Ecthelion's Encounter

“The ship was, of course, a weapon of war but at that time I did not know of the true and secret purpose of the craft and its crew. Since then my understanding has grown a little as over the years I have been able to piece together a few fragments of evidence from others.

Her name was Idrythiss; “The Firebrand”, and I thought her exquisitely beautiful. She seemed to me to have been formed out of the very fabric of the air itself; wonderful long sinewy lines that seemed to fit together seamlessly as though she had been literally poured from the mind of her creator. Like the rest of the crew, my admittance to the ship had been based solely on the position my family held within our Craftworld society. To be a part of The Firebrand meant something to the crew, even if we were completely forbidden to discuss what it was we were doing. I didn't truly understand that at the time, especially since it appeared to me as though we were not doing anything different to any other crew. But I had been well drilled by our teachers not to discuss matters in case even the lesser known titbit of information held some importance that our people wanted kept safe, and so I did my duty, even if I didn't yet understand what it was.

Eventually of course that would change. I was a member of the crew for general duties, but my primary role on board was to act as a member of The Hands of Kurnous. There were ten of us in total and I was the youngest by far. The Five of the Right Hand (that was my team) were the kill team; marksmen who were expected to remove sentries, guards or persons of specific interest. The Five of the Left Hand were the intrusion team. It was they who crawled into the bowels of Imperial compounds or would fly into the wreck of a crashed Dark Eldar vessel. You might assume that the Left Hand had the harder task but in reality our work was just as risky. It was as essential for us to secure an area first, and to remain unnoticed, and we had to use all the means at our disposal to lure and entice security to positions where we could clinically butcher them. Together The Left Hand and The Right Hand worked tirelessly and without outside recognition. It was careful work, but essential to the success of our wider mission. Our hunt.

It was on my last mission for The Firebrand that some of what this hidden purpose entailed became clear to me. It seemed like any normal day aboard ship until the vessel came to an abrupt stop. After protracted moments of silence a slight commotion appeared to be spreading through the ship. We were no longer sailing alone. We were now part of a host. A great host at that. I had never seen so many Aeldari craft assembled together. Something extraordinary was about to happen.

The battle was fierce. I had never witnessed anything like it in all my young years. It was unforgiving and lethal work, but our people were set to it and seemed committed to the kill. As a smaller and lighter vessel The Firebrand was kept back from the main vanguard, left to focus on the periphery of the action. Suddenly, and without explanation we became aware that we were travelling again; only this time away from the conflict.

None dared to speak. Our Captain remained intensely focussed and the main crew clearly had a plan in mind. We sensed that our removal from the battle was deliberate, but we had no idea why that might be. After an hour the Captain gave instructions that we were to set to silent running.

We brushed through space like shadow across a dark pool. No living soul witnessed The Firebrand easing itself gently to a position just above an innocuous looking moon. The crew all held their breath, waiting for instructions. When the call for The Hands came, I was not entirely sure whether to be pleased or not. I felt the excitement, for sure; but there was a degree of anticipation in the air that I did not like.

When our Wave Serpent finally touched down the landing doors were opened, and the orders were given, “Right Hand determine a safe location for us to receive visitors, Left Hand secure the inner perimeter.” As we jumped out the grav engines screamed, lifting the vehicle back up off the moon surface as it headed back towards The Firebrand. All was silent.

The moon was mostly rock but did contain a thin atmosphere. After some time surveying the scene I found the ideal location myself; a plateau of rock that was only overlooked by a section of cliff that I felt we could hold ourselves. I passed back my findings and the team leaders agreed.

An hour later I was squatting down on the rock floor overlooking the plateau. Around me I could just about make out the shape of my fellow team mates, sat in their own positions, perfectly hidden against the rockface by their chameleoline cloaks. After sometime a call came in from The Firebrand that three vessels were approaching, two of them were Mon-Keigh ships. We were told to hold position whilst a Wave Serpent brought another group from The Firebrand. This time when they landed someone stepped out of the craft that I was not expecting. In fact I had had no idea they were ever on our ship at all. It was a Farseer, accompanied on either side by some of our finest warriors. Immediately I could hear the raised voices of my comrades in my mind, calling out questions about what we were doing. Having one of the great out in the open like this was terrifying. He stepped out on to the plateau as the Mon-Keigh ships we were expecting landed nearby. “Watch them closely” came an unnecessary reminder.

The nearest Mon-Keigh craft to my position had the sigils of one of their military factions, one of the giant malformed Mon-Keigh. I gripped my rifle closely and watched as the landing doors of the craft were thrown open. Out strode two of those hideous creatures, centred by one who seemed adorned with special paraphernalia. I looked at him carefully, the splendour of his armaments and the signs upon his armour and I shared this with my team. “Inquisitor...” came back the hushed response; “A Mon-Keigh witch”

The other Mon-Keigh ship opened its landing doors at the same time and a metallic shape scuttled its way across the platform and down out on to the moon’s surface. It was similarly followed by other such loathsome creatures. I called out to my team as to what I was witnessing and one of my brothers informed me that this was yet another abomination of the Mon-Keigh, one of those who cut the flesh from their bodies and sang to machines. How these Mon-Keigh misshaped themselves reminded me only too strongly of the terrors of our ancient and more terrifying enemy. It seemed to me that they were closely aligned.

Our Farseer met with these two leaders and I watched intently, awestruck by what was happening when suddenly I became aware of several shapes moving boldly into the meeting place. They were wheeling, springing from place to place and I could hear bold laughter in the corners of my mind. Harlequin...

What devilry had brought these factions together to so desolate a place, when not so far away Aeldari and Mon-Keigh were slaughtering each other in a brutal combat.

I was told to refocus my attention away from the congregation and instead to keep my gaze outwards. Being an obedient servant, that is what I did. For an hour those leaders sat in debate over matters I would never learn of. For one hour my team sat in our position whilst all I could think of was the wonder and the fear of what terrible force had driven such sides together to face one another like this.

When the attack came we were prepared. A long-range projectile was struck down before it met the moon, and several others were likewise rebutted by Mon-Keigh ships. It seemed perhaps that our old enemy was actively hunting for us all along They were great in number and as the weapons of our foes rained down upon us we broke cover and ran to protect our leaders. Suddenly, the ground around me exploded upwards and I was thrown into the air and then down hard upon the ground and remembered nothing more.

When I finally awoke, all was silent. My body ached but I was not injured, and more importantly I was no longer on that moon. I appeared to be an a narrow webway route, roughly the size of two of my people abreast. I was laying on the ground, carefully placed with my weapons just by my side. I managed to catch sight of one more thing before I blacked out again. Just where the webway turned several hundred paces ahead stood one lone Harlequin. The mask of that brother grinned back at me. I tried to sit up and ask for help but that was when my sense failed me again. I was now completely alone.

Did we forget to mention....

I mentioned in the previous post about the "new crew" that there might be a couple more to add to the list. Observant readers will have noticed one of these popping up in the latest session write up, so here's a bit more detail about our resident Adeptus Astartes:

• Brother Lycastus - A Tactical Marine and Battle Brother of the Salamanders Chapter. Lycastus is a Flamer specialist who has served his chapter for many years. A veteran of Guilliman's Indomitus Crusade, Lycastus is used to working with a variety of assets and units but seems to chafe a little over House Baccharus' open association with Xenos. Exactly why he, and he alone, travels with the Rogue Trader is veiled in mystery but it may be connected to the single finger of a power glove that he carries with him...

Fioncail and the Wise-but-dangerous-fool

Fioncail was one of the finest of us.  A dedicated servant of the Eldar people both in life and beyond. He walked the Path of the Seer for many days but sorrow had long walked beside him. The grief he felt for the lost was founded in great compassion towards those who had passed beyond physical life. So it was that he was drawn to walk the path of the Spiritseer, crossing the bridge between life and death.

Some said that Fioncail had not fully hardened his own soul against the danger of becoming too enthralled by his command over the dead and thus was on the verge of using his knowledge for darker deeds.  Others say that his loss was so great that he simply found greater comfort in the company of souls than the living. Whatever the true reasoning, whether to punish him as an outcast or simply to fulfil his desire for solitude the Spiritseer was charged with a great task.

Away from the travel routes of the younger races lay a barren, airless world. Upon that world an ancient enemy had laid deadly secrets which we could not leave unguarded. However, for fear of corruption, or eventual physical failing, it had been determined by Seer Council of Craftworld Kaelor that the world would not be protected by the living, but by Wraithguard. Thereby, even in death, they might provide eternal protection from the evils contained in that place.

Thus was Fioncail sent in a Ghostship to orbit that place, tending to the souls there and giving them solace while we believe he too found the exile he sought.

That was, of course, until the arrival of the Mon-keigh.

The first to come were raiders, servants of the Ruinous Powers and beast-like in their savagery and passions. How they found the place Fioncail did not know but he knew his duty and commanded his ship to engage them in battle.  No sooner had he done so but another Mon-keigh vessel entered the fray.

This was a somewhat larger ship of the kind used by the worshippers of their machine-god and as soon as it had translated from the warp it discharged weapons upon Fioncail's vessel. The Spiritseer was faced with a battle on two fronts but he knew the cost was he to fail.

Engaging all the foes before him the Spiritseer struck valiantly with all the powers at his disposal but it was ultimately of no use.  While he did cripple a second of the Chaotic ships, the later arrival, a vessel we would come to learn was owned an operated by the fickle Mon-keigh privateers known to them as "Rogue Traders", breached the hull of the Ghostship and boarded it. The pirates ransacked through the ship, tearing and despoiling as if they too were worshippers of the Chaos powers. They were led by one of the warrior-freaks that often act as their vanguard; an "As-tar-tes". They committed such sacrilege, and gave so many final deaths to Souls within the ship's Infinity Matrix, that the laments and sorrows on Kaelor when hearing of the news lasted for many, many cycles. 

Eventually the raiders fled to count their loses, the Ghostship was crippled and the Rogue Trader remained, victorious more by fortune than by skill. Fioncail was trapped, sealed as a prisoner within his own ship.  The pirates retreated but it wasn't long before the Spiritseer detected new emissaries approaching from the Mon-keigh cruiser.  This time they were salvage crews come to tear what little remained of the cruiser apart for their own aims and careless of the souls aboard. With a heavy heart, almost broken in grief and outrage at the conduct of these barbarians Fioncail took as many souls as he could and escaped, heading to the planet surface.

Once there he discovered that the Rogue Trader had not been idle. Not only had crews been sent to ransack the remains of the Ghostship but they had also been sent to the planet itself, straight to the complex he was tasked to protect.

Thankfully the eternal Wraithguard had not shirked in their duties and were already engaged with the invaders. The battle was looking lost until Fioncail arrived, lending his powers to the ghost warriors and turning the tide. He must have seemed a fearsome sight to the Mon-keigh, standing before them, arms aloft, psychic energies arcing through the air around him, charged by his grief to become wrath personified.

The barbarians were falling before him.  They were laid low by his power and by the anger and vengeance within his heart.  The Wraithguard tore through their forces as if they were mere wisps of smoke in the haze of the evening. The slaughter was manifest and within his soul Fioncail could hear the rapture of Kaela Mensha Khaine.

Then the leader of the Mon-Keigh, the one they called Captain Darien, who is known to us as the Wise-and-dangerous-fool, spoke up. Cutting through the tumult of battle he spoke to Fioncail by name. He, a Mon-keigh trader and pirate captain had read the runes of that place, both our runes of warning and warding and the ancient words we sought to protect the universe from, and he understood. He told Fioncail of places and things that he could not know and wisdom that should not have been shared and the fighting ceased.

Then the forces of Chaos, their noses bloodied before so now in great force, returned to claim the prize they desired.

Before them Eldar and Mon-Keigh stood together united against the Ruinous Powers, but that is another tale.   

A new crew

So we have the beginnings of our Wrath & Glory "Warband":

• Artemis Callaghan - an ex-enforcer turned Bounty Hunter (Desperado archetype) who crossed paths with Rahip Lomar, the Rogue Trader's Master-at-Arms.  He impressed the old wardog enough to be put on a retainer by the Dynasty. 
• Lilith - A Hive Slum ganger with a knack for "acquisitions". She was caught trying to steal from the vaults aboard the Emperor's Bounty and negotiated her release (and subsequent employment by the Dynasty) by stealing from her then-employer.  Long before joining the crew she and Artemis crossed paths on opposite sides of the law.  
• Tyrest Anibus - A tech-Priest from Stygies VIII who is searching for a final component to prove his grand discovery...he has signed on with the crew as he sees their mission as conducive to his own (He is also has the highest Fellowship in the group....the party "Face" is a Cog-Priest....) 
• Ecthelion - An Aeldari Rangers of the Kaeldor Craftworld. Ecthelion appears and disappears at a whim, following the fickle fates that draw and command him and the secretive ploys and plans of his people.  Whatever his deeper motives the crew do know that he acts as guide, protector and chaperone for the mysterious Warlock...
• Illiyan - A dark and brooding psyker, the warlock was forced or convinced to leave his home Craftworld of Kaeldor due to tragic and troubling events, the specifics of which he has not disclosed to the Mon-Keigh he now travels with. The two Aeldari are recent allies but the connection between the Dynasty and their Craftworld goes somewhat deeper...

There's possibly a couple more characters to add to that mix but more on those in future posts...

Prelude

With a grinding of gears and squeal which, had his audio bafflers not auto-compensated, would have set the teeth he no longer owned on edge, the enormous ceramite and iconite door before Wyndame worked its way open. The visible mechanism was typical of designs of the Adeptus Mechanicus; great chromed and bronzed cogs and leavers spinning and hinging in overly theatrical movements, functionally opening the gateway to the inner sanctum but also impressing all witnesses with the glory of the Machine God and his works.

If Wyndame still had the capacity to sneer he would.

Smoke billowed out of the grand chamber beyond the doorway, clinging to the wrought steel deck plates. Wyndame was alone on the walkway, as the Master always wished it. He shuffled forward, away from the harsh fluorescence of the deck lights on their midday cycle and into the gloom of the room before him. Nasal filters immediately compensated for the copious smoke and incense. Analysis data scrolled across Wyndame’s eye implant HUD generating an audible tut from beneath his hood. A heady mix of opiates and “enhancers” today.  That meant the Master would be in one of his “moods”.

As the Master’s Seneschal Wyndame was his right hand; acting as major domo, counsellor, facilitator, administrator, accountant and ambassador. Over the years the Master had become increasingly reclusive and engaged within his studies leaving more and more matters in Wyndame’s manipulator appendages. That, however, was acceptable. The Seneschal was conditioned to obey and to serve as he had for decades before then but obedience still permitted a sense of resignation to one’s fate, occasional frustration at weakness  or illogical behaviours and frequent recognition of open folly. Especially when it came to the MasterMaster and his fanciful notions.

The doors to the chamber ground closed, their immense size making a grand and impressive clang as they met and sealed in place.  Impressive for the first few dozen times, perhaps, but to the jaded figure who now slowly approached the central dais they had long since lost all gravitas.

With his image intensifying optics compensating for the smoke and vapour from the brass incense burners and braziers that surrounded the centre of this vast room Wyndame could see the Master was furtively scribbling. To the left a dictation servitor was desperately trying to right itself after seemingly having been knocked down from the dais. It’s typography limbs singularly inefficient at any task other than transcription.

The Seneschal made two vocalisations in an approximation of coughs.  The Master continued his manic activity.

“M’lud?” Wyndame finally spoke. Still no obvious recognition. With a visible shrug (had there been any witnesses paying him attention) Wyndame started to drag himself up the steps of the dais but stopped suddenly as the master sat bolt upright and then whipped around to face him. The Seneschal was stuck by the fact that the Master looked more composed and in command of his faculties than he had seen him for a very long time.  “Oh dear” was his immediate thought.

Wordlessly, the Master slowly stood. Using his baroque style, bionic arm with golden filigree to dust crumbs and specks from his velvet breaches, he picked a dainty kerchief from the baroque style writing desk with golden filigree and started, in vain, to try to slowly wipe the ink stains from his still-human hand.

Wyndame remained paused. His augmented subprocessors hastily checked for viable response options but every behaviour selection previously utilized in engagements with the Master was evaluated to now carry disproportionate risk.  Silence to, for as long as this had now been, carried with it similar risk. A further audio output was increasingly necessary.

“M’lud, why are you troubling yourself so? Was the servitor malfunctioning?”

The Master’s gaze was still fixed on Wyndame.

He spoke. “Too slow.” He placed the ineffective and now only slightly ink stained cloth back on the desk.

“But Master that has never been an issue before.  It represents a significantly valuable model in terms of invested Thrones and was always satisfactory until now. Would you like the Magos to…”?

“No. Enough. Too slow now. Too much to do, too much to say.  It couldn’t keep up you see.  Was just in the way so I had to get it out of the way and do it myself, do you see? Things are happening, things are changing and it’s all becoming important again, do you see?”

Oh dear, oh dear.  Thought Wyndame. That’s it then, the years of wandering around and exploring, monitoring and measuring are done. His behavioural buffers and conditioning routines were suddenly under more pressure than they had been for some time.

"Why are you here though? Did I send for you?”

“Yes, Master, well no Master, not specifically.” Do you see what you have done? Wynadme thought, you are making me flustered.  I am never flustered. This is your doing.

“Out with it Wyndame, this isn’t like you.”

No, it wasn’t.

“Master, you wished for me to tell you when the probes and survey data was received.”

“Did I?” Oh dear…there was a gleam in the eye there, an almost perceived smile. He knows, by the Throne of Mankind, he knows, but I don’t know how.

“Have you seen the data Master?”

“No.  But you know I know what it says.”

“Master?”

“I was right, wasn’t I? My visions were correct.  I have seen it”

“Well Master, there is much to be confirmed and the data is only the preliminary scans. There is a significant margin of error, especially at this distance.”

“But? Say it”

“Say what, m’lud?” Wyndame was increasingly the furtive one now.

“Tell me how correct I was.  What have we found.”

The Seneschal fell back on what was safe, what was secure, what was reliable.  He started to recite the precis report summary in a monotone;

“At 249 days Standard 101.M42 a rogue asteroid with a mean diameter of 423 clicks, entered the current system at a speed of…”

“No!” the Master interrupted. “What IS it? What does it look like?”

“M’lud…” Wyndame was back to his usual, vocoder tinged voice.  He hated this. “…it looked a lot like a head.”

“Whose head?”

“Well, Master that data is subjective and..”

“Whose?”

“Some might liken it to a facsimile of the likness given to approximations of the mortal visage of the individual recognised within the Imperium of Mankind as his holiness the God-Emperor...”

“Told you.” The Master, a beaming smile on his face and exuding an enormous sense of victory and self-satisfaction, sat back down in his desk chair with a lump. “And now it begins… Again. Not that it ever really ended. "

“M’ud?”

With a sudden burst he was on his feet again and with a dramatic flourish he pointed up to the ceiling and the huge vista view ports that gave an unparalleled view of the stars, and the rip in reality that tore through them.

“Set sail man! All engines to full! And gather our chosen ones…you have a job for them…”

The return...

It is the year 101.M42...the Imperium of man is still coming to terms with being rent in twain by the Cicatrix Maledictum, the Great Rift; a chain of Warpstorms that have divided the galaxy into two. In the aptly named "Dark Imperium, beyond the light of the Astronomican, Ultramarines Patriarch and Lord Commander of the dominions of mankind, Roboute Guilliman summoned many notable houses and dynasties of Rogue Traders.  He has sought the aid of these, often maligned and outcast agents of the Imperium to scour the Dark Imperium for new worlds to colonise, new resources to replenish that lost in the recent and very damaging Plague Wars, and to find any assets, hidden technology or wonders that may offer hope to an isolated and endangered humanity...

One such dynasty was House Baccharus...or at least it's scion, Darien Erronius.

Erronius is never seen in public these days and never leaves his vessel; the ancient Adeptus Mechanicus Lathe class cruiser "The Emperor's Bounty". He is considered eccentric at best and as blatantly heretical at worst, but he has a reputation for searching for and rediscovering lost "wonders".  He has frequently disappeared from known space for decades at a time returning with  some remarkable finds, but frequently far less crew...

Regardless of the suspicion that many Imperial Agents may have of him, Guilliman is pragmatic and not averse to allying with "enemies" of the Imperium if he feels it benefits his plans or humanity as a whole. Therefore he dispatches Erronius with his blessing and the promise of support and great rewards, if he is successful.

Never an orthodox commander, Darien collects a crew of varied and disparate individuals, usually indirectly (none will ever have met him in person) many of whom may be of questionable character or conventional "worth" but are now bound together in his service and sets sail for the unknown reaches of space where the Emperor's Light barely shines...

Running out of order - Session #19

Most of our players couldn't make this session (holidays and some movie or other called "Avengers" was released - pah - I'd gone on the first weekend...*I* didn't disrupt the game... ;) ) so we decided to play a "flashback" set during the ten days of Warp travel between Footfall and the rendezvous with the alien Stryxis at the end of the last game.
We got to "peep behind the veil" at what Mord does to keep the ship running.  Prior to the Warp jump there was a suspected problem with the Gellar field and due to it's importance Mord went to investigate personally (with a coterie of priests and servitors).  Everything checked out OK but we got to see how Mord "relates" to his underlings.  Personally I'm glad he's not my boss..... And we also took the chance to think about how Mord relates to the Machine god, especially as he is delving into areas of research and technology that other tech-priests might consider heretical....

After translation into the Warp Mord decides to have his form further enhanced and sorted the aquisition of a second mechendendrite - this time a heavy lifting servo-arm (see Dark Heresy: Ascension). During the procedure a subordinate tech-priest, Thom-Alpha-5, comes to Mord to advise that there has been a problem with some of the salvage they brought on board from Footfall (to breakdown and use for raw materials & parts); life signs have been detected within.

Mord heads to the cargo bay (with entourage) to examine the issue: the salvage is apparently a section of the outer hull of an Imperial vessel, about the size of a modern day tower block. Mord orders further auspex sweeps and summons Lomar to help as it's more his area of expertise.  Lomar arrives with a squad of armsmen and calls in some voidsmen to try to shed some light on what sort of ship it may have come from.  Its hard to tell as its such a small section and imperial ships can be pretty generic (coming from similar Standard Template Constructs) but it's certainly Imperial in origin and either from a Warp capable tranport or a non-warp "system" ship. There are no identifiable markings.

The tech-priests indicate that there are multiple life signs aboard but the ship segment has no power.  Mord and Lomar lock down the cargo bay, remove all non-essential staff and take a combined squad of tech-priests and armsmen into the wreck to investigate. Sending "Scully" (Mord's Servo-skull familiar) forwards where possible they scout out the hull, going deeper and deeper within.  Mord occasionally has to exercise his new Servo-arm to rip open sections of bulkhead to progress through the darkness.  The only light is that which they have brought in and the party are moving slowly in a staggered line.

Suddenly a shriek cuts the air from the back of the party (the poor guy playing Mord practically jumped out of his skin and had a "bit of a turn"...) - I made the players make Fear checks that they both failed.  "Something" with a blade or sharp claws had taken down one of the tech-priests at the back of the group. Very shaken, Lomar & Mord order the team to group up and send Scully ahead, above them into a access tube.  He soon reports back that a growing number of life signs are rapidly heading their way, from all directions....

A horde of Ghiliam (twisted "once humans" and mutants who infest the crawl spaces and hulls of ships like vermin.  See Dark Heresy: The Inquisitor's Handbook for details) swarm at the group from all dierctions and combat is joined.  Mord overcomes his fear and starts crushing the creatures around him with his Servo-arm while fending others off with his shock-staff.  Lomar relies on his trusted Ripper pistol to dispatch a number but can't shake his fears. The tech-priests and armsmen fend off a number too (the armsmans' shotguns making quick work of many of them) but a few crew are lost in the battle.  After a while the effective, if manic, defense breaks the horde and they flee back into the bowels of the wreckage. Thom-Alpha-5 reports from outside the vessel that as they have now identified the Ghiliam he has detected a single, static life sign different to all the rest.  The Explorers decide to investigate further but Lomar calls in a second squad of armsmen to follow them in and mke sure they aren't ambushed again.

The climb up the wreck is slow and arduous but the team are not bothered by further Ghiliam. Eventually they reach the room containing the unique life sign.  The place appears to be the Ghiliam's "nest" and is a fetid, dirty pit of a place.  Scattered with rags, mess, excrement, scrap and the remains of other, weaker Ghiliam (the canabalistic mtuants are their own main food source) the scene is pretty horrific - once again we called for Fear tests and Mord failed pretty famously, becoming paranoid and very jumpy for the rest of the voyage.

In the centre of the room is some form of large, oopen-topped, casket or crate, set on a plinth or table of some sort.  The Ghilliam appear to have decorated it as some form of rudimentary shrine.  Scrimshawing sigils and messages in their dark, corrupt, tongue and festoning it with trinkets and "offerings".  Lomar approaches and, pistol in hand, peers inside.  Laid within is the body of a Space Marine, one of the holy avengers of the Emperor; the Adeptus Astartes.  He is clad in battle damaged red and black power armour and bears a bolt pistol, chainsword and combat shotgun.  Lomar summons Mord who investigates the armour, identifying that the Marine within is alive but in self-induced suspended animation, his suit is still powered and has integrity, but is battle damaged (as noted by Lomar) and has been rebuilt or repaired from salvaged parts. The explorers arrange for him to be removed in secret and secured in one of Mord's chambers while some medicae staff can attempt to resucitate him, while Lomar's teams continue to purge the remains of the Ghiliam.

Some time passes and Mord & Lomar agree that they ought to advise Darien of their "find" and he is enthused with the prospect of meeting one of the god-emperor's "sons" in person.  They head to the chamber to find the 8ft tall marine, now stripped of his armour, awake and crushing the indpipe of one of the medicae who revived him.... Darien and Mord talk him down, whilst an orderly manages to get a sedative into him (should have knocked out a bull elephant but it just makes him a little sleepy).  He is Brother Sebastion "Bastion" Khaine of the Angels Sanguine and he tells Darien, Mord & Lomar that they may be permitted to transport him...

Expect the unexpected - Que'toh

After the introduction of the Fervian Death Cult Theata's player came up with, what I considered to be, a fun idea.

Darien was very aware that to rise in ranks in the cult a member had to fight and defeat a higher ranking member, and as a "Hum-phree" he was essentially a target for all the lower ranked "Chee-kens" on board the ship - especially as Scythia, in her wisdom had agreed with the Fervians that they would supply additional manpower to help crew the recomissioned Emperor's Bounty...Thus Darien had taken to wearing his fine looking, blue enameled, carapace armour at all times and is prone to jumping at shadows.
With this in mind Theata's player was reminded of the original Pink Panther movies and Clouseau's butler/manservant Kato. Thus came the concept of Que'toh.  Darien was almost constantly accompanied by two "faceless" masked Death Cultists - what if one was a player character? What if Darien's player didn't know, until such time as he lept out and attacked his master "for practise"?

So we rolled up a Dark Heresy Assassin and dropped him into the campaign. His initail "surprise attack" caused shock, groans and honest laughs. Essentially he is an alternate character for Theata's player (much like Dungoof and Mord) and mostly played for comic relief but he has been given the role of "Master of Whispers" aboard the Emperor's Bounty if only to keep him occupied and out of Darien's hair.....

A not so noble crew?

So we had our Lord-Captain and a faithful, if quirky, ship.  What was needed now was a crew...

At the time I had four players all of which I'd run Dark Heresy for at one time or another and all of which had a decent understanding of the setting. A good start.
So we put our heads together and came up with the following:
Darien Erronius - a "Rogue Trader" and the recently appointed heir of our Lord-Captain.  Up until recently Darien had lived on the planet of Archaos in the Calixis Sector (the regional setting for Dark Heresy) a young nobleman living the high life in the upper spire. Not overly furnished in the brain department he'd managed to bumble through the Higher Schola (university) mostly through his athletic pursuits and being a member, and champion of the Schola Fencing team.  An accomplished duelist he'd made his fair share of friends and enemies and in mysterious circumstances (the tale changes each time he tells it - in a similar vein to his father) he lost his arm and now sports a beautiful bionic replacement. He begins the campaign as the Majestic's First Officer.
Theata Xan'thai  - a Navigator from a nomadic house, Theata is driven by wanderlust to travel the Void.  When the young and impressionable Darien first joined the crew Theata immediately befirended him and took him under his wing, teaching him about ship board life and acting in many respects as his Major Domo.  Rapid paralells were drawn between Blackadder and Prince George in Blackadder III... On board ship Theata fulfils the role of Carto-artificer.

Vyn Tanda - An Arch-militant with a shady past, Vyn was the ship's dual chainsword weilding Chief Bo'sun.  She hailed from a Forge world but  the stuffy, ordered life under the rule of the Adeptus Mechanicus was not for her and she "fell off the rails" taking to the Void and having a number of ruin ins with the law.  She eventually ended up in the army, possibly a penal unit, where she was eventually recruited by the Lord-Captain and given charge of discipline aboard the Majestic - the old adage of "use a thief to catch a thief" applies...

Finally we had Dungoof an Ork Freebooter.  The Lord-Captain's passion for all things Xenos was well known amongst the crew but the most visible evidence of it was the Ork Twist Catcher, a Runtherd by the name of Dungoof or was considered cowardly by his clan and driven out, ending up in the Captain's service, cleansing teh bilge decks of vermin and mutants.

Welcome, and an explaination

Well here we go...
This is a little blog I've decided to keep to document the goings on in my, now regular, Rogue Trader Roleplaying Game campaign.
If you want to know more about Rogue Trader itself check out here for the official Fantasy Flight Games site.
So the campaign has been running now for twenty sessions, with the player characters just into Rank 2, or thereabouts.  So why start the blog now?  Why not at the beginning of the game?
Well for a start I never expected the game to go on this long or do so well! Back in the autumn of '11 I was contemplating running a new game.  Our group at the time were playing Wizards of the Coast's Star Wars Saga RPG and it was going well but I'd pretty much told the stories I wanted to tell at the time. I started to ponder what to run next and had a hankering to return to the setting of Warhammer 40,000.
I've been a player of "WartyK" since the beginning, some twenty five years ago, and of Laserburn before that and have followed the development of the universe and setting over that time.  I read the novels, paint the miniatures and it feels like "home". I'd run the first official roleplaying game set in the universe, Dark Heresy, until the group we were playing in at the time went it's seperate ways. It was a good game but I always felt that that I was never able to get the pay off for the plot threads I was weaving.
Therefore I immediately looked to Dark Heresy as the replacement for Star Wars...but something didn't quite fit.  To try to identify the problem I did a little brainstorm to try to identify the themes or concepts that I liked to use in a game....the idea being that I'd then try to match a game with the themes.  What I came up with was:

• Sorcery & magical items
• Wonderous technology
• Amazing powers
• Fantastic creatures
• Unbelievable locations

Pretty generic fantasy stuff really....but it got me thinking about Rogue Trader.  The mix of magic and arcient technology certainly fit, and exploration amongst the stars would give opportunities for the creatures and locations.  Powers could come in the form of psychic gifts, Untouchables, Faith powers, sorcery or even mutations...it seemed a good fit.  However....
I'd bought the rulebook and some of the supplments to use alongside Dark Heresy but it had never seemed *right* to me - I couldn't get a grip on the setting.  I knew the concept of Rogue Traders from back in the days of the original Warhammer 40,000 tabletop rules, in fact my first army was themed around a Rogue Trader and his entourage; "The Black Widow".... Anyhow, exploring space?  Finding lost civilisations and negotiating with alien races, that smacked more of Star Trek than teh grim future of Warhammer...I just couldn't get a mental "hook" on the game.
So I went back to planning for Dark Heresy.
But still Rogue Trader niggled at me. I decided that while writing for Dark Heresy (what turned out to be a cross over Deathwatch meets Ascended Dark Heresy campaign idea that lasted a whole one session...) I'd set myself the challenge of coming up with an idea that would work for me, the way (as I understand it) some professional writers will approach a commission they are not entirely keen on: "How can I make this idea work for ME").
So I started to toy with ideas.  What could appeal to me about Rogur Trader?  Well I had my list of themes, all of which fit.  So what was the missing ingredient?  I think the key was the set up - the situation.  I just couldn't see myself running a game where the players were the top dogs - it didn't fit our playing group or playing style.  There needed to be an authority figure, but one that would allow for the flexibility that wouldn't inhibit the player characters "power".
The authority in the setting rests with the holder of the Warrant of Trade so I'd make that person an non-player character - someone I could control to influence the direction of the game but I'd have o ensure that they didn't completely undermine or emasculate the players.  How to do that?  The first thought was to have them an absentee - left back at port whilst the heroes go off on their behalf.  That was no good - how could they offer direction if they are lightyears away?  No, they had to be closer to home, aboard the ship the players were on.
How could the Warrant Holder be prevented from emasculating the players?  The simple idea was - emasculate him - make him so flawed that the he was essentially useless, causing more harm than good - not enough that they'd want to remove him, but enough to get them into trouble, provoke adventures and stimulate roelplay.  Added to that was the protection that the Warrant granted - he was the legal holder - the players wouldn't just be able to remove him without serious consequences. Slowly an image began to form in my mind, a flambouyant, larger than life character who had fallen into the Warrant through mysterious circumstance (the tale would change with each telling) and who would be almost constantly drunk.  His drunkedness could both be a source of plot lines (deals made in haste etc) and also a way to remove him to allow the players to step to the fore (simply too drunk to command...).  I remembered a pantomime that I'd been to some years ago where the great actor Brian Blessed was Captain Hook - and there in my head was the image of our Lord-Captain, black bearded and rosy cheeked, wearing a gold brocaded red jacket and white stockings...Lord Captain Brion Baccahrus was born - and I had my hook.