Cambridge Wargames

[Timf]

It's Dark!!! It's Heretical!!! We're playing it!!!!

This thread will track the misfortunes, misguidedness and misdemeanours of our brave roleplaying crew as they mire themselves in the world of the Dark Heresy RPG.


No-one expects the IMPERIAL Inquisition (least of all its newest members). Among their many weapons are:

1) The doughty Guardsman (Steve). Gun nut gone mad!
2) The lofty Cleric (Chris G). Preach 'em down from the trees and let the others shoot 'em. Reassigned
3) The quirky Techpriest (Chris L.). Whats this button here do?
4) Silent but Deadly, no not the Assassin, its The Arbitrator (Listy) He is da law! Well ,Clause 4, subsection 3 of it anyway. KIA
5) Now its The Assassin! (Dan) Knives, guns, bullets, blades....
6) The thoughtful Psyker (Tom). Side order of chaos and brains, sir? Reassigned
7) The sly Scum (Clem) Tart with a twelve-bore.Reassigned
The Bonehead Ogryn (Listy) Dumb as a post and they gave it a gun
9) The Nob Plod (Colin) Another legal cause, but a far more refined one
10) The Needled Pysker (Rob) Wacko just got its jinx on....

Thus ends the cast of miscreants....
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Dan]

My character actually got to fire one of his guns this time and appropriately for my class my first shot in the game was a headshot.
I didn't get a kill with that shot but a headshot was cool none the less.
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[Timf]

Well, it all started ignominiously. A bunch of individuals hauled out of their normal lives, transported across the galaxy to the Calixis Sector and seconded by an Inquisitor called Tyburn Graves of an unknown Ordo.

After spending a couple of weeks being probed, interogated and otherwise checked like a prize labrador at Crufts, the group were ordered post-haste to the mining world Sepheris Secundus, to sort a problem. The reason they were being sent - they were closest and the 'real' team were a good 2 weeks further away.

Arriving at the mining world they were met by the sight of an Imperial Guard encampment. Wasting no time (no really they wasted no time), they reported to the Commissar of the unit.

The story ran thus - A nearby mine had been overrun by something. Several platoons had gone into the mine, which had been full of miners and very few people had come out. Some that had had been executed as mutants on the spot. This was bad for morale. This was weird stuff. Therefore this was up to the Inquisition. Therefore this was up to our brave heroes to solve so as to allow mining operations, vital to Sector security, to resume. The Commissar was not backward in forwarding the suggestion that the group looked more than a little green for the mission.

Given access to the Quartermaster Stores for a variety of basic equipment, the group then yomped to the mine itself. Large critters of undefined species opened the Imperial Seal on the mine. Five Heroes enter, will One Hero leave?

The next several hours were spent negotiating the mine complex aiming for the central area of interest - The Shatters, which was more difficult than anticipated due to at least one major explosion and/or landslip. In fact geography turned out to be a major obstacle. Suggestions of weirdness began to abound. Flayed immoble corpses do that to a mind. They also do unpleasant things to the intestines. After catechising the rebellious organs suitably the group continued clambering and climbing and sheltering from superheated steam where appropriate.

Arriving at the Shatters things went downhill, mostly it was blood that was the thing going downhill into the caves at the top of the Shatters. The cavern complex of around a dozen caves to be explored was mapped out for them, on a dataslate.

This turned into a swift, sweep and clear operation. The first opponent was some vastly mutated mass. Volleys of fire shattered the mutant, who turned out to have been a guardsman. Muttering appropriate prayers for his soul the mutant was suitably spurned. Imperial Creed to the dot, this lot.

Things slowed a little as the Tech priest and Imperial Guardsman took the rearguard and the remainder searched the complex. Assorted unpleasant pieces were found, and a mad miner. Settling the mad miner back in the hole he was hiding in the unit moved on in the darkness and slime. Well, they hoped it was slime.

An ambush shortly thereafter caused several problems. First, it was mutants, quickly named Bugboy, Glowboy, Blob and Norfolk Laaaaad. Second, the Arbiter conspicuously failed to hit anything after the first shot with any of shotgun, knuckledusters or nightstick. The assassin shoots - HEADSHOT - its like a game of Counterstrike. The Psyker engages blade in hand and slices and dices mutant scum. Ex-guardsmen mutant scum again. Things got a little weird here as raw warp gases wreathed around the pysker and our companions, floating them to the ceiling and them depositing them down.

By this stage the clearance had identified most of the area and the two exits to deeper into the Shatters. That left the squared off corridor, or the cavern with a pinky glow. As expected the group chose the bland squared of corridor. This ended in a room that caused yet more lunch returns and a heavy heavy stench of Promethium.

Kicking the door down to the room with the smell emerging from it the Arbiter espies the most ugly, unpleasant creature it had been his misfortune to encounter. No! Twas not a mirror, but yet another mutant - nekkid as the day it was spawned and chittering for blood and flesh. I know, predictable, one day a mutant will spawn that seeks healthy nutritious vegetables, but today was not that day.

In a rare moment of tactical genius the Arbiter did not fire into a room full of pressurised liquid fuel containers, but backed up and double timed the vile critter with the assassin - although to be fair mindbender and gun-nut down the corridor did for it.

And so, with heavy heart and reasonable expectation they faced the final curtain, in a pink gauzy hue. Our mental colleague proceeded to heal the injured, and nothing happened this time. Banzai!!!! They sneaked into the room. By now brainbox was having.....issues with the surroundings.

Having to fight their own rebellious bodies to stay in the shape that they had started at the group beheld, stuck in a crack in the floor, was a sort of purplely-green coloured pink crystal. As they watched it disgorged a foetid, dripping daemon of the warp.

Barely in control of his bowels let alone his higher motor functions, the Arbiter relied on reflexes born of repetitive training. Fire in the hole!!! A grenade went in.

BOOM

A few seconds later as the dimensional imploding that resulting from the crystal shattering was over, the cavern appeared to be empty of anything hostile or weird.

Swift consensus was that that had to have been it, and so lets get the flock outta Dodge. Returning to the surface, they were released from behind the seal and made a report to the Commissar.

A lighter returned them to the local spaceport, where a servitor handed them orders and flight tickets to Scintilla, the Sector Capital, aboard the Chartist Vessel 'Edge of Darkness' and orders to await contact in a hab-block.

Thus ended the first brave foray of our crew into that which lurks in darkness.
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Timf]

Now the next installment of what really happened in the latest comedic style:

After settling into salubrious accomodation, decorated a la damp style for a trip the brave wanderers revelled in their newfound fame. Well, for 2 days before the ship appeared to be dragged outta warp.

Klaxons, marines running, alarm, discord, weapons akimbo. The usual responses occured.

Shortly thereafter Inquisitor Graves appeared, dumped two compatriots on the group and calmly informed them that they were to conduct an investigation. I mean, this lot? Brewery pissup problems leap to mind. He also informed them that two of their party were officially dead. Providing the party with instruction as to how to stumble on their next mission as the 'Whispering House', but neglecting to inform them as to who were the walking dead men, Graves left.

Next came shopping. The combination of ammo, alcohol and tattoos obtained would not be out of place in downtown Moss-side. Add to that the guns. Who could feel anything other than implicit trust in a lawman attracted to a weapon described as a 'Hand-Cannon'.

Scintilla was reached with little incident, and a lot of boredom. Lighter transfer to Hive Sibellus was equally uneventful. Slightly more interesting was the servoskull that led them across the Hive to a hab-block and their new home. One apartment - the bedroom area with 3 bunks, bathroom with crapper and shower and prima facie evidence that there was not enough room to swing a cat in the place, and a main room with kitchenette, sofa, TV, spare chair, pouffe and table. This for 7. The Inquisition is really blowing its budget here.

On the table was a box. A big box. A big grey box. See the techpriest approach the box. The big grey box. Open the box, close the door, open the box, take the money!!! Well he went for open the box. Inside, cash, neatly bundled. ID cards neatly wrapped. Some had been reassigned, some reborn, others just scrubbed off the street. Mostly they kept their names.

Whistling off to the Whispering Hall, the new parish of the cleric the group were suitably impressed with the local architecture. The Templum was a small place on the side of a large Administratum building. The acolyte at the alter indicated they wanted the Whispering House, not the Whispering Hall. This was apparently out back.

To their delight and enjoyment they discovered a servitor controlled lift. Bellboy a la zombie. After playing shop with the local organic robotics, in the Emperor's Name of course, they proceeded to enjoy the ride. Down. Fast. Stomach-churningly fast. Our fine fettlers either had strong stomachs, or had skipped breakfast. No retching, feel joy for the comfort of the servitors.

Beyond the doors was a corridor, lit, with lights that followed them round and shut off after they had passed. In an unusual move, no-one drew weapons. All were faintly disturbed by the whiff of formaldehyde in the air.
Arriving at a large, beautifully carved, ornate, elegant blastdoor (but STILL a blast door) the company realised they had reached their final destination. Entering the room the group were confronted with a mirror wall, crates (LOOT! I hear the monty haulers cry) and a restraint gurney.

Mood lighting fell upon the room, the mirror translucified (I know, I made that word up). Beyond lay, well, a morgue. In the morgue was a body, some servoskulls (previous subjects no doubt) and Interrogator Sands.

After presenting credentials, he proceeded to brief our favorite Inquisitorial Acolyte Cell in a machine gun fashion - metaphorically I hasten to add, although his credentials clearly indicated that literally was an option in his purview.

[to be continued when I get time....]
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Timf]

The long and the short of the Interrogator's briefing is that a) the corpse on the gurney has all sorts of fun,interesting, illegal and nominally heretical semi-parasitic biological implant tissue and b) the team are going undercover to find out what is happening.

So dressed suitably (shab is in in Coscarla sector apparently) the brave party travel to their final destination - on the train. Arriving early they took rooms at the local roach motel, run by a dopefiend, and decided to explore a bit. This involved a visit to the sister of the corpse which arrived at some minor information concerning the now dead person and a possible contact - Evard Zed.

Also involved was trip to the local enforcers. Now enforcers are sub contracted delegations by the Magistratum - who were given the job of looking after the place by the Adeptus Arbites but really cannot be arsed to do so because the place is a rathole. This was fruitless and involved the group being hustled out. The head enforcer seemed to be a bit of a stoner too.

The final trip of the night involved the pub. Well the 'Union' to be precise. Very few workers from the Union present in the bar which was heavy on the 'drug den and gang holdup' decor. The party got expelled as night began to fall and the ganger started to fort up.

So, despite this the party decided to stroll across the sector as nightcycle started.

As is traditional in RPGs, this resulted in an ambush - by things that glowed from their eyes in the dark.
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Timf]

Being the 5th part of the horrendous adventures of the iniquitous inquisitorial inductees

Silent as the night from which they emerged the creatures bore down upon the party.

Reactions varied.

The pysker and the Scum legged it, drawing off a critter and over time dealing with it while getting lost in the hive.

The copper puked, hideously. The assassin ran. The techpriest swooned.
Everyone else actually locked and loaded their weapon and started to fire. The incoming greeblies were a fusion of bad acid, William Gibson's worst excesses and the contents of a small genetics lab. Plus the armour plating. Lets not forget the armour plating.

The fight lasted some time, lasers and bullets ripping around. The Cleric discovered the joy of autopistols firing full auto into an enemy. Lasers were popular and also so was the HandCannon. During the fight various individuals returned to add their weight and more importantly volume of fire at the slow but deadly pounding cybermachines.

Enemy down, the bioscanners were finally taken out and were seen to go, well, scanner-ish. Cue much butchery and dissection (dependant upon skill with a scalpel) as heretek bio-enhancements were removed and placed within sample jars.

Its dark, its quiet and they've just been jumped. So cue a trip to the local shrine, with the dead bodies. Its open....ish. The local preacher seemed a defeated man. Cue the Cleric and some firebrand preaching. This did serve to distract him while the rest of the mob search the shrine from top to bottom. Lots of candles for disappeared people were found. Quite a bit of badly polished chancellry and a bloke.

The bloke was someone they were looking for, Evard Zed. He indicated a bit of history of what had been going on and named the Almshouse and the Union as places he no longer wanted to go and the local Enforcers as corrupt, incompetent and useless.

So the party response was a) polish the chancellry, b) prepare a bonfire for a burnin' in the mornin' and c) Fort Up!!!!

Awaiting morning and entertainment, becomes a priority. What will lie in store for them. Who is waiting for the now dead cyber-team of doom? Learn more after the next session....here, when I get round to writing it up.
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Listy]

**nudge**

I'd like to read the report about my Arbite Dying heroically and saving everyone's life!

[Timf]

After a warm night polishing their silver, the party determined that they were going to barge into the locals Alms House and demand to know what was going on. Armed with fear, surprise AND the comfy chair - not to mention high grade fully automatic weaponry our doughty Inquisitorial noobs march over to the Alms House. A couple (the scum and the assassin) sneaked in the back and rest piled in the front. All seemed normal.

Entering the refectory of the Alms house, the main group waved their weapons around in public, precipitating a fight. Zombies, heavily armed charity workers and gun-toting receptionists combined to provide an early morning workout, and a couple of passkeys.

Sneaking round out the back, our more investigative pair found some really unpleasant barrels filled with icky - bits. They then ambled into the refectory via the kitchen to provide vital light handgun support to the heavily embattled armed posse.

Now things had gone toes up slightly a general sweep of the building was called for. After a brief pause it was conducted. THe first floor was mostly clear. Well apart from the bioengineered heretek construct in the alchemy lab which caused a few hairy moments before being gunnned to small pieces. Samples were taken. At this point, the group realised that they needed to use the lift and there was probably something similar or worse was waiting upstairs for them.

Lock and load.....for the next installment.
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[Timf]

Our brave combat machines entered the lift and elevated. Upstairs they were confronted with a square lift lobby around the double sided lift, a large steel blast door and two exits covered in plastic sheeting, plus dead silence.

Exploring beyond the plastic sheeting revealed a pair of hospital-like wards and some icky bits. The tech-priest decided to go shopping for new bits and toys as the other performed a sweep and clearance. The result of the shopping was that the tech-priest found a DEVICE. Some examination determined that this DEVICE was a large biological bomb with something REALLY unpleasant in it. It was on a countdown timer. The timer was long enough that it was proposed that they'd either be dead or have enough time to deal with the DEVICE once they had won through.

Passkeys akimbo the group decided to assault the blast door. All manner of unpleasantness lurked the other side, as well as intense cold. A traditional tortured test subject and mad Heretek was the centre focus of the room. Tanks full of unpleasant biologica sat around the room, along with large tanks of cryogenic fluids. Finally, and of most immediate interest were some really unpleasant looking lackeys. The lackeys charged, the Inquisition took cover and fought back hard.

The upshot of the fight was that the Heretek escaped and the party suffered significant injuries, fainting spells from some of the less hardy group members and a novel statue of the group's Arbites member...who had been snap frozen by falling on a weird grenade shortly after taking mortal damage. This unfortunate event for law enforcement did have the effect of leaving the rest of the group with only mild hoar frost on faces rather than 3rd degree, full thickness frostbite.

After discussion, the result was considered by the party to be a positive thing. The looting, sorry, lockdown of the target area involved grenades, looting and making sure that the bomb wasn't gonna go off. Oh, lots of duct tape on bullet holes as well.

Exiting the Alms House building, the group decided to put the boot in by going to the local Enforcer building and slapping them about a bit, since they were heavily implicated. They found the building torched and empty.

Shrugging, the group headed back to base. There, they were informed that they were not entirely incompetent and that they were to be shipped out Express to deal with another problem.
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference

[colinsb]

Excellent writeup, when is the next episode due to be played out so i can work out which Mondays to come over.

[Timf]

[Dan]

Re the next DH night. I'd already committed to a FoW game with Tom in a fortnight (The 6th) when it was suggested that it would be the next DH night. So if that is definitely to be the next DH night then you'll have to count me out. If it's possible to postpone it to the 20th then you can count me in.
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[Timf]

All hail ye to Parte the Sixth....

The group received some reassignments and some new recruits in the form of an Ogyrn and a noble Arbite. The new recruits we shall call Mr Big and Mr Clean. There is however some confusion over which is which...

Once again the group are hurled across the stretches of the Universe in the name of Imperator and Empire - or cash and life as we prefer it. Destination Iocanthos. Insertion by dropship. Job - investigate disturbances reported at the site of a new Imperial Cathedral in a place called Stern Hope with an Imperial Seer called Aristarchus. Its the usual job, new pretty edifice with weird groanings and wailings and gnashing of teeth - oh and missing mutilated people.

Now this last bit caused some consternation for the non military types who spent the trip doped up to the eyeballs. Therefore the conversation with their welcomer at Port Suffering was a little stiff and strained. Nonetheless they were afforded quarters and proceeded to them, stopping only to beat up a madman blathering PROPHECY and a few unfriendly locals who beat themselves to a stupor on the Ogryn's belly.

After a refreshing light lunch to settle the morning's calisthenics members of the groups chose to go shopping, finding out that the natives were close to revolting. In the evening they met Aristarchus. Now as a seer they were expecting unusual and they got an individual oscillating from inhuman calm to mildly barking. So par for the course there.

The next stage of the journey was going t be based on a jeep. Now we are not talking any ordinary jeep, we are talking a knackered out 4x4 with a bed sheet for a dustcover on the pickup bed (or Ogyrn chair as you will). The group were followed eerily by Shale Crows, weird eyeless bird like scavengers - or Target Practise as some decided to call them.

That night, things remained weird. A dead man walked into the camp and fell over. The weird bit being that he was dead before wandering into this particular tentological endeavour. The rest of the trip passed with mild portents and plenty of boredom marred only by chasing each other and shale crows in a set of canyons.

Behold Stern Hope! Building of a magnificent cathedral to the Emperor, may he live forever in the Golden Throne, is always a hard job and made harder by picking the biggest pit of scum and villainy to build it in, but then you invite the Inquisition? THe Abbot must be bonkers.

...TBC when I get time
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My Lord Vader, the Death Star flans are NOT in the main refridgerator
Growing Old is mandatory, Growing Up is a matter of personal preference