In response to Cimbria's attempt to coax some information out of him, the Commissar scowls and says, "I've made it quite clear that I have no more information. If you wish to conduct your investigations, then take them elsewhere. I am a very busy man, and both events of late and the Inquisition's arrival are not helping."
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The quartermaster is a large, middle-aged man. His bulk comes not from a rotund build, but rather one that suggests a life-time of physical activities. He also seems to be missing a part of his nose, most likely blown off in an explosion given the scarring on his face.
When you arrive at his tent, he says, "You must be the Inquisition, milords and ladies? Yes, yes, the Commissar told me of your arrival. I've already taken the liberties of preparing your packs. Everything you need has been included in the packs on the table."
On an adjacent table, there are backpacks with an assortment of items. Inside of them are 15 meters of tough rope, 4 electric torches, 3 days of rations and canteens of water for each character.
Were hoping you had some flamer weapons to spare. Simmins says. Whatever's down there needs burning seems like
Dia raises one of her eyebrows. "This isn't as much of back up equipment as it is a gift for the departed," she states in a deadpan tone. "Surely you've got something that packs at least a little bit more of a punch?"
The quartermaster shrugs indifferently. "That's all I've got. And flame weapons are kept under lock and key due to promethium shortages. I haven't got any to spare."
As Simmins and the others (Vector and Dia) begin to haggle with the quartermaster, Titus breaks off from the group and heads in the direction of the rumored Seal.
It takes about thirty minutes for the tech-priest to walk on foot to where the seal cuts off the Mines from the surface. As he travels, he sees more signs of fighting, more torn earth, shattered buildings and the wreckage of unrecognizable equipment. The planet is quite cold, and the wind is razor sharp as it cuts across their path. When they near the end of their walk, the characters spot pockets of miners sitting around small fires made from dung, salvaged wood, and even plastic, causing poisonous fumes to fill the air. The miners are all forlorn, sporting an appalling number of defects and deformities, as well as plenty of injuries.
The seal itself measures 30 metres in diameter and is held in place with thick clamps that grasp the stone on all sides. Embossed on the center is the great doubleheaded eagle of the Imperium that seems to stare down at the Acolytes as if judging them. Scaffolding to the right of the seal leads up to a small post where an attendant can lock or unlock the clamps with a throw of a switch. However, the weight and shape of the seal suggests that beasts of burden are required to actually move the cover off of the entrance.
The miners do their best to look inconspicuous, steadfastly refusing to meet Titus' piercing and introspective gaze.
Cimbria returns to the rest of the group in the Q-M tent.
Heyo, so the Commissar claims he has nothing else to offer, but...he didn't specifically say we couldn't ask around from the other soldiers and such. Cimbria follows her speech up with a conspiratorial wink.
Any luck with the standard issue rounds? Or dum-dums? Or shotgun shells? @The Quartermaster What d'ya say friend? Can you offer up some rounds to keep a girl safe?
Titus sits down near the seal, in plain view of everyone, and pulls out two bottles of booze. Placing one at what is considered a safe cultural bubble based on the cold weather understanding and taking sips from the other hoping that some poor soul would take the chance to have a drink.
The quartermaster frowns. "That is all I'm authorized to give you, milady. If you wish to seek more supplies, then I suggest talking with the Commissar."
None of the workers dare approach you, too busy shooting each other furtive glances of apprehension and fear. They know you're off-world, and that you're Inquisition. The myths and stories in their minds have completely overrides what you see as a friendly gesture.
Vector looks at the quartermaster with a frown.
"Does the Commissar often make it a habit to delay the inquisition or prevent them in their work? That sounds dangerously close to something the inquisition would need to look into, possibly punish. More so if our mission fails and this uwillingness to aid is noted as a reason."
Well that figures. I really need to come in without the inquisitorial strong arms next time.