Written by Jason (jymmijamz)
Game – Rogue Trader
GM – Chris
Altius (Astropath Transcendent) – Jason
Victris (Navigator) – Will
Admiral Winter (Lord Captain) – Tanya
Admiral Winter accepted the offer of a ship a couple of months ago. From a military background, someone with influence must have taken a keen interest in her career. She received the offer of a warrant of trade from a Lord Captain Zanatov of the Cronos Expanse. During her research into the man, Winter discovered that Zanatov was first connected to a ship called the Bismarck, and now is on the ship the Vengeance of Saint Drusus. The biggest mystery is the fact that the Bismarck and the St Drusus both have exactly the same stats.
Footfall, the asteroid based market place, here you can buy anything you can think of. Admiral Winter, short of stature, with a noble air, dressed in the latest high born outfit. Stands in the space port secundus plaza, around her is the myriad life of the Imperium jostle one and other. High born captains brush shoulders with lowlife cultists, top brass with void born spacers. Looking around, Winter can see the rundown squalor barely masked by the bright lights and stalls of the market. As her eyes traverse the plaza, she spots the telltale head scarf of a navigator winding its way through the press of the crowd.
Victris and his two servants follow their guide through the packed market place, dressed in full house regalia Victris cuts quite a figure. His house markings mark him out as being from a lower level house, but the cut and quality of his outfit tell a different story. He makes his way across the plaza, deep in thought, considering how his new posting will affect the path of his life. Suddenly he is jarred for his reverie, lifting his head Victris comes eye to bloodshot eye with a doped up cultist, who starts to pick a fight with him. As Victris’s temper start to fray he lets his hand drop to his hell pistol. “Nice piece you got there, want to go for it! Think you can before I gut you?” Victris leans in close and lift his head scarf, revealing his third eye. “Okay, come on then.” He whispers. The cultist recoils, blood pours from his mouth as he bites through his own tongue and slumps to the ground. Victris lifts is staff high and slams it down, snapping the unfortunate man’s neck. As he straitens Admiral Winter walks over to the navigator and offers her hand. “Welcome aboard.” As they shake hands and exchange introductions, two local stevedores use their packing hooks to remove and dispose of the body over the edge of the asteroid. The body drops, passing through the void barrier to drift in the cold embrace of deep space, until it is drown inevitably to its fiery demise by the passing mass of some distant planet.
Stepping into the group Altius glances in the direction of the retreating stevedores, gives a slight shrug and extends his hand. “Admiral Winter. As you requested, so I have come.” Giving the tall lean Astropath a long look taking in his fashionable clothes, the brocading simple but well stitched the slug pistol at his hip and fighting staff slung through the straps of his pack, Winter takes his hand in a hearty hand shake. “Well met Altius, I think you will fit right in.” turning to look at the others in the group she smiles. “Altius meet Victris. Victris, Altius.” At that moment a voice calls out from the crowd. “There’s the mutant that did it!” Turning, the group spot three men, all with cultist tattoos pushing their way out of the passing crowd. As they pass they snatch the hooks from the stevedore’s hands and start to circle the group, throwing taunts and insults at them. Victris draws his hell pistol and start to throw insults back at the half crazed cultists, meanwhile Altius hangs back his hand resting lightly on the grip of his stub pistol, waiting to see how things play out. Admiral Winter interjects. “You boys talk too much. If you want to fight, fight!” with that she draws her power sword. At the sight of it the cultists hesitate, after a moment they seem to steel themselves and start to press forward. Seeing the look of determination in their eyes Victris opens fire.
As the cordite smoke clears one cultist is dead his head barely attached to his neck. And another lays stricken on the floor, his arm hanging limp and scorched, from a hell round to the shoulder. Admiral Winter steps up and swings her sword at the third cultist only just missing his nose, sending the cultist scurrying back into the ring of spectators. Winter turns to her colleagues with a shrug. “Oh well, it was worth a try.” Glancing down at the remaining cultist, Winter gives sly grin. “Letting one get away to spread the tale is one thing, but two?”As the word leaves her mouth Altius steps up to the wailing doper, and drawing his slug pistol, double taps him in the head. As he turns back to the Admiral a local Adeptus Arbites catches his eye, gives a slight nod and turns away into the crowd.
The hubbub of the market surrounds the group as they make their way into Footfall proper. Preachers wail and moan, calling out that St Drusus has returned in the form of Zanatov and he will save all who follow him. Winter wanders from stall to stall following the rumour that someone is selling a Fury Interceptor, ignoring suggestions for other, more practical, items made by both Altius and Victris. Bidding has already started by the time the group finally arrive at the action house. The current highest bidder appears to be a Void born man of indeterminate years, who chuckles with enjoyment every time he adds more thrones to the already considerable pile on the table. After some consideration Winter slowly unbuttons her heavy service coat, bearing her not inconsiderable chest, two large jewels hang from piercings through each nipple. Smiling she looks over to the Void born, who in return gives her an appraising look before meeting her eyes. “I appreciate the show, but on with the bidding.” He says with a broad grin. Admiral Winter offers up the gems and the auctioneer assess them. “No flaws, top quality.” He mutters, holding them close to his augmetic eye. Looking up, he announces “Twenty five times current bids!” As the next round of bidding progresses the void born pats himself dawn, sighs, then adds with a chuckle. “I add my stash of Eldar weapons already valued by you.” The auctioneer checks through some data slates on his lectern before looking around the room. “The bid now stands at one hundred times current.” He calls. And so the bidding continues.
With the promissory of a regiment of troops, Admiral Winter finally wins the fury. As the hammer comes down she jumps up and down with girlish glee. A few moments later the auctioneer approaches. “You must be the new rogue trader.” He says by way of greeting. “I know of a pilot who can deliver the craft for you.” Winter looks at the man long and hard. “You seem very well informed.” “A new rogue trader on Footfall, you did not expect your arrival to go unnoticed did you?” Winter extends her arms taking in her companions. “Maybe you should remember the names of these good fellows, as they are now in such great company.” Introductions are made and they bid farewell and make their way through town, heading for the primary space port where they will be transported to the St Drusus and their future.
To get there the group pass through some of the poorest areas of the town, building so decrepit that you could fire a hell pistol round through several buildings before its energy was spent. As they arrive at the space port, a guard steppes out from a group of half a dozen and in front of them. “I understand you have made quite a purchase today. Have you paid your taxes?” Hearing this, Victris looks over to Altius. Seeing the disbelieving look in his colleague’s eyes, Altius turns to the guardsman. Clutching at the pendant hanging around his neck, Altius locks the blithely smiling guards gaze in his eyeless stare and plunges in with his psychic mind. Altius fails to glean if the man is lying, but his assault doesn’t go unnoticed. “What did the witch do to me?” the man shouts, stepping back. With that there is a rush of racked slides and weapons being pointed in their direction. As the standoff continues someone climbs out of a moderately sized lander sitting on a landing pad not too far off. As the person approached it turns out to be the void born from the auction. “What’s going on here?” he asks. Seeing Winter and her group, the man makes a sour face. “You! Don’t tell me the captain sent me here to pick you up?” “Stay out of it you! This is nothing to do with you. This is between me and them.” Says the guardsman, pointing at the three offworlders. The Void born looks from one group to the other. “Ah! Pulling a fast one again are we? What is it this time?” Winter jabs her finger at the guard. “He says we need to pay taxes on the fury.” “Oh! That old one. Hands up anyone who hates thieves!” At that statement both Winter and Altius raise their hands. The void born chuckles a mirthless chuckle, pulls his pistol and shoots the guard through the head. “Sorted. My names Panderious by the way. Now let’s get moving you have a celebration to attend.
The group follow Panderious into the lander. Amid the usual babble of voices and activity associated with prelaunch checks, Panderious make introductions to his team. Whilst introducing his group he introduces one of them simply as witch, and when she tries to correct him he pats a data slate hanging from his belt. “you are forgetting commandment ten.” He says lifting the slate from his belt and absently pointing to the screen. A closer look shows a list of commandments all listed under roman numerals from I to X. Panderious is currently pointing at Commandment seven, listed as VII COM. The one he referred to reads ‘X COM: I do not have to remember your name until you have survived at least two missions.’ Panderious lets the data slate drop back to his side before heading to the front to the craft and settling in to the pilot’s seat.
With all preparations made the craft launches, heading for the Vengeance of St Drusus. As they approach it becomes clear they are heading for one of the small less used landing bays. “You have caused quite a stir, it’s not often a now rogue trader is commissioned. It was felt that you should keep a low profile, at least until the excitement calms down.” Panderious say looking back over his shoulder. The lander glides through the bay door, teams of corpse like servitors pull on the clanking chains, struggling with the weight of the centuries old doors. The craft touches down in a cloud of flame and spent gasses. As they disembark Panderious turns to the group. “Welcome to the St Drusus, does anyone fancy a guided tour as we make our way to the banqueting hall.” Without waiting for an answer he sets off. Making their way down a corridor they hear a sound of scrapping metal coming from behind them. “We had better move up a level.” And true to his words heads up the closest set stairs. “Are you coming or what?” At that moment there is a sound of metal being rended below them. After a moment’s hesitation the group follow his example. After some time wandering along corridors and through rooms decorated in the high gothic style, with Panderius pointing out things that he considers of interest, the group a curtained doorway. Two Void born part the curtain revealing a grand hall. On a raised dais at the far end of the hall stands a man his bionic eyes flashing above a spreading smile. As the group step into the room he raises his glass. “Ladies and gentlemen we have our new rogue trader.” And the room erupts into a cacophony of cheers for the assembled crowd.