Rogue Trader - The Passage

[Montresor]

Du Preste's voice comes strained from within the Navigator's Pit. Weariness hangs heavily on his voice, but there is something else too, an elation that seems in opposition to his stress.

Zarkov's augmented hearing just picks up the navigator's frenzied reply - 'I cannot do it, Lieutenant Commander. A tech priest could, but not I'.

A flap of red catches Zarkov's attention and he feels a cold rush of anxiety grip his chest. But it is only an enginseer who hobbles with a mechanical clicking by his side. 'We can enhance the Fields. It will cost the Invictus. The Machine Spirit is angered with us already - why else has the vox forsaken us? From here, I can direct the life of the Machine Spirit into the Geller Field, at the cost of other ship systems. There will be panic amongst the crew; and who is to say how a Wych may profit by this? But I will do it.

'It is unfortunate the Explorator is not with us, or he could proceed to the great chamber housing the Geller Sphere, and we could strengthen the Fields more'. The enginseer makes his way into the Servitor Pit and, pulling cables from within his cloak, he plugs himself into an ancient cogitation device. 'Give me the word, Commander'.

The Invictus plunges on to the storm, the currents taking her with eagerness. Zarkov is forced to perceive with his own sight the best angle to approach the gulf. The intense display of Warp Power is awe-inspiring, and utterly terrifying. The chant of litanies intensify, and one midshipman abandons his post and tries to run from the Bridge. His superior officer fires a las-blast into his back and kills him before he has cleared his section. The midshipman falls like a doll, sliding against a support column, smoke rising from the seared hole in his back.

Meanwhile, Zarkov scans the gulf again and again. The chaotic nature of the eddies and the currents make it exceedingly difficult to perceive the safest approach. The frigate is no more than a minute from closing with the storm's heart. The currents rock and chop at the Invictus.

[Zarkov has not succeeded in his Perception test. Unless Du Preste is able to perceive the best angle of approach, Zarkov will have to do his best without directions]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea is standing to the back of the Bridge, trying to stay out of people's ways. Suddenly, Zarkov turns the ship hard to port, and everything tilts. With a hand on the wall, she keeps her feet longer than many in the center of the huge room, but a surprise bump of turbulence bounces her away from the wall's support. She first tumbles to her knees, then begins sliding across the floor. Her progress is halted only when she grabs the Captain's chair, thankful that the Lt. Commander is currently standing at the wheel and her arrival isn't causing him a distraction.

The ship quickly rights itself, and she makes all haste to return to her out-of-the-way nook to the rear of the bridge.

I won't be of any use to anyone up here, but by being here I hope to be better able to know where I can be of use, when the time comes.

Holy Emperor
Grant me the wisdom to know
Where I am needed.

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Du Preste's voice comes strained from within the Navigator's Pit. Weariness hangs heavily on his voice, but there is something else too, an elation that seems in opposition to his stress.

Zarkov's augmented hearing just picks up the navigator's frenzied reply - 'I cannot do it, Lieutenant Commander. A tech priest could, but not I'.

Meanwhile, Zarkov scans the gulf again and again. The chaotic nature of the eddies and the currents make it exceedingly difficult to perceive the safest approach. The frigate is no more than a minute from closing with the storm's heart. The currents rock and chop at the Invictus.

"Damnit Du Preste!!!" Zarkov was clearly irritated now. "I need co-ordinates from you, now!!"

Where in the six circles of the temptress is Praetus? he thought to himself. He turned to another of the Mechanicus on the bridge. "See if you can requisition the learned Explorator from the Auger Arrays...Emperor willing he got off the hull in time. We need him in the Geller Sphere chamber to further increase the fields output when the time comes. Tell the captain of the guard these orders come directly from me. Go with haste, brother."

He turned back to the vaulted glass and stared into the maelstrom. The maelstrom stared back. Suddenly Zarkov felt very small.

"DU PRESTE!!!"

[Injerian Praetus II]

Navigator Praetus climbed out of his bed and stumbled to the washbasin, throwing up a rich stew of wine and meats. With one hand he wiped his chin clean. The sweat of terror, oozing across his skin, stained his night clothes. Satisfied that he was not going to be sick again, he walked tiredly to the clothes closet. A few minutes later he was clothed in his usual attire - naval officer uniform with the cap pulled down over his third eye.

Nothing could hide the fear in his eyes, nor the trembling in his hands, so he quickly finished a glass of wine. Some of it ran down his chin, and he futilely attempted to light a cigarette. Instead, he opened a snuff box and inhaled a measure of pharsel powder. A wave of euphoria hit him, and with his fears now subdued, he marched out of his apartment.

The servant outside must have seen how pale he looked.

Angered, Injerian Praetus the Second grabbed the man by his coat collar and thrust him against the wall of the corridor. "Clean the basin out, man," he hissed. "I drank too much wine after the shift, and I don't want my rooms stinking by the time I get back; I'm expecting important guests. Fail me, and I will void you."

Letting the man go, Navigator Praetus spun around and stormed away. Despite the effects of pharsel, he could not put away the thought that the gellar fields were weak and close to collapse. So, he rushed down the corridor towards the elevator, eager to reach the navigator's pit. Dropping out of the immaterium may be the Invictus' only hope, he considered.

[Montresor]

'Feel it, Zarkov!' Du Preste's voice cuts through the air like a discordant celebration. 'DON'T YOU FEEL IT?!'.

Jort, an Armsman stationed by the Bridge entrance, beholds the darkness of the Maelstrom before the Invictus; now blotting out everything before it, and casting strange, dancing shadows across the Geller Fields. He places the barrel of his las-gun beneath his chin. 'Emperor, commend my soul'.

There is a flash of light and the piercing screech of a las-blast. Blood and gore scatters across the Bridge doors, and Jort collapses lifeless to the floor. Fear grips the Command Deck.

Gulliame Du Preste calls again - 'There is no guidance against such terrible beauty, Zarkov! Let us see if the Warp spares its child, Invictus Aeterna!'

Injerian Praetus stumbles up the navigator's tunnel and into the Well. The currents of the storm and his own shaken nature make him unsteady on his feet. Du Preste sees him enter the Well, and almost stares through the Senior Navigator with a look of triumph. 'The Well is yours, Navigator' he says as he steps back to a corner.

Zarkov stares with near desperation, feeling the currents taking the Invictus to oblivion. Within moments every soul on board the frigate would be reduced to sheer, formless chaos, and cast upon a sea of illimitable agony unless Zarkov could take the frigate safely through the gulf . . .

[Check your PM]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Time seems to slow as the Invictus approaches the rift. Zarkov's wandering gaze falls upon an approach to the chasm less chaotic than the rest of the maelstrom, and he grimly steers the Invictus towards it. The currents of the warp speed the ship ever closer.

"Enginseer, prepare to reroute all auxillary power to the Gellar fields!"

The walls of the chasm, rent with strange arcs of pure warp energy, seem to open to greet the Invictus as she slides through the warp.

"Three, two, one, MARK!"

The sound of the ships engines change and all lights on the bridge suddenly dim, followed by moans of fear from some of the staff. The bridge is bathed in the ghastly, blood red hue of emergency lighting, mixed with the purplish blasphemy of the warp splashing against the Gellar fields.

The Invictus cuts into the cleft. Bolts of warp energy arc across the ships bow, and Zarkov silently commends his soul to the Emperor.

[Montresor]

The wheel shakes heavily in Zarkov’s hands. The pull of the maelstrom intends the Invictus towards its destructive might. The Lt. Commander uses all his strength just to hold the wheel straight and stop the vessel sliding into the storm’s heart. The dorsal of the frigate begins to turn to Port, and Zarkov turns with all his might to try and right the ship’s balance. His knuckles tense white, and lines of exertion erupt across his brow.

[You got very lucky on a Pilot roll – scoring a 09 – amounting to a two step success, adjusted for modifiers. The situation in game terms is dire, and a significant failure could result in all players having to permanently burn a Fate Point to avert complete annihilation]

The Geller Fields ripple with dozens of strikes from Empyrean power. Vile and blasphemous bruises blister across the wall of reality, as the Fields struggle to maintain their integrity.

‘Hold to your stations!’ Sub-Lieutenant Bohn cries. ‘Any one who runs will be shot without hesitation,’ he yells, pulling a naval pistol free from his holster. Yet Bohn’s face drips with fear, alike almost every face upon the Bridge.

The current becomes fierce. The Invictus is thrown about, adrift in a churning sea of malice. Andrea, Drak-Kung, Zarkov, and Praetus manage to maintain their footing, though many junior officers are cast to the decks of the Command Section. Another comms officer almost falls from their station to their death, saved at the last by the grip of their comrades.

Praetus feels the terrible power of the Warp Storm and for the briefest instant he perceives its width to be rapidly expanding; hungry and seeking. Desperately trying to sight some safe path through the Storm’s heart, the strain upon his mind is currently too great.

[A failure on a Navigation check, Praetus sees the currents only leading to oblivion so certain that no hexagrammic warding could save him for longer than the merest instant. Yet, there is something else – check your PM]

Through the strain and the calamity, Zarkov stares into the livid fury beyond the Fields. Savage cuts of energy are impacting the shielding, punching the frigate from side to side, and causing more crew to be dashed about. The Lt. Commander is forced to steer with the pull of the currents, doing his best to keep the Invictus within this abyss of relative calm. But the walls of the storm are closing in and, without concrete directions from the navigators, or finding a surer current, the best he can hope for is to keep the vessel alive for a few minutes more.

[Both Andrea and Drak-Kung are in a better position to observe the crew on the Bridge. Despite Bohn’s threat, it appears that – if something is not done soon – several of the officers may flee the bridge, and morale may collapse. The sight of the awesome power a major Warp Storm so close is a truly terrifying thing to behold, yet all characters have so far passed Fear tests to resist losing their nerve]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea looks around the bridge, trying hard to ignore the ominous dark through the front windows. Trying harder not to flinch and hide her face from the bright flashes of... malice blasting against the Geller Fields. Every moment, it takes all of her strength and faith not run screaming from the bridge.

Quiet thoughts in the back of her mind considered that since they were all going to die in any instant, she should quit wasting so much energy on her duties, and enjoy her last moments. Plans of running down to the lower levels and rutting with some scared rating or another. Perhaps several of them, if the opportunity presented itself. Other plans of letting the fear in her heart switch to rage at the world and the storm for letting her die like this. She spent a few seconds fantasizing about letting her rage out on the crew all around her... these officers in the room with her, who should be saving the ship but instead were giving in to fear, like that bastard Du Preste, nearly gleeful at their impending doom.

In an instant, she'd imagined ripping his still-beating heart from his chest and watching the look of shock on his face fading to nothing as his life slipped away. Then she thought of tearing his throat out, or eviscerating him, even of lopping off various of his appendages until the bloodloss killed him. Always, there was the look of surprise on his face, morphing from demonic glee to shock then to impotent rage that he'd lost.

What saved her was noticing that in all of these fantasies, she used her bare hands, almost as if they were clawed. And the calm and curious part of her mind wondered why she'd settled on that particular imagery. The answer was simple: it wasn't her imagination at all... she must be succumbing to the influence of the storm outside, as the Geller Fields grew weaker.

And she would NOT fall prey to these vile influences. If even one person were to do so, it would let the evils into the ship, heralding the beginning of the end. Andrea took another moment to calm her thoughts, and to reaffirm her belief that the Emperor would see them all through this, as he had so many times before.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks, thanks that the Emperor had granted her that moment of clarity just when she needed it, Andrea once again turned her attention outward. Not to the storm, still filling the window with unimaginable doom, but to the crew around her. I can do nothing about the storm. But those who can, need my help. The Emperor has given me this moment to bolster them, so that they may save us all. I must not waste it.

What she saw was dire indeed. The bridge officers were universally terrified. Aside from the bloody corpse on the floor, and perhaps Du Preste, none of the rest of them had fully succumbed to the terror, but she could see it in their eyes; they were close. All it would take is for one to fall prey to the storm's influence, and the terror would spread to the rest.

So, which one is the one? To which one of these men and women do the rest look? The Lt. Commander, of course. But he is a rock. His resolve will not fail. Who else is high enough in their esteem that he could bring them all down with him as he fell?

She continued to look around the room, not even sure what she was looking for, just knowing that if she could bolster the resolve of the first before he failed, it would somehow prevent the inevitable failure of the rest.

In the end, she could do nothing more than trust in her faith in the Emperor. She moved foward to stand behind a Lieutenant in the center of the floor. Perhaps she just seemed to be closest to panic. Perhaps she noticed how the rest of the bridge crew seemed to hold her in high regard. Perhaps she sensed a subtle nudging from the Emperor on their behalf. Or, maybe she was just imagining it all, and her attempt would mean nothing.

She felt the woman startle as she placed her hand on the uniformed shoulder. The Lieutenant never took her eyes from the instruments before her and the storm filling the rest of her view. But Andrea liked to believe that that moment of contact, just a brief reminder of shared humanity, bolstered the woman's resolve. "Lieutenant. We can survive this. Be strong."

[I have no idea what roll would be used to figure out who the lynchpin of panic would be. Whatever it is, Andrea acts on whomever she thinks it is.]

[Spend another Fate Point on the Charm test to help bolster the nameless Lieutenent.]

[Montresor]

[I have no idea what roll would be used to figure out who the lynchpin of panic would be. Whatever it is, Andrea acts on whomever she thinks it is.]

[Spend another Fate Point on the Charm test to help bolster the nameless Lieutenent.]

[A simple Perception test is enough in this case to determine the first part - in certain circumstances, I would average Perception and Intelligence, with contextual benefits also considered.

Because of the ease of your success, I decided that Andrea's pick was correct. Sub-lieutenant Leilana Etradorn is not so much a lynch-pin of real authority - she is an off-sider of the Duty Officer, Rem Mordia - but she stands in a position on the main deck of the Bridge to be readily seen by many. As she outranks most of the Bridge staff, if she were to break, this might encourage several others. You needed the use of a Fate Point to aid your test, but it worked]

The sub-lieutenant straightens her back and holds her shoulders level. She looks as if Andrea has offended her, though the Seneschal-Majoris is clever enough to know that Etradorn is merely saving face. She may not have broken, but Andrea can see in her eyes that the sub-lieutenant had at least thought of it. Some of the junior officers nearby watch the silent exchange with nervous tension.

Etradorn clears her throat, though her voice still comes out a little raspy. 'I wonder, Madam Seneschal, perhaps you could try and fetch one of the Ecclesiarchy here, before this vile Immateria crushes all our spirits?'

[Montresor]

Malachi and his team of enginseers are making their way back to the Plasma Drives when the vessel rocks savagely from side to side. They steady one another, almost too weak to stand on their own feet unaided. Without warning, the lights in the service halls dim to complete blackness. Seconds later, the red-hue of emergency lighting kicks in, though much of the corridor is still bathed in darkness.

'Omnissiah, do not abandon your wayward servants'.

Exclamations of panic and alarm echo throughout the lonely halls and, as the tech priests make their way down a stairwell they begin to hear the movements of a multitude. Coming near the Chapel, they realise that dozens of people working in the nearby halls are rushing to the sanctity of the God-Emperor's holy place. Soon, the press of bodies becomes a force to be contested with, as the tech priests vainly attempt to go against the tide.

'Malachi?! Malachi?!'

The stairs to the chapel are clogged with people. A cadre of Armsmen stand impotently before the great doors; the fear in their faces stands as boldly as their guns. A lone acolyte tries futilely to hold the crowd back with his commands, but his voice is drowned out in the dozens of exclamations, curses, litanies, pleas, and prayers. It is apparent that something disastrous has befallen the ship. As the frigate shudders, the crowd stumbles in droves.

'MALACHI?!'

A lone face pierces the crowd and stares through to the Explorator. Staggering from the throng of the faithful and the desperate is a man from the service staff, his white uniform unbuttoned and torn. He dashes to the tech-priests, and falls on his knees before them. 'Malachi, Malachi . . . the fields . . . the Geller Fields will collapse. We're in the heart of the storm. Machine Spirits protect us! You must do something!'

From the other side of the Chapel doors, a great metallic cranking can be heard. The doors are about to open.

[Malachi]

"Make way!"

Malachi bellows loudly as he presses his way through the crowd. Upon seeing the Armsmen, he beckons them to follow him.

"I need your help getting through this mob! I MUST see to the Gellar Field, or our lives are forfeit!"

[Montresor]

The Armsmen force their way through the crowd, abandoning the steps of the Chapel in favour of the greater emergency. Malachi, the guards, and his team of enginseers make their way as best as they can towards the Geller Fields.

[And here's your problem - with most power being routed into the Fields, the elevators have a very good chance of not working. You can chance taking them, and risk being stuck in a lift with no power; or you can take the stairwells which, given the congestion, may take you ten or minutes to reach the Geller Sphere. The choice is yours]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

At the helm, Zarkov battled the storm. Cold sweat poured off his face, slowly absorbing through his uniform, now thoroughly soaked. Bathed in the red lights, his pale, ghostly complexion appeared almost sanguine; though his disposition was not.

"Du Preste!!" Zarkov called for the third time. There was no response from the Navigators well. Not even the lilting, mad laugh of the blasphemous fool. After the storm Du Preste would pay, Zarkov vowed. A member of the Navis Nobilite was not immune from shipboard justice, not in the least. Zarkov savoured the thought as he scanned the maelstrom for a safe passage.

[Scrutiny]

The ship resounded with the sound of impacts. Still, the Navigators well was silent. Zarkov was hit by a strange mixture of hope and trepidation. "Praetus?" He called tentatively, "Praetus, are you there?"

His voice lowered.

"Tell me, what do you see...?"

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

'I wonder, Madam Seneschal, perhaps you could try and fetch one of the Ecclesiarchy here, before this vile Immateria crushes all our spirits?'

"I can try, though Brother Detronimus was unavailable when last I was at the Chapel. With the Vox down, I'm not sure how we'd even be able to reach them. It's up to us to prove our worth in the Emperor's eyes. But, I will see if I can find one. If one needs be anywhere, this place is one of the most critical."

Andrea turns and makes her way towards Drak-Kung, also standing out of the way. "I'm going to make my way out into the ship and see if I can't find someone to help see to our souls. I'm not very helpful here anyway."

With that, she makes her way to the exit, occassionally leaning on the wall or the chair of some officer focusing on instruments. She turns to look out the window one last time, at the darkness nearly surrounding them now, pressing in on the Geller Fields. With a shudder, she turns back to the door and exits to the hallway.

[Appropriate check to see if I can find someone from the Eccelsiarchy out and about the ship. I'm assuming I would know other places they're likely to be than the ship's chapel. If they would be nowhere else, then head there. (Expecting to find another mob outside the locked doors, if I do.)]

[Malachi]

Malachi, and the entourage following in his wake, make their way to the elevator.

"I've been thinking of a way to get down to the Gellar Field Generator level. Since we're going down and not up, we should be able to drop the elevator close to where we need to be, saving valuable time in the process."

He glances back at the Enginseers.

"I need your help to make this work. When we reach the elevator, connect your power cores to it. I will connect to the MUI. With enough power, and my command inputs, we should be able to override the the emergency braking system periodically... so as not to build up too much inertia. If we run into any problems, cease your power output so the brakes kick in automatically, and hopefully we'll be able to work something out from there."

Malachi and the others soon make their way to the elevator, and plugging his MUI cable into a service terminal, calls it to open its doors. He looks around at the enginseers and armsmen.

"Ready?"

Any Tech Use checks involving the MUI are made at +10, because of the interface mechadendrite I've got.

[Injerian Praetus II]

Navigator Praetus calmly walked into the Navigator's Pit and then sat down on the navigator's chair. His third eye remained open the entire time - from the moment he woke up to the moment he sat down on the ornate machine.

He could see the immaterium, and the storm. The vast and hungry mass of the storm terrified, so much so that it took all of his sense of propriety to try to hide it. But the nervous twitch of his hands gave him away. So he made them work - putting all that anxious energy into plotting a new course.

When it was done he smiled weakly and leaned back into the chair.

[Montresor]

The ship resounded with the sound of impacts. Still, the Navigators well was silent. Zarkov was hit by a strange mixture of hope and trepidation. "Praetus?" He called tentatively, "Praetus, are you there?"

His voice lowered.

"Tell me, what do you see...?"

Despite the rage of the storm, the litanies from the command staff, and the occassional bellowed order, Zarkov's world seems to hang in tense silence. He glances back towards the lip of the Navigator's Pit, halfway along the Bridge floor, though he can see no sign of movement. The serviceman relaying commands between the navigators and the helm kneels beside the Pit.

Zarkov's attention is once more taken by the tumult through which the Invictus churns. He barely notices the serviceman draw up alongside him, a dataslate in hand.

'Here are the new co-ordinates, Lieutenant Commander'.

Zarkov glances at the co-ordinates. He stares at his Auger display, crackling and barely audible, then at the path through the currents Praetus has indicated. Zarkov blinks with disbelief. Staring between the data-slate and the storm once more he sees that there is no mistake. The co-ordinates take the Invictus straight on a strong current, and straight into the wall of the Maelstrom itself.

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

There was no movement or sound from the Navigators well. A feeling of profound disquiet struck Zarkov. Were these Praetus' co-ordinates, or those of Du Preste?? He was unsure, but he had no choice. The co-ordinates were as a life preserver in a roiling torrent. Zarkov moved the ship into the pull of the current and felt her accelerate blasphemously with the warp tides. Looking upon the seemingly unbroken chaos before him, he prayed fervently that Malachi would reach the Geller Sphere in time.

[Montresor]

[Appropriate check to see if I can find someone from the Eccelsiarchy out and about the ship. I'm assuming I would know other places they're likely to be than the ship's chapel. If they would be nowhere else, then head there. (Expecting to find another mob outside the locked doors, if I do.)]

[Andrea knows from experience that the Ecclesiarchy don't often fraternise with the crew - either the ratings or officers. Given the situation, it's unlikely there are any not located at the Chapel]

Andrea makes her way through the shuddering decks of the ship, propping herself against walls as and when she must to avoid losing her balance. She passes through darkly lit halls, faintly glowing red; and down corridors which are illumined only by small islands of light. The closer she gets to the chapel, the more crew push past her and lead her on towards a throng pressing into the now open doors of the Chapel.

Nearly a hundred people are filling the pews, and there are sounds of dozens more making their way to the holy place. The voice of Detronimus booms with authority, drowning out the fervent prayers of the crowd. He intones litanies to the God-Emperor, and a small clutch of a half dozen junior priests stand in a ring around the glass home of Faith's Reach.

Detronimus calls the faithful to give prayers for salvation, and to gird their minds against the depravities of the Warp.

[Montresor]

Malachi and the others soon make their way to the elevator, and plugging his MUI cable into a service terminal, calls it to open its doors. He looks around at the enginseers and armsmen.

"Ready?"

Any Tech Use checks involving the MUI are made at +10, because of the interface mechadendrite I've got.

No protests are voiced by the enginseers. Though their bones are weary from constant exertion, they each understand the grim necessity of the task before them. Those who can connect themselves to the central lift's cogitation arrays do so; the armsmen stand nervously to attention.

The lift shudders to life, responding to the beating of the storm against the frigate. Malachi and his enginseers begin to drop the lift in increments, hoping that they can supply enough power so as not to jeapordise the Geller Fields.

The work is slower than anticipated. The lift responds with torpor, shuddering and stopping too often, and only a handful of floors are descended. At least a score more floors await until the lift is on the same level as the Geller Chamber, and the work could take a few more minutes.

[You can continue as you are, or you can try something else. If the rolls don't improve, you're likely to take about three minutes or more to get to the level you need]