Rogue Trader - The Passage

[Montresor]

Looking upon the seemingly unbroken chaos before him, he prayed fervently that Malachi would reach the Geller Sphere in time.

The pull of the current can barely be resisted now, and the Invictus seems to almost hunger for the wall of the maelstrom as it too lusts for the Invictus. Zarkov knows that he could possibly slow the approach of the frigate to the storm, possibly buying Malachi more time, though this may also make the Invictus's entry into the tempest all the more risky. His experience at the helm tells Zarkov that his only hope of survival might be to punch through the wall of the storm and through to the other side - possibly riding a current to outpace the heart. However, he is not sure the Geller Fields will hold . . .

Two great arcs of power impact across the surface of the Field, and a deep red bruise erupts with loathsome intent. The Invictus is cast from side to side, and Zarkov only just manages to hold his footing. The power briefly surges, lights glare white, and the Lt. Commander knows that the Geller Fields were almost breached.

[You have a crucial choice. Zarkov can let the current take the Invictus as quickly as possible to the destination, making it almost certain that Malachi will not reach the Geller Sphere in time; or, he can do his best to steer the Invictus to resist the current, and slow its entry. This might also mean that the frigate cannot punch through the storm, when the time comes]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Unaware of Malachi's plight in the lift well, Zarkov wrestled with the wheel, trying to follow the navigators co-ordinates as closely as possible. Keeping the Invictus in the flow of the strong warp current, he made no move to impede the ships natural affinity for the Immaterium. To do so, he knew, would be to court disaster. However Zarkov felt no better intending the ship towards the destructive cauldron of malign energy that surged before him, it felt like suicide. Death in the Emperors name, indeed a worthy demise. But cast to the denizens of the warp, destroyed in such a blasphemous way...surely I must avoid such a fate. His prayers grew louder, loud enough indeed for some of the bridge staff to hear, and a few began to recite along with him.

[ooc]Zarkov does not accelerate, but does not decrease speed either. The Invictus, as Du Preste said, is indeed at the mercy of the warp. A check as to the effect Zarkov's loud, devout prayers have on the bridge crew, for better or worse.[/ooc]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea quickly scans the room, looking for a junior priest who isn't busy guarding Faith's Reach. Spotting one off to the side, she moves her way through the crowd towards him.

"Excuse me, Brother." she stage-whispers to him, trying not to be overheard by the crowd and cause further panic. "I've just come from the bridge. The Lord-Captain needs Brother Detronimus there urgently. Can you help me get his attention, quickly?"

[Montresor]

Brother Clabo, a fat-cheeked middle-aged devotee of the Ecclesiarchy regards Andrea with pin-like eyes, staring from the depth of a ruddy and self-satisfied face. The Madam-Seneschal knows from experience that, despite Clabo's self-indulged appearance, he is a stalwart preacher of the Emperor's truth.

'Seneschal-Majoris,' Clabo begins, 'Detronimus's place is here, and his position as the senior member of the Ecclesiarchy dictates that he would have to refuse Garrius Amphael's request. I would advise not pressing him right now. If the honoured Lord-Captain requires Detronimus for the Bridge, perhaps I may substitute, humble though my services are in comparison?'

[Andrea sees that Clabo is serious. You can press the issue, though it will be a very extreme challenge to get Detronimus away from the Chapel, or perhaps you could seek more than one priest. If you want to try your hand at the latter, I'll allow you to make the necessary rolls, and I'll give you a +20 to the test, based on the difficulty. However, this will add crucial minutes to the time. Otherwise, you may accept Clabo's offer and proceed with haste to the Bridge . . . ]

[Malachi]

Malachi, in a desperate attempt to make the lift move faster, begins to recite litanies to encourage the machine spirits involved in the elevator's workings to help him save the ship, and all aboard.

[Montresor]

The central lift stutters with half life, the power fed into it being only adequate to improve its progress down the well. The descent is laboured, though faster than before. As Malachi and his team stumble out of the well, the frigate shudders under a terrible assault from the storm. The Explorator witnesses a rating immolated in a surge of power from a cogitation array; the Machine Spirits rage with fury.

.... .... .... ....

The Invictus plunges inexorably into the heart of the Storm, its momentum gathering with the fell currents. Hideous streaks of multi-form energy impact against the Geller Fields, which shift and bulge inwards under the unrelenting malignance. Power surges seize the vessel; Vox crackles briefly erupt, Auger slates display shapes which churn and mock, and lights pulse in concert with the beating of the storm.

From within the servitor pits, the long wail of the enginseer roars to the ceiling. An odour of burning flesh fills the cavernous Bridge, and the enginseer wails with the agony of the Machine Spirit.

All eyes are cast to the choking chaos of the storm, which at once looms above the ancient vessel, then consumes it. All light within the bridge is blotted out but the dim glow from the numerous arrays. The sick purple, red, and black hue from the maelstrom enshrouds everything before it in unholy darkness.

Energy tears across the Geller Field, assaulting it with such terrible might that the Fields themselves begin to retreat closer to the hull of the Invictus. Throughout the ship, spasms of pain from the Machine Spirits rupture systems, crackle electricity, and spew noxious fumes. Within the space of a minute, dozens perish, or are rendered senseless.

[I shall pause here to allow player responses to the general calamity. Malachi will be about a third of the way along the corridor to the Geller Chamber; Andrea will either still be in the Chapel, or on her way back to the bridge with Clabo, depending on what she decides to do; Zarkov is no longer so much as steering the vessel, as just trying to hold on; Praetus is being forced to use all his concentration to stop the Warp from sending him insane, though he may try against all difficulties to navigate; all other players will be being thrown about in the tumult]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea stares, aghast, for just a moment. "You're saying that he... I don't have time for this." She looks up at Detronimus at the podium, preaching to a group of people who, by the nature of where they're sitting, have little to no impact on the survival of the rest of the ship.

"Fine then. But know this, Brother Clabo: if those on the bridge give in to despair, the entire ship dies. Do you feel confident in your ability to stand in a room, looking out at the Warp Storm, with the fate of the ship hanging in the balance? Or would you rather fetch Brother Detronimus? The choice is yours."

[If he chooses himself, Andrea looks relieved and affirms his decision with "Excellent. Let's go." Regardless of his decision, escort whichever of them he chooses back to the bridge with all haste.]

[Montresor]

"Fine then. But know this, Brother Clabo: if those on the bridge give in to despair, the entire ship dies. Do you feel confident in your ability to stand in a room, looking out at the Warp Storm, with the fate of the ship hanging in the balance? Or would you rather fetch Brother Detronimus? The choice is yours."

'Once before, in the Invictus's past, the entire senior staff perished, yet the vessel endured, Praise be to the Emperor. His place is here, Madam-Seneschal. If the Warp intrudes upon the ship, this will be the last point of defence, not the bridge. Detronimus's oaths dictate he must remain here in this crisis'.

[With that, Clabo and Andrea will depart for the Bridge]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea pauses for a moment, turns back to Brother Clabo, "Brother, please accept my apology. I did not mean to dictate your duties to you, or to Brother Detronimus. We're all a little on edge here, but that's no excuse for such rudeness."

She then gestured for him to proceed her out the doors and back to the bridge.

While walking, she called ahead to Clabo again. "Brother, once we've gotten you to the bridge, is there anything that I can do, in the Lord-Captain's name if necessary, to help Brother Detronimus' duties? I find myself mostly with no duties of my own, so I'm attempting to find ways to be helpful."

[Montresor]

While walking, she called ahead to Clabo again. "Brother, once we've gotten you to the bridge, is there anything that I can do, in the Lord-Captain's name if necessary, to help Brother Detronimus' duties? I find myself mostly with no duties of my own, so I'm attempting to find ways to be helpful."

Clabo appears surprised at Andrea's contrition. While steadying himself against an arch, the brother takes a moment to think. The lumen-globes throb and pulse down the hall in a wave of sick power. The Machine Spirits spark with strained energy.

'Watch ever for evil, Andrea,' the priest's tone becomes informal and, though no other souls are evident in the hall to over-hear, his voice becomes a whisper, ' these tech-priests are prone to heresy. It would not surprise me if they were all somehow connected to this calamity. Why does the vox fail at our time of peril?'.

The vents pour forth a putrid reek from the Life Sustainers. Though a common enough occurence, the taint seems to insist the words of Clabo, who gazes at the nearest vent with alarm.

Before Andrea and the brother can continue, the frigate is gripped by a fierce assault, as if held in the grip of some unfathomed god and shaken without mercy. Andrea and Clabo stagger and are beaten against the walls of the corridor, their limbs only just guarding their heads from being dashed into arches and grates.

[Andrea takes a beating in the storm, suffering 1 Wound in damage. She feels the briefest sensation of someone or something above her, bearing upon her with an almost sexual malignance, yet the moment passes. The Invictus is in the grips of the storm and, unless Andrea wishes to risk more Wound loss, she will have to proceed very slowly to the Bridge. The choice is hers as to whether to rush, or to 'crawl'. Clabo will follow her lead]

[Malachi]

Malachi rushes down the corridor as fast as the motions of the ship allow. His chanting transitions from appeasing the elevator to appeasing the Gellar Field generator, in the hopes that he might encourage those around him to gird themselves for the task ahead.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

"Oh no. This is bad." Brother Clabo holds out a hand to Andrea, pulling her to her feet again. "We should hurry." she says, and starts to rush to the bridge, with the cleric in tow.

[Keep rushing until she's too injured to keep going, basically. So, when she has 1 wound left, she'll stop and urge Brother Clabo to continue without her. Yes, it's possible she'll have two left, then take three. It's a gamble.]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

The Invictus suddenly surged on a wave of chaotic energy, and Zarkov was lifted off his feet and flung to the ground. Several other standing bridge staff suffered the same fate. His prayers interrupted, he quickly regained his footing and the wheel, but more surges and impacts forced him to cling on desperately. Zarkov's prayers rose in volume to bellows, and no-one on the bridge could fail to hear them, even above the blasphemous sound of the storm and the keening wail of Tech-Preists.

[Montresor]

Throughout Invictus Aeterna, crewmen are flung from their bunks, cast across rooms, and beaten about narrow corridors by the fury of the storm. Those rushing to their destinations fare the worst, being thrown bodily, staggering and crashing into any obstacle in their path. Some of the ratings are dashed unconscious, while others doubtless suffer more serious wounds.

[All player characters except for Garrius Amphael have suffered damage from crashing about in the storm. The Bridge, thanks to many staff being fastened into their posts, suffers the least, thouhg there are a handful of crew who are flung dangerously over railings. Even Praetus, safer in his Well is still dashed about. The following players suffer damage:
Andrea - 7 Wounds
Malachi - 12 Wounds
Zarkov - 2 Wounds
Praetus - 3 Wounds
Drak-Kung - 3 Wounds]

Tense and brutal minutes pass on the Bridge as the storm deals the worst of its assault. While Zarkov is cast about the deck, the wheel spins dangerously out of control. Etradorn, maintaining her footing in the tumult helps her Lieutenant Commander back to his feet and to the Helm. Once more suffering to direct the Invictus through the current, Zarkov grasps the Helm with every last reserve of his energy.

The Invictus picks up a terrible and unnatural pace which exerts backwards pressure on her crew. All the while, the Geller Fields are punished under a baleful onslaught.

'ZAAAARRKOOOOVV . . .' the near disembodied scream of the enginseer directing the energy to the Geller Fields is horrifying to hear. Plumes of smoke from his burning flesh and robes trail to the ceiling of the Bridge, and the stench of his imminent death is loathsome.

The power to the Geller Fields begins to fail, presaged by the slow return of bright illumination throughout the lumen globes of the vessel, the flickering arrays, and the fresh surge of ventilation.

Across the protective fields, strange visages begin to coalesce. The Invictus is no more than two minutes from its destruction.

[At this point, a very bruised and bloodied Andrea and Brother Clabo will stumble onto the Bridge. Their arrival is timely enough to dissaude some officers from immediate flight]
.... .... .... ....

Malachi rushes into the vast Geller chamber with those of his enginseers still able to walk. They have suffered terribly in the rage of the storm.

The Geller Sphere hums in tandem with the rythym of the far-off Warp Drives. A blue-black glow permeates the chamber, seeming to rest in folds and coil in languid mists. The handful of enginseers here busy themselves by trying to keep the Geller Fields from complete collapse, though, it is obvious that, unless Malachi can do something quickly, all will be lost.

[Malachi succeeds on a hard Tech Use test to quickly gauge the situation. He knows that power is being diverted back to the rest of the ship's systems because the Fields cannot handle the strain. He understands that he could re-route all power and keep the Fields running at three times their strength, though this may lead to the Sphere overheating and imploding after a few minutes. The chance of this happening could be lessened by re-routing all power except for that to the Helm and the Warp Drives to the Geller Fields. This will more surely protect the Invictus, though it will plunge the entire vessel into complete darkness, and likely cut life support to some sections for minutes. The choice is his]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Her work complete, in that Brother Clabo is now here, Andrea moves to the side of the bridge, trying to stay out of the way. As she stands, favoring one leg while trying to maintain her balance, she stops to inspect herself for other injuries.

The ankle had probably saved her, in an odd sort of way. After she'd twisted it, and fallen to the ground with a scream, it had slowed her down enough that she believes she avoided some worse spills later on. She chose to interpret the ankle injury, she wasn't sure if it was broken, as another sign of the Emperor's favor.

The scalp wound was bleeding a lot, but those are known to bleed a lot... maybe it's not a big deal. At least the shape of her artificial eyes prevented the blood from interfering with her vision.

The ribs didn't seem broken, though she didn't look forward to how it would look when she got back to her room. She'd never known you could impact a wall so hard that your own elbow could bruise your ribs. The elbow didn't seem that hurt at all, in fact. She couldn't move the fingers on that hand very deftly right now, though. Maybe the pain would come later? That seemed like a bad sign.

The bumps and bruises on her knees and legs were minor. Her tailbone ached a little, but the synthskin had protected her from most of that fall. So, expecting not to die before the rest of the ship, Andrea turned her attention back to the goings-on here on the bridge. She made sure that Brother Clabo was in a condition to carry out his duties, not that she'd know how to help him if he wasn't.

• This pain is a sign
  Of the Emperor's favor
  I will not waste it

[Malachi]

Malachi hobbles towards the MUI input near a control console and begins the input of power re-route commands. Ignoring the pain that wracks his body, he keeps a steady sense of where the power moves throughout the ship.

The Geller Field is hungry for power, but Malachi works hard to prevent it from satiating itself completely, allowing it to feed freely from all parts of the ship, except to the Helm and the Warp Drives.

Malachi slumps to the ground, resting his back against the console, MUI cable still connected -- saving his energy and concentration for the task at hand, and guarding himself against further spills.

[Montresor]

[Malachi begins to regulate the power, slowly shutting down power and support to various ship components, and feeding the energy into the Geller Fields. You badly failed a Tech Use test, but I remembered that you kept a Fate Point for a reroll - this was an amazing success - 02!]

Lumen globes, cogitation arrays, data input slave devices, and all manner of powered mechanisms blink off on board the frigate. Emergency lights dim until they provide no more glow, and the whole of the vessel is bathed in darkness. Terror reigns on board the Invictus, as if the moment of annihilation had arrived. Of the Bridge staff, only Zarkov can feel that some devices still remain powered; enough for the Lt. Commander to steer in the current.

Zarkov briefly sees a face pressing against the Geller Fields, a countenance of serene beauty wreathed in folds of flowing red, but it is brushed aside as the Fields begin to gradually expand.

'Brothers! Fear not the spite of the daemon; spit upon the impotent terror which scratches upon the barrier of our faith! Watch as the Emperor protects his devoted!' Brother Clabo advances, his robes flowing and bloody, his pate crowned in bruises and cuts. He marches while extending his arms to the vaulted glass before him. Clabo begins to recite litanies learnt by rote, and the crew follow his lead, bolstered in their own confidence by his presence.

The Invictus follows the current, spearing through the raging maelstrom; the Geller Fields cast off the malignant darts of Empyrean energy which tear at it. Beyond all hope of salvation, the ancient frigate bursts through the heart of the Warp Storm and rides the current, leaving the thirsting embodiment of blasphemy behind it. A cheer erupts from the Bridge staff, and officers shout the Emperor's name in praise.
.... .... .... ....

Ten minutes later, the Geller Fields begin to stabilise and power and support returns to the rest of the vessel. Malachi is carried by his brothers, exhausted and senseless, to rest near the Plasma Drives.

Praetus begins to divine the Warp once more, chosing the best currents to outpace the worst of the Maelstrom. Although the Invictus has survived the worst of the storm, it has yet to completely escape. The buffeting of the storm seems almost futile in comparison to what the frigate has suffered, and preliminary damage reports begin to indicate that the ancient vessel has taken a beating. Loss of life has yet to be properly calculated.

Within the servitor pits, the charred corpse of the tech priest who gave his life to sustain the Geller Fields begins to slowly crumble to dust. Only cogitation coils and a metallic spine remain.

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Zarkov briefly sees a face pressing against the Geller Fields, a countenance of serene beauty wreathed in folds of flowing red, but it is brushed aside as the Fields begin to gradually expand.

Zarkov snarled at the apparition. "Be gone, vile thing."

He joined Brother Clabo in prayer,voice cracked and hoarse from constant shouting as he tried to expunge the memory of the thing from his mind.

Beyond all hope of salvation, the ancient frigate bursts through the heart of the Warp Storm and rides the current, leaving the thirsting embodiment of blasphemy behind it. A cheer erupts from the Bridge staff, and officers shout the Emperor's name in praise.

Zarkov smiled grimly at the crews celebrations. They had survived. The Emperor was indeed with them. But what of those on the lower decks? What horrors now festered down there, if a Wych was running around unchecked, in darkness no less?

The smell of charred flesh and burning electrical discharge filled the bridge. Zarkov murmured a silent prayer that the fallen enginseers soul would find peace with the Omnissiah. He would make sure his noble sacrifice was remembered.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

As systems across the ship start to power back up, and the crew of the bridge gives a cheer, Andrea finally takes her eyes off the sight of the storm through the Geller Fields. The "countenance of serene beauty" still haunting her memories, she slides down the wall to the floor, rests her arms on her knees, then lowers her head to her arms.

• Serene face of doom
  All that is wrong with the world
  All that I desire

After a few more minutes, she's crying silently into her arms. She's not sure when the tears started, only that at some point she realized she was trying to hold back sobs that would no longer be silent. But she couldn't stop.

[Garrius Amphael]

A dull grey glow enveloped Garrius. Like an old machine firing to life, The Rogue Trader gained consciousness. It took a few moments for his vision to return, instead he could only make out flashing lights and the grey glow. This worried him little, for his head screamed with pain for every heart beat. He lay still, letting a dull groan through his dry lips. Gradually, he regained his senses.

Looking across his chambers, he could see that he was no longer in his bed, instead he was laying awkwardly in a corner, head propped against the leg of a desk. Gingerly, he reached up and fingered the back of his head. Pain leaped through him has he touch what felt like a gash. The small amount of half dry blood on his fingers confirmed the wound.

Standing up, it took complete concentration not to lose his balance, his lead feeling light and dizzy. Stumbling, Garrius made his way to a large mirror over a dresser, and looked upon himself.

His face was covered in dry blood down one side, and the thumping spot on his head was indeed gashed. Looking around the room he judged by the littered furniture that the ship had been through some rough travel, and he had evidently been thrown from his bed, and hit his head. He guessed he had lay there for sometime in a daze, as his stomach rumbled and his dry tongue called for water.

With a quiet fury he wondered why his service staff had not checked on him, until he noted that he had latched his door, preventing any from entering. It was then that panic reached him. The storm! What of it? For how long had his crew toiled without him as he lay there unconscious. At first he jumped to exit his room and run to the bridge, but he considered his appearance, and the possible negative effect it would have on moral.

Instead, the Lord Captain went into his en suite and calmly washed the blood from his head. It was with precision that he donned his full naval uniform, complete with cap, to hide the wound on his head.

The man who exited Garrius's quarters was at once two men. To the casual observer the man would appear to be utterly calm, the island of stillness amidst the rushing current. Coat tails flowing behind him as he marched steadily towards the bridge.

Inside however, he was a man of a panicked rage. With each step he fought the urge to run to the bridge in haste. With each cold glance he tried not to looked around wild eyed for damage. With each frantic heart beat his head burned, reminding him of his wound.

And thus, it was a ram rod straight Amphael that entered the bridge glassy eyed under a thin layer of sweat, hands clenched behind his back.