Eldrit sat in his quarters, repeatedly disassembling and cleaning his weapons, carefully oiling and muttering prayers to the God-Emperor over the parts before putting them back together again. Soon, there would be a planet underneath his feet and heretics to hunt -- minor heretics to use, either for information or for bait, larger prey to be brought down before they could cause any more harm to the Imperium of Man. With a final "selah," he snapped the final parts into place, racking the slide, then looking down the barrel for dirt. Satisfied, he releases the slide with a quiet "amen" and slid the magazine into place. "The Emperor protects," he whispered, replacing the pistol in its holster. He felt the stiletto in his boot, the pressure of the punch-dagger at the small of his back. The heretics would know fear and pain before their judgement -- the Emperor would know His own...
Enoch was far more comfortable then the rest during the Empyrean and Void travel, and far less comfortable on the Lighter. His former Inquisitorial team died on one, and now he was here, knowing very little about how these agents thought about teaming up with, instead of against, a Psyker. Imperial Sanctioned or not, Psyker Primaris or not, he knows he will always be watched, and never be trusted. Even with such a large threat looming on the horizon. Worse, what little information they have suggests Psyker activity behind this whole horrid affair, but he has no real idea about the nature, or strength of the opponents. By the God-Emperor, it could be an Alpha level running wild for all he knows.
"It seems to me that if it was indeed a Psyker event was involved on the previous worlds, then we should look into the data the local Arbites has on Psyker and Mutant occurrences recently. Perhaps they have already caught or killed some the enemies the Imperium behind this, thinking them no more then the plague that humanity suffers everywhere. There might be a pattern, or someone to question."
"Agreed. Once we've made planetfall and undergone the proper introductions, that would an avenue I would not mind pursuing." Drake replied. The psyker seemed reasonable enough, though it would take time and the crucible to determine whether he would prove a further useful ally, "Too much about this matter makes no sense. The sooner we find some common threads to follow, the more satisfied I will be with this excursion."
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Through a thin industrial haze and a sputtering morning rain, your Lighter tracks the lit runes of the long concrete slab growing underneath it, decelerating hard against the 1.1 Gravities of the world below. The vox chatter in the cockpit is constant and utterly routine. Your cover identities have been bought completely and the servitor-controlled automated landing assist systems blink and lock into place on in sequence before you. If you know your luck, this is the last time you can expect things to go this smoothly for quite some time.
Minutes later you come to a bracing and complete stop on the far end of the landing pad, tucked away in a side stall with no need for a ferry assist. Humanity buzzes around you in the early morning with crews of Mechanicus adepts performing holy maintenance upon stationary craft and whole squadrons of weak-chinned Imperial administrators patrolling in packs and inspecting every lander and crate and press-ganged worker and Imperial-official packing seal to be seen. As the flock descends upon your end of the runway, a pair of said administrators march casually towards your craft, gesturing through the viewport that they wish to talk. The welcoming party. Time for your mission to truly begin.
As your craft equalizes atmospheric pressure and slowly swings open its side door, your minds turn to your immediate objectives and the best way to proceed. You've faced worse than a pair of low-level customs lackeys, so you're not that frightened, but still the situation presents potential risks. Have you been spotted in coming despite your precautions? Will they ask prying questions about your intentions here? Are they about to shake you down for a docking bribe? Are these two suicide cultists about to blow themselves and your ship to the heavens?
Still though, your minds are trained to be paranoid, and this situation will likely range from simply annoying to potentially quite revealing. These men do work the landing docks, after all. They may look like idiots, but perhaps they've seen something suspicious happening here lately...
Your door finishes opening, and the lead man straightens his back and attempts to look down his nose at you. He's balding and has a protruding belly that's stretching his canvass jumpsuit to the breaking point. With a nasal voice, he asks, "Your names and purpose for visit, please provide them to me now."
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Enoch keeps to the back of the group, knowing that a tall, gangly figure such as him stands out. He focus his mind for a few seconds, just to see if there is any Psyker activitity nearby.
OOC:
I'll do a Psyniscience test (versus 65) just to see if our opponents are quite so stupid/bold as to send straight up Psykers our way. (Mostly so I know if I can use powers more freely if the situation requires it). Edit: Leaving the roll for susan so I can't know the difference between "none found through failure" and "none found because there are none"
I'm also not sure what kind of disguise we adopted...
Enoch keeps to the back of the group, knowing that a tall, gangly figure such as him stands out. He focus his mind for a few seconds, just to see if there is any Psyker activitity nearby.
OOC:
I'll do a Psyniscience test (versus 65) just to see if our opponents are quite so stupid/bold as to send straight up Psykers our way. (Mostly so I know if I can use powers more freely if the situation requires it).
I'm also not sure what kind of disguise we adopted...
Eldrit flipped his cloak quickly, concealing his holsters from casual view, drawing it around him with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes looking from beneath the hood.
Drake stands to his full height, assuming his Emperor-given imperious air as he smooths out the sumptuous robes he's wearing, ever so slightly rumpled from the reentry. He has dressed his subordinates in similar, appropriate attire. He holds up his arms in a welcoming gesture, a warm smile flitting over his lips.
"Good day sir. I am Provisoner-General Eamon Yzalli of the Administratum, and these are my primary subordinates. We're here to speak about some matters of tithing with the Governor and his administration. And personally, I wouldn't mind matching my skills with gun against some of this planet's deadliest creatures, hmm?" He steps forward, a slight swagger to his gait, "Certainly you'll want to let the governor know we've arrived, yes?"
"you never forget how to do some things." He thinks to himself, wondering if his popinjay front will be enough to bluster past the port authority.
Enoch doesn't detect any Psyker activity in the nearby vicinity...
The dockworker's demeanor changes almost instantly, shifting from bemused annoyance to complete passive supplicity in a single smooth motion. "Of course Provisoner-General!" He whirls around and spits a whispered command at his second, who jumps up and sprints away to fulfill his orders. The customs officer turns back around, smoothing down his jumpsuit with his palms and trying to put on a winning smile that comes off as cheap and slimy. "General, my associate will send out the introductions immediately, and I will personally look into proper hunting grounds for a man of your station. I know the Kilen plains near the mountains boast some fine hunting this season; perhaps I could arrange for a shuttle to take you there after your business is concluded."
The worker makes several notes on a whirring tablet, then turns back to you. "Your landing has been processed, you are at your leave to leave or remain here and you have permits to remain here indefinitely. My associate should return soon with a response from the Governor's offices. Is there any other way I can serve you as you are welcomed to our fine world?"
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
"A transport my good man, and porters to get our luggage to said transport, please." He flashed the pliant worker a winning smile, pulling a moderately sized gelt chit from his sleeve and flipping it to him, "And I might be able to double that if you get direct us to the best lodgings the city can offer." He rests his hand in his sleeve. He felt like he was back being the junior headbreaker on the Vice Squad at Scintilla. Money had the sometimes alarming habit of perpetuating the centrifugal motion of the galaxy.
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Attilas roused himself, and set about rousing the spirits of his equipment. In stoic silence he set about supervising the unloading of the large quantities of equipment the group had brought with them. They were certainly prepared for all likely eventualities. The Administratum officials were of little interest, dealing with the red tape was the Inquisitors job.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
The customs man is only too happy to assist with your lodgings and transports, and soon you have purchased rooms at one of the finest hotels in the capital city and you can see a high-class transport civilian speeder approaching bearing the markings of local shuttle service. The man may be a slimy brown-noser, but he is efficient at his job. As your bags are being packed, his associate returns with a note from the planetary Governor's Executive Secretary, who requests to meet with you this evening for dinner some 10 hours from now. Plenty of time to move your things to your rooms... or begin your investigation.
You have successfully made planet fall, (hopefully) avoided detection so far, and have set up a meeting with a high-power political figure to dig into the situation and make your case. You have roughly 10 hours beforehand to do as you will. How do you wish to proceed?
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Enoch takes a quick sweep around the hotel room, then accesses the public media channels to see if anything interesting is happening on a large enough scale that it ends up in the news somehow.
After about half an hour, you are all situated with your baggage in a trio of very comfortable suites with separate rooms near the top of a 25 story highrise in the middle of the capital. Sometimes, it's nice to have the financial backing of the Inquisition to maintain an identity.
Flipping through the Vid channels and scanning the local network for basic information, the only thing that jumps out at you is just how boring it must be to live on this planet. Half the information is devoted to large scale farming, aimed at either the lowly worker or the high noble executives and deal with either working more comfortably or forcing workers into longer hours. Absolutely nothing you wouldn't expect to see on this type of world.
After a few minutes of scanning, though, something does catch your eye, not for its listings, but for its absences. Not in the newspapers, not on the network, not on the vidscreen is there any mention anywhere of work accidents or worker deaths, not even an obituary section for anyone under the rank of Baron. It would seem that whoever is in charge of the media distribution has made the choice that workers don't need to hear about the accidental deaths that must go on every day here, in the fields and the mines. Again, this is not uncommon for a contract world... but it might prove a barrier for casual information collection. Any patterns or mass deaths or disappearances would be automatically covered up by the system. Alternate research might be called for.
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
"Thank the Emperor for thought through tales..." Drake thought to himself as his cadre situated themselves in the suites. As a procurator general, he would be searching for irregularities in the tithes, and worker deaths would be related to this. Abnormally high numbers of death would hurt the tithe after all. Outside of that, he would likely also put in an appearance at the local Arbites branch to see if they had more information to offer. He would have to see what fruit dinner with the Governor and his flunkies beared
He searched the room for any bugs or surveillance that would be inconvenient for him and his agents.
"Do not get too comfortable here my friends." He cautioned as he searched, "We have work ahead of us. I feel we will need to plan for this dinner."
While Drake searches the rooms for bugs, Attilas begins to unpack and transform a corner of the available space into a suitable work area. Lining tools neatly along one of the desks, that particular corner becomes a strangely orderly jumble of Mechanicus implements. A sort of miniature shrine.
When things are organised to his satisfaction, he prepares his vox-caster and begins a systematic scan of available frequencies for any transmissions of interest.
I'm not sure what skill would be used for this sort of thing, maybe Tech-Use? Either way I'll leave it up to Susan to roll so I don't know if I failed because it isn't there or because I didn't find it.
And by "transmissions of interest" I'm referring to trying to get into the local PDF/Arbites/Other Authorities Vox-network and any transmission that is either encrypted or has no apparent reason to exist.
Also, you said no Obituaries for people below Baron level. So who has died recently, and what did they die of?
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
Enoch tires quickly of all the agricultural and economic news, and after a while turns off the console. "It seems noone dies anymore here, at least as far as the media is concerned. If our meeting doesn't turn up much, we could either try to access the fatality records of the Administratum, or perhaps find some archives, and see when exactly this trend started."
Enoch tires quickly of all the agricultural and economic news, and after a while turns off the console. "It seems noone dies anymore here, at least as far as the media is concerned. If our meeting doesn't turn up much, we could either try to access the fatality records of the Administratum, or perhaps find some archives, and see when exactly this trend started."
"Agreed, and finding whose policy it was will be most enlightening." Drake said as he wrapped up his search, "I didn't find anything. Though I'm no techpriest so we'll see. Anything else the populace seems to take stock in....?"
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
The most recent death was a couple weeks ago, Baronness Highmoore, dead age 332 from massive organ failure after nearly a century of bed rest. The one before that was about a month before, a noble teenager who apparently ingested some potent intoxicants and overdosed. The deaths before that are as boring and uninformative; if nobles are being targeted, nothing in the standard networks is picking it up.
Attilas spends the first several minutes in the suite communing with the Machine Spirit of your Vox catcher in the hopes it will bring you some information that is out of the public eye. After long stretches of chanting and meditation to calm its scattered signals, the catcher locks onto several official bands running standard Imperial encrypt codes that are a joke to hack; honestly they're just there to keep true civilians from stumbling across them and interfering with official business. By the time your Inquisitor has swept the room, the first of the channels clarifies and Attilas starts to hear the unmistakable sound of local Arbites doing their daily reports back into base.
At first as Attilas listens in to the conversation absolutely nothing jumps out as important; a drunken brawl in the lower city with a half dozen knife and lasgun fatalities, some kind of vehicle prowler who likes to steal and crash noble house's speeders, police ineffectually investigating the local Dust trade, the standard business for a planet this size and type. But then as Attilas is flipping through the bands, he stumbles across a call that jumps out at him and makes what's left of his skin crawl. There's a discussion between an Arbites Captain reporting directly to an Arbites Commissioner about an incident in a mining town some 450-500km outside the capitol. He is discussing an 'Incident' a 'really bad one this time, like the town by the Hades last month'. He is asking for permission to 'cleanse the scene' and then inform the local Mining Household that this particular village is 'out of commission' and that they should hire additional staff for the area.
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Enoch tires quickly of all the agricultural and economic news, and after a while turns off the console. "It seems noone dies anymore here, at least as far as the media is concerned. If our meeting doesn't turn up much, we could either try to access the fatality records of the Administratum, or perhaps find some archives, and see when exactly this trend started."
Eldrit finds himself a room and sweeps it for listening devices, then lays out his clothing and weapons, slipping into a voluminous robe of coarse weave. He returns to the main room, waiting for a moment to discuss the next move.
But then as Attilas is flipping through the bands, he stumbles across a call that jumps out at him and makes what's left of his skin crawl. There's a discussion between an Arbites Captain reporting directly to an Arbites Commissioner about an incident in a mining town some 450-500km outside the capitol. He is discussing an 'Incident' a 'really bad one this time, like the town by the Hades last month'. He is asking for permission to 'cleanse the scene' and then inform the local Mining Household that this particular village is 'out of commission' and that they should hire additional staff for the area.
Question whose answer will determine my in-character reaction: Do the rest of hear this like on speakers, or does only Atillas hear this as he's "jacked in"?
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Drake settles down, briefly relaxing. He lets his agents prepare as he speaks.
"The majority of us should attend the dinner. While this is happening, one of our more subtle compatriots will be quietly accessing the Governor's private records to locate anything that will contradict the official records we find in our slightly more public investigation. Additionally, they'll prove useful should there be an ambush or something equally rash at the dinner."
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
"Arbites Vox-network connection established. Captain reports to Commissioner major incident in mining town outside capital. Likens it to a major incident in a town near the Hades. Requests permission to cleanse scene and inform owning household that town is out of commission and new staff are required. Will continue monitoring."
With that, he continues his monitoring looking for further details. Simultaneously, he begins searching the data stored on his data-slate for information pertaining to the mining towns and references to the Hades.
I'm assuming that prior to arrival we would have collected the known planetary data, so hopefully that includes some information on local geography and place names at minimum. Although I expect minor towns probably don't get a mention.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
Still time before dinner to check this out, dependent
Drake sat bolt upright.
"Attilas, can you tap into that transmission with Arbites encyptions? We can't let this lead go to waste. I should be able to use my old credentials to over-ride them." He said as he stood and started to pace. Finally, a tangible lead.
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
"Current standard Arbites encryption in use. Have broken encryption to allow listening. Can redirect incoming signals to any compatible hardware we possess. Do you wish to transmit? Doing so will likely cause suspicion, current report appears to be private. Information indicates reported town is between 450 and 500km distant. Depending on available transportation investigation prior to evening engagement is possible."
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
"Hrm, all right, if it's a private report, best not to arouse suspicion. Get the location so we get transportation out to it. Everyone, start getting out your enforcement gear, we need to beat the local clean up crew to the scene."
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Yes, you have the Wikipedia-level knowledge of the planet available to you no problem, which includes a detailed geographical map, names of officials and notable households, major imports and exports, etc.
By speeder, if you travel quickly, you could get to the location in 2-2.5 hours at most, barring some kind of incident or inclement weather (and the weather reports are mild to pleasant at the moment).
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
"Orders acknowledged. Continuing monitoring of vox network."
With the call to action, Attilas patches the transmission through to his micro-bead. There was work to do now, and being tethered to the caster was going to be an imposition. Opening one of the shipping crates in the corner, he carefully removes the highly ornate Meltagun and backpack ammo supply from it's padded container.
Reciting the litanies to awaken the weapon spirits, the vox caster is attached to the top of the ammo pack. With the assistance of the various mechadendrites, the whole pack is then carefully attached to a variety of ports on the back of his armour nestled among the mechadendrites.
There is a slight disruption in the vox monitoring as the Vox-caster swaps from internal power to drawing from the Potentia Coil that makes up a large portion of Attilas' torso. Satisfied that all is in order, a power axe is also removed from the crate. More of a symbol of rank than a weapon, it is nevertheless an important tool. The rituals are also intoned over this and the wrist mounted bolt pistol, rousing their spirits and preparing them for action.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
"It seems it's time to hit the road." Enoch suits up in Cameleoline Armour, and picks up his badge of office, marking him as an agent of the Inquisition. "I think we have a choice to make.... either we take items such as these with us, and risk being searched somewhere on the way, or we leave them behind, and risk spies while we're chasing this "bad event." A risk either way, but i'm not sure which risk is greater."
He ponders the situation for a second. "If the area is sealed off, I can take a peek from a few clicks away. Can only see stuff, maybe lip read, and it won't do much good if it's dark."
"Hrm, all right, if it's a private report, best not to arouse suspicion. Get the location so we get transportation out to it. Everyone, start getting out your enforcement gear, we need to beat the local clean up crew to the scene."
Mattias runs to his room, shucks the robe, pulling on more respectable clothing, including a cloak, the better to conceal his armaments. (compact bolt pistols in twin shoulder rigs (W/ ammo), mono-punch-dagger at the small of my back, mono-stiletto tucked in a boot-top)
"I don't think it will be necessary. Locals tend to shrink under galactic authority. Anyways, I will have my seal should worse come to worst." Drake mused as he moved to his room, removing the administratum robes and instead donning his armor and weaponry. He muttered a prayer to the God-Emperor as he kissed his rosarius before letting it fall into place. After he tucked his rosette into the armor, He threw an old Arbites-issue cloak over his ensemble and marched back out to the others.
"When you are ready gentlemen." He said, waiting for them to finish preparations.
Matev on
"Go down, kick ass, and set yourselves up as gods, that's our Prime Directive!"
Your speeder eats up the kilometers as you pass from paved roads to dirt roads to open plains on your sprint out to the site in question. Outside of the city you barely see a living soul; just the occasional growing operations on the edge of your vision worked by hundreds of slaves, but even these are dozens of kilometers apart. The closer you get to your target, the more wild the land gets and the scenery turns over to light forests of blue and green-leaved trees and spindly forms of local fauna hiding from your roaring engines.
It's a lovely planet. It'd be a great loss to let it fall to Chaos.
Near your target you begin to see a series of what looks like Arbites skimmers in stationary positions above the site and some activity on the ground you can't make out. You're looking at some kind of farming city; you can see some blocky barns and prefab living quarters, and there's a concentric ring of growing fields stretching for a dozen kilometers outward from its hub. You are still in some of the light wild foliage, and don't think you've been seen by any of the parties. If you drive much closer, though, that will change.
How do you want to play the approach?
susan on
2010 PAX DM Challenge Grand Champion 2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Posts
"It seems to me that if it was indeed a Psyker event was involved on the previous worlds, then we should look into the data the local Arbites has on Psyker and Mutant occurrences recently. Perhaps they have already caught or killed some the enemies the Imperium behind this, thinking them no more then the plague that humanity suffers everywhere. There might be a pattern, or someone to question."
Through a thin industrial haze and a sputtering morning rain, your Lighter tracks the lit runes of the long concrete slab growing underneath it, decelerating hard against the 1.1 Gravities of the world below. The vox chatter in the cockpit is constant and utterly routine. Your cover identities have been bought completely and the servitor-controlled automated landing assist systems blink and lock into place on in sequence before you. If you know your luck, this is the last time you can expect things to go this smoothly for quite some time.
Minutes later you come to a bracing and complete stop on the far end of the landing pad, tucked away in a side stall with no need for a ferry assist. Humanity buzzes around you in the early morning with crews of Mechanicus adepts performing holy maintenance upon stationary craft and whole squadrons of weak-chinned Imperial administrators patrolling in packs and inspecting every lander and crate and press-ganged worker and Imperial-official packing seal to be seen. As the flock descends upon your end of the runway, a pair of said administrators march casually towards your craft, gesturing through the viewport that they wish to talk. The welcoming party. Time for your mission to truly begin.
As your craft equalizes atmospheric pressure and slowly swings open its side door, your minds turn to your immediate objectives and the best way to proceed. You've faced worse than a pair of low-level customs lackeys, so you're not that frightened, but still the situation presents potential risks. Have you been spotted in coming despite your precautions? Will they ask prying questions about your intentions here? Are they about to shake you down for a docking bribe? Are these two suicide cultists about to blow themselves and your ship to the heavens?
Still though, your minds are trained to be paranoid, and this situation will likely range from simply annoying to potentially quite revealing. These men do work the landing docks, after all. They may look like idiots, but perhaps they've seen something suspicious happening here lately...
Your door finishes opening, and the lead man straightens his back and attempts to look down his nose at you. He's balding and has a protruding belly that's stretching his canvass jumpsuit to the breaking point. With a nasal voice, he asks, "Your names and purpose for visit, please provide them to me now."
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
OOC:
I'll do a Psyniscience test (versus 65) just to see if our opponents are quite so stupid/bold as to send straight up Psykers our way. (Mostly so I know if I can use powers more freely if the situation requires it). Edit: Leaving the roll for susan so I can't know the difference between "none found through failure" and "none found because there are none"
I'm also not sure what kind of disguise we adopted...
Eldrit flipped his cloak quickly, concealing his holsters from casual view, drawing it around him with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes looking from beneath the hood.
***
Drake stands to his full height, assuming his Emperor-given imperious air as he smooths out the sumptuous robes he's wearing, ever so slightly rumpled from the reentry. He has dressed his subordinates in similar, appropriate attire. He holds up his arms in a welcoming gesture, a warm smile flitting over his lips.
"Good day sir. I am Provisoner-General Eamon Yzalli of the Administratum, and these are my primary subordinates. We're here to speak about some matters of tithing with the Governor and his administration. And personally, I wouldn't mind matching my skills with gun against some of this planet's deadliest creatures, hmm?" He steps forward, a slight swagger to his gait, "Certainly you'll want to let the governor know we've arrived, yes?"
"you never forget how to do some things." He thinks to himself, wondering if his popinjay front will be enough to bluster past the port authority.
***
The dockworker's demeanor changes almost instantly, shifting from bemused annoyance to complete passive supplicity in a single smooth motion. "Of course Provisoner-General!" He whirls around and spits a whispered command at his second, who jumps up and sprints away to fulfill his orders. The customs officer turns back around, smoothing down his jumpsuit with his palms and trying to put on a winning smile that comes off as cheap and slimy. "General, my associate will send out the introductions immediately, and I will personally look into proper hunting grounds for a man of your station. I know the Kilen plains near the mountains boast some fine hunting this season; perhaps I could arrange for a shuttle to take you there after your business is concluded."
The worker makes several notes on a whirring tablet, then turns back to you. "Your landing has been processed, you are at your leave to leave or remain here and you have permits to remain here indefinitely. My associate should return soon with a response from the Governor's offices. Is there any other way I can serve you as you are welcomed to our fine world?"
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Attilas roused himself, and set about rousing the spirits of his equipment. In stoic silence he set about supervising the unloading of the large quantities of equipment the group had brought with them. They were certainly prepared for all likely eventualities. The Administratum officials were of little interest, dealing with the red tape was the Inquisitors job.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
The customs man is only too happy to assist with your lodgings and transports, and soon you have purchased rooms at one of the finest hotels in the capital city and you can see a high-class transport civilian speeder approaching bearing the markings of local shuttle service. The man may be a slimy brown-noser, but he is efficient at his job. As your bags are being packed, his associate returns with a note from the planetary Governor's Executive Secretary, who requests to meet with you this evening for dinner some 10 hours from now. Plenty of time to move your things to your rooms... or begin your investigation.
You have successfully made planet fall, (hopefully) avoided detection so far, and have set up a meeting with a high-power political figure to dig into the situation and make your case. You have roughly 10 hours beforehand to do as you will. How do you wish to proceed?
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Flipping through the Vid channels and scanning the local network for basic information, the only thing that jumps out at you is just how boring it must be to live on this planet. Half the information is devoted to large scale farming, aimed at either the lowly worker or the high noble executives and deal with either working more comfortably or forcing workers into longer hours. Absolutely nothing you wouldn't expect to see on this type of world.
After a few minutes of scanning, though, something does catch your eye, not for its listings, but for its absences. Not in the newspapers, not on the network, not on the vidscreen is there any mention anywhere of work accidents or worker deaths, not even an obituary section for anyone under the rank of Baron. It would seem that whoever is in charge of the media distribution has made the choice that workers don't need to hear about the accidental deaths that must go on every day here, in the fields and the mines. Again, this is not uncommon for a contract world... but it might prove a barrier for casual information collection. Any patterns or mass deaths or disappearances would be automatically covered up by the system. Alternate research might be called for.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
He searched the room for any bugs or surveillance that would be inconvenient for him and his agents.
"Do not get too comfortable here my friends." He cautioned as he searched, "We have work ahead of us. I feel we will need to plan for this dinner."
Fuuuuuuuu
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
When things are organised to his satisfaction, he prepares his vox-caster and begins a systematic scan of available frequencies for any transmissions of interest.
And by "transmissions of interest" I'm referring to trying to get into the local PDF/Arbites/Other Authorities Vox-network and any transmission that is either encrypted or has no apparent reason to exist.
Also, you said no Obituaries for people below Baron level. So who has died recently, and what did they die of?
Sometimes they have other tasks for him. But at first it's always waiting. So Zulius stands unmoving in the hallway. Watching.
"Agreed, and finding whose policy it was will be most enlightening." Drake said as he wrapped up his search, "I didn't find anything. Though I'm no techpriest so we'll see. Anything else the populace seems to take stock in....?"
Attilas spends the first several minutes in the suite communing with the Machine Spirit of your Vox catcher in the hopes it will bring you some information that is out of the public eye. After long stretches of chanting and meditation to calm its scattered signals, the catcher locks onto several official bands running standard Imperial encrypt codes that are a joke to hack; honestly they're just there to keep true civilians from stumbling across them and interfering with official business. By the time your Inquisitor has swept the room, the first of the channels clarifies and Attilas starts to hear the unmistakable sound of local Arbites doing their daily reports back into base.
At first as Attilas listens in to the conversation absolutely nothing jumps out as important; a drunken brawl in the lower city with a half dozen knife and lasgun fatalities, some kind of vehicle prowler who likes to steal and crash noble house's speeders, police ineffectually investigating the local Dust trade, the standard business for a planet this size and type. But then as Attilas is flipping through the bands, he stumbles across a call that jumps out at him and makes what's left of his skin crawl. There's a discussion between an Arbites Captain reporting directly to an Arbites Commissioner about an incident in a mining town some 450-500km outside the capitol. He is discussing an 'Incident' a 'really bad one this time, like the town by the Hades last month'. He is asking for permission to 'cleanse the scene' and then inform the local Mining Household that this particular village is 'out of commission' and that they should hire additional staff for the area.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Eldrit finds himself a room and sweeps it for listening devices, then lays out his clothing and weapons, slipping into a voluminous robe of coarse weave. He returns to the main room, waiting for a moment to discuss the next move.
Question whose answer will determine my in-character reaction: Do the rest of hear this like on speakers, or does only Atillas hear this as he's "jacked in"?
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Drake settles down, briefly relaxing. He lets his agents prepare as he speaks.
"The majority of us should attend the dinner. While this is happening, one of our more subtle compatriots will be quietly accessing the Governor's private records to locate anything that will contradict the official records we find in our slightly more public investigation. Additionally, they'll prove useful should there be an ambush or something equally rash at the dinner."
"Arbites Vox-network connection established. Captain reports to Commissioner major incident in mining town outside capital. Likens it to a major incident in a town near the Hades. Requests permission to cleanse scene and inform owning household that town is out of commission and new staff are required. Will continue monitoring."
With that, he continues his monitoring looking for further details. Simultaneously, he begins searching the data stored on his data-slate for information pertaining to the mining towns and references to the Hades.
I'm assuming that prior to arrival we would have collected the known planetary data, so hopefully that includes some information on local geography and place names at minimum. Although I expect minor towns probably don't get a mention.
Drake sat bolt upright.
"Attilas, can you tap into that transmission with Arbites encyptions? We can't let this lead go to waste. I should be able to use my old credentials to over-ride them." He said as he stood and started to pace. Finally, a tangible lead.
By speeder, if you travel quickly, you could get to the location in 2-2.5 hours at most, barring some kind of incident or inclement weather (and the weather reports are mild to pleasant at the moment).
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
With the call to action, Attilas patches the transmission through to his micro-bead. There was work to do now, and being tethered to the caster was going to be an imposition. Opening one of the shipping crates in the corner, he carefully removes the highly ornate Meltagun and backpack ammo supply from it's padded container.
Reciting the litanies to awaken the weapon spirits, the vox caster is attached to the top of the ammo pack. With the assistance of the various mechadendrites, the whole pack is then carefully attached to a variety of ports on the back of his armour nestled among the mechadendrites.
There is a slight disruption in the vox monitoring as the Vox-caster swaps from internal power to drawing from the Potentia Coil that makes up a large portion of Attilas' torso. Satisfied that all is in order, a power axe is also removed from the crate. More of a symbol of rank than a weapon, it is nevertheless an important tool. The rituals are also intoned over this and the wrist mounted bolt pistol, rousing their spirits and preparing them for action.
He ponders the situation for a second. "If the area is sealed off, I can take a peek from a few clicks away. Can only see stuff, maybe lip read, and it won't do much good if it's dark."
Mattias runs to his room, shucks the robe, pulling on more respectable clothing, including a cloak, the better to conceal his armaments. (compact bolt pistols in twin shoulder rigs (W/ ammo), mono-punch-dagger at the small of my back, mono-stiletto tucked in a boot-top)
"When you are ready gentlemen." He said, waiting for them to finish preparations.
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion
Your speeder eats up the kilometers as you pass from paved roads to dirt roads to open plains on your sprint out to the site in question. Outside of the city you barely see a living soul; just the occasional growing operations on the edge of your vision worked by hundreds of slaves, but even these are dozens of kilometers apart. The closer you get to your target, the more wild the land gets and the scenery turns over to light forests of blue and green-leaved trees and spindly forms of local fauna hiding from your roaring engines.
It's a lovely planet. It'd be a great loss to let it fall to Chaos.
Near your target you begin to see a series of what looks like Arbites skimmers in stationary positions above the site and some activity on the ground you can't make out. You're looking at some kind of farming city; you can see some blocky barns and prefab living quarters, and there's a concentric ring of growing fields stretching for a dozen kilometers outward from its hub. You are still in some of the light wild foliage, and don't think you've been seen by any of the parties. If you drive much closer, though, that will change.
How do you want to play the approach?
2011 PAX Warmachine/Hordes Champion