Rogue Trader - The Passage

[Montresor]

[Charm check against the ringleader / enraged rating. Can I do a charm check against the whole crowd? ]

[Yes, it's possible to influence an entire crowd, but I tend to run those tests by default, unless a player's actions indicate it's not appropriate. In this case, you have specifically said you'll try to influence one person in particular - your success or failure here will influence the rest to some degree]

A core section of the mob continue to harangue Andrea and her detachment, while she scans the crowd for likely ringleaders. On the surface, there appears nothing particularly organised about the mob. Coming together in this place has most likely been a product of fear and devotion, or habit; agitation for a common goal - frequent enough on the Invictus - does not seem a probable reason for the gathering. Nontheless, it does appear that some men and women stand out as people to whom the others would naturally cling or defer, even though no single leader is evident.

Andrea addresses the lead most rating, for want of a clearer alternative. She receives an assault of responses from the crowd, each barely audible over one another, until one of the junior officers steps forward. His tunic has the name Rufus on its left breast.

'Seneschal - we're here in peace. What right do you think you have getting Drak-Kung's dogs blasting with their guns near us? You want to talk, lower those damned guns. This is a place of worship'.

[Please note whether or not Andrea orders for the armsmen to lower their guns, they won't without her say-so. Rufus continues to talk regardless of your decision]

'We came here to seek sanctuary in the Chapel - to offer prayers to the Master of Mankind, to beseech him to save us from the Storm. Who else could guide us through darkness? Your new Rogue Trader?

'Detronimus has sealed the doors and denied us our right to solace. By what right does he do that?'

'By right of his wisdom,' the young priest intones; a response which is shortly met with jeers from some of the crowd. The priest, not cowed by the mob's insults, shouts to them: 'These doors shall open under noone's authority but the Ecclesiarchy's. The Emperor's holy image shall not be crushed by the weight of cowards!'

[This proclamation sets off another wave of jeers and anger, though Andrea will have no trouble being heard by those paying attention to her]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

His tunic has the name Rufus on its left breast.

'Seneschal - we're here in peace. What right do you think you have getting Drak-Kung's dogs blasting with their guns near us? You want to talk, lower those damned guns. This is a place of worship'.

[Please note whether or not Andrea orders for the armsmen to lower their guns, they won't without her say-so. Rufus continues to talk regardless of your decision]

Andrea turns back to the guardsmen with her, and sees that they still have their guns drawn. She reaches out to the shotgun pointed just past her ear and gently nudges it towards the ground, while gesturing to the others to follow suit. Turning back to the crowd, "I asked him to fire so I could get all of your attention, Ensign Rufus. I didn't intend it in beligerance, but I do so hate shouting. There, is that better?"

'We came here to seek sanctuary in the Chapel - to offer prayers to the Master of Mankind, to beseech him to save us from the Storm. Who else could guide us through darkness? Your new Rogue Trader?

'Detronimus has sealed the doors and denied us our right to solace. By what right does he do that?'

Just about to correct the Ensign's view of who does or does not have the right to do anything on this shiip, Andrea is cut off by the junior priest.

'By right of his wisdom,' the young priest intones; a response which is shortly met with jeers from some of the crowd. The priest, not cowed by the mob's insults, shouts to them: 'These doors shall open under noone's authority but the Ecclesiarchy's. The Emperor's holy image shall not be crushed by the weight of cowards!'

[This proclamation sets off another wave of jeers and anger, though Andrea will have no trouble being heard by those paying attention to her]

She closes her mouth again as the priest and the crowd rile each other up further, since speach is effectively useless anyway.

Then, with a stern look in her eyes, she makes her way gingerly through the crowd towards the priest on the stairs, with his cadre of guards. As she passes each of the ratings in the mob, she puts a hand on a shoulder here, or a forearm there. Nothing threatening, but meant to convey understanding and above all calm. [Charm check vs. the whole crowd] Then she steps out of the crowd and up the few steps to where the priest stands, still inciting the mob.

The young man leans to her side, so as to shout at someone direcly behind her, but she intentionally waves her hand in his face to get his attention. When he focuses his rage on her, the dressing down begins.

Doing her best to broadcast to the crowd exactly what she's doing, at least until their shouting quiets enough for them to hear her, she takes the stance of a school taskmistress. The index finger of her right hand is gesturing directly at him as she asks, "What EXACTLY do you think you're doing, acolyte? I should have you arrested for sedition. What's worse is that you're RIGHT, but you standing up here shouting at them IN THE MIDDLE OF A WARP STORM..." (By this point her voice has started to rise so that some in the crowd CAN hear her over the shouting of those behind) "... what do you expect, you fool? Now, if you don't remove yourself from these stairs RIGHT NOW, I shall be forced to mention to Brother Detronimus just how poor a grasp you have of public speaking. Perhaps as punishment, he'll exile you to my Librarium, where I'll keep you busy copying ancient texts, far away from ANYBODY."

As the boy starts to answer, she holds up her hand again, "No, don't speak. If you understand, just turn around and go back inside the chapel." She steps closer to him, then points over his shoulder to the doors of the chapel. "I won't be bothered with your voice anymore. You've done quite enough damage already by speaking."

[Command check]

[Montresor]

[I gave you a bonus to your Command role on the basis of what you wrote, which slightly exceeded the penalty applied for lecturing a member of the Ecclesiarchy on 'ritual protocol' when you are not ordained (and a woman at that . . . shocking!). You succeed. Please note, however, there is only so far you can go when impressing on a member of the Ecclesiarchy, even such a junior one]

The acolyte is shocked at the confrontation from the Seneschal-Majoris. He watches her finger wag ceaselessly in his face, his face going pale. Whether it is Andrea's logic or affrontery which pales him can not be discerned in the youthful face, trying hard to remain stoic and stern.

His first few words are blustered, as you command him to be silent. Swallowing and clearing his throat, the acolyte tries again. His composure has rallied somewhat and, when Andrea observes that the great doors lack any means of opening them from the exterior, he manages to speak.

'Madam Seneschal, the great doors can only be opened from the inside. Not only are they held fast by the ancient rod of Serquinas Appia, but their immovability is even more stoutly reinforced by the resolve of Detronimus. I have, perhaps . . . mis-spoken . . . but the brother was clear. Open the doors to the masses in the storm and you will only incite fear and cowardice. Not one of these people here will leave the chapel until the storm is over, if they gain entry. They use their devotion to mask their fear . . . and their indolence. I am pledged to stand before these doors until their are opened from within'.

The acolyte pauses, uneasy. He is clearly not a fearful person by disposition - indeed, this is likely the reason Detronimus selected him to stand watch - but he watches Andrea intently for a reply. Perhaps even for a solution. The crowd listens with murmurings of dissent and displeasure.

[Drak-Kung]

[.

The man starts to speak, but his voice comes out dry and inaudible. He clears his throat, unknowingly taking a step or two back into the darkness. ‘You – You’ve got it all wrong . . . you calling me a heretic? Iss them lowers down there that you should be watchin’. Who d’ you thinks gonna buckle in the mind a first when the Warp starts gnawing at us?’

He looks from side to side for support, but already people are slipping through side doors, putting as much distance between themselves and any place where allegations of heresy are being voiced.

‘Listen,’ the agitator reaches forward, trying to look conciliatory, ‘let’s forget all ‘bout this, yeah? I mean, it won’t do if you go stirring up trouble down here, Chief. Hey? What say you?’

"I say the nightmares of the warp would find easiest access to a mind already given over to petty hatreds and paranoia, such as yours. However, if you voluntarily to the chapel, to Brother Detronimus, and seek his counsel on your fears of the warp and of the lower-deck folk once the storm has passed, then no more need be said of this."

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

[Actually, I was lecturing him on how to manage a crowd, not on religious ritual.]

Andrea leans in closer to the cleric and says quietly, so that only he can hear, "Brother Detronimus was absolutely correct, of course. Letting them in there would only get them stewing in their fear. His only mistake was in sending you out here. Because instead of letting them stew in their fear, you've been standing here hurling insults at them for hours. And now you see how easily fear can become anger."

She reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment, thinking of how to handle this. Still speaking quietly, so the crowd can't hear her, "Let me teach you something, young Brother. To get these people on my side, I must 'appear' to take their side. The easiest and fastest way to do that is to take on a common enemy. Right now, that's you. I had planned on sending you running, and then they would see me as being 'on their side.' It doesn't matter that I'm going to turn around and tell them to do the same thing you did. Once they're not shouting... once they're receptive to what I say, I'll make up a reason they can stomache and they'll leave here thinking that they're doing a service to the ship as they go."

"But, since you've pledged, and the door's locked anyway, here's what we'll do. I need you to seem beaten, while keeping to the letter of your pledge. So, go over by the side of the door, and then sit down. Give the appearance of being beaten, and they'll be eating out of my hand. Can you do that?"

[Montresor]

"I say the nightmares of the warp would find easiest access to a mind already given over to petty hatreds and paranoia, such as yours. However, if you voluntarily to the chapel, to Brother Detronimus, and seek his counsel on your fears of the warp and of the lower-deck folk once the storm has passed, then no more need be said of this."

[Command and Charm seemed equally relevant here - as they use the same stat, there was no point averaging them. I gave you a small bonus instead, for a reasonable approach . . . ]

The agitator turns the suggestion over in his mind, while his face sinks into an expression of defeat - almost hopelessness. Something in him rallies; courage or stupidity - so often hard to distinguish - and the man takes a few steps forward.

'Sure,' he says, 'I'll seek guidance'. Without warning, the man spits in Drak-Kung's direction and begins to leave the room.

[you may let him go, in which case you will see that he heads in the direction of the Chapel; or you may take action based on his insult]

[Montresor]

[Actually, I was lecturing him on how to manage a crowd, not on religious ritual.]

[Anything conducted by an acolyte on the steps of a place of worship is governed by religious ritual . . . I ran a Charm test, again with a bonus because of the situation and your reasoning . . .]

'I have been nothing but reasonable with these people - it was you who incited them to this state by blundering in here and cutting the air with gun fire. Next time, I suggest you exercise your vocal cords to gain the attention of the crew. You're still new here and, shut away amongst your books and ledgers, you may have no idea just how prone to division these people are.

'Nontheless,' the acolyte breathes a long sigh and walks a few metres to one side. He does not sit down, but he bows his head and leaves his place to be taken up by the seneschal. The man is clearly irritated, and even appears conflicted by his decision, though he has acquiesced as far as his station will allow him to.

The crowd turn their attention on Andrea. The murmurings have not ceased, yet their attention is hers.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea turns back to the crowd, holding up her hand for silence. Perhaps a few in the crowd stop shouting for a moment, if for no other reason than boredom. Yelling obscenities at someone who doesn't react loses it's joy after a little while.

Judging that this was as silent as things were going to get, Andrea finally begins. "Ensign Rufus. Since you are the leader of this little rebellion, perhaps you should speak for them all. What you have said so far was that Brother Detronimus doesn't have the right to bar your entry to the Holy Chapel. That entry to the Chapel is, in fact, your right instead. For the moment, I'll ignore your comment about our Lord-Captain."

"But, what an interesting idea you have there. An interesting way of looking at the world. You speak of rights, yours and the Holy Brother's. What world do you live in, Ensign?"

"Here on the Invictus Aeterna, in the Amphael Dynasty, even the Lord-Captain himself has no rights. He has duties. Duty to the Emperor of Mankind and to the Imperium. Duty to the Family. Just as do all of us, from Lt. Commander Zarkov to the youngest child in the creches. Duties, Ensign Rufus. Duties which, at this moment, should be focused very attentively on helping this ship survive the Warp Storm."

"When you start ranting about rights I hear an undertone of entitlement. I hear the subtle voices of Chaos creeping into the ship, speaking into your ears, bending your minds. I hear our collective doom shouting at me from spitting distance."

"So, I'll hear no more talk of what Brother Detronimus owes you, or talk of the Lord-Captains being less than the task before him. The Holy Emperor would not put this trial upon us if we could not rise above it, and to that end he delivered our Lord-Captain to us just in time. This is a sign of favor, not a reason to fear."

"Brother Detronimus is within the chapel. He is busy doing what he can to keep this ship safe. That is his duty, not his right. I suggest that each of you do the same. Instead of standing here, allowing the evils of this storm to get to you, perhaps you should head back to your stations to help out. Even our children have chosen to work beyond their normal places, for the betterment of the ship. Follow their example. Follow the good Brother's example."

[Command check]
[Spend a fate point]

[Montresor]

Jeers and accusations begin the instant Andrea uses the word rebellion to describe the gathering of faithful on the steps of the Chapel. She is forced to exert considerable effort to stop things from degenerating into a barrage of invective.

[A Command test, with the use of a Fate Point just keeps the crowd in check long enough for you to make your speech]

The crowd stills gradually, as the Seneschal-Majoris reasons with them, lecturing on the duties of the people of Makind. Although the crowd is incensed, and evidently bears Andrea ill-will, murmurs of discontent slowly give over to ones of assent. Some simple proclamations to the Emperor are voiced and, once Andrea has finished, the crowd eventually dissipates, seemingly satisfied that she is correct for bringing the nature of their devotion to question.

A handful linger, though they are intimidated by the Armsmen to clear the area. Andrea thinks she spots one of her scribes amongst the lingerers. Certainly, a wiry man in robes, adorned with waxen letters and seals watches her for a moment. She half catches his face - clean-shaven and keen-eyed - before the last of the departing crowd obscures her vision. A moment later, the man is gone, and Andrea is left with the sensation that fingers have caressed her brain.

[Montresor]

[Second Day of the Storm]

The halls no longer resound with the laughter of children, running from one to the other delivering messages in duty or play. Now the messengers huddle in alcoves, or stand in clear light, only dashing through corridors of gloom when they must, and whispering their messages as if they were afraid the walls themselves had ears. Ratings travel nowhere in the decks except in groups. The Invictus has been tossed about in Empyrean squalls with such savagery that lone crewmen have sometimes been beaten against the hull. Now they take friends, fearful of being knocked unconscious and left alone where living eyes cannot see them. The ancient frigate has become a claustrophobic place.

Almost two days have passed under the Storm. Toiling like metal spiders, held to the vessel by umbilical cables, Malachi and his enginseers still work at the Auger Array. Within the comms tower, Vehle tries her best to configure the equipment to provide short-range vox, in tune with the repairs that have been made. But at least half a day’s work still remains for the tech priests. Sometimes the comms crackle, and vox-shadows of commands long since issued are heard down the line. Three enginseers have perished while repairing the array. Two died when the maelstrom became thickest, cast furiously against the hull and breaking their bones; one died when he disconnected his cable and deliberately leapt from the ship. Malachi and the others watched him glide silently beyond the Geller Fields, his soul cast into the sea of madness and oblivion.

Those tech priests who have toiled on the exterior of the ship go about their work with grim resolve. The predations of the storm upon their minds are constant. When not at work, they huddle near the comfort of the Plasma Drives, reassured that the Machine Spirit still guides them through the oceans of ruin.

Discontent amongst the ratings has steadily increased. Scores complain of sleep troubled by visions of blood and wicked faces. Hundreds more refuse to sleep, and rumours surface that illegal Stimm traders in the habs are making a glorious profit amongst the fearful.

Then there are rumours that things stalk the decks. A handful of disappearances have been reported – ratings who wandered too far from their details in the lower decks and never returned. And in the places where no lumen-cylinders cast off the darkness, indecipherable words have been discovered, written in melted candle-wax. Most of the writing has been cleared off for, according to some of the crew, just to gaze upon it stirs darkling thoughts in the mind.

Small crowds have continued to gather upon the stairs to the Chapel, though they have been seen off with less trouble since Andrea’s speech. Perhaps troublingly, there have been no people gathering in groups near the Chapel for several hours.

The ship has taken minor hull damage from the constant assault of the storm, though there have been comparatively few injuries or lives lost. The Invictus has weathered Warp Storms before, but none can recall a Maelstrom which so played upon the minds of the crew. The officers and ratings go about their duties with red-ringed eyes, pale faces, and lost, searching stares. Many look to the places where shadows gather, hunting for evil presences imagined to loiter in the darkness.

[37 hours have passed since the storm began. Zarkov is once again 1st officer on the bridge, and he also has taken the Helm, with Tyor having been exhausted again. Piloting the ship in the storm is nightmarish, and both physically and psychologically taxing. When Tyor was relieved by Zarkov the second time, he left without protest, although he appeared to be on edge and tested to the limits of endurance.

Both Praetus and Garrius Amphael are scheduled to return to the bridge soon (as both players have limited net access at the moment, I will leave it up to them to decide upon their shift arrival). Navigator Du Preste is in the Navigator’s pit. Of all the crew, he appears the least taxed by the storm, indeed, he almost seems to revel in it.

Drak-Kung is currently on the bridge, having completed a quick round of security checks in the Command Section. Staying in touch with all of his subordinates is difficult, especially now that the messenger children are taking longer and longer to complete their duties.

Andrea is also upon the bridge. Although it is not her custom to be there often, she is currently there because it is the nexus of all information for the moment.

Vehle has once again refused to report for duty on the bridge, instead sending a subordinate to take care of the messengers. She has sent numerous rebukes to requests, claiming that her work in the Auger Array helping the Mechanicus must take precedence over all other commands.

Malachi is again working on the Array. He is on the second last work cycle before his rest period.

The Warp Storm has taxed everyone. Although relatively rested, the crew’s threshold has dropped. More mistakes are being made towards the end of individual shifts. Mordia’s shift system appears to have failed to take account of the limited rest space for officers displaced by the Alid-Yuril staff. Consequently, many junior officers arrive to their shifts with no more than half an hours sleep.

Finally, the oppressive atmosphere of the storm, and the fitful dreams it has induced has taxed the player characters. Andrea and Zarkov have each gained an Insanity Point. Praetus has gained 2 Insanity Points, and now counts as Unsettled. For the next three days, he suffers the effects of Mental Trauma (see page 297, Table 10-6, result 71-100).

I am deliberately leaving actions open to player discretion here. I will give you a couple days before posting again, in case you want to take any particular actions. It’s up to you to react to what I have written. However, you can do nothing, in which case I will move things forward in a couple days]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

.
.
.

Be it known that on this day, the first full day of the ship within a Warp Storm, I was instructed by Lt. Commander Zarkov (in charge of the ship, while the Lord-Captain was resting) to help disperse a crowd gathering before the Ship's Chapel. Lt. Commander Zarkov was responding to a request from Brother Detronimus.

I made my way to the forward section of the ship and discovered several hundred members of the ship's crew gathered before the closed and locked doors of the Chapel. Before them was a junior brother, with several guardsmen at his side. These were admonishing those gathered to disperse. The two groups were very heated, no doubt exacerbated by the heightened fear of being in a Warp Storm, that made worse by the negative influence of the Warp Storm itself. Violence seemed immenant.

I requested that one of the guardsmen with me fire a blast of his shotgun, hoping to get the crowd's attention and to bring silence. This succeeded in bringing all attention to me, but that it was weapons fire seemed to incense the gathered ratings further. A spokesman for the group stepped forward and, while himself somewhat aggitated, managed to express the group's desires and concerns rationally.

At this point, the junior brother interjected, refuting the claims of the crowd, and managing to incense the crowd further in the process. It became clear that while the junior brother was correct in his assertions, his manner of expressing them was causing more harm than good.

I instructed the junior brother to remove himself from the scene so that I could bring calm to the ratings without his inflaming them. He was limited by the orders Brother Detronimus had given him, but within the scope of those orders he removed himself from the center of the conflict. This had somewhat of a positive impact on the crowd.

I then spoke for several minutes to the crowd, reminding them gently of their duties to the ship and to the Lord-Captain. In the end, the crowd dispersed quietly with no further argument.

In summary, I recommend that no punishments be given out to the ratings for this event. Given the ever-present fear of death in a Warp Storm, and the effects of the Warp Storm on the minds and fears of the crew, this kind of situation is expected. It is up to the officers and senior staff to help the crew maintain peace and order within themselves, and any slips are to be blamed on those officers and senior staff.

Of those responsible, I believe that two deserve special comment.

At primary fault in this is the manner of the junior brother. Though he was correct, he inflamed the crowd instead of swayed them. I suggest that he be given additional instruction in public speaking and in understanding the behavior of crowds, and that he not be put in a position of such influence over a crowd until such time as he's deemed ready.

Though not a cause of the problem, my decision to use gunfire initially was also of grave concern. My intent at the time was only to make a noise loud enough to get everyone's attention. In hindsight, I realize that bringing weaponry into the conversation would only serve to escalate the situation, not help resolve it. Aside from what I have learned from my mistake, I am unsure what a suitable punishment should be. I respectfully request the Lord-Captain's input on this matter.

I would also like to commend the actions of a few present. To begin with, the ten guardsmen originally at the doors were in a very difficult situation, and comported themselves above reproach. Likewise, the three guardsmen who accompanied me to the scene, and the bridge Ensign along with them.

And finally, Midshipman Rufus showed admirable leadership by stepping forward as the spokesman for the crowd. His willingness to express the crowd's needs and concerns rationally certainly allowed them to be addressed, and allowed me to correct their perceptions of the situation. Without his willingness to speak rationally instead of following the crowds building urge towards violence, things may not have gone as well as they did.

[Montresor]

[39 Hours have passed since the storm began]

Upon the ancient hull of the Invictus, the enginseers scurry. Long hours of work have taxed their bodies, while the ever present fury of the storm has wearied their minds. Only Malachi, perhaps the most mentally resolute member of the crew, carries on completely unshaken. If the Warp whispers to his mind, as enginseer Atrus claimed before leaping into oblivion, he does not feel its predations. Yet, even the Explorator’s hands shake from constant fatigue.

Malachi glances towards the prow of the frigate, almost by instinct. He sees vast, purplish bruises erupt across the Geller Fields and, as reality strains to hold the chaos from entering the void around the Invictus, the roaring of impossibility grows with anger. Somewhere, in the roiling depths of the maelstrom, Malachi sees a dark stain growing, raging, and hungering towards the Field. The Explorator knows that, in a matter of minutes, the ship will be badly shaken by a knot of some of the storm’s worst power. Whether the Fields will hold, or whether the enginseers will survive, is not certain.

[Malachi has a matter of moments to act. You are all on the verge of completing more repairs, which may greatly speed the recovery of the machine spirits. To abandon your work without securing what you have done may set things back significantly. However, risking being on the hull’s surface for longer than another minute or two could be fatal . . . ]

[Montresor]

Korheer Vohn, chief rating amongst the bilge-dwellers, was not a man to be seen from his post often. Thick-boned, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly ugly, Vohn had always been avoided as much from instinctive repulsion as from fear. His great, gnarled hands could break a man’s bones if they had to, and he was not a man reluctant to try. Yet his temper and disposition was just as easily marked by his utter devotion to the Imperial Creed, and to the station of the Rogue Trader. To Vohn, the Sacred Warrant of the Amphaels was a mystical document, one he fervently wished to see with his own eyes before death. And, though Rogue Traders may come and go, some with less skill than others, Vohn revered the office like it was the etchings upon the Golden Throne. Those who served closest to the Lord-Captain were disciples of the purest kind.

When Vohn stumbled on to the Command Deck, the surprise that a mere rating had been allowed to enter the bridge without proper clearance, gave way to grim feelings at what had necessitated such an insult by one so reverent. Wet and oil clogged chains hung from Vohn’s bulky void-suit. A ring of desiccated rats adorned his chest like a bandolier. Numerous prayer sheets he doubtless could not read were fixed to his arms with wax.

Vohn collapsed to his knees before Zarkov, having scanned in frustration for the absent Lord-Captain.

‘My Lord, sir,’ he almost wept. Sunken eyes quivered in weathered and grimed sockets. ‘I waited as long as I could, and I would not send another child to their death, and I would not trust what I have to say to another soul, and I would not insult the Sacred Writ . . .’ he stared mournfully at the empty Lord-Captain’s throne. ‘Madness is in the bilge decks, sir. Death and madness. There’s a dozen of them, sir, an’ they have with them a woman who has burnt the little children . . . the messengers, sir . . . burnt the little children to a crisp. And others, sir . . . dead’. Exhaustion, sorrow, or his own conception of having insulted protocol overwhelms Vohn, and he hugs his head with his tired hands, and is silent.

‘Sir,’ a service staffer takes Zarkov’s attention. ‘Du Preste instructs – Bearing 212.03, hard, sir. Bank hard . . . the thick of it is coming upon us!’

[Malachi]

[Malachi has a matter of moments to act. You are all on the verge of completing more repairs, which may greatly speed the recovery of the machine spirits. To abandon your work without securing what you have done may set things back significantly. However, risking being on the hull’s surface for longer than another minute or two could be fatal . . . ]

With great urgency, Malachi signals for all the enginseers to return to the safety of the ship. As they begin to make their way back to the airlock, Malachi starts closing all the open panels and tying down any loose bits, trying to maintain the safety of the work they had endured so hard to achieve through the coming assault.

He is determined not to lose any more valuable men, resources, and most of all, time spent on repairs to this storm... not if he can help it. His mind fills with the faces of those enginseers that were lost to the storm's predations already, and girds himself for the task ahead.

Their work shall not be in vain.

Spend a fate point to re-roll any important test he has to make, and keep a fate point spare to burn in case he runs into any fatal situations.

[Montresor]

As the wearied tech priests make their way back through the service-lock, malachi sets about his work with as much calm and concentration as urgency allows.

Securing panels in accordance with his training, ancient diagrams are recalled to the Explorator's memory, holy tomes of Mars, instructing initiates in the secrets of technology. He closes half of the panels, turning against the form of a chronometer, as the litanies recite in his head.

Malefic power howls and surges towards the Invictus . . .

[Malachi has about forty seconds left before he must move to get back in the Invictus. It is highly likely he can close all remaining panels and secure the work in about fifteen seconds . . . however, as the actions of Zarkov at the helm could possibly influence this, I will hold off from further tests. No Fate Point has been needed as yet]

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Andrea's incident report had come to Zarkov's attention after relinquishing the helm to Tyor for the first time. Simmering anger threatened to boil over into rage as he read the report. Bureaucratic, syncophantic nonsense, He thought. Did I not specifically specify no unnecessary violence? She almost got herself killed! And worse, she insulted one of Detronimus' acolytes! The report did not list the name of the young brother, but Zarkov knew it had to be Scipio or Cassius, both known for their near uncompromising zeal.

‘My Lord, sir,’ he almost wept. Sunken eyes quivered in weathered and grimed sockets. ‘I waited as long as I could, and I would not send another child to their death, and I would not trust what I have to say to another soul, and I would not insult the Sacred Writ . . .’ he stared mournfully at the empty Lord-Captain’s throne. ‘Madness is in the bilge decks, sir. Death and madness. There’s a dozen of them, sir, an’ they have with them a woman who has burnt the little children . . . the messengers, sir . . . burnt the little children to a crisp. And others, sir . . . dead’. Exhaustion, sorrow, or his own conception of having insulted protocol overwhelms Vohn, and he hugs his head with his tired hands, and is silent.

‘Sir,’ a service staffer takes Zarkov’s attention. ‘Du Preste instructs – Bearing 212.03, hard, sir. Bank hard . . . the thick of it is coming upon us!’

Zarkov's mind sharpened with steely resolve, his eyes cold. "Thou shalt not suffer a Wych to LIVE!" On this last syllable, he swung the ship hard to port and braced himself against the bulkhead. The powers of the warp would not best him this day. If there was indeed a chaotic madness in the lower decks, he would see it expunged with ruthless efficiency.

[Montresor]

The Invictus cuts hard to Port, as Lt. Commander Zarkov swings the wheel about. The mighty frigate's hull groans under the strain, and several of the bridge crew lose their footing. One of the messenger boys slides into the servitor pit, tumbling amongst the unfeeling half-dead bodies which toil down there. The mechadendrite of an enginseer plucks the child from the pit, but the Invictus still shakes violently from the onset of the squall.

Zarkov's piloting is exemplary, and the ship responds by almost gliding through the Immaterium. A dark patch of roiling pitch threatens to overcome the view from the Bridge, but the squall seems to recede to starboard. Yet the wake of this especially malignant squall buffets the Invictus with violence. More crew stagger, as if the frigate were a sea-bound ship chopping through waves as tall as her Auger Array.

Vohn begins to chant litanies, and many of the Bridge staff join with his voice. Ahead, amongst the restless chaos, a near limitless tide of fury looms. It appears alike a livid eruption of purplish-red bruises, with Empyrean energies arcing across its surface, and it expands to blot out all semblance of calm around it. Only a sliver remains, a virtual chasm of stillness that clefts its form. Great jagged arcs cut back and forth before the gap, and perhaps each one of these would be enough to dispel the Geller Fields; but the current is with the Invictus, and the greatest speed is right through this heart of the maelstrom . . .

[No word has come from Du Preste regarding this wall of chaos. Perhaps he had not noticed it - though it is unlikely - or perhaps there was not sufficient time to warn Zarkov. The Lt. Commander must now decide for himself what the best course of action is. Perhaps he may plunge the Invictus straight into the great tempest, hoping to ride the fastest current into the chasm of stillness; or perhaps he may try and turn the frigate about, hoping that the current is not against him, and that it does not simply mean the storm impacts the ship mid turn. He has mere minutes]

[Montresor]

Malachi feels the Invictus turn hard to Port. He is not surprised and, though he works unsteadily, grim necessity aids his task. Within mere moments, the Explorator has closed all ports and secured the enginseer's valuable work.

The savage black squall comes on to the ship, though it is clear that the frigate will bypass it. Yet, the vessel is shaken with violence and Malachi stumbles over himself on the way to the service-lock.

[Expense of a Fate Point for a re-roll narrowly saves Malachi from disaster]

As the tech priest stumbles, he is briefly caught upon a port handle. It requires all his strength to pull himself up and out of the grip before it tears a hole in his void-suit. He staggers against the wake of the squall and continues to the service-lock.

Once more the tech priest loses his footing, this time coiling in his saviour-line, and being knocked against the hull with brute force.

[As luck would have it, malachi suffers no damage and, incredibly, his void-suit remains intact]

Righting himself, and securing his feet upon the hull, the tech priest catches a glimpse of the storm's heart, stretching beyond his field of vision. Chaotic power ripples throughout its very being, and terrible bolts of vile energy lance across its surface. The Invictus heads straight for the storm's terrible nexus.

Moments later, Malachi is in the service-lock. Enginseer Atanitus closes the lock behind the Explorator, and oxygen floods into the small antechamber. The tech-priests remove their helmets and look upon each other with relief.

Atanitus turns to Malachi. 'What now, brother?'

[Malachi]

Moments later, Malachi is in the service-lock. Enginseer Atanitus closes the lock behind the Explorator, and oxygen floods into the small antechamber. The tech-priests remove their helmets and look upon each other with relief.

Atanitus turns to Malachi. 'What now, brother?'

"The ship is in motion. It was a risky endeavour just returning to the airlock. We cannot work under these conditions... we'll just have to wait until we're at full stop before going back out there."

"We go back out as soon as we're able, but until then, let's get as much rest as we can."

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Only a sliver remains, a virtual chasm of stillness that clefts its form. Great jagged arcs cut back and forth before the gap, and perhaps each one of these would be enough to dispel the Geller Fields; but the current is with the Invictus, and the greatest speed is right through this heart of the maelstrom . . .

Zarkov saw the storm boiling before him, and the gap of stillness. He felt the Invictus accelerate with the current, inexorably drawn towards the gap. "DU PRESTE!!!" Zarkov yelled, the ship increasing speed and heading towards the chasm. He cursed. "Reroute all available auxillary power to the Geller Fields on my mark! "

[ooc]Perception test on the gap to assess the best angle of attack on the chasm and where the warp arcs appear to be concentrated. Zarkov will continue to hail Du Preste.

The reroute of power (if it is possible at all) would likely leave the bridge and the rest of the ship in the barest lighting, cause potential life support failure on the lower decks (bad air, low gravity etc) and reduce engine and weapons capacity (the ship can no longer reach flank speed and will have little offensive capabilities if she exits warp space without repowering her weapons).[/ooc]