Rogue Trader - TO PRETHIAN

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Andrea Chan-Gauthier
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Post by Andrea Chan-Gauthier »

Montresor wrote:Rough Hands
Captain Gaius Trulitch, having listened to the suggestions of Lt. Cmdr Zarkov, approaches Lord-Captain Garrius Amphael with a suggestion. In light of recent stresses on the Armsmen and the Master-at-Arms, Trulitch offers to use the Alid-Yuril security team for patrols. As there are only thirty of them and they need to stay close to Consortium staff, Trulitch suggests that they take over guard duties in the senior crew complex (including the bridge area), leaving the Armsmen there to attend to only damage control issues. Garrius Amphael, Zarkov and Andrea may respond to this (only Garrius can decide).
Garrius Amphael wrote:"Duty officer, at present the Consortium is taking up many of our officers quarters whilst our own crew are billeted together to make space for them. Have the billeting reshuffled. Have Andrea inform the Alid-Yuril that we are doing our utmost to address their concerns for crew moral, and as such require the lodging space to ensure our junior officers are fit and rested so we may best hit deadline. At present there should be enough free space with casualty levels being what they are but they must be prepared to double up amongst themselves when the staff replenishes. Am I clear Mordia?" Garrius couldnt help but lightly smirk
[In light of Garrius' decision to remove the Consortium people from the Officer's section, how does that impact Trulich's offer to guard that section? Aren't his charges now elsewhere? Perhaps some section of the Lower Decks?]
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Post by Lt. Commander Zarkov »

Montresor wrote:Under instructions received from Duty Officer Mordia (and confirmed by Proctor Menz), Captain Trulitch is told to leave his shared-accomodation with Zarkov. Without protest, Trulitch gathers his few belongings and prepares to move them to the room he is to share with his fellow senior delegates.

The captain insists on sharing a drink with Zarkov before departing and, although he does not say much, it is clear that Trulitch considers the Lt. Cmdr with respect.

The night Trulitch leaves, Zarkov is plagued by dreams which leave him pallid and weary. The details escape him upon rising, but he remembers trailing clouds of crimson. Sails flap against a darkling sky and a dark presence haunts his psyche. Bile burns in Zarkov's throat when he wakes, and his head swims with the heady madness of unfathomable nightmares.
Zarkov sat on the edge of his bed, fighting the urge to light up a lho-stick to calm his nerves. He had given up the things years ago, but still had a pack on hand. Zarkov couldn't remember how old they were...probably too old, he thought. He got himself a glass of amasec instead.

The stuff Trulitch had acquired from Footfall was good quality, not that Zarkov overly cared. In one gulp the fiery spirit was gone, calming his nerves a little in the process. He reached for Fulvium's adamantium bottle, refilling it as he had done dozens of times before. He liked to think there might be a little of the original liquor left, the same vintage he and Fulvium had sipped so long ago on Scintilla. It had been so unusual to see the Captain planetside, in civilian clothes – Zarkov had barely recognised him at first…

By the time he had finished reminiscing his nightmare had retreated to the edges of his mind. Still, he did not feel he could sleep more this cycle. He got up and began to get dressed. As he donned his heavy navy tunic he glanced over to the empty room Trulitch had vacated the previous night. The man had been an honoured guest. It had been Zarkov’s decision to offer his quarters, not Mordia’s. The incompetent Duty Officer had not improved his habits, despite Zarkov’s rebukes. Twice he had been given the responsibility of handling the officer and Alid-Yuril accommodation, and twice he had bungled the job. News was now spreading that Mordia had snarled up the rationing as well, and the Invictus now had a mere two weeks of good food left. No wonder the Navy wouldn’t accept him, Zarkov thought. The man wasn’t fit to organise his own life, let alone make decisions that affected the lives of others.

Zarkov stalked down the hallways of the Invictus, looking for the Duty Officer. He found him lecturing a rating on the finer points of dress protocol.

“Duty Officer, a word.”

“I grow tired of hearing of your failings, Mordia. You pride yourself on being a stickler for protocol, yet your actions suggest otherwise. First I entrust you with billeting the officers, and you mishandle it, leading to Eyre’s outburst and his death. I don’t need to tell you I had no need for that incident, now that Peraton and his lackeys are out for my blood all the more.” Zarkov’s face darkened. “Then you evict an honoured guest from my personal cabin, without consulting me first. As you should have been aware, I offered my living space in an act of good faith, an act which you have sullied. Now I hear that in these desperate times you have squandered what little food we have left. Throughout this voyage you have shown yourself to be incapable of handling seemingly simple tasks. Be aware, I am very close to recommending you for summary trial for incompetence. I would advise you to review your actions and see your past failings, and ensure that they do not happen again! The captain will have the final say in this matter.”

With that, Zarkov stalked off.
Montresor wrote:Altercations
Teams of deaf, dust-caked and ragged gunnery crew wander the halls of the Invictus led by midshipmen loyal to Zarkov. Though they mostly keep to their operational region, they have often come across patrols of Armsmen who are disturbed that they are ‘wandering, apparently aimlessly and armed’. An incident on Sub-level 112-A saw a brawl break out between three Armsmen and six gunners when the Armsmen attempted to disarm them. As a result, there are now rising tensions between the two groups. Only Drak-Kung and Zarkov can respond to this.
Upon hearing news of the scuffle, Zarkov headed immediately to his section. Since transitioning from the warp the gunnery area had become a hive of activity, as ammunition was pre-emptively loaded in preparation for possible contacts in-system. The noise of ammunition trains and machinery was such that Zarkov had to temporatily shut off his aural implants. He signed to his officers, who would carry his message throughout the section:

ARMS TEAMS STAY WORK AREAS STOP

NO PATROLLING OUTSIDE WORK AREAS WITHOUT ORDERS STOP

ARMS TEAMS MUST DISARM IF PROMPTED BY REGULAR ARMS TEAMS STOP

THE GUNS MUST REMAIN SECURE STOP


His message relayed, he went to find Drak-Kung.
Last edited by Lt. Commander Zarkov on Sat Feb 12, 2011 12:25 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Lt. Commander Zarkov
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Post by Lt. Commander Zarkov »

Montresor wrote:Rough HandsTrulitch offers to use the Alid-Yuril security team for patrols. As there are only thirty of them and they need to stay close to Consortium staff, Trulitch suggests that they take over guard duties in the senior crew complex (including the bridge area), leaving the Armsmen there to attend to only damage control issues. Garrius Amphael, Zarkov and Andrea may respond to this (only Garrius can decide).
Despite Zarkov’s respect for Trulitch, he had heard enough from the guard captain about the discipline and attitudes of some of his men to be wary about posting them on the bridge.

[Zarkov advises against the use of Alid-Yuril security teams on the bridge, but supports their use in the senior crew complex and adjacent areas. Besides, as a naval officer he believes the bridge is a well oiled machine, and any changes in that area could affect that balance.]
Montresor wrote:Duranastil Navigator Julient informs Garrius Amphael that she plotted this course based off information that ‘that uncouth bridge officer with the painful accent’ supplied her with. There is some possibility that supplies might be found here. No response from the station answers any of Vehle’s attempts to communicate with them. There is no trace of any vessel in the system. Travelling to this moon will take about five Terran-standard days. Any character can have input here, but only Garrius can decide on the diversion.
“Lord-Captain, it seems we have little option but to inspect this station. Mordia has left us with precious little food at our disposal, within weeks we will be out of good supplies. Navigator, is there another system within two weeks stable warp travel from here?”
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Andrea Chan-Gauthier
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Post by Andrea Chan-Gauthier »

Montresor wrote:Rough Hands
Captain Gaius Trulitch, having listened to the suggestions of Lt. Cmdr Zarkov, approaches Lord-Captain Garrius Amphael with a suggestion. In light of recent stresses on the Armsmen and the Master-at-Arms, Trulitch offers to use the Alid-Yuril security team for patrols. As there are only thirty of them and they need to stay close to Consortium staff, Trulitch suggests that they take over guard duties in the senior crew complex (including the bridge area), leaving the Armsmen there to attend to only damage control issues. Garrius Amphael, Drak-Kung, Zarkov and Andrea may respond to this (only Garrius can decide).
Andrea mentions to Zarkov & Garrius (making sure not to do so within hearing of the Alid-Yuril people) her concerns. "Given their willingness to take advantage of situations, and that they've broken their words to do so... I am not comfortable with the Consortium being the only people with armed guards near the officers, senior officers, and the bridge. I hate to distrust our partners... it sets the wrong tone for our continued interactions later. However, they have proven that they are morally flexible."

"Right now, they are holding the family's reputation hostage. If they had physical control of the Lord-Captain... our position would be worse."
Montresor wrote:Duranastil
The Invictus has translated from the Warp on the edge of the Duranastil system. Navigator Julient informs Garrius Amphael that she plotted this course based off information that ‘that uncouth bridge officer with the painful accent’ supplied her with. There is some possibility that supplies might be found here. Marla Vehle performs a scan of astral bodies in the system and finds that, besides the tiny star, there are four planets. Three of these planets appear lifeless, though Duranastil-Providence-2 appears to have some kind of station on the icy surface of its only moon. No response from the station answers any of Vehle’s attempts to communicate with them. There is no trace of any vessel in the system. Travelling to this moon will take about five Terran-standard days. Any character can have input here, but only Garrius can decide on the diversion.
"It all comes down to probabilities. I suspect that the base is dead. Even if it's not dead, it doesn't seem large enough that it would give us much food. Perhaps if we attacked the base and took all of their food, we could get another few days or a week's worth of food. But any base big enough to give us enough food to warrant a visit must be supported by a planet. We know three of the planets are barren. The fourth is unknown."

"We have maybe fifteen days of food. If there's food on the fourth planet, we're fine. If there isn't, it will take us five days to get there, and five days to get back out of the system before we can translate to the Warp. After that, we'll have five days of food left to get us through the Warp to the next system, then into the system to wherever the food is. I would suggest that unless we perceive something now[/n] about the fourth planet that implies it's a likely place to find food, we shouldn't commit two thirds of our remaining food to the act of confirming."

"Unless, of course, there are no other systems within ten days travel by Warp, in which case this is our only hope, and we either find food on the fourth planet or we die. So we might as well head for the planet."

"So then, my questions:

1) What can we tell about the fourth planet from here?
2) Which other systems are in range through the Warp? And how likely are they to have supplies?"
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Post by Montresor »

Salt wrote: "Anybody knows anything else about Fips, you come down and talk to me about it. We'll talk in private, like, so nobody can hear me callin' anybody else a fool."
[This happens some time during the next cycle, while Salt has some rec time]

The suicide of Jeyd Fips sends fear stalking through the darkly-lit and narrow decks the Darksiders have come to call home. Berthmates stay close together and none are allowed to stray too far away on their own. Makeshift lights - stolen from other parts of the ship while none were looking - have been crammed into alcoves or hung awkwardly from girders, dispelling the gaunt shadows thought to lurk at the edge of eye-shot.

There are those who cling to the fact that Fips had been clearly depressed, insisting that it's the only rational explanation, though none can even hazard a guess as to what had depressed him. Russ becomes the target of all their fear-spent-as-anger. He should have looked out fer Fips, jus like Salt says. We all oughta do the same an' make sure none let this new life get to 'em.

Then there are those who can't believe Fips was depressed. They've heard talk of ghosts and worse things which dwell on ships in all of the quiet places. And then there's the dangers of travel through the Warp. Fips was no more crazy than none, an' more o' the sober type than most. No ways was Fips gonna do himself in like that without something work on 'im.

Salt is reclining, perhaps impatient that none have come to see her about Fips, when Russ enters, a scrunched work cap in his hands. Russ is wearing the filth-slick overalls he's taken to wearing while doing rounds in the Life Sustainers. His head hangs low and he can barely look Salt in the eyes.

He clears his throat, and has to do it twice before talking. 'Salt, err, I wanna say how sorry I am that I let yer down - that I let Fips down. You know he an' I were right good pals an' all. I though I were bein' his pal like jus' by lettin' him be . . . I guess I oughta known better'.

Russ steals a glance at Salt, hoping to see some kind of sympathy or forgiveness. He goes on. 'Thing is . . . truth be told, I mean . . . Fips weren't the only one. There's old Sallee Wirin - yer remember she lost her son back a few years in that Crosswater fight - she been mopin' about more than whats usual. An' there's Fet. I don't know it's nothin' or what but I seen 'im with bandaged wrists jus' recently.

'This the thing though. Since we err . . . what is it translated from the Warp, there aint no talk but about Fips bein' dead. Folks seem to be better. Fearful. Sad as hell, some . . . but better. Hard to put a finger right on it. Well . . . an' I feel better too. Like, I did me shift in the Sustainers today an', although Fips could'na bin with me, it right felt like he was. Like, when I were down checking some o' them drainage tunnels they gots, I felt like there were someone lookin' o'er me like a pal or summit.

'I don't got no more to say, an' I'm right sorry I done mes't up, but I jus' wanted to let yer know all this'.

Russ smiles, his lips shaking, and his eyes filling with tears.
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Post by Montresor »

The Command Deck of the Invictus is tense with the expectation of fevered activity. Though many keep about their work, particularly the communications officers working with Vehle amongst the Comms gantries, almost all wait nervously for some word from the Lord-Captain that may get them out of their current plight. Only Vehle devotes every ounce of her attention to her immediate task, manually running wide scans of the Duranastil system for any sign of life.
Lt. Commander Zarkov wrote:“Lord-Captain, it seems we have little option but to inspect this station. Mordia has left us with precious little food at our disposal, within weeks we will be out of good supplies. Navigator, is there another system within two weeks stable warp travel from here?”
Julient is in the Navigator's pit. No-one has seen Praetus for a whole day, while Du Preste is nearly as much a recluse. The vox-caster crackles and Julient replies: 'No'.

Seneschal Andrea Chan-Gauthier speaks, and the Bridge crew listen with fast-fading hope. Lieutenant Vehle continues with her scans, cursing occassionally under her breath.

Julient speaks again, her voice cold and a little agitated, almost as if the lack of enthusiasm for the Invictus's current location is an insult to her ability as a navigator. 'There is nowhere with certainty within two weeks. There are trade lanes, and we could send distress signals in the hope that someone might hear and have supplies to sell us. In any case, the charts indicate that this system has been used as a way-station for travellers. The last record I found was only five years old'.

Before anyone else can respond, Lieutenant Vehle announces across the vox-caster in answer to some of Andrea's queries: 'Duranastil-Providence II - a frozen world with no signs of obvious habitation. The atmosphere appears to be breathable. No responses are coming from the station on the moon, however, I believe that there are traces of the power still active. That's the best I can do. I'm sorry'.
"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 Andrea Chan-Gauthier »

"No other options, then. But if this was a waystation for travelers, it could be getting supplies from outside the system. Perhaps its worth inspecting. We have nothing else to do, I suppose."
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Post by Garrius Amphael »

Garrius listened to the council provided by his senior staff. He paused for a moment in thought before commenting.

"In response to Trulich, I to am uncomfortable with him and his men controlling the area. Suggest perhaps his men could be better suited to guarding the precious cargo. If times get tight I have no doubt that desperate men will make moves on the foodstuffs stored there.


As for our frozen world here, it would be folly not to look. Zarkov, bring us in closer so we may better view this world, and perhaps pay her a closer visit."
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Post by Lt. Commander Zarkov »

"Yes, Captain." Zarkov took the helm, directing the Invictus towards Duranastil-Providence-2. "Perhaps more life signs will appear as we get closer. The planetiod may yet have game to hunt."

He wondered what manner of creature would evolve on a moon dominated by ice, and thought how a nice Grox steak would ease his hunger pangs. He had refused to be exempt from rationing, never placing much stock in good food at the best of times. Now however, he was craving - meat in particular. The Invictus had run out of reconstituted Grox paste 5 days ago, which Zarkov blamed on Mordia. He doubted the reptilian creatures could survive on such a planet, hardy though they were.

"Continue your scans Vehle. I want regular reports over the coming days, pay particular attention to heat sources around the equator."

He realised they didn't even know if the moon had an atmosphere at all. Such was the way with scanners, always at the mercy of interference.

[Zarkov pilots the ship during the first day of the journey, then retires to let Tyor take over. He still has not seen the Master-at-Arms, and wishes to speak to him to resolve the situation.]
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Post by Montresor »

90th Day Since Embarkation (90 days until deadline)

Duranastil-Providence II stares blankly into the Void, a vast lidless ice-blue orb slowly orbiting around a tiny sun whose warmth barely touches her surface. A frozen moon is locked in a lifeless dance about the planet, circling its partner and waiting for the last splutter of light to signal the end of time. If not for a kilometre wide adamantium and rock-crete structure on its surface, there would be no trace that intelligent life had ever seen this tranquil and barren system.

Supplies have dwindled by nearly a third and an as yet unvoiced panic is growing in the hab-decks. Yet Vehle's persistent scanning has given some cause for hope. The equatorial regions of the ice world appear to have erratic concentrations of warmth and life. Unfrozen lakes dot the vast plains, and around these scans indicate that plant life competes with the frozen wastes for its own survival.

The way-station on Duranastil-Providence II's moon, although never responding to signals, clearly has power running at maximum levels through a third of its structure. The rest of the station looks frozen over and abandoned. A seven-storey statue of a robed figure leaning on a sword is encrusted in ice, its identity impossible to discern. Yet, that the way-station is of human origins is unmistakeable. The architecture suggests the chapels on Scintilla, and frozen vox-casters and an astronomic array loom above the structure.

The landing platform at the way-station is not large, and would only take two or three landers. Enginseer Metanus expresses concern as to whether it would still be structurally sound to accept that weight. There is little atmosphere on the moon, and jagged needle like slivers of ice and rock pierce the sky across its entire surface.

Seen through the great glass windows of the Bridge, Duranastil-Providence II is a vision of bleak beauty. Tyor steadies the Helm while the Invictus locks itself into orbit of the planet. Vehle continues her scans, now attempting to discern the structural layout of the way-station. Gulliame Du Preste has emerged from the Navigator's Pit in order to gaze at the world before him. Whether his corpse face registers wonder or fear is impossible to know.

Tyor is unmoved, his cold eyes looking upon the planet as if it were no more noteworthy or promising than the ratings he passes everyday. 'Lord-Captain, Lieutenant Commander,' he addresses both Garrius and Zarkov, also pausing to nod at Andrea, 'if I may speak frankly - the situation is grave, and we have gambled a lot to reach this destination. If we were to find that neither the moon or the world held supplies for us we would not be able to survive as we are. I suggest we select all exploration teams from known troublemakers and undesireables of the crew. If there was some danger and loss of life, it would be better for us to not have to feed the untrustworthy'.

Those who care to glance up at Lieutenant Vehle see her glaring at Tyor, before shaking her head and returning to her work in the gantries.
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Post by Lt. Commander Zarkov »

A ghost of a smile passed Zarkov's features at Tyor's comment. He never failed to be impressed at the man's ruthless nature. Cold logic and brutality was all he knew. Zarkov was also quietly impressed at his foresight. Already Tyor was preparing for a mutiny, taking action to mitigate the spread of dissent through the vessel. Zarkov felt sorry to have to disagree with him.

"A fine dictum helmsman, to be sure." He gave Tyor a knowing look. "Though unfortunately flawed, as what trust could we place in the exploration efforts of malcontents and liars?" He sighed. "No, the search teams should consist of a core of competent crewmembers, volunteers if possible. It would not do to press-gang groups of troublemakers to carry out such a difficult, not to mention vital task. I have no objection to some of these...undesirables going along too, but I believe they need a balancing force. Perhaps they could make up the numbers; I can't imagine we'll have many volunteers for that." Zarkov motioned to the barren moon, gleaming like a polished skull against the blackness of space.
Last edited by Lt. Commander Zarkov on Wed Feb 16, 2011 12:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Montresor »

'Of course, Lieutenant Commander,' Tyor nods, 'but I meant under the supervision of officers. But you are correct. Too bad there are no former naval commissars in the crew. I will volunteer to lead any team to either the planet or the moon. Give me two officers with sidearms and I can garuntee I'll hold the worst bilge-scum in line'.

Sterr the Unborn marches from under the shadows of an arch. Although his eyes see nothing, his soul-bonding with the Emperor allows him to perceive all. One of his strong hands, still marked with the tribal tattoos of his homeworld, motions at a holo-pict of the way-station. 'I will need to go to the astronomic array there. This frozen waste may clutch at the song of my brethren. Xholoten steals voices when the ice winds catch them up'. Sterr makes a sign with a free hand, while the other clutches an icon of the Emperor. A midshipman moves away from the Astropath nervously.

Gulliame Du Preste glances side-long at Sterr, watching him for a moment before searching the Void once more for another glimpse of the tiny moon.
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Post by Andrea Chan-Gauthier »

"Lieutenant Vehle, what do our scans of the planet tell us? Are there any signs of habitation there? Perhaps while some are down scouting the base, which now clearly has inhabitants, others may head to the planet and see what supplies can be found there. It would certainly be preferable to find supplies that had already been processed for shipping, but we may need to handle the processing ourselves."

[I assume that since we're in orbit around the planet, we're within shuttle distance of both the equatorial surface AND the base on the moon. Since the moon base platform can hold only three shuttles... we could send other shuttles to the planet's surface to see if they happen to have great herds of large plains bovines. Imagine the bison herds of the American Old West. You know, before my ancestors hunted them nearly to extinction.]
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Post by Montresor »

Andrea Chan-Gauthier wrote:"Lieutenant Vehle, what do our scans of the planet tell us? Are there any signs of habitation there? Perhaps while some are down scouting the base, which now clearly has inhabitants, others may head to the planet and see what supplies can be found there. It would certainly be preferable to find supplies that had already been processed for shipping, but we may need to handle the processing ourselves."
Moments pass while Vehle silently labours at her section, directing her subordinates to conduct scans, and doing so herself. She does not turn to look at the Bridge staff far below her, instead fixedly studying numerous displays and data-crypts.

Over the vox-comm, she announces: 'No signs of any kind of habitation, either city, town, or village. It looks highly unlikely that the planet could support developed life without monumental effort . . . however, an in depth analysis of the equatorial regions seems to suggest that some kind of wildlife might be able to live down there.

'The temperature appears too extreme in any other region of the planet, and I'm guessing that survival in void-suits would only be possible for a few hours -'

As Vehle speaks, Metanus and another tech-priest begin a fevered exchange in binary, both watching the communications officer high above.

' - the equatorial regions are anomalous. I think there may be volcanic activity, or some other cause, which has substantially raised the temperature there. It still appears to be very cold . . . even in the warmer regions'.

A central holo-pict crypt on the Bridge floor whirrs with ancient life, its machine-spirit rattling from ill-use. Vehle uses the device to display a large projection of the planet, which makes the two tech-priests increase the pace of their binary-speak. The ethereal vision of the cold blue world runs like water on a canvas, enhancing and enhancing until one of the equatorial lakes can be hazily seen. There appears to be a frozen mountain range bordering one side of the lake, while an incongrously dull-green steppe-land surrounds the other. The lake looks to be vast, still, and indomitable.

[You're correct - the Invictus is positioned so that both the planet and the moon could be attempted at once. The moon is not so far from the planet as our own, but would probably take half a day to reach in landers. You could be on the surface of Duranastil-Providence II in only one or two]
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Post by Drak-Kung »

"Lord Amphael, with your permission, I would accompany the expedition tot eh base. I judge that to be a riskier undertaking, and as such my talents most likely to make a difference in any....untoward happenings."
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Post by Andrea Chan-Gauthier »

"I have some training with ancient systems. I may be able to help us discover the inhabitants, if there are any. With your permission, I would like to accompany the party to the base. And if there is anything there to be purchased, I can begin negotiations immediately."

"If there's any food to be had on the planet, it would need to be hunted. I'd be of no help with that, I'm sure."
Revere the Emperor; Honour the name of Amphael, holders of the Sacred Warrant of Trade.

Blessed be the Imperium of Man; blessed be the Sacred Writ.
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Salt
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Post by Salt »

"The Darksiders go where the Amphael needs us. But I reckon none of us ever seen a planet from down on the ground. That might not go too well, if you catch my meanin'. There'd be a whole mess of Void-born scum cryin' on like little girls, calling out 'Oh, lookit' all that space.' It'd be right pathetic."

"As Lt. Peraton's representative on the bridge, I'd like to take some of those assault landers we salvaged from the pirates, and use 'em to shuttle extra people down to the moon base. They can punch through walls an' keep the Void sealed out. We might need that, if the landing platforms ain't stable. And if there's food down there, the more ships we got in the air, the faster the crew gets fed."

I try real hard to hide my accent for a bit, "Personally, I'd consider it an honor to accompany his reverence the Unborn while he inspects the astronomic array. I've worked on a few of them in my day. I might could help him get it workin'." The accent comes back by the time I'm done talkin'.
"For the Amphael!"
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Montresor
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Post by Montresor »

[Although Salt's idea to use the assault torpedoes to bring extra ratings to the station is a good one, they require launching from torpedo tubes (which the Invictus does not currently have). They would require refitting at a suitable facility to be rigged for any other kind of use.

Lt. Peraton takes Lt. Cmmdr Zarkov and roughly 200 Armsmen and ratings to the surface of the planet while Salt leads three converted naval lander shuttles to the moon. Amongst the three score of people who disembark on the station's decrepit landing pad are Drak-Kung, Salt, Andrea, Sterr, Enginseer Metanus, and Lieutenant Tyor. Tyor and two helmsmen noted for their brutal and incorruptible characters lead roughly 20 reluctant looking ratings. The rest are an equal mix of ratings and Armsmen. All of those who disembarked on the station are wearing fully enclosed Void Suits
]

The frozen atmosphere of the jagged and lifeless moon of Duranastil-Providence II is silent, still, unwelcoming. The tomb like structure of the way-station rests encrusted with ice. Although records indicate that travellers were here at least once in the last decade, the place gives the impression of having been abandoned for centuries and consigned to its frozen oblivion.

A horizon of needled crags spans while the mazework crevasses, cliffs, and dead gorges surround every other avenue. Only the way-station punctuates the vast nothing of this bleak landscape, yet it appears equally dead and unforgiving.

[Enginseer Metanus has no trouble at all opening a vault-cog beside a loading chamber, and all that wish to can enter the station itself. However, the weight of three landers on the pad seems to be causing some stress, and the tech-priest advises that at least one shuttle be launched immediately. Regardless, those that press on encounter this:]

The central loading chamber functions as a grand entrance hall to the gothic splendour of the station. Dimly pulsing lumen-globes perched in the hands of stone children provide some light to the vastness below them. A lifeless expanse of rock-crete, lined with rusted and still servitors, as well as dozens of ashen braziers leads for hundreds of metres into darkness. Vaulted arches, in classic Imperial style, loom several storeys overhead, still holding their enormous burden without any sign of weakness.

Where loading tracks veer into sealed antechambers, the central hall follows towards a staircase a hundred metres wide. Beyond the staircase lies the central access vault, and the walls before it are lined with spluttering cogi-vaults and data-crypts. The great access vault itself, large enough to admit a Guard company standing shoulder-to-shoulder, is wreathed in dust. Just discernible as a line beneath the dust are painted the words:

'TENDER ARE THE MERCIFUL;
BUT TO PITY IS TO SIN'
"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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Salt
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Post by Salt »

I order the two other pilots to launch their shuttles right away. They should go park somewhere on the moon's surface. Somewhere close by, close enough to be contacted by vox if we need to escape. There should be someone stable with each pilot. After Fips, I don't want nobody left alone.

My shuttle is the only one left on the platform. Hope that's enough so the thing won't collapse.

I got my jump pack on, with my bolter and las-pistol worn forward, and my mono-sword on my hip. Inside my void-suit, my ship's token is inside my face plate, so I can always kiss it in need. I'd thought of having it on my wrist, inside the suit, but it might get in the way of using my hands. So it's up here by my face.

"Honored Enginseer, are there comms here? Can we talk to anyone?"

I look around the place. If this is a loading bay, there's gotta be some kind of ground vehicles around here.
"For the Amphael!"
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Drak-Kung
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Post by Drak-Kung »

A frown marring my features..."I recognize those words....an act of pity by an Admiral, long ago, allowed a large number of worshippers of the Ruinous Powers to escape a world targeted for Exterminatus. He thought he was being merciful, not knowing the nature of those he was sparing. Perhaps this place was settled, or built, or occupied by those cultists. Or perhaps this is simply from one who saw the results of that misplaced pity, as a general admonishment. Extra caution seems wise."
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