Rogue Trader: A quest for profit in the grim darkness of the 41st millenium. But dying in mediocrity and misery is for poor people and losers, and a Rogue Trader's retinue is anything but.
It's Always Heretical in the Kronus Expanse is bought to you by:
Lord-Captain van Hohenheim - Rogue Trader. Hero. The last of his line. Possibly insane, although a holiday has done much to soothe his agitated mind. Questionable epicurean delights have left him unreasonably muscled.
Magos Abigail von Thannhausen - A Magos Explorator-Chymist who possibly takes too much pleasure in the craft of Servitors. Accompanied by her servo-skull. Ever since doing warp-eel shots, she seems more insightful somehow.
Archaius "Boosto" Wash - A gunnery sergeant with a now less-irritating artificial voicebox and a jetpack. We are all amazed by his apparently-infinite agility, and his recent ability to just shrug off pain.
Sebastian LaMarck - A seneschal with a silver tongue. Spymaster and king of Human Resources. One hell of a butler, even when he's on autopilot.
Winter York - Astropath Transcendant. Monstrous willpower. Notorious advocate of psychic power pissing matches, and freshly endowed with wings, somehow. Your glorious narrator and remembrancer.
We're on our way to the Dread Pearl. It takes a couple of weeks, there's a lotta chop in the warp.
On the way, I get my second cybereye installed; I now have two eyes lensed with eldar gemstones, one red and one blue.
The Navigator buzzes us directly. There's a Warp Storm right where the planet should be. We can't get close enough for subluminal speeds, so we're parking up just one jump away.
I check our voicemail. One message for the Magos, and four for the Lord Captain.
Lady Sun-Lee sends a flowery response of supicion, but acceptance.
Blitz would like a drink, and is glad to meet us there.
So would LeFrancois, but we never really invited him for a drink, so...
Charlabelle sends a missive similar to Lady Sun-Lee's, but far more informal.
It's a party!
Through the front Vistaports of the ship, we can see the warp storm, and deep inside, the Dread Pearl, our deeply-sought prize. At the center, a path of calm appears! I sense the warp storm will sufficiently abate within the day for us to actually make an approach.
The Magos and the Lord-Captain both try the Augers; looking for knife-eared fucks, but we pick up long-range contact, ships arriving. I detect psykers, our guests have arrived. They accept the invite and make for us with all due haste. (Like, actual haste.)
Before they arrive, I do question the Lord-Captain's goal in inviting them. A four-way alliance over what results from the Pearl might be the only way out, if we misjudged Sun-Lee's strength.
Sun-Lee arrives, on the condition that she can bring ~15 Armsmen. LeFrancois shows up on his lonesome. Charlabelle shows up with birdlike mercenary bodygyards - Kroot, and five of them. Blitz has a plus-one.
They're escorted to the dining room where we're waiting for them. They get drinks, satisfy themselves it's not poisoned, and we make introductions. Wash and LeFrancois get less respect than the rest of us.
Sun-Lee gets to it. A gambler, a charter captain, and a broke bitch. This is the company the Lord-Captain keeps?
The Lord-Captain tries his charm and botches it. Sun-Lee remains unconvinced and threatens to walk.
The Lord-Captain warns that she walks, and she'll not just fight xenos from the front, but every other rogue trader from behind. A five-way split stands to benefit even Sun-Lee. Slightly more than a fifth for most of us.
LeFrancois objects, but is made to sit the fuck down.
Charlabelle is in, as is Blitz.
Sun-Lee wants to think about it.
In the meantime, we gamble against Blitz for a bit. He's cleaning us out, his luck is extradordinary. And I am certain he is not using psychic powers to cheat.
Meanwhile, Wash goes up to the bridge to check the Auspex out of paranoia. New contacts, here any moment now. Time's up for Lady Sun-Lee. Time to shit or get out of the alliance.
She's in. The warp storm has abated enough for an extremely risque passage.
We'll take the chance. All are escorted back to their ships; they're going to follow us in.
I look at the storm. I see dozens of twisted faces, some human, some xenos, and all writhing in pain.
A lot of things have been said of Wash in the last few years. Many of them conflicting. But sometimes, he seems to reveal his true self -- he is truly one of the greatest pilots in the imperium, and he takes us straight into the warp storm. The ship bucks, rocks, and feels like it's tearing itself apart. I see and hear voices. People are praying like fuck.
Wash is doing this all manually. Analog. No MIU. My knuckles are white as I hold onto the guardrail.
The Lord-Captain makes a rousing speech.
Wash: "If you look out the port viewports, you will see the God-Emperor protecting us. If you look out the starboard viewports, you will see the God-Emperor protecting us."
The Magos gets a hard PING on the auspex; a ship is headed straight for us. Wash hauls the wheel around, and we just barely scrape past it.
We make it through, and emerge into the eye of the storm. The bridge is dead silent as we recover from what we've just done. We get Vox from Blitz.
Blitz: "I've never seen anything like that before in my life. And I've seen some shit."
Hohenheim: "I, too, am also at half-mast."
Outside the storm, our unallied rivals arrive, and begin fighting each other. Time to make hay while the getting is good.
We gear up for landing on the Dread Pearl, an Eldar "Maiden" world. I load up with a shot of spook / geist.
Getting closer, the planet is everything you could want in a planet. I psychically scan for eldar. I get the faintest of echoes, tainted by an underlying bitterness, but otherwise nothing.
We touch down with the Scots -- the other five landers spread out and scout. As we touch down, we feel a sense of peace as we step onto the pure sand of the new planet. The sky is brilliant and azure, and the air truly fresh.
The Lord-Captain steps on something hard and sharp -- a brilliant orange gem. Worth a lot to nobles. Wash confirms it's of Eldar construction. I can tell it's weakly psychic, a lot like the gemstones in my cybereyes.
The Lord-Captain finds some sort eldar rune / psy-focus and tosses it to me. Some sort of charm. I pocket it.
We check out the forest beyond the beach. Strange white cubes. Definitely crafted, not natural.
Something moves, and I spot it; I snatch for it with my TK, but get nothing but air.
The Scots fan out to look for it, but find some sort of overgrown structure in a clearing. A statue. An eldar female, or a very beautiful eldar man.
I still feel at unease. Something is here.
I search for it.
I find it wedged into the vegetation at the foot of the statue. I pick it up, and hold it up. Everyone sees a sword, much like
I see a fantastic blade, with the edge that is blurry and indistinct. I feel a connection with the world around me, and a deep sorrow. This is a Witchblade. (Best craftsmanship power sword, penetration 0)
Wash throws a fruit at me. I try to slice it, but I whiff.
I expand my area of awareness with the sword. I can sense something nearby, like it's been following us while I was looking for the sword. The Lord-Captain doubles back, circling around, and finds it -- a small, blue, cat-like creature. He Disney Princesses the fuck out of it, pets it, and puts it on his shoulder without any problems.
The captain returns to us -- he has now made a friend.
"Captain, you need to see this, on the beach"
We hasten to the beach. We find gemstones, in the deeper part of the shallows. Hundreds, thousands.
"Captain, we're going to be rich!" a Kevin reports.
"Yes, I am."
The blog of a man who is "a treasure" -- the cursed Aztec variety that reveals everyone else in the party for the monsters they really are.
Saturday, 27 October 2018
Saturday, 13 October 2018
It's Always Heretical in the Kronus Expanse: The Crew Takes A Side
Rogue Trader: A quest for profit in the grim darkness of the 41st millenium. But dying in mediocrity and misery is for poor people and losers, and a Rogue Trader's retinue is anything but.
It's Always Heretical in the Kronus Expanse is bought to you by:
Lord-Captain van Hohenheim - Rogue Trader. Hero. The last of his line. Possibly insane, although a holiday has done much to soothe his agitated mind. Questionable epicurean delights have left him unreasonably muscled.
Magos Abigail von Thannhausen - A Magos Explorator-Chymist who possibly takes too much pleasure in the craft of Servitors. Accompanied by her servo-skull. Ever since doing warp-eel shots, she seems more insightful somehow.
Archaius "Boosto" Wash - A gunnery sergeant with a now less-irritating artificial voicebox and a jetpack. We are all amazed by his apparently-infinite agility, and his recent ability to just shrug off pain.
Sebastian LaMarck - A seneschal with a silver tongue. Spymaster and king of Human Resources. One hell of a butler, even when he's on autopilot.
Winter York - Astropath Transcendant. Monstrous willpower. Notorious advocate of psychic power pissing matches, and freshly endowed with wings, somehow. Your glorious narrator and remembrancer.
We head down to the planet to meet with the winning landship, the Indestructible.
We touch down in one of the front hangars, amidst a flurry of dust gliders also returning from patrols. Wing hardpoints seem to be empty, but they still have a few bombs and such.
We can feel a low rumble similar to that of a starship as we step onto the deck. We're met by a passel of dusty, grubby engineers, who salute us.
They're to escort us to the Elder Tactician, and they make a brisk pace; the landship is of similar scale to our ship. But much dustier, and devoid of Kevins.
We arrive at the Elder's quarters, and it's well-appointed for a planet like this. Three fairly old men are waiting for us. We're free to take a seat, and do so.
None of them are Greaves, which is surprising. They introduce themselves. Praeston Mero, Magnus
We are asked, and confirm, that we are merchants. The Lord-Captain confirms this, and expresses interest in the Macrocannons.
They'd like to talk more, but they can't actually make or give us any due to a scarcity of resources. The last time they made one was 75 years ago, easily.
But before we get to business, drinks! We bought a choice of amasec, or the... water from the desert planet.
They wave a metal wand over the water and it shows green, so they're happy to drink -- but are curious as to why we aren't partaking. We clarify that we bought it along just as an option, the Lord-Captain is... well, alcoholic. He's not been sober as long as I've known him, 6 years. They accept this and move on.
Long story short, they're agreeable to our offers of materials and transit off this blasted hellhole, although they cannot guarantee a copy of the gun or landship schematics. They need time to talk it over.
We stop by the Engine Order to see how tight-lipped they are. As it turns out, extremely so. It's like dealing with particularly taciturn Adeptus Mechanicus, gear iconography and all. They don't give us an inch and tell us to go away.
We consider what color robes astropaths usually wear. Apparently a common portrayal is green, but it doesn't really bring out my eyes, so I wear beige / tan.
DM: "Your what?"
Me: "My eyes."
DM: "Your what?"
*remembers I have no organic eyes*
We retreat to our gun cutter for a bit.
We flag down a mechanic. He's okay with taking us to the Gun Masters. He's a little patronizing to the Magos when he describes what macrocannons are -- we might not be familiar with them, as our ship is relatively small.
Wash: "She might need a diagram. Do you have any crayons?"
Mechanic: "We melted them down to extend the corpse starch a long time ago..."
Me: "Ah, the US Marine MRE diet."
"What are those floating things? They look like... skulls."
"They're servo skulls. They're skulls that... servo."
We arrive at the gun battery, and meet Bador Hovik. We make small talk before I casually drop the codeword mid-conversation. He invites us to step into his office.
We're made an offer. A decomissioned macrocannon now, in exchange for full control of the ship. A coup for a gun.
We go to have a think on it, and meet up with the Elder Tacticians one last time to get their take. Graves is now present, and he and the Lord-Captain talk shop.
The Lord-Captain offers four things: Transport off the planet. Resources. Technology. Aid from above. Of them, Graves bites on the resources and tech.
In return, they're willing to make us macrocannons -- can't do it fast, but they'll do it.
The Lord-Captain makes the call and accepts the deal with the Elders. Now that we're committed, we dob in Bador and hand over a (redacted) version of the data we pulled from the dead admech as proof of his collaboration.
"Gentlemen... We got another one."
We throw in a Speaky Kevin, and for our trouble, get the decomissioned macrocannon. It's taped to the underside of our gun cutter.
The contract is signed, and we snap a pict of the event. There's a party and celebration as we ship down a goodwill shipment of food and water.
On the way out, Wash accidentally dragged the cannon along the ground of the hangar.
We successfully established trade relations with Zaith -- time to go claim the Dread Pearl. We make some phonecalls.
We contact Lady Sun-Lee, and cordially invite her to join us at the Dread Pearl, awaiting her RSVP.
We holla at Blitz, and invite him to drinks and the Dread Pearl.
We also invite Charlabelle and Francois, although we doubt they're going to accept.
It's Always Heretical in the Kronus Expanse is bought to you by:
Lord-Captain van Hohenheim - Rogue Trader. Hero. The last of his line. Possibly insane, although a holiday has done much to soothe his agitated mind. Questionable epicurean delights have left him unreasonably muscled.
Magos Abigail von Thannhausen - A Magos Explorator-Chymist who possibly takes too much pleasure in the craft of Servitors. Accompanied by her servo-skull. Ever since doing warp-eel shots, she seems more insightful somehow.
Archaius "Boosto" Wash - A gunnery sergeant with a now less-irritating artificial voicebox and a jetpack. We are all amazed by his apparently-infinite agility, and his recent ability to just shrug off pain.
Sebastian LaMarck - A seneschal with a silver tongue. Spymaster and king of Human Resources. One hell of a butler, even when he's on autopilot.
Winter York - Astropath Transcendant. Monstrous willpower. Notorious advocate of psychic power pissing matches, and freshly endowed with wings, somehow. Your glorious narrator and remembrancer.
We head down to the planet to meet with the winning landship, the Indestructible.
We touch down in one of the front hangars, amidst a flurry of dust gliders also returning from patrols. Wing hardpoints seem to be empty, but they still have a few bombs and such.
We can feel a low rumble similar to that of a starship as we step onto the deck. We're met by a passel of dusty, grubby engineers, who salute us.
They're to escort us to the Elder Tactician, and they make a brisk pace; the landship is of similar scale to our ship. But much dustier, and devoid of Kevins.
We arrive at the Elder's quarters, and it's well-appointed for a planet like this. Three fairly old men are waiting for us. We're free to take a seat, and do so.
None of them are Greaves, which is surprising. They introduce themselves. Praeston Mero, Magnus
We are asked, and confirm, that we are merchants. The Lord-Captain confirms this, and expresses interest in the Macrocannons.
They'd like to talk more, but they can't actually make or give us any due to a scarcity of resources. The last time they made one was 75 years ago, easily.
But before we get to business, drinks! We bought a choice of amasec, or the... water from the desert planet.
They wave a metal wand over the water and it shows green, so they're happy to drink -- but are curious as to why we aren't partaking. We clarify that we bought it along just as an option, the Lord-Captain is... well, alcoholic. He's not been sober as long as I've known him, 6 years. They accept this and move on.
Long story short, they're agreeable to our offers of materials and transit off this blasted hellhole, although they cannot guarantee a copy of the gun or landship schematics. They need time to talk it over.
We stop by the Engine Order to see how tight-lipped they are. As it turns out, extremely so. It's like dealing with particularly taciturn Adeptus Mechanicus, gear iconography and all. They don't give us an inch and tell us to go away.
We consider what color robes astropaths usually wear. Apparently a common portrayal is green, but it doesn't really bring out my eyes, so I wear beige / tan.
DM: "Your what?"
Me: "My eyes."
DM: "Your what?"
*remembers I have no organic eyes*
We retreat to our gun cutter for a bit.
We flag down a mechanic. He's okay with taking us to the Gun Masters. He's a little patronizing to the Magos when he describes what macrocannons are -- we might not be familiar with them, as our ship is relatively small.
Wash: "She might need a diagram. Do you have any crayons?"
Mechanic: "We melted them down to extend the corpse starch a long time ago..."
Me: "Ah, the US Marine MRE diet."
"What are those floating things? They look like... skulls."
"They're servo skulls. They're skulls that... servo."
We arrive at the gun battery, and meet Bador Hovik. We make small talk before I casually drop the codeword mid-conversation. He invites us to step into his office.
We're made an offer. A decomissioned macrocannon now, in exchange for full control of the ship. A coup for a gun.
We go to have a think on it, and meet up with the Elder Tacticians one last time to get their take. Graves is now present, and he and the Lord-Captain talk shop.
The Lord-Captain offers four things: Transport off the planet. Resources. Technology. Aid from above. Of them, Graves bites on the resources and tech.
In return, they're willing to make us macrocannons -- can't do it fast, but they'll do it.
The Lord-Captain makes the call and accepts the deal with the Elders. Now that we're committed, we dob in Bador and hand over a (redacted) version of the data we pulled from the dead admech as proof of his collaboration.
"Gentlemen... We got another one."
We throw in a Speaky Kevin, and for our trouble, get the decomissioned macrocannon. It's taped to the underside of our gun cutter.
The contract is signed, and we snap a pict of the event. There's a party and celebration as we ship down a goodwill shipment of food and water.
On the way out, Wash accidentally dragged the cannon along the ground of the hangar.
We successfully established trade relations with Zaith -- time to go claim the Dread Pearl. We make some phonecalls.
We contact Lady Sun-Lee, and cordially invite her to join us at the Dread Pearl, awaiting her RSVP.
We holla at Blitz, and invite him to drinks and the Dread Pearl.
We also invite Charlabelle and Francois, although we doubt they're going to accept.
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