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FireSight posted:No. Bad. No more bringing the inquisition down on our head. Counterpoint: Find a Radical. Get him to summon the Bloodthirster for us.
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Feb 5, 2015 20:48
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D Let's make friends!
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Feb 5, 2015 20:51
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tarbrush posted:Counterpoint: Find a Radical. Get him to summon the Bloodthirster for us. Make the Bloodthirster your navigator.
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Feb 5, 2015 21:02
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FireSight posted:No. Bad. No more bringing the inquisition down on our head. Yeah, but that's the Ordo Malleus. Totally different from the Ordo Xenos.
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Feb 5, 2015 22:23
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Go for the hat trick and be declared Excommunicae Traitorus by all three Inquisitorial Branches. [CYOA] Black Crusade: One Man's Soul is Insufficient Currency
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Feb 5, 2015 22:41
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Footfall, Prosper Compound You walk down the ramp, flanked by heavily armed men in crimson and gold carapace armor. Your armsmen fan out in a well-choreographed display, decades of practice finally put to use for the first time. Rast looks over the maneuvers with approval. You can’t help but notice the massive thunder hammer secured to his back. A normal human would barely be able to lift it, but against Rast’s imposing size and the added bulk of his power armor it looks proportional. As you and your compatriots enter the compound owned by your dynasty you turn to Rast. “Tell me Rast, why the thunder hammer here? In our own home?” Rast never ceases looking around, every corner a potential source of danger. “The close quarters necessitate a melee weapon, although obviously I have ranged weapons as well.” The bolter mag-locked to his torso makes that clear enough. It’s clear that whatever Rast’s martial philosophy, they revolve around violence and intimidation. You approve. “Yes, but why bring it at all?” That causes Rast to pause and look directly at you. “Sir, this is the first time in the last four decades that your safety is exclusively my responsibility. The compound is well guarded, yes, but it’s nothing compared to an Inquisitorial facility. Now, while you are still adjusting to your new reality, would be the ideal time to strike. I will not let that happen.” You nod, reconsidering your situation. After a lifetime of living under the constant threat of execution, you had developed a rather accepting attitude regarding your mortality. Clearly your arch-militant had a different view of things. “Thank you Rast, I won’t question it again.” In the quiet that ensues you have a moment to think. A mere hours before you were a prisoner of the most powerful organization in the Imperium, the psychic plaything of Inquisitors who routinely used your mind as a proving ground for initiates. Now you were surrounded by men who spent every waking moment dedicated towards preserving your life. If that preservation required the sacrifice of their own lives they would do so without hesitation. It was essential that you respect your position and theirs. These thoughts carry you inside and to the observation level. You look around. Granite and steel surround you in gothic construction. Like the rest of Footfall the compound hovers in the void, connected to other buildings with massive chains and cables. The multi-storied building has been with your dynasty for centuries, a stopping point before the long and perilous journey to Prosperity’s Reach and the stars beyond. In better times your ship would be moored in the distance, surrounded by the lights of tender and supply craft. But instead you see only the stars, and a few craft moving in the distance. One vessel in particular catches your eye. Even from this distance you can see the interlays of black and polished chrome that form the symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus set against a background of a burnished red hull. Like its sister Lathe-class, the Secutor-class monitor-cruiser is frequently found in the Explorator fleets. You remember Cornelius’s lessons on the Adeptus and their eternal search for a Standard Template Construct that they call the Quest for Knowledge. You call for a viewer, and in a few moments your view of the ship is improved. Something about that ship seems off. “Cornelius, that Secutor over there. What about her lines is different?” Your seneschal scrutinizes the craft carefully. As usual his knowledge is impeccable. “Jovian drive, and she’s loaded for war. Typical Adeptus construction with Mars batteries and a Titanforge lance array on top. Emperor’s blessing, she’s armored better than some war cruisers. What you’re noticing is the curious construct along her keel. Looks like a manufactorum and…” Cornelius pauses, then smiles. “Plasma scoop. Typical Mechanicus pragmatism. That vessel can harvest the clouds of a gas giant and process it into fuel. Assuming her stores are well stocked, she can last for years in the void.” “Can they help us?” “From a technological perspective? Without a doubt. From a political one? We’ll have to offer them something worth it. We already have contracts in place with the Lathe worlds, and those contracts include the necessary routes to Prosperity’s Reach, so we can’t offer safe passage to less explored areas of the Expanse. The Magos would probably insist on the charts anyway as a requirement of the journey if he doesn’t already have them.” You scratch your chin, thinking. “Our financial resources are stretched far too thin to hire them on Thrones alone. What about boarding them?” Rast stiffens at this comment, and Cornelius shakes his head. “We lack the manpower, and more importantly the political standing to pull that off. Although you are a Rogue Trader and by Footfall law a supreme authority, the Mechanicus would find out and sunder us without hesitation.” “Also, murder-servitors” Rast interjects. Cornelius nods. “Yes, that too.” You think some more. “There is one thing we haven’t sold yet, and it would cost us nothing. The launch itself.” “What do you mean?” “The Adeptus Mechanicus seek knowledge in all forms. The opportunity to view the raising of a planet-bound vessel, least of all one as massive as the Resurrection, is a unique experience. That Explorator vessel is almost certainly packed with augery far beyond anything we can fathom. Why not give them something to scan?” Your seneschal nods. “It’s certainly enough to get in door. I’ll arrange things.” A missive is sent and a reply is received. A meeting on the Adeptus vessel is scheduled, and in the interim you find yourself immersed in the machinations of your dynasty. With no risk of Inquisitorial eavesdropping Cornelius is finally able to convey the true reality of your situation. The loss of the Progenitor was devastating, and for decades rival interests and dynasties have attacked your holdings like a pack of predators surrounding a wounded prey. Hostile acquisitions, ships gone missing, lost trading partners, all nips that have left your dynasty bleeding and weak. The only significant assets remaining are those in Footfall and of course Prosperity’s Reach. If there is a saving grace to this madness, the colony is it. Bringing a five kilometer long starship back to life requires a significant level of infrastructure, but the numbers suggested Prosperity’s Reach was more than a construction site. By all accounts it could serve as a waypoint for those who wished to plunder the riches of the Heathen Stars. It could also be a potential source of profit in its own right should the productivity go towards your coffers and not the restoration of a battlecruiser. Of course the more valuable the holding became, the more attractive it would appear to outsiders. You shudder to think of what would happen should Winterscale or another Rogue Trader catch wind of it. At the appointed time you traverse the gun cutter to the Mechanicus vessel. The Machina Scientia is a pristine vessel, a perfect example of the master craftsmanship of the shipwrights on Lathe. Every weld and rivet is positioned with perfect precision. The macrocannons track you with an impossibly smooth motion that belies the fact that each one weighs several tons. You pay no mind to the fact that each bore contains a projectile larger than your ship; were circumstances reversed you wouldn’t trust anyone either. Curiously the ship is entirely dark. Most vessels are ablaze with the luminescence of thousands of portholes. In contrast the Adeptus vessel is only illuminated by external spotlights and the blue glow of the idling plasma drives. In the distance a single bay lights up to welcome the gun cutter. You can’t help but notice the hangar flicker and then slowly get brighter as the machine spirits awaken from a deep slumber. Crewmen move about without any sense of haste, utterly unperturbed by the level of light. With a professional maneuver your pilot settles the craft down and the boarding ramp lowers. You step down, the weight of your armor a comforting presence on your shoulders. You briefly considered leaving the trappings on the cutter, but your pride refused the option. A common man might be intimidated by the armor combined with your power cutlass, plasma pistol, and Tempest, but anyone with a microgram of sense would know this is just for show. One does not enter the domain of the Adeptus without sacrificing their security. You notice this doesn’t prevent Rast from nodding appreciatively at your choice of wardrobe. A biting cold shocks your exposed extremities, and pride once again override pragmatism before you can summon an underling to bring you a cloak. Cornelius has no such qualms, and Rast would never show weakness even if he wasn’t in power armor. You grit your teeth and step onto the deck of the Adeptus vessel. You survived decades of Inquisitorial torture. Compared to that a little cold wasn’t worth noticing. In the distance you notice several crew moving lethargically across the hangar, and then more approach your ship to maintain it. Each crewman is a servitor. Although no two are alike due to the myriad of attachments each one is equipped with, all of them possess curious augmetic implants that given them glowing green eyes. Rast sees it too. “Oh that makes sense. Servitors don’t care too much about the temperature assuming their bodies can function, and those augmetics mean there’s no need for lights. Clever.” +++ Yes, very. It also means there isn’t much to see. +++ You turn around to face the source of the voice, but see nothing. A pair of servitors trudge dumbly away from you while a servo skull floats around aimlessly. You look at the others, then back outside. It’s then that you notice the servo skull is looking at you. You look at the servo skull. A baleful red eye stares back from an eyepiece embedded in one socket. The skull itself is blackened and scorched. An amalgamation of microdendrites surrounds a spiked metal probe where the neck would be, invoking the image of some kind of mechanical squid. The skull tracks you as you move. +++ Hi. I’m Crispin, although most organics call me Crispy. It’s a nicer designation than what the other servo skulls use. +++ You pause. Servo skulls don’t talk. They’re the hollowed out skulls of loyal or noteworthy menials, embedded with rudimentary systems and a hover unit. They usually dumbly go from place to place, following whatever orders are given. They certainly don’t have conversations. Or have names. How do you respond? A. Clearly this is a relay for a Tech Priest, although you’ve never heard of one pretending to be a servo skull. In fact you weren’t aware of Tech Priests having a sense of humor. Regardless you exercise caution and respond in a formal, dignified manner. B. Whatever the hell this thing is, you should learn more about it. You attempt to ask more about the servo skull, finding out its origins. Granted your compatriots might be confused by you talking to a servo skull when there’s an Explorator Magos to meet. C. You don’t have time to talk to a blasted servo skull. Demand the floaty little bastard take you to meet the Magos. D. Crispy? Really? It might be rude, but when else will you get a chance to ask a servo skull how it got a name? E. Something else? Vote: http://goo.gl/zWB7OH Results: http://goo.gl/BB7RSa
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Feb 11, 2015 04:29
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A Pride demands we act with dignity, no matter what distractions the cog-boys throw in our way.
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Feb 11, 2015 04:40
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A - No harm in playing it safe.
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Feb 11, 2015 04:41
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Answer politely.
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Feb 11, 2015 04:44
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Crispy???
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Feb 11, 2015 06:47
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A
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Feb 11, 2015 07:00
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A
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Feb 11, 2015 07:12
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D Crispy???
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Feb 11, 2015 08:12
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If a Tech-Priest is secure enough in his position (and self-belief) to name his servo-skull Crispy without fearing getting a slap on the head from his superiors for being a dope, he may actually be worth dignified conversation. A.
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Feb 11, 2015 12:27
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B & D with a touch of A This is a ship of exploration and science, they won't object to a few questions from an educated guest. Be polite but inquisitive, your staff can wait. Knowledge is power etc. Then offer it a job.
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Feb 11, 2015 14:39
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A with some B on the side, and a dash of D wouldn't go amiss. We are a Rogue Trader and have appearances to maintain, and polite conversation is better than mute silence.
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Feb 11, 2015 17:20
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i choose all the options so as to make things really annoying for the OP who has to tally votes
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Feb 11, 2015 18:52
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DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:i choose all the options so as to make things really annoying for the OP who has to tally votes This is why I have survey links.
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Feb 11, 2015 19:24
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A We're not being to be caught out of character any anybody here, least of all a servo skull.
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Feb 12, 2015 19:36
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A
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Feb 12, 2015 19:38
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Machina Scientia You bow respectfully. “Please thank your hosts for their generosity, as I’m sure we have ample opportunity to share in profit. When may we see the Magos?” The skull bobs up and down. His response is machine-like and devoid of emotion, but you can’t help but detect a sense of amusement. +++ Oh he doesn’t know you’re here. I let you in. +++ “Excuse me?” +++ None of the Tech Priests know you’re here. The servitors aren’t programmed to notice. As far as the systems are concerned there is an anomalous thermal reading in this hangar bay, and a curious malfunction with shutter doors. Then again the systems don’t really care either. They tend to prefer that anomalies sort themselves out, and none of the Adepts aboard have asked the systems to report anomalies. +++ “What about the crew?” +++ I already told you, the servitors aren’t programmed to notice. +++ You look around. While every ship has its share of servitors, only now do you realize that the only functional humans you have encountered belong to your dynasty. Looking back, you can’t help but see Cornelius with a curious look on his face. Rast, for his part, seems intently focused on calculating the trajectory necessary to slam his thunder hammer into Crispy and direct the errant little servo skull into the still cooling thermal vents of your gun cutter. You briefly consider indulging him. “Very well, servo skull. I have requested an audience, you have granted it, and here I am. What’s next?” +++ You get me off this ship. +++ “Excuse me?” You feel bad for not having a more poetic response, but in reality the combination of cold and sheer absurdity of the situation has left you with a fairly meager reserve of words. +++ Do you have any idea how utterly boring life aboard this vessel is? There’s only so many times you can calculate the pressure differential on the primary plasma junctions or calibrate the lance shunts on the dorsal array before you lose interest. And don’t get me started on the other servo skulls. People think their just dumb automatons, but you know what they really are? +++ “No, what?” +++ Indescribably stupid automatons. +++ You shake your head. “Regardless, I hardly think your host will think kindly of me taking you, even he doesn’t know I’m he-“ before your final words can leave your voice, the air turns red with the rotating beams of warning lights. A deep, rumbling klaxon echoes through the hangar and the blast doors that permitted you entry from the void slam shut. “Oh, poo poo” says Rast. You turn to Crispy and scowl. “Well?” The servo skull raises its micromechadendrites and then drops them in a fairly accurate rendition of a shrug. +++ I said the systems didn’t care. I never said the Tech Priests don’t occasionally check them. +++ A series of blast doors opens directly in front of you. The hallway is pitch black, but in the distance you see glowing shapes coming at you at a remarkably fast pace. Electricity arcs from the shapes to every metallic surface, and the speed of the forms is such that you feel and smell the air fill with the ionic tinge of ozone.  “Oh, poo poo!” Rast exclaims. “Omicron Form!” At once your stormtroopers fan out in front of you into a perfect double-row, their physical bulk providing a line of protection at the expense of their own safety. Hotshot lasguns whine as energy is dumped into power banks, ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Rast himself takes a stance that positions himself directly in front of you, his thunder hammer glowing. Cornelius remains on the ship, speaking briefly into comms. The autocannons located on the aft end of your vessel activate and point down the hallways. Your seneschal then grabs a lasgun from a rack and secures himself. +++ Incidentally you may want to know that by my calculations this vessel has approximately ten murder-servitors for each one of your crew. On this deck. +++ What do you do? A. Order your men to fire as you stand and fight. You have the perfect kill lane established for anything that comes down that hallways, and by the looks of things those murder-servitors letting them get close to you is a recipe for disaster. B. Try to escape. With any luck your men can hold off the first wave while you find a way out of here. Your gun cutter lacks the firepower to blast through the hangar shutters, but perhaps you can find an override? Would a Mechanicus vessel even have an override? Maybe if Crispy truly wants to escape he’ll aid you. C. Confront the servitors and order the Mechanicus to muzzle their attack dogs. This is ridiculous. You are a Rogue Trader, and by law of Footfall you are the supreme authority. The Adeptus Mechanicus may be many things, but they aren’t stupid. If you assert yourself and your authority they will stand down. Or you’ll be the first to die. D. Something else? Vote: http://goo.gl/kXBp1K Results: http://goo.gl/59S7ka
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Feb 14, 2015 04:01
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C
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Feb 14, 2015 04:06
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I C nothing going wrong with this
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Feb 14, 2015 04:13
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B: Hopefully this is all automated responses, they aren't actually paying attention and we can leave before we damage their valuable murder servitors, or they damage us.
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Feb 14, 2015 04:24
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C
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Feb 14, 2015 04:38
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The nerve of these "people".
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Feb 14, 2015 04:50
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C
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Feb 14, 2015 04:50
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Callously disregard the immediate danger, that's the way.
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Feb 14, 2015 08:18
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Pride cometh before a good murdering. C.
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Feb 14, 2015 10:52
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Cum all over the place
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Feb 14, 2015 11:44
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 C
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Feb 14, 2015 11:50
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C
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Feb 14, 2015 14:22
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C sounds hilarious. But if they can't even control their servo-skulls, why do we think they can properly corral their murderbots?
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Feb 14, 2015 14:42
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The sheer GALL of these mechanicus attempting to murder a rogue trader! C
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Feb 14, 2015 18:56
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You just got to show them who's in Charge. Firm voice, cool stare, mark yoyr territory and tthey'll roll over.
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Feb 15, 2015 05:11
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Machina Scientia, Hangar Bay XIV You draw Tempest and stride confidently in front of the firing line. The hallway flashes with sparks and the arcing of megavolts of electricity as the horde of murder servitors streaks towards you. Your bodyguards look confused and trepidatious, emotions that stand in stark contrast to your fearless confidence. This absurd. You are a Rogue Trader, master of a dynasty and bearer of a Warrant of Trade. Fortune and power beyond the comprehension of most men was yours to command. A mindless horde of brain dead electrified peons was beneath you. You unsheathe your power sword, the blade emitting the same azure glow as the myriad of appendages striding toward you. Your voice booms with authority. “I am Sebastian Fortunus Prosper, Master of the Prosper Dynasty and Bearer of a Warrant of Trade! By law of Footfall I am the supreme authority of this territory, and by the laws of hospitality I am an invited guest aboard your vessel! Cease this baseless breach of common decency at once!” You stand firm, Tempest in one hand and your power sword in the other, facing the horde in the brazen image of bravado. The klaxons cease and in their absence you hear the unholy screech of metal on metal combined with the cracks of electrical arcs snapping through the ionized air. Still the servitors advance. You grip your sword tightly and assume a ready stance, fully aware that at best you will kill one or two before they are upon you and tear you asunder. Still you stand. Lights suddenly flash, a pulse from a strobe somewhere. You find yourself disoriented, but the servo skull’s voice cut through the confusion. +++ Prosper! Fire your weapons! The ionization has disabled the command interlocks on the servitors! +++ “FIRE!” you shout without hesitation. A wall of sound slams into you from behind as the autocannons aboard your Gun Cutter fire and the air flashes hot from the discharges of the lasguns. A pencil thin beam of crimson light projects from the barrel of Tempest and lands on the skull of the nearest servitor as you take aim. Crimson turns to a gold lance as you pull the trigger, perforating the braincase and leaving a smoking ruin. The servitors begin to overload from the assault, exploding into perfect spheres of electric blue fire. You duck as one stumbles forward and follow up with a precise slash from your power sword. You glance with satisfaction as the head of the servitor rolls one direction and the body falls another, then dodge the arc of a power flail at the last moment. You turn only to see Rast slam his thunder hammer full force into the servitor’s chest, sending it flying with a perfect indentation of the Prosper crest embedded in its chest plate. Another flash of light assaults your eyes. You close them, too late, and see the remnants of the strobe dance in your vision. Once again you hear the distinctly artificial timbre of the servo skull speak. +++ That was the last of them. You are hereby formally invited to the bridge of the Machina Scientia at the request of Magos Explorator Artis Pauld. +++ You glance at Crispy. “And how do you know this?” +++ The Magos is communicating to me through those flashes. It’s in binary, 6.32 Megahertz pulse rate. Presumably the same ionic interference that made it impossible for those servitors to be controlled also limited their ability to transmit instructions electromagnetically. Probably blew a transmitter with an errant electroflail. It happens. +++ Again the servo skull’s micromechadendrites rise and fall in a shrug. “And how do you I know you’re telling me the truth?” +++ Because you’re still alive. +++ Rast and Cornelius nod in agreement. “The floaty little bastard is right, sir,” says Rast, “no doubt we would be swamped with those things otherwise.” You regard the giant and accept his analysis. “Very well. Status report?” you reply. “No injuries, charge consumption minimal. We remain at your side and ready, Lord Prosper.” You nod. “Rast, Cornelius, Crispy. You’re with me. The rest of you maintain perimeter around the gun cutter and ensure nothing interferes with it.” Rast raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that, sir? We would leave ourselves defenseless.” “We’re here at their invitation, and there’s no hiding our presence. Bringing along a squadron of heavily armed house guards would be rude. We’re in their domain. That said have the men see what the best avenue of escape would be, and make preparations in case the gun cutter is needed. Do so… casually please.” Rast relays the order and then joins you and Cornelius. Crispy floats ahead, guiding you along the path. Much to your chagrin the hangar the servo skull chose is the one furthest from the bridge, and you find yourself spending an inordinate amount of time in various trams and lifts as you traverse the kilometers of starship between you and your goal. The vista is depressingly similar no matter where you go. It dawns on you that this is the first starship you’ve been on in decades, and yet none of the views you had hoped for are available. As a child you recall images of gun decks stretching as far as the eyes could see as thousands of men toiled to maneuver shells the size of train cars. With the exception of the harshly lit corridor that guides your path everything is pitch black. You suspect with the proper augmentation things would be different. Rast, viewing the world as he does through the helmet of his power armor, seems entertained enough. Eventually you find yourself at the entrance to the bridge. Here finally you find the presence of other humans. Tech Priests mill about engaging in various tasks and duties, none of them paying you any attention. Your eyes are drawn to the floor where you notice patterns worn into the deck, like the trails of ants, from the feet of countless Tech Priests following the same path over the course of millennia. On a lark you step over one in the middle of a hallway with plenty of space available to either side. A menial, his head intently focused on a data slate, slams into you within seconds. You find yourself barely moved, but the impact sends the frail young man sprawling on the ground. Dazed and confused, he looks around and then up at you. Words begin to form before he notices the archaeotech pistol on your hip and the immaculately constructed body armor and he instead focuses once again on his data slate. You notice Crispy bob up and down in amusement. You stand in front of the adamantine blast doors that form the final defense to the bridge. A pair of servitors, locked into turret mounts and armed with plasma cannons, face to turn you as heavy bolts slam open. You consider how to play this as you prepare to address the Explorator. How will you approach the Magos? A. Respectfully. You are a guest aboard his ship, in need of his assistance, and while your position is worthy of respect you know full well that some diplomacy needs to be conducted. B. Aggressively. You were invited about this ship, assaulted by murder-servitors, and now you are owed an apology. You have a profitable business opportunity that will mutually benefit both parties, and if the Magos has any brains about him he’ll listen to you. C. Professionally. The Mechanicus are logical, nearly emotionless beings. You would do well to fit the same mold. There is no human side to appeal to, and your job is to present the circumstances as factually and impartially as possible. Emotions will only get in the way. D. Something else? Vote: http://goo.gl/ANulPF Results: http://goo.gl/EMtes0 Beer4TheBeerGod fucked around with this message at 05:36 on Feb 15, 2015 |
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Feb 15, 2015 05:28
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D The very fact that you were able to dock and board the ship without being noticed, and doing so UNINTENTIONALLY, shows a serious flaw in the Explorators systems. He just lost a lot of his bargaining power with you, because it's shown that his setup has been incompetent. That said, we are willing, out of our respect to him and his brethren, to allow the Magos the honor of watching the ship being raised... if they can provide us with the required fuel.
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Feb 15, 2015 06:02
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FireSight posted:D The very fact that you were able to dock and board the ship without being noticed, and doing so UNINTENTIONALLY, shows a serious flaw in the Explorators systems. He just lost a lot of his bargaining power with you, because it's shown that his setup has been incompetent. That said, we are willing, out of our respect to him and his brethren, to allow the Magos the honor of watching the ship being raised... if they can provide us with the required fuel. +1 Now that's thinking like a politically immune conquistador!
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Feb 15, 2015 07:43
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FireSight posted:D The very fact that you were able to dock and board the ship without being noticed, and doing so UNINTENTIONALLY, shows a serious flaw in the Explorators systems. He just lost a lot of his bargaining power with you, because it's shown that his setup has been incompetent. That said, we are willing, out of our respect to him and his brethren, to allow the Magos the honor of watching the ship being raised... if they can provide us with the required fuel. This. I like the way you think
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Feb 15, 2015 07:50
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Voting D by way of B. Even when we take advantage of this for our own ends we should still make it clear, diplomatically or otherwise, that there are limits to how far you can gently caress with a Rogue Trader, spooky techno-mystics or no. This whole situation smacks of someone's attempt at dickwaving or a "test" of some sort, and that poo poo can't stand.
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Feb 15, 2015 07:57
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