[Rogue Trader] We Be Pirates IC

[Henry the 57th]

The blazing white light of Furibundus beats down upon a mighty macrostatue of the God-Emperor, while the vicious Warp storms that endlessly gnaw upon the perilous edges of the Maw rage but a knife's edge away. And yet, the sad stone gaze of the colossus is reserved for the endless multitude of His wayward children swarming below. His eyes fall upon multitudes of asteroids, chunks torn from long-dead Space Hulks, and the shattered wreckage of once-mighty void ships all hang together in one enormous mass, bound by a paradoxically delicate yet endlessly adaptable web of chains, tunnels, and ornate bridges of unknown make, all bathed in stellar radiation and the manifold corruptions of the Warp. Inside, the harsh tang of rusting iron blends with the sweat of uncounted masses of humanity and the acrid oils of the sacred machine, blasting any visitors with a rancid cocktail of scent making it more than clear that this space has not been properly scoured for centuries, if it ever had been. Sprawled through these dozens of slabs of stone and steel are endless networks of tunnels, buildings, and secret ways, doubtless home to innumerable hive of crime, corruption, and heresy. This is Footfall.

In a great hanger, wide and long enough to comfortably house an entire chapter of Adeptus Astartes, hundreds of slaves, mutant and human alike, groan and strain beside an array of mute servitors, wincing before the heartless lash of their masters from the dread and shadowy masters, breaking their backs to haul endless loads of fuel, food, and ammunition aboard the might warship From The Ashes. The great beast, though smaller than many, is still presently the mightiest ship presently docked, and her appetites are prodigious indeed. The quest to feed her endless hunger for men and materiel required a few days along with bargains with the criminal Black Brotherhood and the slavers known as the Tutors, but even severely reduced, the resources of a Rogue Trader Dynasty are great indeed. These last bulk shipments will ensure that her tens of thousands of crewmen aboard will be well-supplied for their journey into the dark reaches at the galaxy's edge. It has taken many days to reach that point, so vast are her needs.

But now, with the last of the vital intake being loaded on board, those crewmen of the voidship that can be trusted with a degree of freedom from the confines of her hull find themselves with a little time on their hands. Naturally, with the Inquisition and all its dread might potenially right on her heels, From The Ashes has no plans on staying aboard the station for long. As the natural first stop for ships arriving of Calixis, it is far too close Imperial justice for anyone's liking. In a mere two days at the most, the frigate is scheduled to slip its moorings and glide gracefully into the void to begin its informal exile. In the meantime, as the only Rogue Trader currently aboard and thus the station nominal commander, Alyia Shilaar will shortly be meeting with the so-called Liege of Footfall, Tanthus Moross, in hopes of securing some information about potentially profitable routes to take into the Koronous Expanse. Preferably ones that are far from known Navy patrols. Though, what use such a notoriously easily-bribed man will be is dubious. Her subordinates are perfectly at liberty to join the soft-spoken, retiring woman for her audience, of course, but perhaps they may deem other pursuits more worthy of their brief spell aboard the station.

[Burden King]

Mensah sat in a sort and lavish couch, more lounging than sitting truthfully by the judgment of anyone who had not spent any long period of time with the often frivolous tech priest, and quietly drank some concoction kept hidden away in his private stores that he rarely ever shared or even admitted the existence of. He sat there as his gaze stared beyond the walls of the chamber he now shared with his captain as they waited for the approaching audience, listening to a voice only he could hear as he pondered and relaxed.

He had of course, wished to plumb the depths of the station for any worthwhile technology, genetor technique, or worthwhile piece of knowledge like any good tech priest should, but alas he had a higher calling to the function of his ship. A role inherited by his lovely peer, he felt obligated to accompany his newest captain along this mission of information gathering to not only provide support, but also to ensure the interest of the machine spirit of “From the Ashes” would be adequately represented when the next job came. Still though, he had sent word out all the same to the Shield shrines of Footfall, to poke and prod the local brothers and sisters of the mechancus for any particurally worthwhile augments or weaponry. He of course laced every phrase of code and word of the Techna Lingua message with language and phrasing to flatter and encourage the recipient into cooperating with him on this little search, though with the state of this station being as it was he expected very little.

You are not required here. The shadowfield would do better with your attentions than the current captain or your curiosity. This endeavor is a waste of my time.

Mensah smiled as he took another drink, letting the cooled liquid settle in his mouth before silently swallowing it, feeling the secondary effects be noticed by his internal systems that provided him a unique aftertaste on reachable by mortal flesh. Iota was right, this was a waste of her time. That is what I said yes.

However, it was not a waste of Mensah’s own time. The Shadowfield could wait, the captain was to unstable right now, and until Mensah was satisfied her would ensure the captain was watched to avoid descisions being made that could endanger the ship.

Unnessasary. The heir has thus far allowed her experienced seniors to command in her stead. Wise. The concern should be placed within the others of our rank.

Mensah chuckled and looked to the Rogue trader captain, sitting up and pouring a second drink before offering it to the captain “Here Captain, a liquor from a rousing little place in the Ultramar sector. Last of it in my stores I took from my family vault, but I think us all sharing a drink, and one with the lord of the station, may help us in this trying time.”

Mensah did not expect much of the young lady, deeming it more likely she would refuse than accept the overture, but the attempt is what mattered most at times. And if the young heiress had suffered as he suspected under the previous captains guardianship, than he hoped any amount of extended kindness may help ease her of any fear or meekness she shrouded herself in.

The inefficiencies of this action cause a noticeable decline in my own function. I shall be disconnecting from outward stimuli until such time as we have returned to the ship.

[Burden King]

Spoiler: Mensah attempts to sweettalk some cogboys

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I was hoping to have Mensah try and use charm to get the tech priest to let him know of any interesting tech, weapons, or any such items that he could manage to grab in his time on the station. Information to if none of those other thing. Basically anything of interest.

Here’s a roll of charm is accepted, with the total being 70 for characteristic plus Skill and Talents. If inquiry is needed, then the total would be 45 (1d100)[68]

[Bunny Commando]

Nikodemos

-------

Recently promoted to Head Astropath of whatever's left of House Shilaar, Nikodemos is both more impressive and ominous than the average Astropath; on one hand, he's dressed in a tight-fitting uniform that resembles the ones worn by officers of the Imperial Navy, a masterfully-crafted saber at his side. On the other, perched upon his shoulder there's a sinister-looking avian whose purple eyes seem now fixated on the bottle of liquor generously shared by Mensah. A chilling "Caw!" echoes throught the bulkheads and the corridors, but if the dark-plumed bird has any ill-intent it's biding its time for now.

Nikodemos, whose white eyes easily betray he has completely lost his sight, is looking at some empty corner on the ceiling - if one would look as well, they could see there's nothing there. Yet it seems to have captured the attention of the Astropath that has spoken very little until now, when suddenly he says to Alyia Shilaar, Mensah and whoever's there as well "We wish to cast our net in the Unknown. But we're both hunter and hunted. Our course is still hidden, but the motives of who's about to reveal it might not."
The psyker then takes a small envelope from one of the pouches on his belt, the double-headed Aquila Imperialis sewn on the cloth; a deck of the Emperor's Tarots is in it and he shows them to the Rogue Trader while explaining his intention "I could cast a spread for you, my Liege. So that you might arrive at your meeting with Lord Moross armed with both the might of your House and the knowledge of what could happen." and so the Astropath lays the deck on the table, waiting for a word from Alyia Shilaar before trying to divine their future, going back to look at that empty corner.

[boj0]

Blacktoof da Gitkrumpa, backstabbing merc from the Goffs and Freeboota extraordinaire was exceptionally bored; normally he'd be out wandering the lower decks finding stowaways from the void, or if he was lucky, the Warp, and giving them a good krumping. Today was different though, he was granted permission to head to the command bridge (meaning the same as usual, he just didn't have to gut anyone like a squig to do it); and this meant doing his best to suppress his better nature to bisect everyone around him in an attempt at a bit of fun.
Today he was called up by the Captain, and as any good Boy knows: a Boss is in charge, but on a ship its the Captain. He was standing around, one greasy, squig leather boot atop some container, his power klaw resting on his knee, while he leaned forward, his beastial eyes examining the small human who was to give him orders.
Apparently the 'umies at Footfall weren't as keen on immediately starting a fight with Orks as soon as they spotted them, hence the boredom.

"Dat bit o' 'umie grog couldn't give a grot a buzz," he looked at the impossibly delicate and expensive bottle the human mek was holding. "Propa fungus beer cut wiv jet fuel, now dat'll perk you up summin' fierce." He accentuates his point with a long gulp of said beverage, followed by a bellowing belch. "You sure we can't jus' open 'negoshyatins' wiv a nice, loud fight? Dis Feetiefall station looks ripe wiv plunda and slaves for da takin' kapin'."

[Henry the 57th]

Staring out over the grim scene of miserable slaves toiling to bring cargo onto From The Ashes from the relative comfort of a high viewing platform with arms folded tightly over her chest, Alyia is fairly obviously working herself up to set foot on the station's docking bay for the very first time. The lady is dressed up more than usual in what looks to be one of her aunt's old longcoats, re-tailored to her smaller frame. The bright violet fabrics and immaculately shining golden buttons and filigree clash badly with the grimy station and even the more worn armored uniforms of her armsmen, but if the half-blind woman notices anything, she doesn't show it. The tough-looking black synthetic boots that her white pants are neatly tucked into are the heiress's only apparent concession to practicality - she isn't even visibly armed. There is a slight jump at the sound of the tech-priest's voice, but she still turns to look at him with due grace.

"My thanks, machine adept," she says politely, accepting the proffered alcohol with three thin fingers, then taking an experimental sip. "A little strong," the lady comments, before draining the glass in a quick series of controlled swigs, not pausing very long to savor the flavor. The nearby Shipmaster Grekios, a worn-looking, copper-toned man with a full head of sleek grey hair, frowns a little behind her back. With only one good eye, she doesn't seem to notice, and returns the glass to the tech-priest with a small smile.

"By all means, good sir," she says when Nikodemos offers to read their future. "Commune with His Divine Majesty, and tell us what the future may hold for us." By the somewhat forced politeness of her voice, she doesn't seem to expect much in the way of glad tidings.

Perhaps she's more aware of her surroundings this time, or perhaps it's just that she knows enough to be aware what showing fear to an Ork would mean, but when Blacktoof harsh voice barks out from behind her, the Rogue Trader does not flinch or shy away. Instead, the small woman turns right around stares straight at the hulking mound of green muscle with her good blue eye almost unblinking.

"As much appeal as simply taking the station has," she says to Blacktoof, "I'm afraid we don't have... how do you say it... 'the boys' for such a thing. There must be hundred armed scum aboard this Maw-fluke's nest for every one on board our craft. If we openly attack all of them, we'll be drowned in a tidal wave of vermin and torn to pieces. I think best to leave them be, for now." Alyia gives a slight shrug. "Besides, we may need to use this place again in the future."

"My lady," says Shipmaster Grekios from where he stands, "Perhaps it might be best if we..." he trails off, but his eyes glance meaningfully down below.

"...Yes," she says, straighting her immaculate violet coat with one hand before tugging once at the collar. "Quite right. I think it is time we were off. I was intending to do a little browsing down by one of Footfal's... charming local markets, and then meet Moross at the Liege's Court a little later today. If anyone would like to join me, we may find something mildly interesting." Alyia glances back the greenskin. "Or someone might pick a fight. There are always a few flail-wielding fanatics with more promethium fumes than common sense to be found amidst the dregs. Speaking of which," the Rogue Trader doesn't turn around, "Aar'Khat, if you wouldn't mind accompanying me for this? I don't believe the inhabitants of this place should pay you too much undue mind."

Spoiler: Nikodemus

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The Emperor's Tarot comes up with the following:

The Dishonored Scion, upright: The easiest to interpret. Indicative of failure, desperation, and glory denied. An omen of grief, though its position furthest to the left suggests that it may be referring more to the recent past than the immediate future. Hopefully, at any rate.

The Assassin, upright: Treachery, either literal or metaphorical, lies on the path ahead. Also commonly used to indicate the status of being hunted in a very specific sense, as if someone close by is looking for you in particular.

The Extinguished Star, reversed: Indicative of a change in fortune, most often signifying a dramatic rebirth. Someone or something around you can expect to see their destiny change in major ways if this path is followed.

In summation, not a terribly good set of omens. You have what pretty clearly indicates lost power and prestige, with only an uncertain hope that it might have already passed you by. Next, either someone is planning to betray you directly or the way you're going will prove treacherous in a more abstract sense, with unclear perils. And most likely someone not far away is specifically looking for you with ill intent in mind. And finally, while the last one might seem like a hopeful omen, it merely indicates that someone will be deriving great benefits if you go this way. That could just as easily mean you revivify a Necron Tomb World as you return to the Imperium in glory.

[Bunny Commando]

Nikodemos

-------

"As you wish, my Liege." the Astropath nods slightly to the Rogue Trader, then picks the deck and starts shuffling it for the spread to be cast, picking the cards one by one and giving his interpretation of each of them for those who are paying attention. When he speaks again, his voice seems to come from a different place - or maybe a different time.

"The Dishonoured Scion." Nikodemos shows the card to the others and if one would look closely at the Tarot they could see that the Scion vaguely resembles Alyia, or maybe Rosea "An ill omen, one of grief and loss; a fall from grace and nobility, one happened in the past. But beware, because the fall might not have ended still." and that said, Lachesis emits another unsettling "Caw!".

Another card is shown to the Rogue Trader and the officers there, Nikodemos not even looking at it and yet knowing all too well which card it is "The Assassin." and again the tarot subtly changes, resonating with Nikodemos' innermost thoughts: the Assassin's face is one of dark void, a pitch black hole that threatens to consume everything around it "Treachery abounds, but this one is close. It might be close in the physical sense, it might be close to you. One whose soul is imbued with dark intent is on the prowl."

Last card, but this one is reversed; Nikodemos takes his time before explaining what it means, blind eyes squinting like he's trying to discern something from the mutable currents of time. After a while he finally speaks again, a hint of concern in his voice "The Extinguished Star, reversed." even though the Star in the tarot looks shattered more than simply extinguished "Rebirth, often dramatic. There is hope, but it is unclear for whom. Our endeavor will bring great fortune to someone."

The psyker shakes his head and sighs, blinking numerous times like he's trying to wake up from a sleep that lasted way too long; he then picks the cards and hurriedly returns them to their container and stands apart from the others, a brooding and lonely figure tuned to a reality no one else can really see. When the group seems about to depart, he makes his voice heard again "If you wish, I could forge a silver lining that would connect our minds, our voices no longer needed to speak with each other." then raises his hand as to stop an objection he knows one is about to make "Worry not, your thoughts won't be known to the others unless you choose to share them."

Spoiler: OOC Actions

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Nikodemos is going to use Mind Link, if the others agree.
Here's the Willpower roll: (1d100)[55] vs. 95

[Burden King]

"Dat bit o' 'umie grog couldn't give a grot a buzz," he looked at the impossibly delicate and expensive bottle the human mek was holding. "Propa fungus beer cut wiv jet fuel, now dat'll perk you up summin' fierce." He accentuates his point with a long gulp of said beverage, followed by a bellowing belch. "You sure we can't jus' open 'negoshyatins' wiv a nice, loud fight? Dis Feetiefall station looks ripe wiv plunda and slaves for da takin' kapin'."

Mensah looked to the ork as it spoke at him and about his drink, and briefly considered taking insult, but instead shrugged as he placed the bottle aside "Dats true, da grog ain't got much of dat Orky punch to it, but I loik ta think dat it ain't bout the buzz all da toim, but sometimes it's 'bout the flava. May not tickle yer tongue, my massive lad, but we 'umies find da taste ta be nice. Loik... Oh by the spirits what is the phrase...Oh yes. Loik the feelin of krumpin something soft. Shor it ain't a propa foight or nuffin, but it's noice to partak in a bit o' eazy fun iz all." Said the techpriest, his cadence and words not mocking, but instead in proper Ork, though heavily accented save for the part where he broke his sentence to mutter in high gothic before continuing. he sent a mental thanks to Iota for allowing him access to her knowledge on the Ork lexicon, the tech priestess ignoring it as she remained silent as he earlier declaration remained.

"One I get me a 'arder stomach, I'd be be up for a swig of your brew if ya care to share Blacktoof."

"...Yes," she says, straighting her immaculate violet coat with one hand before tugging once at the collar. "Quite right. I think it is time we were off. I was intending to do a little browsing down by one of Footfal's... charming local markets, and then meet Moross at the Liege's Court a little later today. If anyone would like to join me, we may find something mildly interesting." Alyia glances back the greenskin. "Or someone might pick a fight. There are always a few flail-wielding fanatics with more promethium fumes than common sense to be found amidst the dregs. Speaking of which," the Rogue Trader doesn't turn around, "Aar'Khat, if you wouldn't mind accompanying me for this? I don't believe the inhabitants of this place should pay you too much undue mind."

Mensah watched his liege drink the liquor faster than would normally be appropriate, the unique fragrances and flavors of a distillery of most ancient repute given no chance to work its archaic magic on the taste buds of its imbiber. Mensah stood, downing his own drink with a singular gulp, closing his eyes to feel the burn and warmth spread through his body, before placing his glass down onto the held platter of a tech thrall of his work force and straightened his own apparel as the creature that was barely more than a servitor moved away to store the prize back in its hidden hold "I would be most lying if i did not wish to see how such a station, an cient and ramshackle as it is, remains held together with so little oversight of the wider Imperium.

Spoiler: Mensah and iota chat

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We have no need to exit this vessel, our realm is in the deeper channels and halls, where thermic reactors and oxygen scrubbers hum and sing. Why do we have to go?


Feeling a little poetic today my dear? The artifice of this vessel are calibrated to perfection, you have made sure of that with your wondrous mind and dedicated ethic. My own experiments are percolating in their vials and containers, it would be most inefficient to simply lounge and listen to your ponderings all day, as much as such an activity would bring me joy.

...It would be prudent to see if any of the local gravetic systems or void shielding could be studied in order to improve our own...You have my permission to indulge in your curiosity and whims. But a sample from the local markets or Mechanicus enclave is required for my continued support.

Of course My dear

The psyker shakes his head and sighs, blinking numerous times like he's trying to wake up from a sleep that lasted way too long; he then picks the card and hurriedly returns them to their container and stands apart from the others, a brooding and lonely figure tuned to a reality no one else can really see. When the group seems about to depart, he makes his voice heard again "If you wish, I could forge a silver lining that would connect our minds, our voices no longer needed to speak with each other." then raises his hand as to stop an objection he knows one is about to make "Worry not, your thoughts won't be known to the others unless you choose to share them."

"While i would prefer not, practicality demands are acquiesce. Iota does remember your skills being quite admirable, so you have my trust noble Nikodemos." Mensah said, gesturing for the Astropath to continue.

[The Glyphstone]

An otherwise bare and empty patch of hull-metal wall off to one side becomes a shimmer in the air, like a heat mirage over harsh desert sand. The blur becomes a tall humanoid outline and gradually fills in with color to form Khee'Raw's avian shape. The xenos assassin stretches briefly before returning to his usual half-crouched posture, olive-brown skin barely distinguishable from the equally alien bodysuit hugging his inhuman frame.

His eyes gleam a feral yellow, but when the angular beak-like jaw opens, it is Alyia's own smoothly cultured voice that emerges as if the Rogue Trader was demonstrated a previously unknown mastery of ventriloquism.

"I will as always be at your side. The creatures infesting this realm cannot pay undue mind to what they do not know exists, and should they threaten you with harm their strength will becomes yours through me."

The trip to Footfall had been somewhat irritable for Khee'Raw, as most long voyages aboard voidships were. The cold, artificial interiors of Imperial ships were unpleasant and confining compared to the wide-open areas of wild growth that his instincts still called for, and being as how it was also his patron's ship he couldn't even pass the time by hunting the crew. The brutish Ork might be able to amuse himself by culling underdeck mutants, but their warped flesh bore the poisons of taint inside and so Khee'Raw would not eat such prey. The sterile constructions of Footfall were no better in the former regard, but at least here if anyone was foolish enough to attack them, he could feast freely on what remained. As long as the Ork didn't get there first and turn the meat into paste again.

Watching Nikodemus's ritual, the birdlike alien tilts his head in mildly fascinated curiosity. Such things were done very differently among the Kindreds, but there was no Shaper here to provide wisdom though prophetic dreams and the guidance of Pech's ancestor spirits. In their absence, though, it was better than nothing to have the human to call upon his own ancestor-spirits for aid.

The astropath's own query gets a sharp, jerky nod in return and Nikodemus's voice answers. "The silent pack startles no prey by ill-timed words exchanged."

[boj0]

Blacktoof looks to the human speaking with an Ork dialect, then to the bird speaking like the captain, then back to his drink.
"Uhhhh...wait a tic, is dis void whale piss? Dat cozes some funny 'allushinashyins..." He takes another swig to be sure, no, it has the familiar earthy tones of fermented mushrooms with the viscous mouth feel of gasoline.
"Anys ways, Orks don' 'share' das a 'umie word, you can pay me in teef, dakka, choppa...or maybe a flash new bit o' metal on da ol' noggin'." And taps the tip of a klaw blade against his thick head. He chuckles deeply, then looks back to the captain, "Well 'den, I supoze you might just need me to crack some skulls while doin' a bit of tradin', make a bit o' kunnin to draw eyes aways from ya, while ya do yur bizness o' a Rogey Trada type."

[Henry the 57th]

"No thank you," Alyia says in a polite but firm voice when Nikodemos makes his offer. "I prefer to keep my mind completely private." She straightens her coat one more time and does her level best to project a firm, decisive expression, only somewhat hindered by her complete lack of a physically imposing stature. "Now, I think it's time we were off."

And with that, still doing her very best not to look like a sump-mouse about to jump into a Ravener's extended maw, she turns around and begins walking down towards the stairs leading to the gangway.

The Sibylline Spire is but one of many of Footfall's innumerable markets, but as a towering spiral extending at least seventeen kilometers from the surface of the massive asteroid and God-Emperor only knows how far deep into the tunnels honeycombing into the weathered rock below, it happens to be one the largest. More to the point, it is also the closest major one on foot, requiring only one crossing of a rather dangerously dingy-looking bridge through the void, mere meters of grimy, rusted plasteel and worn ornamental ceramite icons being the only thing standing between the daily mobs of traffic and a horrible death in the vacuum. By the grace of His Divine Majesty the small entourage is not ejected into space during their time crossing the gap, though the swaying and occasion audible squealing of metal throughout is most unpleasant. The less said about the smell, the better.

As to the spire itself, the vast complex is a maddening blast of sights, sounds, and scents, the overwhelming deluge of sensory input that comes with cramming tens of thousands of beings into perpetually close confines for hundreds of years at a time. A single, seemingly endless spiral path climbs up the vast cone of the spire, rising high into the distant metal vault without ever clearly coming to a definitive end. The gentle, rising slope of the pathway leaves no clear way of distinguishing one level from another, save the vertigo-inducing distance to the ground floor that can be seen by those who dare peer over precarious railings into the open maw at the spire's center. Crammed onto every available inch of the ground floor and rising indefinitely into the heights above are a truly staggering variety of would-be merchants, traders, criminals, cultists, and worse things besides. The cavernous base of the spire alone is packed with everything from crushing herds of braying, reeking grox ready for the slaughter to no less than three improvised shrines to Saint Drusus to a blazing furnace-idol bedecked with thousands of cast-iron talismans with the faces of machine-saints to what looks to be a chunk of a voidship thruster converted to a massive fortress-warehouse in its own right, there's more to see in just the immediate vicinity of the largest entrance gate than could be given the most cursory examination in weeks. It is into this maelstrom of commerce, grit, grim, and the occasional dead body that Alyia leads the small retinue.

Such is the constant bedlam and traffic that, at first, even a group so odd as this gets only a little more attention than the average band of miscreants. There are a few incidents during the first little while, such as when an especially desperate or stupid little pickpocket makes an attempt on Backtoof while the Freeboota is looking over a an extremely nervous-looking humie's spread of shiny gubbins, but nothing to major. But, time and rumors being what they are, it is inevitably that as the group meanders its way further and further up the spire, news does gradually spread of the nature of this strange and probably-heretical band, and more importantly what the lady in violet is. People and the occasional mutant being what they are, it's only natural that they start getting excited at the prospect of a Rogue Trader's wealth, and maybe start getting a little too eager to show her their own wares. Bodyguards were probably a wise idea.

As the hours tick by and the heights get ever more dizzying, from close by it becomes apparent that the Rogue Trader isn't just browsing randomly, though she's definitely making the effort to appear to be doing so. Going through stall after stall, visiting rooms, examining strange coins and bits of broken tech, handling various models of pistol, and otherwise making every attempt to look like a random, somewhat eccentric wealthy shopper, looking down on these lowly peons from on high. The many, many assorted merchants, from semi-legitimate to those higher up the spiral who are not even trying to hide their criminality, are more than eager to accommodate even the poorest Rogue Trader in the universe, and Alyia's small stature and quiet demeanor only seem to encourage them more. At various times the press of so many people attempting to hawk cheap jewelry, religious trinkets of questionable authenticity, hideous exotic pets, dubious-looking food, and all manner of assorted goods grows so thick that they have to be shoved or even beaten back with a few broken limbs here and there. For that she is attempting to appear interested, up to and including including buying some hideous, screeching pink and yellow amphibian-avian thing, from the way that she keeps stealing glances away from the objects she is purportedly examining, her not infrequent, seeming random turns of the head, and the way she reliably makes her way back into the open despite the attendant crowds of vendors and charlatans, the small woman isn't just acting randomly. One might speculate that she's anticipating something, or someone.

Spoiler: Everyone

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You're getting one chance at shopping around while you're here, so if you like make an Inquiry or Commerce test to see if you can find item(s) of a total value Very Rare value or less, using the Availability table on 11 of the core book for a 100,000+ population.

When you're done with that, make an Awareness test.

[The Glyphstone]

The packed and chaotic maelstrom of bodies and noise qualified next best thing to utter bedlam. Particularly for someone with inhumanly keen senses, being caught in the middle of the seething tides of flesh would be almost agonizing, not to mention making it nearly impossible either to hide or keep watch for threats. But while the phrase 'urban jungle' is only a metaphor to most, for Khee'Raw it was enticingly literal. The gradually sloping spire's endless promenade provided a nearly infinite supply of ledges, stall roofs, looming gargoyles, and all manner of other elevated perches to climb on, leaping and swinging above the moving group of Explorers to view their surroundings from a better vantage point. He kept to the shadows as he moved, finding objects to hide behind where possible and utilizing the chameleonic properties of the holo-suit to blend in where his natural skin coloration might falter. It was Blacktoof's job to be the obvious bodyguard, the deterrent against the weak and insufficiently determined dangers. Khee'Raw would be the unexpected knife in the back for the enemies motivated enough to attack anyways.

Spoiler: Rolls repeated from OOC

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Concealment of 74 vs. 90 plus any Circumstance bonuses.
Silent Move of 78 vs. 90 plus circumstance bonuses.
Awareness of 4 vs. effective 100.

[boj0]

Blacktoof gave his neck a lazy crack as he swaggered through the market, this long without fighting tooth and nail for survival was causing some tightness in his muscles.

He didn't mind being there to look tough and scare away potential attacks, looking ded killy was the point after all, but the fact that no one was taking him up on the implicit challenge was disheartening. A wide grin of his sharp teeth and spark from his power klaw worked as well as a headbutt or an evisceration to humans. So Blacktoof had to be content to follow the minuscule Captain around as she bartered whatever shiny trinkets humans used for trade, since he was told that he couldn't just punch a vendor and pay for something with the poor sod's own teeth soured him on trying to find anything for himself.

Fighting against his desire to take a cart and smash it into the nearest person (it was still a fight, even against his own id, it zoggin' counts!) He keeps his beady, red eyes peeled, looking (hoping) for someone to try and pick the Captain as an easy mark.

Spoiler

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Awareness: 5 vs 34

[Henry the 57th]

The small group finds itself in the upper right-hand corner of a small four-way intersection amidst the stalls, shrines, menageries, drug dens, and squatter camps. As a relatively open section not far from the cavernous opening in the center of the spire's sprawling spiral, it sees plenty of traffic, with hundreds of scruffy, squalid humans flowing through, dozens stopping to haggle with, browse, or attempt to steal from the various vendors' inventory. The small detachment of armsmen and the sheer size of the over-muscled greenskin is enough to keep at least a small amount of distance between the wretched masses and the important people while Alyia continues her half-hearted examination of merchandise, in this case several dozen shards of (likely counterfeit) xenos pottery and satutary "of unknown origin". The Rogue Trader continues to throw the occasional sidelong, apparently still waiting for whatever she's waiting for.

Spoiler: Aar'Khat

Show

You find diddly squat of any interest to you in the markets. Not even the exotic meat looks particularly tasty.

From your perch atop a nearby stall, you see about four or five humans, along with what looks to be a single mutated one with grey scales running up his left cheek, pushing and weaving their way through the flow of traffic from all directions towards where the others are. Two humans from the relative bottom of the intersection, one from the left, one or two with the mutant from the right. No one appears to be coming from above. With your incredibly keen avian vision, you can pick out a number of small, telltale bulges in their bulky, ragged clothing indicative of small, concealed weapons. Likely crude pistols from their apparent size, and unlikely to be a heavier or more expensive variety from the poverty of their appearance. Las or solid projectile pistols, then. Probably secondhand models. The mutant is instead carrying a number of smaller, rounded bulges stuffed throughout the chest and abdomen of his heavy overcoat, which you would guess to be some sort of explosives. Maybe for crowd control? The deadly serious calm on his face suggests someone who wouldn't allow collateral damage to get in his way.

Just as you lean forward, perching on the edge of the raised staff roof, peculiar movement to the side catches your eye. It's an impossibly distant view, well beyond an un-augmented human's notice, but your ancestors ate well of Pech's avian predators. About two rotations of the spiral path above (it is difficult to call them floors), there is someone dressed wholly in black climbing on one of the exterior support pillars. That wouldn't be of much note except for the gargoyle perched not far from where he is clambering up, and the elongated rifle partially visible beneath the cloak swaying on his back.

Spoiler: Blacktoof

Show

With your utter eagerness to find signs of aggression on any of the nearby humies, you are able to spot three of the gits pushing their way through the mobs from the down and left paths through the intersection (relative to you, which is all that matters) with the characteristic determination of boyz who know where dey're goin' and are looking for a fight at the end of it. They don't look like they're carrying rifles, sadly, but probably some pistols or something in those baggy clothes of theirs. At least good for a warmup, or a little light snack.

Spoiler: Nikodemos

Show

You are able to buy an ordinary black-grey Backpack and a Survival Suit with all the labels conveniently scrapped off of it for an absolutely rock-bottom price from a probably legitimate guy who isn't there anymore after you turn your back on him for five seconds. The Medikit, complete with needles only slightly used, is a little bit harder but you are eventually able to rustle something up. Sadly, the only Armored Bodyglove you spot during this brief interlude turns out to be "armored" with low-grade aluminum unlikely to to stop an especially determined foam dart. Certainly not worth your existing armor.

From where it perches on your shoulders, Lachesis indicates the rightmost path, through which a hideous half-human mutant, dull grey scales running across left hand and up to his left cheek, can be scene in the company of two other humans with uncomfortably-determined expressions on their faces, pushing their way through the masses towards your location from the rightmost path of the intersection. Meanwhile, glancing towards the bottom path, you can see two similarly-dressed humans trying to close on your position from that direction.

Spoiler: Mensah

Show

Sadly, it seems that the Omnissiah does not will you the blessing of an MIU just yet. Considering the quality of the cybernetics that you see on offer, that may be for the best.

From where you stand, you can make out amidst the hustle and bustle of the ordinary peons a few poorly-dressed humans in heavy coats, dodging and shoving their way through the crowded intersection in a direction that unpleasantly coincides with your location. You can see two such men coming from the bottom intersection along with one from the left side, none of them visibly carrying weapons but considering their bulky clothing likely sporting at least concealed pistols.

[Bunny Commando]

Nikodemos

-------

"As you command, my Liege." the psyker slightly bows to Alyia Shilaar before addressing the rest of the group "A spontaneous thought will now form in your mind, but do remain calm - it is me forging the lining that would connect our minds. When you wish to share your thoughts with the others, just will it so." that said, Nikodemos slowly breathes in and everyone could feel the light touch of his mind trying to link with theirs.

Nikodemos keeps his thoughts to himself, quiet and aloof during the walk through Freefall, so it might be jarring and unexpected for the others when he finally sends a message throught the link they share - the thought is a weird mixture of words, images and feelings "Hostiles?" it's the half-question he sends the others, eerie images of a grotesque mutant together with some dregs converging on their position from two different directions; the astropath shares with the others a clear expectation of violence from the approaching scums, but leaves the final judgement to people more used to it. He then clears his throats and addresses Alyia Shilaar, whispering with his own coarse voice since the Rogue Trader forbade him from sending his thoughts to her "My Liege, please be advised we have potential enemies approaching."

[boj0]

A sly grin crosses the Ork's face, " 'Bout zoggin' time! Ay kapin', if yooz da sort ta enjoy gettin' stuck in, stay cloze ta me. Coz I'm ready to WAAAGH!!" Blacktoof takes a wide stance, with his klaw snapping in excitement, he lets the challengers come to him, let the zogging gits crash against him.

[Burden King]

Mensah was almost disapointed in his failure to find the desired cybernetic interface, but in all honesty he would have preferred to acquire it at a more reputable location in the first place anyways. His augments were each well crafted master pieces, and so he felt that the work to even find a sutiable unit would have been beyond the ability of such a lowly station of squatters such as this one. he eventually went back to following the captain, occasionally admiring some frivolous art piece of curio, but despite being a very odd tech priest at times he still found little value in such pointless trinkets. A painting served to induce chemical changes in the brain to elicit desired emotional states, a sculpture was meant to stimulate tactile and visual reactions within the body, drink and food provided fuel and their taste and smell provided much needed mental conditioning and maintenance to avoid degradation and numbing of ones perceptions. Yes he had expensive tastes and expectations, but he saw it as more requiring only the best for the machine that was his body.

Speaking of what was best for his body, he quickly managed to spot the approaching individuals, and a sense of seriousness entered his frame as he readied to fight. Soft clicks were heard in his augments, as they shifted from their more casual settings to active combat settings. His hand gently rested on his Lasgun, a beautiful weapon inlaid with golden wings and gears that helped draw the eye, but also, served to provide a sublime vessel to the machine spirit within.

He did not betray what he saw, but he would not allow himself to be rendered to the motive force with such ease if he could help it. "Permission to flex our right of command upon these lower born My captain?" With a smooth and neutral tone, all Mensah saw were potential targets that stood out from the masses of redundant meat only because of the threat they posed. An honor of his notice, of any noble's notice, was a heavy one to bear and he doubted these would be ambushers had the will and training to withstand it should he deigned to enact his wrath upon them.

yet still he was careful, placing himself at a location near Blacktoof so he could use the large mass of xenos flesh as cover from the opening volley, a superb use of any xenos beast and one he assumed the large orkoid would not even notice.

[The Glyphstone]

Linking with Khee'Raw's mind is a slightly unusual experience - while the Kroot present an appearance of sophistication and advancement to the galaxy abroad, much of that is learned and genetically encoded mimicry rather than inherent ability. His communications through the link tap into the primal, primitive instinct that underlies every Kroot personality, coming across as short bursts of words and pulses of emotion more than coherent sentences.


<Warning-Threat-Danger. Enemies-Prey approach. Five-prey. Full-hand-four on ground. Three man-prey. One poison-meat. One-high climbs-branches. Beware. Sniper-danger. Hunting. Will not escape.>

The last bit comes with a grainy, blurry image stripped of color, where a figure is climbing up a pillar towards a gargoyle, with a long rifle strapped to his back beneath a cloak.

Khee'raw tries to jump up towards a nearby ledge leading in that direction, but misses and narrrowly avoids crashing through another stall. He hisses in frustration, then unslings the rifle from his back as he spots a maintenance access ladder and begins to scale it instead. All the while, he never takes his eyes off the climbing sniper, ready to burst into speedy action the moment danger becomes obvious.

[Henry the 57th]

As soon as they realize that they've been spotted, the five oncoming humans waste precious little time in drawing what are clearly simple, durable, peasant-quality weapons produced on any one of a hundred thousand worlds. With surprising coordination for their ragged appearance, they drop sideways, taking what cover they can beside the motley arrays of stalls, tables, grills, and in one case a hastily-grabbed innocent bystander. Perhaps it's their innate Imperial hatred for all things alien, or perhaps it's just that he's easily the biggest and single most obvious threat, but as they all open up in one rapid volley, every single one of these tattered assassins is gunning for Blacktoof. Fortunately or unfortunately for the Freeboota, depending on his point of view, the hasty withdrawal into cover means that the autopistols aren't yet unleashing their full potential. On the one hand, less pain, on the other, less noisy dakka. All around him, men and women scream and begin to scatter as bullets and las blast start flying.

Spoiler: Humans

Show

Half Action: Move into cover approximately 15 meters from the group's position, covering legs and body slots. Two groups of two right beside each other, one alone. Mutant is not yet in cover, about 20 meters away in the open. Half Action: Blast the greenskin.

Autopistols:
(1d100)[83] vs. 35
(1d100)[70] vs. 35
(1d100)[99] vs. 35

If hit:
[roll]1d10+2[roll] I damage, Pen 0
[roll]1d10+2[roll] I damage, Pen 0
[roll]1d10+2[roll] I damage, Pen 0

Laspistols:
(1d100)[44] vs. 35
(1d100)[41] vs. 35

If hit:
[roll]1d10+2[roll] E damage, Pen 0
[roll]1d10+2[roll] E damage, Pen 0

Meanwhile, far overhead, the black-clad man perched atop a gargoyle takes the noises and flashing from below as his cue. Carefully-aligning his long-barreled rifle, he takes a moment to line up just the right shot. Then, with a flash and a crack of ozone, a red lance of light strikes as if from the heavens, heading not for the bodyguards but right between the Rogue Trader's eyes. The expertly-aimed shot seemingly strikes true, and there is a sudden flash of sparks and a high-pitched scream as the violet-clad woman topples backwards onto the deck.

Spoiler: Sniper

Show

Half Action: Aim. Half Action: Shoot Alyia.

To hit: (1d100)[16] vs. 70
If hit: (1d10+3)[7] E damage, Pen 1
For every 2 DoS, add (1d10)[2] and (1d10)[1] damage.

If needed, Aliya dodges: (1d100)[49] vs. 45
If she fails to dodge: (1d100)[83] for Invisible Protection
If those fail, for no reason whatsoever, (1d100)[59] and (1d100)[85]

[The Glyphstone]

Khee'Raw has his eyes already fixed on the sniper, and couldn't miss them pause to take their shot. The distinctive shriek from behind him is unmistakable, and he doesn't bother to turn around and confirm what he knows. There is nothing to be done about what has occurred - there is only to prevent it from happening again, or bring vengeance.

Abandoning the stealthy stalk, he bursts into a frenzied blur of movement. Taloned feet, an open claw, even his beak are all tools he uses to climb the jagged protrusions of the spire's inner wall. When no handhold lies in reach, the hooked blades on the end of his rifle become a lever to brace against. Nymune organs inside his body flood his whipcord muscles with stored energy, catapulting him upward meter by meter as he closes on the perched assassin. A savage, shrieking war-cry echoes across the marketplace, while the holo-suits psychoactive circuits switch from chameleonic masking to combat mode. Blurred holographic forms surround him, a virtual flock of angry Kroot ascending the wall as if sprinting across horizontal terrain.

Spoiler: Khee'Raw

Show

Full Action: Run w/ Hyperactive Nymune Organ active, max speed of 72 meters, reduced by half to 36 while climbing. Should bring the distance from 45 down to 9.

Ranged attacks against him suffer a -40 penalty until his next turn.

[boj0]

Absolutely giddy at the prospect of a large fight, bullets and las shots cracking in the air around him, Blacktoof gleefully charges towards the mutie looking opponent; a loud and boisterous battlecry on his lips.

Full action: Run 18m towards the mutant in the open, enemies take -20 BS to hit Blacktoof, but gain +20 WS

[Bunny Commando]

Nikodemos

-------

Nikodemos frowns when a bullet strikes down Alyia Shilaar, surprised and worried and even somewhat desperate - that might be why he puts himself in front of the Rogue Trader, shielding her with his own body instead of looking for a solid slab of ceramite to put between himself and the enemies' guns. Even though morale has taken quite the hit with the head of House Shilaar fallen, pride asks from the Astropath to fight to the bitter end and if the Rogue Trader can't be saved, she would be at least avenged; but the weapon Nikodemos is about to bear against the enemy is quite different from the ones wielded by rest of the crew, more subtle but not less dangerous - he tries to take control of the mutant's mind for a brief time, to order him to attack his own allies instead of the retinue of Alyia Shilaar and showing everyone why psykers are so feared by all.

Spoiler: Rolls!

Show

Nikodemos moves to protect Alyia Shilaar, then uses Compel to make the mutant throw the grenades at his allies. Nikodemos is using Compel at Fettered Strength.
It's an opposed Willpower roll, here's mine (1d100)[40] vs. 100.

[Henry the 57th]

The grey-scaled mutant man grits sharpened teeth, screwing up his eyes against the mental assault even as the titanic ork comes barreling through the panicking crowd right at him. With a strangled cry that seems half painful moan and half sob, the unfortunate man withdraws a single rusty iron orb from his tattered longcoat and, eyes still squeezed shut, hurls it through the air at his lone, laspistol-wielding companion directly across the intersection from him. The grenade explodes before the other man has a chance to do anything but flash a look of horrified surprise, unleashing a shredding hail of dozens of razor-sharp metallic shards in all directions. Men, women, and children alike all shriek in agony as the indiscriminate weapon eviscerates their flesh, those luckless unfortunates unable to push their way to cover or safety before the fighting broke out hitting the floor in a horrible, bleeding, writhing lump of screaming human meat. On the plus side, the assailant coming from that direction doesn't appear to be standing either.

Spoiler: Mutant

Show

Willpower: (1d100)[13] vs. 65.
If failed, throws a frag grenade at the lone man on the left side of the intersection: (1d100)[19] vs. 40.
If hit, (2d10)[13] X damage, Pen 0.

[Burden King]

With the crack of a gunshot and the scream of his commander, Mensah immediately got to action, placing his armored and reinforced frame over the body of the Rogue trader, then beginning to try and save the life of his captain, running through medical procedures and knowledge as he worked.

This would not be necessary had she been given an adequately reinforced skull, now she risks termination

Yes yes I know love, but sometimes those ignorant of the Ommnissiah's love do not accept his gifts, it is our place to educate them not force them to change. For she is of great worth and her will and ability all stem from the motive force.


Mensah focused entirely on his work, yelling out to the others "Gentlemen, I will require you cover me as I attempt to prevent aide our captain. I'm sure you will all do quite well.

Spoiler: Mensah action

Show

Full round action: First aid on the rogue trader

Medicae check Unmodified dc 57(1d100)[6]

Fate point if fail (1d100)[100]

[Henry the 57th]

For someone who has just been shot in her apparently-unprotected head, Alyia is looking remarkably whole and hale. Yes, there is a noticeable red and black scorch mark on her forehead, already starting to swell unpleasantly, but given the circumstances her skull seems to be remarkably free of holes or anything worse than surface-level injuries. At the gentle, mildly-electrified prodding of the Magos, she gives a slight twitch, before groaning in a surprisingly low voice. Her eyelids flutter momentarily, before forcing themselves open to stare up at her loyal tech-priest. She favors him with the faintest of nods. Meanwhile, the two armsmen that had previously been holding back crowds of disreputable merchants are almost done bludgeoning their way back to their mistress's position, at least if the locations of sounds of screaming and meaty thunks are any indication.

Spoiler: Alyia

Show

Alyia assumes the final spot on the initiative order, and will begin acting at the end of the next round. Her two armsmen bodyguards will act immediately after her.

Whatever else might be said of the mental capacity of those bold enough to assault a Rogue Trader aboard Footfall, the remaining four assailants don't lack for observational skills. With Ork occupied with what will presumably be a very short brawl with their mutant abomination, they don't have to worry about avenging his apparent treachery for very long. Instead, they focus their guns on the two members of the retinue currently above Alyia while they still have the chance, bullets and las blasts flying as they open up at their maximum rate of fire.

Spoiler: Humans

Show

Autopistols: Full Action: Full Auto Burst.

Human 1, targeting Mensah: (1d100)[59] vs. 55, add one hit per DoS
Human 2, targeting Mensah: (1d100)[27] vs. 55, add one hit per DoS
Human 3, targeting Nikdemos: (1d100)[9] vs. 55, add one hit per DoS

If hit:

Human 1: (1d10+2)[7] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[8] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[3] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[8] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[10] I damage, Pen 0

Human 2: (1d10+2)[3] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[12] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[9] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[7] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[11] I damage, Pen 0

Human 3: (1d10+2)[9] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[4] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[10] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[8] I damage, Pen 0
(1d10+2)[7] I damage, Pen 0

Laspistol: Half Action: Aim. Half Action: Shoot Nikodemos
To hit: (1d100)[19] vs. 45
If hit: (1d10+2)[6] E damage, Pen 0

Meanwhile, high overhead, the sniper's eyes widen when the hideous cannibalistic alien appears below him, blurring images racing upwards to his perch at an utterly inhuman speed. Still, to his credit, the copper-toned man does not waver from his mission for more than an instant. Whether out of stoicism, fanaticism, or fatalism, he aligns his rifle carefully with the man standing between him and his true target, snapping off one last shot before the Kroot can get in close.

Spoiler: Sniper

Show

Half Action: Aim. Half Action: Shoot at Nikodemos.

To hit: (1d100)[72] vs. 70
If hit: (1d10+3)[8] E damage, Pen 1
For every 2 DoS, add (1d10)[4] and (1d10)[2] damage.

[The Glyphstone]

Finally reaching the level of the sniper, Khee'Raw is mildly pleased to see the human has not flinched, fled, or gotten distracted from their mission despite death drawing near. An enemy with courage is a fine thing, and when Khee'Raw eats their heart some of that courage will become his. The last few meters of his approach are horizontal, as he flings himself across the gap onto the sniper's perch with an ear-splitting war screech. His bladed rifle swings like a halberd even as he hammers into the sniper with brute kinetic force.

Spoiler: Actions

Show

Charge into melee, Attack (1d100)[94] vs. 70.
Damage if successful: (1d10)[3]+10 Rending, Pen 0.
If successful, Knock-Down attempt from Kroot Leap: (1d100)[68] vs. 50, x2 Unnatural.

[boj0]

Blacktoof is eager for violence, a quick step in, and he winds up his klaw; arcing it overhead, it cracks with a dangerous power field as the sharp blades scream through stale, voidstation air.

Half action: Move 2m into melee range
Half Action: Standard melee attack against mutant.
Attack roll: (1d100)[72] vs 70
Damage: (3d10)[7][9][7](23) +16 Energy; Pen 10, tearing

[Bunny Commando]

Nikodemos

-------

Nikodemos emerges miracously unscathed from the hail of bullets fired his way, but until the armsmen are again at the Rogue Trader's side he doesn't seem to have any intention to move. Before summoning again the might of the Warp to bend their enemies' minds to his will, he sends a quick thought to Khee'Raw, a request to keep the sniper alive for future interrogation - in the background, a lack of concern for what would happen to the sharpshooter afterwards.

Since both the marksman and the mutant are now engaged by the two xenos, he turns his attention towards one of the attackers that shot him; again the psyker, careful not to lose control of his powers while channeling the perilous energies of the Immaterium, tries to force one of his enemies to attack their allies instead of the Rogue Trader's party.

Spoiler: Actions

Show

Nikodemos stays where he is and uses Compel at Fettered Strength on Human 3 to force him to shoot Human 2, a full auto burst on their face.
It's an opposed Willpower Roll, here's mine (1d100)[18] vs. 100.

[Henry the 57th]

Behind the toppled junk stand where he crouches, one of the pale-faced assailants doubles over, eyes shut and teeth clenched. Even his pistol hand is pressed to his temple as he struggles with all his might to resist the powerful psychic impulse within his brain,

Spoiler: Human

Show

(1d100)[59] vs. 50

Barely five meters distance, caught out in the open, the grey-scaled mutant abomination just barely ducks a swing from Blacktoof's massively-oversized Klaw. As blades thicker than his bicep only just skirt above the crown of his skull, the xenos and deviant make the briefest of eye contact, beady red eyes glaring into swollen ash-colored orbs. The Freeboota enjoys a momentary chortle at the obvious flash of despair in his opponent's gaze - this man is hopelessly outclassed in a slugging match with a greenskin, and knows it. It can only be a matter of seconds before the mighty blades swing right back around and eviscerate him right then and there.

But, to what would be the Freeboota's mild surprise if he had time to think about it, this little mutie boy doesn't just crumble, scream, and run. In the short moment while his massive green arms are struggling with the massive weight of his own beloved weapon, his enemy jams both hands inside his own long overcoat. They emerge half a second later, each gripping a metallic sphere, thick pins clattering audibly to the grimy floor below. The mutated wretch doesn't have time to throw either and doesn't try, instead lunging forward with both grenades clutched in a death grip, hands thrusting right for the Blacktoof's ugly mug.

"Death to the alien!" he screams at the top of his lungs in a voice that would sound surprisingly high-pitched if the Ork didn't have more immediately pressing concerns.

Spoiler: Boom

Show

Half Action: Pull the pin on a Plasma Grenade. Half Action: Pull the pin on a Frag Grenade. Both detonate with a radius of Blast 1 and Blast 4, respectively.

Plasma Grenade: (1d10+6)[12] E damage, Pen 6
Frag Grenade: (2d0)[2] X damage, Pen 0

[Burden King]

Mensah raised a brow at his captains miraculous state of unharmed, save for a slight blast mark on her forehead. While Iota began to ponder and extrapolate on numerous possible reasons and explanations as to how the captain had survived, but Mensah merely nodded back “The Motive force has seen your unharmed my captain, I shall consider this the work of an unknown augment until we are free to persuit any deeper medical inquiry.” he said, bowing his head to her, gently pulling her up with his hand, before turning and readying his weapon “For now however, it appears time I stock up on my supplies for new servitors, though with our Orkoid ally it may prove impossible to mold whatever remains into useable form.”

Mensah looked upon the screaming crowd of frightened civilians, and hid a face of disgust born of a fusion of his noble heritage and his Mechanicus teachings. Dirty, aimless meat moving in a chaos of panic and disorder, unbecoming of those who were shaped in the holy human form. But Mensah granted them their dues as imperial citizens, and aknowledged their plight regardless of his own distaste for their failure to maintain proper order. Clearing his voice, he spoke out above the clamor, wishing to reach the ears of any that could hear his call to action at this time.

“Citizens of this noble station, no doubt you are used to the sudden violence and death that occurs throughout your days upon this station, no doubt this attack is but the latest in a cruel jest of fate to tarnish what peace you have gripped onto this day. But hear me now as I say, that this slight against your lives and harmony need not be tolerated. I ask of you, heed the call of the Rogue trader who stands here besides me, heed the call to action not to defend their body, but to seek vengeance against this wound upon your pride and endless toil for a brighter day! Guide us and our men onto clear paths, and aide us in tearing these men asunder, let them face your wrath!”

Spoiler: Inspire Wrath

Show

I will be tapping into Mensah’s Inspire wrath talent to try and have the masses step out of the Captain’s guards way, and to also have some aide us in fighting these attackers.

Interaction (Charm) test received a +20 from inspire wrath, and if applicable my Peer (Underworld) should add a +10 to the interaction as well.

(1d100)[27] dc 70 or 80 with Peer

In addition, Mensah has Regeneration, so I’ll do a toughness test to try and heal a point of damage.

(1d100)[94] dc 44