Rogue Trader - TO PRETHIAN

[Montresor]

[Rather than writing general descriptions or reports assuming the characters have done nothing, I'm leaving an OOC sit-rep here for people to respond to. Because it's the end of the year, I won't expect people to have written anything until about th 5th of January. If I get earlier responses, I'll write more - but if not, that's ok.

Certain of these issues only a few characters can respond to.

1 - Salt's preliminary exploration of the wreck of the Havok has revealed that most of the vessel is utterly ruined. Small pockets exist with failing life supports, and there are a few hundred raiders still clinging to life therein. The entire vessel is awash with high levels of radiation from the leaking plasma drives. As such, all supplies on the Havok would be posionous to those who used them. There is very little that appears to be immediately useful in the drifting wreck, and deep exploration of her would be extremely hazardous.

2 - Damage sustained to the Invictus has been extensive. Crew levels appear to be down by more than ten percent, with around two and a half thousand souls lost. As a consequence, morale has plummeted. Crew response rates have suffered, and every section of the frigate is now beginning to under-perform. Though there is relief and pride from having won the battle, there is also a strong feeling that the diversion was more trouble than it was worth.

3 - Repairs will take one week minimum, just to get the Life-Sustainers fully functioning. Repairs to the hull will likely take another week or more. Proctor Menz has expressed his profound dissatisfaction with the decision to escort the vessels, particularly in light of the extended delays. Though relieved that 80% of the cargo is undamaged, Menz is gravely concerned that the delays may prove disastrous. As a result Menz recommends that repairs made are the least necessary, and that no further delays occur. He also requests that Injerian Praetus comes up with the most direct route to Prethian possible. Such a route could either be done by risking passage through Warp Storms, or by longer jumps through the Warp.

4 - Drak-Kung was seriously injured in the battle, and is now in a coma. The Security forces suffered roughly 30% casualties, and now lack a leader.

5 - Food supplies, given the death rate in the battle, are expected to last for one and a half months. This also includes the meagre supplies which were available from the mining colony.

6 - The captured raiders have been detained in the cargo hold, and are bound and blind-folded. One of their member - a fierce older warrior named Calidus - has been designated as their spokesperson. He tells his captors that the pirate fleet would not take kindly to their prisoners being mistreated, and he advises that they are released so that a grudge does not result

7 - The escort endeavour has been completed, and Captain Nevou informs Garrius (a few days after the battle) that Astropaths will ensure complete payments and credits are given. +1 to the party PF]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

[1 - Salt's preliminary exploration of the wreck of the Havok has revealed that most of the vessel is utterly ruined. Small pockets exist with failing life supports, and there are a few hundred raiders still clinging to life therein. The entire vessel is awash with high levels of radiation from the leaking plasma drives. As such, all supplies on the Havok would be posionous to those who used them. There is very little that appears to be immediately useful in the drifting wreck, and deep exploration of her would be extremely hazardous.

6 - The captured raiders have been detained in the cargo hold, and are bound and blind-folded. One of their member - a fierce older warrior named Calidus - has been designated as their spokesperson. He tells his captors that the pirate fleet would not take kindly to their prisoners being mistreated, and he advises that they are released so that a grudge does not result]

[In light of the week minimum to repair the Life Sustainers, I think we have a little time to head over and collect the few hundred survivors still on the Havoc. They either surrender quietly, or we leave them there to starve. Should be a cake-walk, except for the danger of just being over there in the first place. Then we sell them and the other prisoners to the mining colony.

If the pirate fleet really is likely to exact revenge, they'll start with the mining colony. And really... them making threats like that is only likely to get us to open the airlock. If they're all dead, the pirate fleet won't think we abused them. They'll just think we defeated them in a fight.]

EDIT - changed the above to be in blue, to reflect that it's not an IC quote. Though, these are IC thoughts of the character, she isn't specifically sharing them with anyone in a discussion.

[Salt]

I nominate that ass Peraton to run the armsmen until Drak-Kung is better.

He was very brave in the battle, hiding behind me and mine. And he's a noble. He'd make a great commander. His talents are wasted on shuttle pilots and turret gunners.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

[I'll start some one-on-one vignettes, to gather some background information from people. These obviously happen serially, but to save posting time, I'll throw them all together. Hope this doesn't get chaotic.]

The Lower Decks

Andrea dresses herself in her synskin armor, beneath a comfortable pantsuit. I'm going to have to descend into the ratings, I'd better be prepared. She brings no weapons, nor any valuables. Breathing a calming breath, she leaves her office in the Librarium and makes her way to where the Darksiders now live.

After a few false turns, she makes it to the previously uninhabited area just on the edge of the Lower Decks, supposedly haunted, where the group of recent recruits known as the Darksiders have taken up residence. It was just as distasteful as she had expected: Darksiders, nothing more than ganger scum from Delta-X-7 really, had spread out over all of the rooms off of a central common area, heedless of the other ratings warnings of the dangers of the Lower Decks. I wonder if the other ratings did tell them of the dangers. Perhaps it would be a great laugh to let them find out on their own?

There were several wounded, laid out in the common area, being treated by a few of the healthy ones. The battle in the cargo hold had taken its toll on Salt's followers. But, they have bled and died for their new home. I cannot fault their loyalty.

Standing at the edge of the common room, she looks around for the Sub-Lieutenant. Not immediately seeing her, she catches the attention of one of the... let's be charitable and call them medically minded Darksiders, tending to the wounded. "You there, I'm looking for Sub-Lieutenant Salt. Would you be so kind as to tell me where she might be?"

Andrea didn't really understand the stream of jabber that came back to her. I guess they haven't learned the Invictus' language yet. But the medic did gesture several times to her left, so Andrea assumes those were directions. She smiles and mutters her thanks, then walks towards where the rating was pointing, which looks to be a sleeping room, though there's a hallway to the left of that door. Maybe the medic was pointing there?

Tentatively, she raps on the wall by the entrance to the room. There are no doors, just a cloth extending from the top of the door down to knee-height. After there is no response, she glances back at the room to see if anyone is watching, or perhaps trying to offer her advice, she gently pulls the curtain aside and says, "Excuse me? I'd like to speak with Sub-Lieutenant Salt. Is she available?"

To her surprise, there's only a man in the room. He's lying on one of the three bunks, completely naked, and until just now, asleep. "Eh?" he says, followed by more meaningless jabber. But, from the wolfish grin on his face, there was probably some kind of lewdness in his words. Andrea, though flustered, stammers an apology and quickly lets the cloth fall backwards. Then, without looking back at the room, certain she would find the medic and his cohorts laughing at her, she darts down the hallway.

There are several other bunk rooms, thankfully with their curtains open. Andrea asks at a few of them, and the gestures always involved going further in the direction she was going. And eventually, she came to a room with only one occupant.

"Sub-Lieutenant Salt? Is that you? I would like your advice on a few things, if I may."

Praetus' Offices

Andrea, thankful to be away from the ratings, and trying desperately not to think of the naked man's shamelessness, approaches the door to Navigator's dwelling. Using the keypad, she signals her intent to speak with Navigator Praetus. She's a little nervous about the encounter, considering how poorly the man had shown his nobility during their first encounter back at Port Warder. Still, it needed to be done.

The Chapel

Andrea climbs upwards to the higher levels of the ship, the proper place to venerate the Emperor aboard the ship. She has come here much in the past several weeks, and has come to feel more comfortable approaching Brother Clabo. At least, she feels as though she is better at recognizing when she would be interrupting and when not.

She spies Detronimus and Clabo both by the alter, kneeling. Clearly, she would be interrupting now. So, she steps out of the aisle and takes a seat on one of the gorgeous, and yet uncomfortable, chairs for the nobility. The architects who had built the addition to the ship had clearly not intended for people to linger here long when praising the Emperor.

She waits patiently for the brothers to conclude their worship, herself finding a certain amount of peace just observing the brothers' deliberate motions as they go through their ritual. When they are done, she stands and tries to catch Clabo's attention.

[Salt]

The Lower Decks

"Sub-Lieutenant Salt? Is that you? I would like your advice on a few things, if I may."

I look up. I'm not naked, at least.

"Hey there. I thought I smelled posh. Come on in. Set a spell."

I kick my Voidsuit's helmet off the other chair. That chair wobbles, but it's cleaner than this one.

"What can I do for you, Lady?"

I can't remember if these highfalutin' types like eye contact or hate it. But, her eyes are so squirrelly, I don't feel right staring at 'em.

[I'm just going to embrace it. American "western" dialect as the patois of the Darksiders.]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

The Lower Decks

Gingerly, I sit on the offered chair. It's a bit unstable, but I try to focus on that instead of how dirty it might be. This is why I wore my slumming clothes, after all.

"Sub-Lieutenant, I need to draw on your experience with the local area. Specifically, I'm trying to evaluate the threats of the prisoners, that this Pirate Lord Drondo will seek revenge on us unless we release them. I'm disinclined to believe them, but I wonder if you might be able to validate their claim. Drondo will be quite upset at the destruction of the Havoc. Is there anything to these boarders that would make them valuable, even after their own ships left them to die in our cargo hold?"

[Salt]

[Editing with my results.]

"Oh. Now you're askin' 'bout Drondo, eh? I tried to tell the gunner 'bout 'im, but the ass didn't wanna listen. I'm glad someone's got the good sense to learn the lay of things afore she starts shootin."

"Now, Drondo ain't no Pirate Lord. He's a merc commander. Got a few ships like the ones we off. Maybe a dozen, all told? I hear tell he's even got a light cruiser for a flagship, if you believe the tales. But... his guys are scum. They ain't worth a bit o' warm piss."

"Well now, hold on a minute. His command staff, now. Those guys are shiny. He gets top-notch from those as don't like the Imperial Navy, and even a few Rogue Trader's men. Some of those might could be worth a little bit."

"Drondo's guys will go all out in a fight. And they'll take whatever spoils they can get. But he is known for leaving survivors. If he heard about some of his not gettin' the same, I guess he might not leave survivors the next time you fought."

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

"He's a mercenary, you say?" She waits for Salt's nod before continuing. The Sub-Lieutenant's speech was... confusing at some points, and she wouldn't want translation problems to embarrass her when she makes her presentation to the Lord-Captain, later.

She muses aloud, not really waiting for Salt to respond before continuing to the next point. "If he's a mercenary, that would mean he wasn't there for piracy, just waiting for whatever ships came by. He'd been sent there, knowing that those transports would go through. It was a planned ambush, only the Invictus wasn't part of their plan."

"So, if we continue to be connected to the Deltael family, we'll likely encounter Drondo and his fleet again, if they continue to be hired to fight against the Deltaels."

"Sub-Lieutenant, you've been very helpful. Thank you for your time." Andrea rises and makes her way to the Navigator's cabins to find Praetus.

[Salt]

I stand up when she leaves. I feel like I should be saluting or bowing or something. "Okay, well... yer welcome, I reckon."

Then she leaves. I go back to my siesta. I have bridge duty in a few hours.

[Montresor]

The Chapel

She waits patiently for the brothers to conclude their worship, herself finding a certain amount of peace just observing the brothers' deliberate motions as they go through their ritual. When they are done, she stands and tries to catch Clabo's attention.

Clabo notices the Seneschal, and makes to approach her, before being told to go about his dedications by Detronimus. The robust and stern head of the missionaries instead moves to Andrea.

'Madame Seneschal, if you were seeking my junior priest I apologise for denying him to you. You will comprehend, of course, that the sevants of the Ecclesiarchy should maintain a level of detachment from others. Or at least,' he smiles a little paternalistically, 'they should not become too familiar. But I expect that when the high Seneschal of the Amphaels visits the Chapel for more than her prayers, it is not merely a social visit she has in mind. What then do you seek, child?'

[Montresor]

Then she leaves. I go back to my siesta. I have bridge duty in a few hours.

In the last hour of her rest, Sub-lieutenant Salt is disturbed by Fleg, a Darksider whose dimunitive stature made him a useful scout on Delta-X-7. His left arm is in a sling, and some of the skin from his face has been scraped away from the recent battle.

'Hey, boss . . . err, Sub-lieutenant,' Fleg grins broadly, which makes his face ache and his eyes water, 'got a word from them that be our new bosses. Your Peraton sent a runner that says he wants you to report directly to his central command tower before going to the Bridge. Says t' make sure yer look decent an' such'.

[Salt can ignore the summons, in which case she'll earn more ire from Peraton, or she can meet him in his control tower - which is an operations room from which the primary anti-ordnance batteries are controlled. Peraton keep a small staff here of about twenty (all men), though he is just as often in the shuttle bays]

[Salt]

I groan as I stand up. "No rest fer the wicked, I reckon."

I take off my comfy shirt, throw it at Fleg's head. "Git, fool. Y'ain't to be oogling a Lieutenant like that no more. Or whatever the hell rank I am now. So show some manners."

I get out my old Imperial Navy uniform. I ain't worn it in months. It's a bit tight where the bandages are covering that las scare, but at least I look respectable-like.

The rank is still the Petty Officer, so I just remove that. Better to have no rank than the wrong one. I'll have to ask him what my rank really is, so I can get the right pips installed.

As a final touch, I put on my sword and bolter. Weapons are always a classy part of a military uniform, especially a bolter. Peraton don't know that it hasn't been passed down in my family for 2000 years. I took it off a dead Lieutenant when I was resigning my commission. Ah... good memories.

I make sure my face is washed, and my hair isn't sticking out nowhere. I ain't had a shower today, but you can't smell that over the antiseptic from the bandages anyway. Then I leave for Peraton's operations room. I tell the guys playing cards where I'm going. Darksiders like to keep track of each other.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea bows to Detronimous. "My matter was actually something I had hoped to bring to your ears, Brother. Though, I confess that I had planned to discuss it first with Brother Clabo. My instructors back at the Academy looked poorly on us when we did not have a possible solution in hand when we came to them with problems. And I felt that I could impose upon Brother Clabo's familiarity to pardon the time we spent discussing possible solutions before I made any kind of proposal to you."

"I have found his advice on spiritual matters, as well as his views on how I may best wield my influence to be most helpful. Regardless, I certainly do not wish to impose upon the good Brother in ways that are harmful to him. Please extend my apologies to him for my transgression."

"As to the actual matter, I'm sure you've noticed the tone of the crew, recently. There have always been mutterings amongst them; a certain headstrong nature that many Captains might even term mutinous in the wrong circumstances. But since this last battle, morale has been especially poor, and I fear what might happen if the situation is left unchecked for too long."

"I had hoped you and the other Brothers and Sisters might be able to help remind the crew that, in spite of our strife and difficulties, we are acting out the Emperor's wishes in our own small way. I know that, surly as they may be, they're all loyal servants to the Emperor. They just sometimes loose sight of how what they're doing day-to-day is part of His plan."

"I had first thought to distract the ratings from their woes. But upon consideration, I felt that would... be only temporary, and might make it more difficult for them to later accept that what they're doing is the proper thing to do. But, I have no suggestions for how to go about this reminder."

"I was also relying on Brother Clabo's familiarity to allow me to ask if such a task was even rightfully mine to undertake, or if I was inadvertently entering territory better left to the Ecclesiarcy. I could ask his advice on the matter unofficially, before I brought it to your attention in an official capacity, allowing me to correct my approach without insulting your position."

[Montresor]

Then I leave for Peraton's operations room. I tell the guys playing cards where I'm going. Darksiders like to keep track of each other.

Salt's journey to Peraton's operations tower is largely uneventful. Although her familiarity with the by-ways of the ancient vessel is still wanting, the path to the command sections is located centrally enough to be difficult to miss. Salt passes groups of ratings going about their duties. An atmosphere of nervous tension seems dominant amongst the crew. Men and women light candles and melt wax to hold small keep-sakes in alcoves all throughout the hab-decks, muttering prayers and curses in equal measure.

Ascending the service lift to the summit of Peraton's operations room, Salt emerges into the tightly packed command section. More akin to a hallway than a room, most of the space is cluttered with logi-stations and control-pits. The crew here are all junior officers, dressed in immaculate uniforms. A thick air of lho-smoke hangs in the air, as most of the men here smoke on duty. Peraton stands below his command station, observing a lone enginseer muttering prayers to the machine spirits. The red-robed enginseer hobbles on old feet, while an augmented visage peers almost lifelessly from its cowl.

'Sub-lieutenant,' Peraton bids Salt over. 'It's time we had a discussion, I think, on the way things are around here. The directive which assigned you to me came from the Lieutenant Commander. His idea of a personal insult to me I expect. But we'll see if you can be put to some use. You see,' Peraton regards Salt derisively, 'I'm fully aware that you must have bribed your way to this position, but you should have no doubts as to where your loyalties lie. Zarkov is not likely to remain in his position for long - it would be a mistake to ally yourself with him. Besides which, I think you and your Darksiders would be much more . . . profitably associated with myself'.

Peraton pauses, and Salt notes that most of the men in the room have their eyes on the conversation, staring through a lazy cloud of cigar smoke.

[Montresor]

"I was also relying on Brother Clabo's familiarity to allow me to ask if such a task was even rightfully mine to undertake, or if I was inadvertently entering territory better left to the Ecclesiarcy. I could ask his advice on the matter unofficially, before I brought it to your attention in an official capacity, allowing me to correct my approach without insulting your position."

'Madame Seneschal,' Detronimus nods while beckoning Andrea to seat herself beside him on one of the many pews, 'I respect your acknowledgement of the proper order of doing things, but let us talk plainly. The morale of the crew has been taxed by the recent battle. Many lives were lost and the ratings will want to know that this was not done needlessly or in vain. Do you have a request for me, or do you wish my advice?'

[Injerian Praetus II]

Injerian Praetus the Second walked slowly out of the san-cubicle into his chambers. A trembling hand ran down his face and dropped to his side, cold sweat dripping onto the Cadian rugs. Pale and clammy, he walked to his desk and slumped into a high-back chair. Naked, he just sat there looking at a picture of his father.

The withdrawals were getting worse, despite that he had not taken any drugs since Footfall. Only able to do what was expected of him - taking care not to give anyone the indication he has been ill for weeks - the senior navigator survived painfully.

The dispute with the Amphael had shamed him - Praetus knew better than to question rank; besides, he had followed orders from Imperium Navy executive officers with less noble origins. The patriach of House Praetus would have stripped him of all his titles for even questioning a rogue trader and captain. So shame had driven the navigator into narcotic bliss. However, when he had incorrectly plotted a path through the Immaterium - as a possible route - Praetus knew that his drug-fuelled escape would doom him more than speaking out of line.

Pride of his House was small; he hated his father and wanted to make his own name. Pride of his job was another thing; Navigators kept the Imperium alive more than the chapters of the Imperium's Finest or the corpse-god. Navigators were, in his mind, the true nobles of the galaxy. Therefore, he could not tolerate any errors in his role. Failure was simply not an option.

Drug withdrawl was making his job harder, ironically.

With sore and aching limbs, Praetus groaned as he dressed himself. Some time later, he walked out of his chambers, keeping his posture as erect as possible, and headed in the direction of the Amphael.

[Injerian Praetus II]

Praetus' Offices

Andrea, thankful to be away from the ratings, and trying desperately not to think of the naked man's shamelessness, approaches the door to Navigator's dwelling. Using the keypad, she signals her intent to speak with Navigator Praetus. She's a little nervous about the encounter, considering how poorly the man had shown his nobility during their first encounter back at Port Warder. Still, it needed to be done.

Navigator Praetus managed to walk a few steps before seeing Chan-Gauthier approach him.

[Drak-Kung]

OOC--sorry i've been away so long.....

I will embark upon a course to give the armsmen more than mere brawling skills should they end up hand-to-hand. Also, when I can, talk to Salt and her Darksiders, I see potential as a sort of SWAT team for them.

[Montresor]

OOC--sorry i've been away so long.....

I will embark upon a course to give the armsmen more than mere brawling skills should they end up hand-to-hand. Also, when I can, talk to Salt and her Darksiders, I see potential as a sort of SWAT team for them.

[The delay was fine - you only missed the battle. Drak-Kung will have emerged from a coma, after having been seriously injured in the battle in the cargo hold. He will slowly regain his strength and senses, while being informed of the situation. The Armsmen have suffered nearly 30% losses, and will have to be replenished somehow.

Your idea for training courses is a good one, but I'll need specifics. You may be best to approach Garrius and the other PCs and senior crew (even Trulitch) about this when Garrius calls a meeting. But you can certainly make a start]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

The Chapel

Andrea pauses, considering her words. "Brother, I believe I wish your advice on my requests for you." Her expression is almost apologetic for the vagary of her answer.

"I believe that the lives lost were lamentable, but very much needful. If for no other reason than the principal of standing up against piracy. The Amphael Writ of Trade gives us nearly a holy mandate to be here and go about our goals, so long as we further the Emperor's holy plan. Those who pray on the Empire's citizens illegally, simply by strength of arms… deserve nothing less than eradication. And if many good citizens of the Empire perish in that quest, it means that the children of the survivors will grow up on a world free of sin. If we are able to further the Amphael family's standing in the sector, and curry favor with the Deltaels and the Galens, so much the better."

"However, I do not feel that the ratings really care about these things. Though, I don't know them, I cannot imagine the common rating, buried deep within the belly of the ship, even really knows about the goings on of the Deltaels or the Galens, or pirate fleets, or even what sector we're in. It just doesn't seem that any of these things… things which matter to you and me, and to the Amphaels as a whole. And, I hope I am not too prideful in feeling that our presence here in some very small way further's the Emperor's plans for the galaxy. And yet, what do Writs of Trade matter to men and women who die, sucked into the void, because some ship shelled another ship, for reasons unknown to them?"

"Can we make them understand what their neighbors and family died to create? Is it worth even trying? Or do we just bribe them with petty pleasures. They died so that we could earn some coin, which means that those who live might be able to eat better next year. Or so that perhaps we might eventually repair the air cleansers and not breath this chemical smells. I know that they're human, but… is it asking too much to expect them to understand the nuances of what's happening in the greater world? They're not nobles."

Navigator's Quarters

Andrea watches Praetus walking towards her, and sees him finally notice her presence. Is he even up for this?

"Lord Navigator, I hope I'm not intruding on you. I know your time is valuable, and you're very busy. However, I wanted to ask you if there are any major ports of call that wouldn't be too far out of our way, on the trip to Prethian. Our food supplies are running very low, and I wanted to know what options we had to resupply. Of course, I didn't want to bring anything to the Lord-Captain until I had a concrete plan put together. If there are no options, it's not worth bothering him."

Too late, Andrea realizes her faux pas. "Oh. Not that your time isn't also important, My Lord. I would have taken my question to Navigator Julient, but I didn't want to circumvent your authority." I learned this lesson from Brother Detronimus just now. She finishes talking, without much of a conclusion, just a cessation of speech and an awkward moment.