquisitor Jaghatai Tie in the holo-vids,” should become a regular in-character catchphrase...

[Mr Adventurer]

Sounds like you've got some awesome players, there .