Rogue Trader: The Great Game

[LeSwordfish]

The Great Game

Prologue

Some men decide the fates of others with a boltgun to their skull, with shells falling around them and mud stinging their eyes. Some do it with a knife in a dark space, their only thought the full wallet and the gold teeth they hope every target to have. Aristos Timon does it in a room of bright lights and soft furnishings, with a mutter to a subordinate and less thought for his victims than for the steaming delicacies being placed in front of him.

The Timon dynasty is not the largest of the trader dynasties in the expanse, but Aristos Timon, its head, is said to have a finger in every pie, an ear on every committee, and a ship in every port. True numbers are hard to come across, but perhaps two hundred ships of frigate-class or larger belong to Timon. It's hard to believe that the wizened old man in front of you could be the most powerful man in the expanse, but Aristos Timon is small and feeble. A cobweb of tubes leads from his veins to a large machine behind him, his moth is covered by a dark breathing mask, and a scent of cloying perfume fails to mask the bile and decay that hangs around him. One of his skeletal hands twitches on a medicator, and the tubes hiss briefly. Several of the other traders around the room shift uneasily in their seats.

You aren't entirely sure why you've been summoned here. You are seated around a round table in the fine quarters of the flagship of Timon's fleet, in orbit around Footfall. A fine meal has been served, conversation has been stilted, and now, as servitors and assorted flunkies clear away empty plates, Timon seems to be coming to the reason you are here. Twelve traders are there in all, each with a group of hangers-on behind them. The other traders around the room seem to be an eclectic group, with none of the other major competitors to Timon present, and several more minor traders like yourself. Genadzy Van Haal, the most major of the group is next to Timon, a line of blank-faced seneschals waiting behind him. The Helligan sisters are there, Markus Valaxus, Lady Brass and her spider-servitors, Larsen of the Belgariad, navigator-captain Peverell, another two traders you don't recognise, one wearing his warrant of trade in a glass box on his barrel chest. And finally there is Josephine Tyle, her bodyguard waiting quietly. Since entering the room, Tyle has not spoken a word to any of your party, and only now that the conversation has died does Tyle look at you at all- a single, icy nod, and then back to Timon, who is beginning to speak, his voice wheezing out of the mask..

"And now, Gentlemen- and ladies, of course- to business. Let us be honest, we all know why we are here. I'm an old man, with no heir. Juvenat treatments have long since ceased to work. Not to impugne on your generosity, but i believe this fact has influenced your decision to meet me here tonight."

"And you are correct to do so. For tonight, i intend to finish this matter once and for all: I shall tell you how i shall choose my heir. Gentlemen, i wish to propose a great game, of sorts."

Here Timon pauses, and is overtaken by a coughing fit. A pair of flunkies lean forward nervously, but he waved them back with a clawed hand. Van Haal leans forward and slaps Timon heavily on the shoulder.

“Do calm yourself, old man. Dying before naming an heir would be tragic. Dying after dropping a hint like that, merely high comedy.” Timon and several members of the assorted company laugh heartily, none louder than Van Haal himself. Timon seems heartened by this, and after another hiss from the medicator, continues.

"On the planet of Marten's Outreach, there exists an archeotech artefact known as the Font. The first person to bring the Font to me will win this great game, and, when i die, shall inherit every penny of my fortune and every item of my capital."

“What say you to that, gentlemen?”

OOC

[Erik Vale]

Analgor muttered softly amoungst his group.

"Forces a choice on skill. Good thing the **** is fast, we will have the advantage. Hopefuly none turn to millitant.... He probably seeks to watch the outcome as a play."

Analgor stands in full robes of a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Shock stave in hand albeit deactivated. His stance was proud, if you could tell beneath his robes. His face mask, being instead a porcelean like mask that blended in with his face, didn't quite grant his voice the mechanical quality normally found amoungst members of the preisthood.

[Grailkeeper]

Deacon Broderick stared around the room of strange strangers nervously. None of his training with brother Caw-Stellar had prepared him for this. Things out here on the fringes were a little ... looser. And a lot weirder. Still though, no matter how out of place he felt some duties could never be avoided. He raised his voice as he had been trained, so that he could be heard above the multitude.

AS THE EMPEROR SAID, DURING HIS FIRST APPARATION TO THE MEDIANITES, "HE WHO WALKS THE PATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS SHALL LIVE IN ME ETERNAL. HE WHO WALKS THE PATH OF HERESY SHALL...umm not."

"Tell us of the nature of this artifact so that we may know of it and judge it, um please."

[Erik Vale]

The techpriest's eyes could be seen rolling, and he whispers quitely just enough for it to only be heard in the group.
"Refrain preist. Let those that run the ship handle this, we can deal with the religous details latter, this is an item of archeotech technology, which means even if heretical it must be recovered, for use or destruction withstanding. Besides, there are always other boats to put you out on if you would be inclined not to help."

His head shook within his cowl.
"Besides, even I know varients verse better. I had it recited at me a few times, and you call yourself a member of the Echliesiarchy, does your spine only exist in spirit?"

Analgor obviously couldn't avoid taking digs, but then again, that had already been established.
Honestly, Analgor thought that the trader he served under must find it amusing to watch the two, since they weren't seperated by ship bulkheads.
Fortuneately, other retiunes murmerings should make Analgor's comments stay outside of others hearing.

[Grailkeeper]

Deacon Broderick knows better than to start squabbling in public, so he shoots the tech "Priest" a glare to shut him up. He hopes the cogboy is still human enough to recognise the meaning. He may show the priest his own spine, literally, if forced to.

[ChaoticSky]

Alia leaned in, putting her face directly between the two priests, interposing herself les they continue to squabble like juvvies, and grinned, "Look at the bright side boys, we dont have to get it first... we just need to have it last.". With her two cents added, Alia was content to hang back, she really wasnt worried about angering either of them... no one in the right mind would pick a fight with their own Navigator... and Alia was pretty atypical of her breed even in that sense, a fact attested to by the massive pistol on her hip and the uncovered Eye on her forehead.

Her Warp Eye was closed of course, but her steadfast refusal to cover it with anything more than her own bangs hardly set anyone at ease around her, the idea she could literally blink and kill them never tended to wander far from the minds of those she dealt with.... exactly as she intended.

[Sithis]

Eli

Currently, Eli was simply wishing he hadn't lost his hellpistol on Samson IV the year prior. Sure, he had his sword hidden under his worn yellow greatcoat, but he would have much preferred a firearm of some type. Perhaps he should start looking for a bolt pistol, just something a bit smaller and less conspicuous than his hellgun.

Putting these thoughts aside, Eli glanced around the room once again. He stood at Lord d'Arbanville's left side, ready to interpose himself between his Lord and any danger that might arise. Not that he REALLY expected there to be any danger here, but any that was there would have to get through him first.

Spoiler

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Not sure if you want to deal with any rolls just yet, but I'd like to make a Awareness roll if I could, just to see what I notice around the room.

Awareness, Target: 39
(1d100)[43]

[LeSwordfish]

Many of the assembled company have started talking at more or less the same time, but the deacon's intoned sermon cuts through enough for his question to be heard.

"Point." Lady Brass added, in a voice like cogwheels. "What's so important about this font?"

"The font produces water." Timon replied, and choked back another cough. "Clear water, free of contaminants. I discovered it through rumour some time ago and spent considerable resources over a significant period of time to acquire it for shipboard use. It has still eluded me however, and i confess to having a certain... obsession. I have failed once in my life. Before i die, i wish to remedy this."

There is a short pause, then Van Haal speaks. "Well. You can hardly blame a man for his dying wish being an irrational one." and the babble of questions begins again.

[Fearan]

Seating along with his loyal retune, Ethan d'Arbanville didn't differ much from most of the other traders which gathered to play the Game - a young looking man, who was actually approaching his 80-s, coated in ornate red and violet robe. He held his glass of fine amasek with thin fingers of aristocratic hand, contemplating the harmony of lights flickering on both the amasek and gem rings. He looked calm and disinterested in anything but words of Timon and the amasek. That wasn't too far from truth, for Ethan have left the detailed analisis to his men - why'd he need them otherwise. But he did notice of one person in the banquet - of course, no one else thfn Jozefine Tyle. The lady looked far better than last time he saw her - given, that last time he saw her on his ship after monthes of underdeck wars, that wasn,t surprising. "At least this endeavour will be more intresting than I thought first" - he thought. As for the Game itself...
- So, we are to succeed, where even the great Aristos Timon failed - Ethan finally spoke - - that is truly an exiting challenge, responding the spirit of the Warrant. I'm honoured and grateful to be invited to this dinner.It goes without saying, that I will accept the challenge. - Ethan stood up and bowed to their host in respect.

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By the way, what's Marten's Outreach?
Common lore (Koronus expance) (1d100)[43] vs 36

[Ghaundan]

Esarhaddon spoke softly to the two priests, not interested in enduring the embarassment of a quarrel infront of their "esteemed" competitors. "Now now my pious priests, perhaps we should wait with debating scripture until time is not such a precious commodity."

He stopped speaking immediately and leaned on his shock staff as his Lord, Ethan d'Arbanville began to speak, eager at the prospect of winning the competition. And if less honorable means had to be used, then so be it.

[Grailkeeper]

YEAGH FOR THE EMPEROR IS THE WATER OF LIFE WITHIN WHICH WE ALL BATHE. IS IT NOT THE CASE THAT THE DEFENDERS OF THE LION GATE WERE REFRESHED BY A MIRACULOUS RAIN OF WATER? SUCH A DEVICE MUST CLEARLY BE BLESSED IN THE SIGHT OF HE WHO IS MOST HOLY"

How shall we know the device when we see it? What did the rumours and your researches divulge? If one with your wisdom and resources cannot find the device then surely it cannot be found.

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Lets try and charm some more details out of him (1d100)[29]v 35, Whoo a pass!

[LeSwordfish]

As D'Arbanville stands to bow, one by one the other traders around the room do the same. Van Haal mutters "Too true, too true." as he does so.

"My understanding," Timon began, "Is that the font is a device approximately one meter high, either cuboid or cylindrical. Made of white marble or plastek, with no particular identifying features. Not entirely unlike a font in a cathedral, how it got it's name."


Tyle leans back on her chair. Attention slips to her, and she addresses the group at large for the first time. "Are we to presume violence and bloodshed are allowed?"

The tension in the room ratchets up a notch. More than a few rest their hands on their pistol butts. Lady Brass's servitors clank and rattle with the sound of autoloaders.

[Grailkeeper]

Broderick quitely flicks on the igniter on his flamer whilst quietly repeating the rite of purification by fire to himself. Oh mighty Emperor, if any of these fuggers is going to burn, make sure it isn't me.

[Erik Vale]

Analgor doesn't even bother to respond to the idea of violence. He had already had the idea, the question was if one was prepared to raise it.
He did speak amoungst the group though.

"Where he to forbid it, he still wouldn't stop it."

Without concious thought, he already memorises the discription and actions.

[Space Lawyer]

Vimeon is furiously taking note on his data-slate. He barely even notices weapons being ready. Barbarians. The second the idea of profit is raised, they resort to grunting and clubbing. He leans forward, and whispers into Ethans's ear. My Lord-Captain, shall I order the crew to prepare for departure? I would also like to perhaps arrange for a number of delays to inconvenience our competitors.

[Sithis]

Eli

All it takes is the implication of violence to completely change the character of the room. Eli's right hand comes to rest on the pommel of his sword as he tries to keep watch over everyone in the room.

Eli leans a bit closer to Lord d'Arbanville and speaks more quietly, so that only those immediately around them could hear. "M'Lord, unless there's more questions you'd like to ask, I would suggest that we take our leave and retire to the ship. I can't help but fear that someone here might decide to try something stupid."

[LeSwordfish]

The tension in the room lasts for a few more seconds, and the it is broken by Van Haal's booming laughter. "Gunfire and bloodshed- no way to play the game, gentlemen!" His tone turns a little more serious. "We play this game like gentlemen, like nobles, am i understood?" There is a certain amount of nodding. "I'd like to suggest.. a gentleman's agreement, if you will. No powered weapons. No starship weapons, autoguns, las-weapons, powered blades... nothing that needs a charge or an explosive. Primitive weapons, sure. But we are gentlemen- and ladies- and we will fight like gentlemen- and ladies. The speed of our ships, the steel of our blades, and the content of our minds."

"All in favour?" Timon intones.

One by one, hands around the table rise. Lady Brass, Van Haal and one of the unrecognisable men are the first to vote, with Peverell extending a slender hand moments after. Larsen crosses his arms with a harrumph, and neither the Helligan sisters, Valaxus or the other unrecognisable man raises a hand. Looking around the table, Tyle smiles slightly, before turning to d'Arbanville and, with her eyes locked with his, raises her hand.

"A deadlock, it seems." she says. "Your move, d'Arbanville."

OOC

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Yes, you have the deciding vote. And yes, everyone is looking at you. And yes, she did that deliberately.

[Erik Vale]

Analgor speaks more to himself when he wispers, full knowing the room is quiet.

"A choice between being seen as cowards or to use our speed to our full advantage, should they hold to their word."

As he says this, he acts almost like he didn't whisper the words.

[Ghaundan]

Shifting his weight uneasily he concentrated slightly to communicate subtly to his Lord-Captain, not wishing to join the others leaning over his shoulder instead using his psychic abilities to transmit his thoughts, fettering his strenght as not to draw unwanted attension. Nor was more strenght needed over such short distances.

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"I trust you do not harbour naive notions that these people will hold true to their word should the need to battle arise, my Lord. Rather, expect them to break it at the most unconvenient of times. And though powered weapons and space ships were not mentioned, psychers like me and other things were not. Things Van Haal probably has to tip things in his favour should we fight.

[Grailkeeper]

Broderick flicked off the igniter and went back to his dinner. His thoughts turned to the font.


If this thing produces water, chances are its near water, possibly a large body of water. It be unfortunate if there is no way of stopping it, or if it turned out to be at the bottom of an ocean of its own creation.

[Fearan]

Silence fell upon the meeteng hall for a few very long moments. It looked like, it was possible to hear the heartbeat of one's neighbour. Then, lord d'Arbanville began to speak. He started in calm, relaxed tone, slowly raising his voice up to the thundering voice of a preacer or battlefield commander.
- It is reasonable to impose such limitations, for we all are servants of the Emperor and there is no need for servants of the Emperor to die at each other hands. It is also noble of lord Van Haal to offer a chance to less successful families - Ethan looked over all, who voted in favor of the ban, stopping her eyes on Jozephyne for a moment - to face not all overwhelming might of his dynasty, but just his swordsmen - which, I'm sure are still exeptional. However - the voice raised - such limitations are born of fear. With all respect to lord Van Haal, I will show no fear neither to him nor to anyone present. And will face any obstacle, like it should be done - with blazing fire and a prayer to the God-Emperor - and Ethan made an Aquila sign - which conviniently enough included crossing of hands

[LeSwordfish]

Those who voted against the ban nod and agree. Jozephyne barely stops a flicker of dissapointment from crossing her face. Van Haal looks like he swallowed a sourfruit whole. "Very well," he snarls.

The appeal to the emperor seems to have had a great effect on the room. While the company is not naturally pious, the message seems to have got through that the noble cause d'Arbanville spoke of would be rather poorly served by a shootout.

"Are there any other matters?" Timon asks the room at large.

[Grailkeeper]

Indeed good Sir, I was wondering if you would be so good as to tell us the source of these rumours?

[LeSwordfish]

"Many locations. Multiple expeditions have found some or other confirmation of its existance. My latest expedition even set eyes on it, though they were unable to return it."

[Sithis]

Eli

Surprising even himself, Eli chooses this moment to speak up. "Lord Timon, have you knowledge of what dangers we may face on Marten's Outreach?" He glances around the room. "Besides each other, that is."

[Ghaundan]

He suddenly felt Timeon was holding something back, but not sure if it was on purpose or merely a lapse in memory. "Yes my lord, if you would be so graceful as to tell me. If your expedition set eyes on this wonderous machine, what or who prevented them from bringing it back?"

[LeSwordfish]

"The expedition had been operating on-planet for a considerable amount of time. Food and other consumables were extremely low, and the planet's... more unusual features... had reduced us to minimal size groups. A single member of our team discovered the font and beamed back pict-images, but we were unable to find the location again."

"As for those unusual features, well. I don't wish to spil the surprise."

"You can't tell us anything?" Van Haal asks, his geniality undermined by a slight growl.

"Oh, no, my friend." Timon responds happily, and coughs for a few seconds. It is, ahem, merely that I won't.

[Erik Vale]

"Would you like anything that remains of your expedition returned, or spoils of salvage?"
It was douptful he wanted it, but there was some measure of politeness Analgor's bones. But he may well want them returned considering he was already sending them to retrieve the font.
"However. Should nothing else way open the minds of those present, I believe it is time for us to wish each other luck, stable paths, and quick engines, and set forth on this task."

Yes, a bickering and seemingly petty preist was capable of presenting a nice face.
The lack of a grill probably helped over his brothers, something that made him a suited explorator, however none would have believed he wanted to get back to monitering their ships engines.

[LeSwordfish]

Timon moves a hand in a small, but unmistakably airy gesture. "Should you find them, you may keep them as salvage: nothing else remains on the planet of interest."

"Is there anything else?"

Nobody else asks a question.

"Then, gentlemen. I wish you good luck. I shall keep you all informed of updates by astropath. May the games begin."

Nobody has the lack of dignity to openly run back to their shuttle.


Nearly twelve hours later, you arrive back at your ship, in one of the massive dockyards on the edge of footfall. The warning you voxed ahead has had a flurry of activity to finish the ship's repairs, and as you approach the final welds are being made on a patch of anti-meteor sheilding. Sparks cascade down the wing of the ship, in a curtain of fire. Silhouetted in front of it is the ship's Master of Whispers, Master Aykin. He always had a flair for the dramatic.

"Ah, m'lord." He says, stepping forward and offering his hand to shake. "I hope the journey were nice. I took the liberty of doing my usual little, ah, digging. And i came up with some extremely choice information. If you'd care to follow me to the strat'garium."

The "Strat'garium" is soundproofed, and none but you and Aykin are inside when he begins to talk, after briefly scanning the room with a bug detector.

"So, my lord, we got a fast ship. We'll have no problem in a straight race to the font. But it aint a straight race, and everyone knows that. Thanks to that gen'lemens agreement not going through, we aint got a hope in hell in a stand-up fight. So we need ter think curvy. This is o'course all subject to what yer lordship thinks, but you know i got a good mind so i'm lettin yer know my thinks."

"Firstly, our opponents. Van Haal, Lady Brass, and Navigator Peverell have all got full-size battleships, and some fleet support. On the plus side, that means they're slow, on the minus side that means they could squash us like a bloodfly. With luck, they'll deal with each other. None of 'em have much reason to worry about anyone else."

"Larsen and Valaxus each have a collection of small ships. They can move fast. Far as i know neither of them has any idea about the outworld. Helligan sisters have a raider each, and are most likely to be working together. Our real threat though, is Tyle. She's outfitted as well as us, but she's likely to be gunning for us in particular. This game is a great opportunity for us to be wiped off the map, no questions asked."

"So. Curvy thinking. I been getting all the information i can on the Outworld. There aint much to be got, but i found three people who can give us a big advantage, if we can get'em on our side."

"Firstly, Navigator Belladon. Back before Timon was the only person interested in the place, Belladon navigated a few expeditions there. He's about the only person in the subsector with much knowledge of the warp around there. If we want to save time on our warp transit, getting his charts or speaking to him will speed us up a lot. He's currently on-station on an imperial ship orbiting the space hulk RTB01, located in the halo of the footfall system."

"Second, Adlai Mordechai. He's an archeotech expert. If anything's known about the font or its surroundings, he'll know it. Codes or special 'quipment might be needed, and if so he could get them for us."

"An' finally. You'll be so proud o'me m'lord, if i do say so meself. I outdone meself this time, if i do say so meself. I found us a member of Timon's survey team. The tracker, the one who found the font itself. 'Er name's Skr'ivva, of nomad clan Taar. A kroot, and you know what they say about Kroot. She's on footfall right now, and all. If anyone can find us the font, she can."

[Erik Vale]

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Timon moves a hand in a small, but unmistakably airy gesture. "Should you find them, you may keep them as salvage: nothing else remains on the planet of interest."

"Is there anything else?"

Nobody else asks a question.

"Then, gentlemen. I wish you good luck. I shall keep you all informed of updates by astropath. May the games begin."

Nobody has the lack of dignity to openly run back to their shuttle.


Nearly twelve hours later, you arrive back at your ship, in one of the massive dockyards on the edge of footfall. The warning you voxed ahead has had a flurry of activity to finish the ship's repairs, and as you approach the final welds are being made on a patch of anti-meteor sheilding. Sparks cascade down the wing of the ship, in a curtain of fire. Silhouetted in front of it is the ship's Master of Whispers, Master Aykin. He always had a flair for the dramatic.

"Ah, m'lord." He says, stepping forward and offering his hand to shake. "I hope the journey were nice. I took the liberty of doing my usual little, ah, digging. And i came up with some extremely choice information. If you'd care to follow me to the strat'garium."

The "Strat'garium" is soundproofed, and none but you and Aykin are inside when he begins to talk, after briefly scanning the room with a bug detector.

"So, my lord, we got a fast ship. We'll have no problem in a straight race to the font. But it aint a straight race, and everyone knows that. Thanks to that gen'lemens agreement not going through, we aint got a hope in hell in a stand-up fight. So we need ter think curvy. This is o'course all subject to what yer lordship thinks, but you know i got a good mind so i'm lettin yer know my thinks."

"Firstly, our opponents. Van Haal, Lady Brass, and Navigator Peverell have all got full-size battleships, and some fleet support. On the plus side, that means they're slow, on the minus side that means they could squash us like a bloodfly. With luck, they'll deal with each other. None of 'em have much reason to worry about anyone else."

"Larsen and Valaxus each have a collection of small ships. They can move fast. Far as i know neither of them has any idea about the outworld. Helligan sisters have a raider each, and are most likely to be working together. Our real threat though, is Tyle. She's outfitted as well as us, but she's likely to be gunning for us in particular. This game is a great opportunity for us to be wiped off the map, no questions asked."

"So. Curvy thinking. I been getting all the information i can on the Outworld. There aint much to be got, but i found three people who can give us a big advantage, if we can get'em on our side."

"Firstly, Navigator Belladon. Back before Timon was the only person interested in the place, Belladon navigated a few expeditions there. He's about the only person in the subsector with much knowledge of the warp around there. If we want to save time on our warp transit, getting his charts or speaking to him will speed us up a lot. He's currently on-station on an imperial ship orbiting the space hulk RTB01, located in the halo of the footfall system."

"Second, Adlai Mordechai. He's an archeotech expert. If anything's known about the font or its surroundings, he'll know it. Codes or special 'quipment might be needed, and if so he could get them for us."

"An' finally. You'll be so proud o'me m'lord, if i do say so meself. I outdone meself this time, if i do say so meself. I found us a member of Timon's survey team. The tracker, the one who found the font itself. 'Er name's Skr'ivva, of nomad clan Taar. A kroot, and you know what they say about Kroot. She's on footfall right now, and all. If anyone can find us the font, she can."

"The Navigator Belladon would have to be willing to put up working with ours, but it is always best to enter the warp with a guide who knows the area well. At least, that is my experience, as little as my opinion may matter. With luck, we could get there before the whole thing started and return little after having truly left. However I doubt we will be that lucky. I myself know much of archeotech, but a second opinion is always nice, Adlai Mordechai would simply be that second opinion. As for highering the Kroot, well. If it must be scouted for, a Kroot tracker isn't going to help us more than some highered tracker teams from planets we stop at on the way, the time it would take to find and convince this Xenos would be better spent highering a small horde of trustworthy trackers. But, as I have said, they're many where whose voice carries louder, and my opinion is minute."

((OOC: Voting to pick up the Navigator, Abstaining from the Acheotech Expert, Voting against picking up the kroot (Or at least, any specific one)))