Rogue Trader - Footfall

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

Detail 2 men to accompany the poor victim back, I will lead the rest along the blood trail. "Be strong and sure in the Emperor's light. Clearly, there are horrors ahead. But we WILL save the children...else avenge them in the Omnissiah's name should they be beyond saving. SUFFER NOT THE ALIEN!"
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Post by Montresor »

Two men from Drak-Kung's team depart, taking the terrified armsman back towards the safety of the stern-ward Invictus. The skin of the flayed child has to be pried from the man's hand who, forgetting that he was holding it, begins to scream in horror at the renewed sight of the grisly remains. His cries prove impossible to silence, slowly receding down the darkened halls of the Mazeworks.

The Master-at-Arms is left with Sergeant Markus, private Merril, and the two guides, Pold and Kelty.

'Aint never been down these ways,' Pold says, almost to himself. The Mazeworks become more treacherous, with grating too weak to walk upon. Instead, the team is forced to walk upon the thinner structural supports crisscrossing the floor. The oxygen down here is sparse, and exertion begins to take its toll.

In the darkness, Drak-Kung and his team lose any trace of blood. The Vox-bead crackles and is silent. No transmissions from any other teams can be heard.

Corridors almost crash into one another, and doors lead to rooms whose walls and ceilings have never been built - empty voids hiding dangerous pits, plummeting into darkness and death.

After ten minutes of wandering in the hold, the squad begin to feel that they are lost. A wide service hall opens before them, from which strips of leathery material are tied to slowly breathing ventillator units. Detritus and metal float in the air near the end of the hall, suspended and colliding languidly.

[Succesful Intelligence test - Drak-Kung realises that the end of the hall has a pocket of zero-gravity]

Beyond the haze of detritus, the gloom is almost impenetrable. The squad's torches barely illuminate the dark. A vague shape stands at the end of the hall, tall and straight-backed. Possibly nothing but a smoky illusion, the shape seems to stand and watch.

Sergeant Markus and private Merril kneel at the edge of the wall and slowly take aim at the seemingly insubstantial figure.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

"Stand ready" I whisper to Markus and Merril, before I sprint all out down the hall, hurdling through the zero-G space, monobarong in one hand, bolt pistol in the other, ready to fall upon the shape--if there's actually anything here--with whichever looks to be more efficacious.
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Post by Montresor »

Taking a running leap, Drak-Kung hurtles towards the insubstantial form lurking in the darkness beyond the gravity disruption. His strength carries him with enough velocity to sail through the artificial barrier. In the last moments before he reaches the other side, he sees the vague form of a man, filtration hoses encircling a darkened face and hanging about waist like strips of cloth. The form disperses in the rush of dust disturbed in Drak-Kung’s wake, as if it was never truly present. He feels a sensation of cold and horror tug at his heart, and the Arch-Militant crashes through rusted grating and pipes, hurtling to the deck below.

Only the Master-at-Arm’s reflexes and monobarong save him from plummeting through the ruin of pipe work, ducts, and grating that opens into the lifeless pit several decks down. Drak-Kung’s monobarong is embedded between grates, though his grip is slowly slipping. His boltpistol is clasped in his other hand, as he dangles perilously.

Metal and cables crash and whip far below, with the sound of splashing clearly audible.

[There looks to be a wide enough space of floor you could swing to below, though there is some danger of missing and falling a great distance. You could also try and climb back up, though the extra weight placed on your monobarong may dislodge it from the grate and cause you to fall. The choice is yours]
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

I will try to make the swing over.
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Post by Montresor »

Levering his monobarong, and swinging perilously over the drop, Dark-Kung shifts his weight back once, and then hurls himself forward.

[A difficult maneouvre, which Drak-Kung only passed by about four percentage points]

The Arch-Militant lands on his feet, coming to a squatting position. Only the filtering light from the level above provides any illumination. Ahead him is a wide access tunnel which plunges into blackness, behind him an uncertain fall. Climbing back to the level above without ropes would be an extremely hazardous action.

In the darkness, the ancient interior creaks and groans.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

Scowling at the recent turn of events, I cal out to the armsmen above. "Head back. It is too dangerous for you to try and follow me down here. Wait at the entrance to the Mazeworks, give me two hours."
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Post by Montresor »

Sergeant Markus creeps closer to the hole in the floor, though remains out of sight beyond the gravity-disruption. 'Roger that, Chief. I don't want to leave you down there alone. If you're not back in two hours, we'll be coming back for'.

Once the squad departs, Drak-Kung is left in the thick darkness, wondering how he is to proceed in the uncertain depths of the Mazeworks. His in-built Auger-Array detects slight rises in the levels of radiation.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

Looking around for anyplace that the whatever-it-was could have flitted off to, I'll head that way...or, if there appears to be a radiation trail being left, I'll follow that.
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Post by Montresor »

[Success on the applied use of Drak-Kung's Auger-Array]

The darkness enshrouds the Arch-Militant, and his breathing becomes laboured in the minimal support of the decrepit hall. No trace of the apparition from above can be discerned in the blackness, and the radiation clings thickest far below.

There is little choice but to head on, and Drak-Kung soon becomes lost in the pitch-gloom of the Maze-Works. Feeling his way along the walls, and stepping tentatively across the uncertain floor, Drak-Kung listens to the ancient decks groan, the machine spirits down here long dead or forsaken.

[Success on a Perception check]

After long minutes of creeping through the darkness, Drak-Kung becomes aware that there are sounds of other people moving somewhere in the decks above and below him. His Auger-Array fails to detect concrete emanations, and his Micro-bead crackles uncertainly from the intereference. Distinctly aware that he is being shadowed from the other decks, Drak-Kung is perhaps relieved to find the trace of a flickering lumen-globe, far ahead in the access tunnel.

In the half-light, Drak-Kung perceives what appears to be a table, piled with various junk, some thirty yards or more away. There appears to be a stairwell nearby which he could take, should he wish to avoid the uncertainly lit room beyond.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

Press on into the room.
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Post by Montresor »

Drak-Kung enters the room, watching harmless shadows with caution and unease. The pungent stench of garbage and rotten food assails the Arch-Militant.

Within the chamber, several irregular tables, each of a different height and length, have been crammed together to form what appears to be a dining surface. Bags of wet meat and gruel are laid here and there, some of which appear to have been in place for weeks. Some bags have been torn open and scraps of food are scattered on the filthy surfaces. None of the chairs around the table stand upright anymore.

A fresh looking leather sack is heaped in the centre, wet with fat. Nearby, a small dispersion of people's personal effects are scattered.

Drak-Kung hears no sound of movement, or detects anything distinct on his Auger-Array. Each wall has an exit built in to it. Above one side exit, the words "HAB-WARD" are painted in bright yellow.

[You can search this material or take another course of action, such as attempting to use your Auger-Array more deliberately]
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

Methodically, I will search the contents of this room...remaining alert should anyone, or anyTHING, try to sneak up on me while I am occupied.
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Post by Montresor »

[Two attempts at Search were necessary to yield results. The search took some valuable time]

The bags and leather sacks appear to contain only regular foodstuff, such as reconstituted meats and waste-gruel. Many are in a state of mild putrefaction, and inspire an involuntary gag reflex. Some skins are filled with a reeking alcoholic solution, the kind which is often brewed illicitly in the Hab-decks.

The personal effects are minor. Some of these include name badges, most likely cut or torn from void-suits or uniforms. There are also a few pict-stills, depicting images of people on docks and planets; various picts of non-descript people. A small blue whistle, of the kind used by children, is amongst the material.

Drak-Kung's search is interrupted by the sounds of creeping in the darkness beyond the prow-ward door. Taking a position of relative cover, the Arch-Militant observes a hunched silhouette come into the door-frame. An arm hesitantly stretches out, revealing a waxy-grey fist, over-large and clawed, holding a fistful of small objects. The shadowed head darts about, revealing sickly-yellow eyes which perceive Drak-Kung warily. A soft wheezing breath can be heard in the silence.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Post by Drak-Kung »

Training my bolt-pistol on the creature, I tell it, "Step forward, and answer me if you are capable of speech. Who are you....or who WERE you?"
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Post by Montresor »

[Success on an Intimidation test, by one degree]

The thing does not run, it's yellow eyes stare with fear at the bolt-pistol aimed in its direction. Fevered grunts are emitted from its mouth as it nervously shuffles into the flickering light.

Drak-Kung beholds a mutant parody of Man. The thing is clothed in tattered and soiled rags, sewn into scraps of a void-suit. Thick, hairless, and waxy-grey arms reach to its knees. The creature's face has tufts of hair clinging to its scalp, and a wide mouth bares a reddened gumline populated by fetid incisors. Unblinking yellow eyes dart warily about the room, searching the corners for danger.

Wheezing, the mutant stretches out its fist, dangling the trinkets it holds like some kind of offering.
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Post by Drak-Kung »

Gesture with the pistol barrel, to indicate it should lay down it's trinkets, and move back....when it is well back, I ease forward, pick them up, and examine them by bringing them to eye level off to one side, so I never lose sight of this...being.
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Post by Montresor »

The thing does as it is bidden, and lays the trinkets down. Its nervous eyes dart about. As Drak-Kung lifts the trinkets, the mutant takes the opprtunity to run.

[You may fire a shot or two if you like, otherwise you can let it run]
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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Post by Drak-Kung »

Shoot it. Twice. if it's still up, chase and shoot. If I run out of rounds, apply sharp object until hamburger is made.

"Suffer not the Alien!"
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Montresor
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Post by Montresor »

[Drak-Kung makes a Short Burst, scoring a 07 to hit! This means both bolts hit]

The mutant's back ruptures from the explosive impact of two bolts. Blood scatters blackly in the darkness and the thing crashes down, gurgling in pain. Drak-Kung pulls his mono-barong free, moves until he stands over the mutant, and drives the knife into the side of its throat.

It is only when Drak-Kung is back sorting through the trinkets that his Auger-Array detects multiple signs of movement, converging from different positions, and across several decks . . .
"For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" - Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado.

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