Misguided Souls - Dark Heresy

Game Master Fusebox

"If this was really the first time something like this had happened, it really wouldn't be standard practice for my servants to all be trained in firearms, close combat, and general death dealing. No, assassination attempts are not uncommon in the life of an important highborn, they're just usually slightly more... subtle about it I guess.

Uriel, as you quickly pilfer's her dead comrade's body, she notices a glint of gold hidden beneath the cleric's robes. You recognises it immediately as the Inquisitorial sigil you've all been given.

Havelock blushes a little before speaking again.
"No...I...I...I...meant, might this not have been an isolated incident? Might it have been part of a co-ordinated strike that took place in more than one place?"

Realizing the importance of the inquisitorial seal and the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands, Uriel quickly slips Burgos' sigil into her pocket.

With no objections from my comrades, I'll also help myself to the items previously mentioned.

If you're taking a weapon, you may take up to four full magazines with it.

"I see... I suppose that's a possibility. Time will tell I guess, if more attacks such as this take place then we are sure to hear of it. Until then, Julius, Torald, allow Gunther to escort you to the medical ward. You will have to spend the night there I'm afraid. The rest of you... I suppose you should retire to the guest chambers as well. This event seems to have just caused me a good deal of paperwork and screaming over the vox I'm afraid. We'll convene in the morning and have our debriefing then. Until such time, I must beg my leave."

With that Harlus turns on his heals and saunters down the hallway, grumbling under his breath all the way. Lending a shoulder to Julius, Gunther then escorts the two wounded men to the medical ward. There you are placed on beds and put under for the night to be tended to by machinery featuring many knives and syringes.

As for the rest of you, you loiter about the lobby for several moments before another servant, a female this time with a shaved head and donning plain red robes approaches and instructs you all to follow her to the guest chambers. You follow her on a short journey upstairs, coming to a halt at the end of a hallway. "A room for each of you has been provided my lords. I have been instructed to inform you that dinner will be delivered to your rooms within the hour, and that if you find yourself in need of anything whilst in our care, each room has a vox near the door that can be used to reach me. Simply ask for Marris, and I will come as swiftly as I can."

Uriel watches her two comrades being led off to the medical ward sympathetically, sad that the benevolence of the Machine God has been denied them. With luck, more serious injuries in the future will make some kind of mechanical augmentation a necessity.

She turns to regard Marris, wondering if her attire has any significance.

"Excuse me. Is there any chance I could get my clothes laundered? There was a little mishap on the shuttle down, and the gunfight's also made a mess of this dress Gunther found for me."

Uriel then spends the evening in her room, tinkering with Burgos' crossbow and trying to work out how to modify it so that it could fire grenades rather than bolts*. She also investigates her chambers for any mechanical gizmos that might interest her. After a while, she goes to sleep.

*Would this be possible, GM Fusebox? What kind of resources/funds would I require.

Torald let's Gunther lead him to the medical ward and lays himmself in the machinery to be treated by it.

Cereila, shocked by the amount of blood pooled around Burgos' body, was hesitant to join in the looting of the guard's bodies. Finally she overcame her fears and descended, taking one of the smgs in her hands.

When Marris comes to take her to her room, Cerelia sighs inwardly in relief, a quiet place to meditate would be greatly appreciated.

Once in his private room, Havelock places the weapons he have appropriated on a table, and the lorebooks he was reading before the attack on another.
It's not long before the place is a complete mess of clutter, with every weapon dissembled in its component parts as he picks them apart, examines them fully and puts them together repeatedly.
And on occasion he pauses to take notes, peruse the books or eat a little.
All in all, Havelock keeps himself very busy, trying in his own way to forget the earlier unpleasantness.

Uriel, can I get a tech use roll? If you've got any ideas as to how you'd go about doing this, I shall apply any relevent modifiers.

"This is a service that we can provide my lady. Your clothes will be ready by morning. Please enjoy your evening everyone, and do not hesitate to ask for anything. I can assure you that whatever it is we are more than capable of rendering it."

With that, Marris departs. Each of you quickly settles into your rooms, go about your evening business, and eventually get around to sleeping. In the morning you are each awoken by a soft knocking on your door and the voice of Marris. She informs you that breakfast will be served in the dining hall soon and that Harlus requests you be present. You note however that it is still in fact quite dark out, but despite of this you all feel very well rested, regardless of how late you decided to stay up.

In the med bay, Julius and Torald are awoken by a man in red robes with an augmatic arm bristling in syringes and tools for incision. He wordlessly eyes you for a few moments, types a few words onto a datapad, and gives you the same spiel as Marris gave those upstairs. Both of you feel immensely hungry.

Torald then withdraws on his room and lays himself on his bed waiting for his meal. When it arrives and he's finished with it, he will take care for his equipment and then go to beed.

Uriel ponders the crossbow of the dead Burgos, trying to work out how she can modify it. Hmmm, one of the cups from my bodice might work well as a cradle for a grenade. I'll also need to widen the flight groove and the riser to accommodate the larger sized missile.

Incorporating a cup to hold grenades onto the bow string, then building some flanges into either side of the main body to ensure the missile remains on target when fired. Uriel will flagrantly cannibalize anything in her room that she can put to use; after all, it's all the Emperor's service, and surely Harlus wouldn't begrudge her the damage when he sees her ingenious new weapon.

tech roll: 1d100 ⇒ 18

If she makes any kind of progress, she'll spend some time carefully testing her new acquisition. A bar of soap from the bathroom might double as a grenade substitute for this experimentation. Uriel wants to make sure that she's not going to end up with a primed grenade plopping down in the dirt in front of her.

Come morning, Uriel goes down to breakfast in her freshly laundered robes.

Julius rises from his bed and stretches, getting clothed and performing his morning rituals.

As he finishes, he gives Torald a nod and leaves for the dining hall.

Uriel lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering what secrets might be revealed in tomorrow's meeting with Harlus.

DM Fusebox, am I right in assuming the red robes worn by Harlus' staff are simply his house colours, or do they indicate some affiliation with the Tech-Priests of Mars?

Mindful about the possibility of another attack, Havelock makes sure he caries his stub revolver securely before moving to join the others in the dining hall.
"I...I...I...trust you all slept well? I...I...I...have no complaints myself."

"Very restfully," replies Uriel. She's developing a fondness for the stuttering Havelock. Unfortunately, with no mouth with which to smile and a body bristling with mechanical implants, it's sometimes difficult to express friendliness.

"So," she asks, with a typical lack of tact "How did you find your way into the service of the . . , err, well the . . . uhm, you know, our bosses . . ?"

Quite taken aback by the sudden interest in his past, Havelock pauses, thinking rapidly.
"Well...I...I...I...did not really have a choice, I...I...I...had a...Altercation with a superior at the Schola."

At the word "superior", Havelock throws a quick glance at Sister Vesta, before looking down at his nervously fidgeting hands.

The robes, while of a similar hue, do not appear to have relation to the mechanicus.

Uriel, you have managed to fashion yourself an a device capable of launching a grenade approximately 50 meters. However, it appears to suffer a slow reload time (2 rounds), has dubious reliability (unreliable) and is difficult to aim accurately (inaccurate). You've managed to fashion it in such a way that the grenade need not be primed and it can be stored loaded. You believe however with better equipment, time and materials you may improve the weapon.

You eventually all saunter down to meet your host in the dining hall, and find yourselves greeted by a great table stretching from one end of the hall to the other. Most if it's empty, but the area near the head at the far end is covered in platters of food and is set for each of you. As you take your seats Harlus greets you with a warm smile, and welcomes you to dig in.

As the last of you file in and sit, your host begins, "Where to start, where to start... Beyond a fond welcome of course! A shame about yesterday, but it's but a minor setback I can assure you. Now... Well I guess if you've any questions about the events of yesterday, and as to the situation on the planet, you may ask now."

Thanks for your welcome and this rich meal. First I would like to know, what you think of the two fractions of this civil war

Thanks for the info on the crossbow, Fusebox.

Perhaps a little too late, Uriel realises her prying into Havelock's past has left the man uncomfortable, and drops the subject, instead turning her attention to their host.

"I agree with Torald. The information we received before making planetfall was reputedly out of date. A roster of the key players in the conflict would be a good start, plus your best judgement on what motivates them. Which factions are most likely to agree to temper their warmongering?"

"Furthermore, anything you can offer concerning the offworld mercenaries that have been drawn into the conflict would be illuminating. Where do they hail from, and who's been responsible for hiring and making contact with them?"

Uriel ponders Harlus. So this is the Inquisition's agent on this sorry planet. He doesn't seem like much. I wonder what the bluster obscures. Or perhaps this man is just a decoy, a Harlus for the moment.

Gunther certainly handled himself well in the gun battle. I wonder whether he's really just a butler . . .

Havelock picks at the food, deep in thought, not really paying much attention to the taste at first.
When he does notice he frowns a little.
Such rich taste, not at all like the food at the schola...the rich like to dine well, just because they can.

Though the room provided was comfortable, Cerelia did not sleep well. Plagued by dreams, reliving her "failure" in the previous day's action, she found it necessary to rise a number of times and engage in some deep meditation exercises to calm her mind.

When dawn broke, Cerelia was relieved that the night was over, gathered her things and decended to the dining hall.

Dawn has yet to break, it's still quite dark out, despite what feels like a full night passing.

Havelock picks idly at the food for a few more moments, the silence begins to feel oppressive, and yet he hesitates to speak, not wanting to be the one to fill the silence.
Eventually he cannot stop himself.

"I...I...I...am not familiar with the cycles of weather on this planet, but I...I...I...believe it is shaping up to be a fine day, ideal for starting an...Investigation."

Uriel taps her metallic chin impatiently and waits for Harlus to answer her and Torald's questions.

Walking into the dining hall, Cerelia is surprised by how dark it still is. Pausing in confusion, she shakes her head then takes a place at the table as Uriel questions their host.

"Well, where to begin with this... Currently House Kleito has got its back to the wall in the western mountains. They've driven Lady Vira's advance to a halt there via a series of mountain forts, and it would appear that the front won't be budging any time soon. Governor Kail has been getting a fairly steady supply of well drilled line gunners from houses whose lands have been untouched by war, men whom are at least worth two of any given man House Apollonios fields, but Lady Vira's begun importing some fairly hefty artillery as of late, which has been inflicting very heavy casualties upon their targets. Where her men and arms come from... well that depends. She's gotten moderate support from other houses but incredible support from the territories she controls; about half her force consists of half armed hordes of peasants with rusty farm guns and improvised blades. The other half is a real menagerie: purchased criminals from a nearby penal colony, several professional outfits who showed up once the fighting began, several she contacted personally... Hell, she's enlisted a small fleet of trade ships to ferry recruits from nearby hive worlds. Basically if you can think of a why and how they're here, then there's a group fighting for her that fits that description."

As for who I've thrown my chips behind... Bah! Damned traitors the both of them. But alas, my lands lie right the firing line, and as such I had to jump aboard the train that wasn't invading. So Kleitos has been receiving a modest influx of soldiers and supplies from me... or at least the governor was before my lands were over run. Now I've been forced to sit on my hands for the duration, giving my support only in council. Frankly I prefer it this way, far cheaper to pay war taxes with thrones than with the blood of good Imperial men, both on the coffers and the soul."

"I suppose you would like more detail on the rabble rousers though... Well Governor Keil I can only describe as a smug, self righteous cunt. Believes it's his right to rule and will stop at nothing until he's the only one left at the top. He's arrogant, lacks any semblance of tactical wit, and the only reason he stands a chance is because he's got a few powerful friends sticking around because the man who came before him was a better leader than a father. As for Lady Vira... she's nothing but a two faced b+@%~. She preaches that her rule will bring fairness to the common folk, release them from the chains placed upon them by centuries of rule under house Kleitos. I know her better than that, I've heard her opinions of the lower folk on many occasion and I can assure you that freedom is not something she intends to provide. She wants power just as much as Keil does and she's just as determined to never yield."

"Short of assassination, which I'm sure has been explained to you is completely off the table, one might wonder how a motley group of undercover inquisitorial agents could possibly end this horrid situation. I believe I have the answer however. One of my dear colleagues, Bastille Boldr, a man with connections to both houses, has managed to broker a brief cease fire between the warring houses. During this time, peace negotiations will take place at Governor Keil's stronghold. I propose that we attend, and use the occassion ruin one of the warmonger's standing."

"If the choice were yours, Harlus," asks Uriel "Who'd you rather see on the throne at the end of all this? Who would better serve the Imperium in the long run, Keil, Vira, or someone else entirely?"

And whether where your own political ambitions might lie?

Opposed Scrutiny check to see how far Harlus can be trusted
1d100 ⇒ 28 Successful roll against my own Perception skill, Harlus' results notwithstanding.

"What kind of scandal would be grave enough to ruin their standing enough to disrupt the future of the war?" continues Uriel.

"If push comes to shove, then house Apollonios should be the one that takes the seat of power. At least Lady Vira has some damned sense in her head, and anyone else is too far removed from the bloodline to rise unopposed in these turbulent times. As for the scandal... the possibilities are endless..." a smile the likes of which you've yet to see stretches across Harlus' face, and a sense of dread falls about you. "Should evidence of the damning sort appear in Lord Keil's fortress, it'd certainly be enough to put him out of the picture. And it wouldn't exactly be a surprising find, the boy's father was always the secretive sort, rumors always fluttered about the upper circles... only rumors though. Or perhaps if yesterday's assassination attempt could be attributed to one of the parties, for to raise one's hand to the inquisition, even unknowingly, is a crime no man is above. Whatever it is, whatever is trumped up or uncovered, it must be enough to warrant a hasty arrest and hastier execution whilst leaving the other person in a position to fill the void of the other's departure."

Uriel, since you lack the skill it's taken at half your characteristic. Regardless you detect that he's putting on a bit of a face, but you're unable to tell if he's outright lying.

While Uriel questions Harlus, Torald watches carefuly Harlus face with the eye of an trained investigator.

Scrutinity (33): 1d100 ⇒ 10 -> 2 degrees of success

Torald, you feel that while his politeness seems to be somewhat forced, he doesn't appear to be lying.

And it wouldn't exactly be a surprising find, the boy's father was always the secretive sort, rumors always fluttered about the upper circles... only rumors though

"Would you care to expand upon these . . . rumours? What, exactly did the whispers concern?"

"Most of them would be completely irrelevant for our purposes, however there was always talk that he enjoyed collecting things of a perverse and dark nature... Things outlawed for the good of humanity."

"Has Lady Vira considered the possibility that the meeting might be a trap? At the same time though, she wouldn't dare enter her nemesis' stronghold. Not without something to ensure her safety."

Finding that at the moment he has nothing to add to the talks, Havelock instead makes meticulous notes about every question posed, the answer it receives as well as any information offered.

Things outlawed for the good of humanity.

Heresy? If what Harlus suggests is true, bringing about peace on this planet becomes secondary to finding and eliminating the taint . . .

Uriel doesn't let her concern show. Instead she responds

"I think therein lies our line of investigation, unless my good companions have other ideas . . ."

Unfortunately not.

"The woman is no fool, so I can only imagine she's more than prepared for such an event. And besides, I do not believe that Keil would be so reckless. He still has a chance, however small, at winning this war; To assassinate his stepmother would be to throw this entire world into a civil war, and put his position at even greater risk. There are too many feuds she holds back, too many power voids she fills... Anyway, we shall discuss the specifics of our plot later, what is important now is how we will go about getting you in. I see some of you would very easily blend in as nobles. Julius, while I do not recognise your name I your stature is that of a highborn, as is yours Torald. You will easily pass as friends of friends The rest of you however... I hate to be so... hmm what word would be appropriate... Bah! The effect simply would not be as organic with you. An alternative must be found..."

Havelock is so taken aback at what is most likely an unintended piece of comedy that he snorts a half strangled laugh when Harlus mentions "organic" in relation to Uriel.

"I...I...I...do believe that most highborn leaves the running of estates and other such menial tasks to a trusted seneschal.
Not to be arrogant but I...I...I... should be well suited for such a role."

"Well, we could try a disguise," Uriel suggest lamely "Although I haven't had much luck with outfits since beginning this mission."

It's clear that with her various mechanical augmentations, not least the lower part of her face made entirely of metal and the artificial tones of her vox-box, disguising Uriel's allegiance to the Tech Priests will not be easy.

"Or perhaps I can be of more help out of sight. If you can sneak me in somewhere where I can access the fortress' surveillance equipment and databanks, I might be able to dredge up some useful information."

"Failing that, I could pose as a broker of banned arms. The word of a tech priest goes a long way to legitimizing questionable weaponry and battlefield equipment. Still, that might not be a welcome face at a supposed peace treaty. Tell us more of their vices. I have some experience in how technological means can be used to artificially stimulate organic pleasure centres. Perhaps one of these warlords, or at the very least one of their allies, has some fetishistic desires we could exploit."

Uriel's rigid, pouting mouth gives little indication of whether she feels any shame in discussing such provocative ideas with relative strangers.

Though proud of her Sanctioning mark, Cerelia realizes that it would give her away in any effort to pose as someone else.

"I would need some sort of cosmetics to disguise my Sanctioning mark. she says, reaching up to touch the Emperor's mark upon her cheek.

Julius stiffens slightly at Harlus' statement, before he recomposes himself.

"There's also the matter of weaponry and tools. The guards would never allow us to carry ours inside. We'd either need to procure them at the meeting or carry concealable gear."

"Precisely what I was thinking Havelock! I shall loan my entourage to Keil for the duration of the event, and from there you shall be able to roam about the premisses unhindered, able to perform whatever is required to complete our task. Disguises will of course be provided in full, weapons however... Weapons are not to be carried by any but the lords themselves, but some concealable weapons may be smuggled in if the right palms are greesed and the right eyes averted."

"Would Keil view a Tech-Priest as part of your entourage suspiciously?" asks Uriel.

Havelock as seneschal eh? I like the man, but the whole operation will be resting on his shoulders. Is a man who labours so over simply getting a sentence out up to the task?

some concealable weapons may be smuggled in

I trust you've got some good supplies of 'concealable weapons'?" adds Uriel.

"Oh of course my good priestess, no good politician goes without them!" Harlus lets out a long, hearty laugh, even going so far as to clutch his belly. "Pistols, knives, disguised weapons, every assassin's dream."

"Now, I should debrief you on the party itself. Prominent figures from both sides will be present, as well as a plethora of minor nobles, and those few who've thrown their chips into this conflict, such as me. All told, fifty or so people, roughly evenly divided along both sides, as well as whatever retinue each person brings. On top of that, the castle will be well garrisoned and well staffed, so keep in mind that we will be far from alone there, and care must be taken in all things."

"The operation will proceed as such: We will arrive the day before and settle in, get our lay of the land and station ourselves nicely within Keil's workforce and entourage. It will be an ideal time for investigation, though I must recommend you not stick your nose too deep. With the guards undistracted with the party, you will be never be far from prying eyes. The opposing side will arrive early evening the following night and will assemble in the dining hall. There will be several hours of mingling, followed by a formal dinner, and finally private negotiations between the Lady and the Lord. By midnight the event should be winding down, and within a few hours both sides will depart. We have a very narrow window in which we can strike, so all care and caution must be taken beforehand."

"Is it uncommon to see sanctioned psykers on the staff of this planets' nobles?" Cerelia asks around a dainty mouthful of food

Uriel can't help but wring her hands together in excitement at the prospect of examining Harlus' collection of concealable weaponry. Since joining the Inquisition, it she's quickly begun to develop a fetish for instruments of war.

"So what evidence of the 'damning sort' do you have in mind? I'm afraid I haven't got a strong enough grasp of this world's politics to imagine what might be of sufficient weight to oust a man from power."

If there's any food of a liquid nature, Uriel will suck it up with her throat tube.

"Well certainly heretical materials are out the question. To even find them would be problematic, let alone handling them and still coming out with clean hands... No, we must somehow 'prove' that one of them has wilful intentions to harm or hinder the Imperium. Communiques claiming upon their victory they intend to seceded from the the control of Terra would be an extreme example."

"I...I...I see.
Like indications that they were going to use funds meant as taxes for holy Terra to pay for their own private wars...?"

This means, that we have to get access to her documents. This won't be easy.

Uriel leans back and let's the others take the lead in the conversation a while, turning her attention to a bowl of porridge with her throat tube.

This whole mission might be a waste of time anyway, she ponders, for if there's any truth to these rumours of heretical dabblings, then the fate of this whole planet could be forfeit . . .