'R.S. Ophiuchi A/B' - IC

[♠Spade♠]

"While I see where you're coming from, I don't think we should be blundering around in the dark. Especially since we don't know what happened. I saw treat it as hostile ground and wait till light to move in." Victus gestures at the falling gloom to emphasize his point.

[Talkkno]

"Seems like a good idea, maybe we can find a transformer to turn on all these lights also. Euphrati concurs with the Cleric, as he redoubles his efforts.

Search (1d100)[88]

[Balricaso]

Grim pokes his head into the Thunderhawk.
Going somewhere Techie?

[Lycan 01]

"The enemy, if they are aware of our presence, will soon be upon us. Or at least they will immediately attack this arena, rather than the surrounding areas. Judging from the damage we've seen, it is has already failed as a defensive location for someone else. I think we'd be better off taking up positions in the local residences, where we can set up ambushes and have a tactical advantage. Besides..." the Cleric smirks, "I don't like the idea of turning around when there's progress to be made."

[Ecks Dee]

Stumbling about in the dark, Euphrati topples a food stand, spilling tasty foil-wrapped treats all over the terrace floors. No luck in finding a transformer, but it looks like Victus may have his wish.

The sun has, by this point, now completely set - while the infrascopic goggles provided do provide a measure of night vision, they give a grainy, difficulty to look at, view of a greenish, hazy world, that isn't much use. The houses are still a valid option, though - you can certainly see your way to them.

Finally, it can't be escaped that what the entire group has been through in the last 12 hours has been harrowing, and could easily have broken lesser humans than you - may break you still. Sleep, rest, a relent from this exhaustion, beckons.

[Saldre]

"ItsSss Impolite... to sSsneak up on sSsomebody like that... MisSster Grim" The Tech-priest hisses, and retreats into the darkness of the ship.

"Come InsSside where I can sSsee you..." He says from the depths, the two yellow orbs of his eyes floating in the pitch-black hold.

[Balricaso]

Stowing his autogun, Grim hops into the ship, navigating the slowly dimming interior with the ease of someone who takes great comfort in having metal underfoot (when its not hurtling through the sky).
You seemed to take great interest in the chemical burns the Father pointed out. Find anything useful? Not to mention the racket you're causing in here. Sounds like you're moving a great many things; So, once again, Going somewhere?

[Saldre]

You spot long, tentacle like shapes moving in the darkness...

"InteresSst?.... What would you know.... of IntresSst.... misSster Grim?" The Tech-priest hisses. The glow of his eyes vanish, instead the sound of shuffling rises from the depths of the ship...

"Would you care to help... with my... exsSSsperiment?" A snicker soon reaches your ear, from behind you this time. You can feel, moving around your head, claw-like manipulators snapping and clamping, their metallic sounds resonating in your ear... just a few inches out of reach.

[Talkkno]

"You make a good arguement, cleric, I'll double check the rooms for the most defenivble ones. Euphrati replies.


Search check for defenses. (1d100)[72]

[Balricaso]

Ya know, the techies in the manufactorum I frequented were slightly more respectful.
Grim steps toward the tech-priest.
Try to cogitate this:
We share a mission.
The mission we share comes before any other.
Sharing information will see our mission completed with something close to efficiency.
When said mission is complete, you can pursue whatever the grug you want, within the limits of the Imperial Law.

Grim turns toward the hatch of the ship.
I'll go find the others of our motley crew. I suggest you conjure up some manner of charisma in the meantime.

[Saldre]

"Hehehe"

The Tech-priest snickers at the man exits the fallen craft.

"MosSst IntresSsting... A brave one... how long before he brakeSs?" He whispers, almost to himself.

As night falls, he settles down in the land-speeder and awaits the inevitable company. He reaches for his Cogitator, and various cables link the Tech-priest to its inner workings. He traces his fingers over the keys, and begins to tap- attempting to further explore the machine and uncover its secrets.

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(1d100)[81]- A Failed Tech Use!

[AssassinKing]

Iacton sits by the side of the thunderhawk and closes his eyes, trying to see if there is any pressence of the warp.

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(1d100)[81]

[♠Spade♠]

"You asked what we thought of the lack of bodies, priest, yet ventured no opinion of your own. What do you think?"

[Lycan 01]

As the Cleric approaches the nearest residence, he pauses. "They're gone. No trace of them. No blood, no bodies, no weapons, just a shattered landscape. There are a few options. Each one worse than the next..." he narrows his eyes. "The corruption of the Warp runs deep, and their blasphemies can vary in function and form. There may be foul rituals afoot, which call for the bodies of the innocent. The Great Devourer is also known for leaving no bodies, for various reason. Though we'd be well aware of their presence - I don't think they use energy weapons," he grins, pointing at the sky in reference of their warm welcome. "There are also... other things..." his face darkens, long-forgotten images of metal monsters flashing through his mind, "That use weapons which leave no trace of their victims behind. And then there are the Eldar..." he growls, a trace of rage in his voice. "Those foul Xeno are always one for confusion and mystery. If I had to guess..." he glares back at Victus, "I'd put my Gelt on them. They favor the weird and strange, and that welcome seemed like something they might be capable of. And this lack of bodies... strange events, strange beings. Filty Edlar..." he murmers.

[Balricaso]

Grim exits the Thunderhawk, noting the psyker sitting against it with a look of poorly veiled suspicion.
Its getting dark out. Mind the bird and the techie inside.
Hand on his neural whip, Grim looks to follow the path of the scum, guardsman, and cleric.

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Tracking +10; Modifiers: Fatigue -10, Unknown circumstance mods.
Target: 45.
(1d100)[71]

[Talkkno]

"Is it true...when Eldar walk, they don't actually touch the ground? They just float?...I haven't ever seen one, but I've dealt in their wargear during my work with the Cold Guild. He whispers to the Cleric.

[Ecks Dee]

Grim

Grim leaves the stadium, walks a few paces, then picks up the trail. Three pairs of footprints - armour-shod - are just visible in the fine layer of ash over the ground. They wind away, hugging walls and dense vegetation, away into a street of low-rise warehouse complexes.

______

Iacton, Archilius

The psyker's meditations find it difficult to get a proper fix on, well, anything - though that should suggest something in itself. The warp is turbulent - one moment empty, the next bursting with power - but Iacton can't get a very good fix on how, why, or what's happening.


a dream:
Meanwhile, the Tech Priest's fiddling with the buttons of the land speeder, testing the capacities of its systems, when suddenly, it begins humming into life. Clearly, the Astartes-designed controls are made with a different design philosophy and schema to ordinary human ones, and he pressed a wrong button - the Land Speeder begins cresting up into the air, tiny intermittent burns from its engines pushing it out of the Thunderhawk. It wobbles slightly as it cleans out its cold-gas engine linkages, then slowly, ever so slowly, begins to gather speed.


______

Victus, THE CLERIC, Euphrati

Your search for a defensible house takes you into a detached building, overlooking some warehouses. It seems small, but comfortable - a custodian's house, perhaps. A living room, with a small, abstract shrine. The kitchen bears the sickly sweet odour of rotting food, and, indeed, within the refrigerator are the remains of a meal, in the advanced stages of decomposition.

Upstairs, a small single bedroom. A long, thin case, fabricated entirely out of blackened, hardened metal, rests on the bed. It's open - whatever it contained is long gone - but packing material lies scattered all over the floor, like a carpet of rather ersatz autumn leaves.

[Lycan 01]

"They walk, but with such grace and lithe movements that you would think their feet never even touched the ground..." the Cleric mutters poetically, recalling old memories. "Though if you ever see one actually floating, you should start making your peace with the Emperor as fast as possible," he flashes a grim smirk. "Any other questions, my boy?"

The Cleric then begins to examine the building. First he examines the shrine, to see who or what it is dedicated to. Then he checks the fridge, to see how long the food has been rotting. Finally he examines the black case, to see if there are any clues as to what it once contained. "Look around and see what else you can find. Specifically, any notes, newspapers, or other records..." he suggests, before adding: "And be careful. I have a sinking suspicion that there's more to this then we realize. Somethings not right... but what?"

[Balricaso]

"Grugging hell!"
Grim mutters, pausing for a moment as he follows the tracks. The days events and fatigue have begun to take a toll as a bead of sweat drips across his brow.
"I suppose "Find entrances and exits" meant "We're going for a hike!""
Grim pulls out his bio-scanner, frowning as he remembers his previous attempt to use it.
"They better be nearby. For all the worry of enemies we sure have spread ourselves out."

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Awareness: -10 fatigue, +20 Bioscanner/Auspex; Target: 43
(1d100)[74]
-and-
Continuing to follow the tracks:
Tracking+10: -10 fatigue; Target: 45
(1d100)[41]

[Ecks Dee]

The Techpriest looks into cogitator full of viruses, and it most certainly looks back into him. In his curiosity, in his explorations, he links unwisely with certain proscribed, hazard-marked sections of its tape-disk memory, and it all comes rushing into him.

The universe distorts, warps, and shatters around him - and it's all the worse for the feeling that this is only taking place inside his head. The few remaining biological components of his body can only look on in horror as the cybernetic implants and systems rebel, twisted by the viral strain, helpless against it, shattering his being into a thousand shimmering facets. He can feel it stretching out, reaching into the world through the cracks in his face, exploring with alien tendrils this fresh new world -

And then it is over. This viral strain, having possibly had tens of thousands of years to refine contingencies, hone itself down, is nothing if not smart. He can feel it, taking up residence in his system, lying low - if it ran its course on him, it would burn itself out - instead, it's just waiting, looking for an opportunity to spread, become a pandemic, to see itself copied upon a thousand display screens and seared into the minds of a million servitors. Until a sufficient critical mass of machine spirits can be found, however, it is dormant.

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Man, I was going to save this until later, but you done gone and opened the evil box! Prepare for unforeseen consequences.

For Euphrati's eye only

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Despite the turbulence of the warp, you can definitely discern one thing. Any psyniscient perception of Archilius will reveal his face has been twisted into a pale, mask-like rictus - even more than it usually is.

______

THE CLERIC'S search of the house reveals little, until he reaches the shrine. Moving aside the swirls of metal, the silken curtains, he reveals a strange image of a saint, crowned with fire. It looks ... odd - to say nothing of its message.

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Challenging (+0) wp test to anyone looking at it.

______

Grim's unlikely to find anything this late at night by sight alone, but, between the scanner and his own natural skill at finding, uncovering, discovering, he soon finds the path his fellows were on - and it's not the one he's just been following. The bioscanner's readout finally picks them up, in a house on a hill far above the warehouses - inside, he finds THE CLERIC puzzling over a strange-looking document, glow-pack in one hand.

[♠Spade♠]

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WP: 30 (40 if it involves some form of possession)
(1d100)[73]

Edit: Well, @*#$. This doesn't bode well.

Edit #2: It occurs to me I'm fatigued for -10, so I failed even worse.

[Ecks Dee]

Victus looks at the symbol, subconsciously fearing the worst, some terrible ancestral fear deep in his gut - it passes, but it's still there in him somehow, the Saint's eyes boring into him, into his soul.

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He gets (1d3)[1] corruption points, I'm afraid. But don't worry, only one possession/game session.

[Balricaso]

"Its Grim!" The Arbitrator announces, as he rounds the corner, in case someone is trigger-happy.
"What the grugging hell are you both looking at?"
Grim follows the eyes of Victus and The Cleric.

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WP:25; -10 Fatigue; Target: 15
(1d100)[56]

[Lycan 01]

"I believe I have discovered our foe. I was wrong. Its not the Eldar..." he growls, holding up the picture so that everyone can see it. "We're dealing with the Ruinous Powers. Specifically, the Weaver of Fates, the Architect of Discord, the Whisperer in the Dark... Tzeench..." his face twists into a disgusted scowl. "See the swirling pattern of the design around the saint's face? Its his symbol..." he murmers. "The fools must have thought it to be just a pretty design to make the saint's image look fancier. The following must have spread like wildfire amongst the populace. But... The message... Its quite cryptic. If there are worse things than men in these worlds, why flock to them for protection? It doesn't make sense... Unless..." he knits his brow, deep in thought, his mind coming up with at least two possible meanings to the message.

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WP test: (1d100)[1]

I have two theories behind the meaning, but I'm not sure if throwing them out there would be overstepping the bounds of what THE CLERIC should know...

[Ecks Dee]

THE CLERIC's ardent faith blinds him - and protects him - from any warp-corruption in the icon, while Grim gets a rather worrying sense of foreboding ...

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He takes (1d3)[2] corruption.

[Balricaso]

Grim turns away from the symbol, shielding his eyes, his head throbbing.
"I'd say we burn this place down but we've more pressing matters...we'll burn it later. I found tracks leading down into the warehouses a ways from here. We may well find someone to hold accountable for...this" He draws his shotgun and gestures at the shrine.

[Talkkno]

"What does that mean about the people that once lived here though...? He asks the cleric


WP: (1d100)[41]

[Lycan 01]

"It means they've forsaken the Emperor and condemned their souls to eternal damnation..." he growls. He then pauses, before adding: "As for their bodies, they're either taking part in heretical activites or have been used for profane rituals. I'm not sure which is the worse option..." he sighs.

[Saldre]

"Hehehehehehe"

Without warning, the Tech-priest erupts in an unnatural cackle that echoes across the fallen vessel.

"We have a guesSst it SsSeems..."

He whispers as he momentarily taken back by the rush of information downloaded into his system. More so then horrified, he appears to be excited- displaying what can only be described as an unnatural exuberance.

"How fragile... how fickle... but how sSsublime..."

He continues to fiddle with the cogitator, trying to gather as much information on the virus- peering trough its code in order to get a better understanding of its true purpose.

"It isSs desSstiny... to have come acrosSs... a treasSsure sSuch as thisSsss..."

He continues whispering softly in the empty hatch if to himself, as he continues his work on the cogitator.

"For who could undersSstand you... but usSs?"

He turns around for a moment, peering to the door, making sure no one interrupts his work.

"sSsoon... we will sSspread... and sate our thirsSst... for knowledge... Until then, you'll keep him company... won't you?"

The ominous cackle of the Tech-priest slowly permeates the air around him, along side the infernal clicking of keys as he continues his relentless work on the cogitator.

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Well, I am mostly waiting for the others to get back... I don't know if I can even throw down another test, but I will anyways! To get more information on the Virus, its purpose, its function, what it knows, what it doesn't know, how old it is, etc. If it is truly thousands of years old, then it is for all intents and purposes a major relic which I will cherish and love forever and ever. But still an Object of study. :P (1d100)[90] Vs 60.

FRICK. OK. I am rather pissed about this. Double-Frick. Is it about time to use a fate point to reroll this thing? Some some of Bonus for Taking my time? Something, anything :P

[Ecks Dee]

Shrine to Kay-Oss

Euphrati also sees something, worrying, calling to him in the symbol, something half-remembered from his days in the Beast House. Fire eaters, card-tricksters, come and see ...

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(1d3)[1] corruption.

____

Archilius

The virus seems ordinary, seems to be just another code-fragment - albeit a highly advanced one, and resists interpretation, by Archilius and any other investigative presences. Rather than the long, rambling, majestic lines of tech-cant written by the Mechanicum, it seems to take the form of cartouches - dense clusters of symbols and instructions within strange, self-contained blocks. This much is evident, even despite the tech-priest's slightly addled state - almost as if the virus is letting this be known.

There is, however, a caveat to this. Many of his reasoning, sensory, and intuitive faculties are now cybernetic, what with his being a tech-priest. As such, they are compromised, and it's hard to be entirely sure how true the above remarks are, or how much they are the product of the virus. These are basic, autonomic changes that have take place - even psychic means would have difficulty disentangling them now.