Suffer The Little Children [Dark Heresy] - IC

[senrath]

Replacing his hammer, Phrenz ignored the papers, instead choosing to pull out the small box. Turning it over in his hands, he examined it carefully.

"Think we should open this?"

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I had to type this post up twice. The first time I did it, I forgot that Phrenz can't read. Silly me.

[Etcetera]

Jericus, irritated by the success of brute force over finesse snatched the papers from the illiterate and started to read them, noting down anything particularly important on his dataslate.

[Saldre]

Unfortunately, Olympus is still unable to assist. He remains leaning against the wall, more and more so focusing on the (now dark) Vid-screen, as if mulling over something.

He snaps out of his daze momentarily, looking over the small box in Phrenz's hand.

"You might as well: I am curious as to what's inside."

[senrath]

With that, Phrenz began to work on opening the box, tearing off the tape.

"I really hope this isn't something explosive."

[LCP]

Ripping the tape from the box, Phrenz realised there was a small catch holding it shut – turning it to ‘open’, he flipped the lid.

There was a blur of movement, something small and spiny shooting out of the box like a bullet and slamming into the guardsman’s chest. Shouting in alarm, he staggered back, dropping the box to the ground – the thing was a thin worm, less than a handbreadth across, but covered with black chitinous hooks and spines. Concentric circles of sharp teeth filled its gaping mouth, its hooked appendages scrabbling for purchase in its victim's clothes - it gave a bestial screech as Phrenz flailed at it, skittering round onto his back.

The gnashing teeth drove into the man's flak armour, failing to break the skin - releasing the grip of its jaws, it began to scuttle all over its prey, searching hungrily for a weak spot.

[Etcetera]

Jericus recoils in surprise, dropping papers and fumbling for his staff.
Common Lore (Tech) To see if I have any idea about it
Intel 30 +10% Bonus cos of being smart + 10 Cos of Electrografts
Yes, I know mechanical daemon-worms aren't exactly common knowledge, but it's worth trying.
(1d100)[98]
Well damn.

[senrath]

Roaring in fury, Phrenz made a grab at the worm-like thing that was attempting to eat him.

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Grappling the worm, it may use its reaction to attempt an agility test. If successful, I fail to grapple it.
(1d100)[67] vs 42. Apply any penalties as needed.

[Etcetera]

Jericus readied his staff and stood ready to render assistance if Phrenz was unable to deal with the creature himself. Trusting that the savage would (eventually) be able to do so, he moved to outside the doorway to the room.

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Yes, I'm not going to hit him. In the last game of Dark Heresy I played (The demo scenario at Games Day) I accidentally almost lethally shot two of my compatriots engaged in combat with a plaguebearer. I got it in the end, but the two melee combatants were having a hard time damaging it.

EDIT: Ok, since having read Senrath's last edit, I am instead going to try to beat it to death with my staff. Yay, combat!

Standard attack, since I pulled out my staff this turn
Called shot at Mr. W, and with -20 to a WS of 25 I need a five or under to hit. With my luck, that just isn't going to happen.

[Etcetera]

Doublepostelicious!
(1d100)[4]
And, on the of chance that I hit,
(1d10)[9]
Booyeah. One higher and I would have hit Phrenz.

[LCP]

Evading Phrenz's clutching fingers, the worm scrambled up over the man's shoulder, its barbed tail wrapping around its neck as its fanged maw loomed in front of his unprotected eyes...

A blur of metal flashed inches from Phrenz's nose - the creature burst as Jericus' staff slammed into it, spraying stinking yellow ichor across the guardsman's face. Sliding from around his neck like a burst water-balloon, the thing's corpse dropped to the ground with an unpleasant squish. Its semi-liquid innards leaking onto the floorboards, all that remained was its ruptured, glistening hide and the black, thorn-like claws that studded its length.

[Saldre]

Rather impressed with the Tech-priest's perfect hit, Olympus claps.

"Congratulations, Looks like you got it."

He moves over towards its remains, leaning down to see if anything in particular is left after a hit like that.

"I wonder where* he could have found something like this... it doesn't seem like it would make for a very nice pet..."

[senrath]

Phrenz casually wiped some of the ichor from his face and respirator as he knelt to pick the box back up, intent on studying the interior.

"Well, that would explain why the box was sealed. Nice hit, by the way."

[Etcetera]

Seemingly oblivious to the remarks of the others, Jericus begins picking up the dropped papers.

[Saldre]

"I hope were not planning on waiting until morning to move out." Olympus sighs.

"There doesn't seem to be much to do over here..." He says, turning to the tech-priest. "Or did you find anything worthwhile in those papers?"

[Thanatos 51-50]

Red, who had stumbled a step backwards and had drawn his laspistol before trying to take an angle on the worm that wouldn't hit Phrenz on a missed shot, breathed a sigh of relief and holstered his weapon.
"That was mildly unexpected. You alright, Trooper?" he asked his comrade-in-arms as his fellows rifled through the contents of the safe.

[senrath]

"Yeah, I'm alright. The thing didn't even scratch my armor." Phrenz said, as he discarded the box once more.

"So, where to next?"

[Destro_Yersul]

Hieronymus hadn't even had time to react to the thing's appearance. He blinks at its corpse in mild surprise. I think we should start looking for the Interrogator. I've got pictures and a description. If we can find him, he might be able to help us look for Merrick.

[Saldre]

"Do you suppose there's a link then, between Merrick and the Star-children?" He asks, not to anyone in peculiar, while waiting for the Tech-priest's take on the papers.

[senrath]

"It doesn't matter. Our orders are to locate Interrogator Phobos first, and we know he was keeping tabs on the Star Children." As he spoke, Phrenz removed his respirator so he could clean the ichor off of it more easily.

[Etcetera]

"Right. The cult turns up, and starts to convert drones scared by the gang wars on their doorstep. They open up an orphanage, and gain popularity as good guys. Soon no-one is attending the Ecclesiarchy chapel, and the only gangs remaining in the area seem to wipe each other out. There's no-one left to get in their way, and they file an application to become an official sect.
Jericus shuffles the papers, settling on another one seemingly no different from the rest.
"They now have a number of beneficiary houses - hospices, chapels and the like, all with the concept of family featuring heavily in their names. They also have a number of commercial holdings managed by a non-member of the cult."
Jericus stops and looks up again, absent-mindedly brushing worm-ichor off his robes. He stares at Phrenz for a few seconds, then stuffs the papers in a pocket.
I would suggest we clean up, and then subtly ask around for information on the sect. We're all fairly noticeable at the moment, and it wouldn't do us any good to blow what little...
Jericus taps on a wall.l
..cover we have. Still, we ought to fuly check out the apparent first. I'd hope that any interrogator worth his salt would conceal anything particularly important."

[Thanatos 51-50]

"A link between Merrick and the Star children? What would Merrick want with them?" Red asked incredulously, sitting on top of the safe.
"The mark goes after /psykers/, remember? The reason we need to Interrogator is for intel on the sector, considering he's been here longer than us.
What we don't know is where Intel ran off to."

[Saldre]

Olympus sighs and goes back into his corner.

"I wonder" He says as he sits down "Why they would leave a non-member of the cult in charge of their finances. That strikes me as rather peculiar." Then, looking down on the floor, he continues:

"Our orders were to take care of Merrik first, if mister Phobos is... incapacitated... or dead... it should not keep us from our primary objective, don't you all agree?" He says, then faces them, smiling.

[Destro_Yersul]

"I just wish we knew where the Interrogator has gone to. We know what he was doing here, though. Maybe we should start asking around? As for Merrick, I think the shuttle port is our best bet. Start there, see if anyone knows where she's headed."

[Saldre]

"I am afraid I wouldn't know my way around a shuttle port: I also think she would be inconspicuous, i doubt we would find anybody who would know anything. But then again, you have the right idea. I suggest we split up."

He says to the group before turning to the Provost.

"We can kill two birds with one stone that way. We can head to the Port's custom office, we'd get a lead on Marrik and investigate "The Star-Children" at the same time."

He stands and moves towards him, extending a hand.

"I apologize, we were never properly introduced. I am Olympus, Mister..."

He smiles, waiting for a reply.

[Thanatos 51-50]

"Getting on Merrick's trail seems like a good idea, but if Phobos is in trouble, we can't let that trail go cold. Since the Star Children are operating rather openly and applying for official status, so it couldn't hurt too much to just basically march straight into their Temple." Red suggests with a shrug.
When he hears Olympus getting on with the introductions with the provost, he quickly interjects, "I'm Red, by the way, Designated Marksmen, formerly of the Gytogan 345th Regiment, currently serving for the Holy Inquisition."

[senrath]

"I'm Phrenz, formerly of the Fenris 37th. If you need something to go squish, point me at it. I'm also not very good at investigation or any really intelligent work, so I'll just tag along with someone as muscle."

[Etcetera]

"I am of the Adeptus Mechanicus: Flange, Jericus. I fix things, mostly."
Jericus is still absorbed in the papers.
"Might it be a good idea to inquire as to the Sect through less recorded channels? It may not do us well to have our request filed officially if the sect has any involvement in the port."

[Destro_Yersul]

The Provost briefly grips the proffered hand in his own. Bosc. Hieronymus Bosc. In case you hadn't guessed yet, I was a Provost in the Imperial Navy. Though that should have been obvious enough from his uniform. I know my way around spaceports well enough. And with the uniform, I think I count as inconspicuous. Unless anyone has some really good objections, I'll lead that group.

Though the missing ship insignia might cause some questions

[Saldre]

"That's fine with me, we might as well get going then. Feel free to take the Initiative, I am afraid I am might give out the wrong impression If i start talking to people..." Olympus says, and moves to the door, opening it and exiting into the street.

[LCP]

Jericus

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Heading coreward into the industrial tangle of the manufactoria, Jericus made his way onto one of the free carrier-platforms that traversed the arterial routes, the huddled mass of standing workers that packed the open-topped vehicle keeping a respectful distance from the Mechanicus Adept. Most of them had meticulously shaved heads, like the driver who had taken them to Phobos’ residence.

At the crux of the two manufactory districts, the Central Administratum Bureau stabbed up into the cavernous metal ceiling of the hive sector, a great cylinder of steel that, Jericus knew, would continue up through several of the sectors above. Angular buttresses supported its thick walls, umbilical passageways passing between the Bureau and the surrounding buildings at upper-storey levels in an intricate web of connections – where it rose above the level of the rest of the sector, a huge brass Aquila adorned its curved face, the metal eagle weathered and streaked with corrosion from the ocean winds that blew in from the mouth of the shuttle-port.

Passing through the open gates into the Bureau’s atrium, Jericus found himself suddenly immersed in dusty silence – the occasional whoosh of a message cylinder in the pneumatic tubes that wound around the interior walls and the muted clacking of scribe-servitors’ fingers on keypads the only sounds to disturb the stillness. Administratum adepts glided to and fro, carrying teetering stacks of parchment or examining flickering screens: at Jericus’ request for the Sector records, he was ushered wordlessly into an octagonal lift-shaft, a hiss of hydraulics heralding the sudden ascent of the platform he was standing on as meaningless code-symbols blinked at him from a display on its side.

Stepping out on the floor of the Bureau it brought him to, Jericus found himself at the back of a rather long queue, a red line painted on the floor telling them where to stand. The man at the front stood looking up before a tall dais, holding his hat in both hands before him – at the top of the dais, a vulture-like Adept peered down at him through a multitude of focussing lenses. An auto-scribe mounted beside him was copying down everything that was said on a spooling roll of parchment, the scratching of its quill providing a disheartening accompaniment to the supplicant’s words as its blank child’s face stared expressionlessly at its own work.

The hunched Adept was in the midst of speaking:

“Regarding your question, the Bureau, sir, may have possibly recommended that some public claim against the insolvent estate of a firm or copartnership to which your person may have belonged, should be enforced. The question may have been, in the course of official business, referred to the Bureau for its consideration. The Bureau may have either originated, or confirmed, a Minute making that recommendation.”
“...So, it is bringing the case, then.”
'The Bureau,” sneered the Adept, “is not responsible for any gentleman's assumptions.”
“Then... how may I find out for sure?'
“I must refer you,” returned the Adept, ringing the bell, “to the Bureau itself for a formal answer to that inquiry.”
“Excuse my mentioning –“
“The Bureau is accessible to the public, if the public approaches it according to the official forms; if the public does not approach it according to the official forms, the public has itself to blame.”

Two robed scribes ushered the man away, looking even more confused than before. Consigning himself to wait, Jericus watched the queue inch forwards, finally finding himself before the dais himself.

“And what is your application to the Bureau, Electro-Priest?” said the Adept, craning over his podium to peer down at Jericus.
“I was looking to access the public records for Sector 963.”
The man scowled. “You are in the wrong queue, sir. How can we assist you if you are not in the right queue?”
He rang his bell.
"Adept Jabal, please take this person to the blue line."

Shunted between two more lines, Jericus finally found himself forcefully seated at a battered wooden desk, a sheaf of forms placed in front of him. When he had filled them out in triplicate and returned them to the correct Adept, he was taken up two more storeys, and admitted into a dark, cylindrical chamber – metal cabinets rose up into the shadows all around him, a key to the intricate filing system taking up three square feet on the wall beside the door.

Idly pulling open the nearest drawer, he had to force it shut as the tightly-packed papers within tried to escape. He looked round for assistance, but the Adept who had escorted him here had noiselessly vanished into the gloom.

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OOC: Make an Intelligence Test to navigate the terrors of filing.

[hr]

Olympus, Heironymous & Phrenz – Port Tabernos

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Returning the shuttle-port, the three Acolytes wrapped their arms around themselves – the wind was still blowing in off the ocean, carrying freezing particles of moisture with it. Somewhere off to their seaward side, a lander’s engines roared, struggling against the buffeting wind.

The Customs Office was a low, ferrocrete building, built to withstand the weather that funnelled in through the cavern-mouth of the port – around it, rusty hangars cluttered the open space between the Acolytes and the landing-pads, shuttle-sheds of all shapes and sizes festooning the sector deck like barnacles. Some were clearly private property, while others loudly advertised their commercial availability: a couple of grey-painted hangars with a black aquila stamp housed the craft of the port authorities, standing apart from the others. Men in heavy coats and high-vis jackets bustled to and fro – many of them had shaven scalps, in the same fashion as the driver who had taken them to Phobos’ apartment.

OOC: Searching out sightings of Merrick (and any other info you care to specify) among the port workers will require Inquiry tests. If you want to enquire at the Customs Office, have a list of questions.

[hr]

Red – The Temple of the Great Father

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Parting from the others at the back of Port Tabernos, Red headed along one of the broad tangential avenues towards the other side of the Seaward Quadrant. Here, the characteristic antiquities of Hive Sibellus began to show themselves among the prefabricated ferrocrete hab-blocks that seemed to dominate the sector – more modern buildings rose out of the ruins of far more ancient structures, the roads winding round crumbled statues whose faces and names had long since been eroded away.

The Temple of the Great Father, then, was a stark anomaly amidst these faded glories – new and unblemished, it was built into the hive-wall itself, sturdy stone walls boxing in a small corner of the metal cavern-roof that enclosed the sector. The architecture was smooth and sharp, quite unlike the gothic finery of your usual Ecclesiarchy affairs – two long, indigo banners hung to either side of the large doors, a large circular window that was halfway between a Ministorum rose window and a porthole dominating the temple’s upper face. Its stained plasti-glass panes depicted a babe in a crib, one hand reaching up towards a semi-circle of stars that hovered over it.

Inside, it was cool and dark – low ambient lighting illuminated rows of pews, a pulpit that bore the same image of the child in the crib standing centre stage on a raised platform at the far end of the nave. The metal walls were hung with more banners and tapestries, all looking rather new – many doors led away into side-rooms and passages, breaking the hall’s symmetry with a jumble of entries and exits that gave the impression that the temple extended quite a bit further than it might seem from the outside.

At present, the temple was nearly empty – a single man in white robes was sweeping the aisles, his shaven head gleaming in the dim light from the window. He looked up at the Guardsman’s entry, seemingly surprised to see a newcomer on the premises.

“H – hello!” he said, tremulously. “Can I help you?” He paused. “My name’s Simm. What’s yours?”