Hank

Not sure what to write here

Welcome to the Guild, @Dragonfry. What genres do you like best?

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Are you going to toss some trouble our way, @Jbcool, or can Safi and Gaelor proceed to the port?

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Gaelor (and Safi, if @Peik runs with it) is on his way to the station port, where Drake and Pemelton will be arriving shortly.

Sometimes I think we Australians exaggerate our stereotypes to foreigners

All of Amsterdam is covered by a thick, clogging fog of the dankest ganja on the planet.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

While on his way to his rented apartment, Pratus Gaelor's wrist-mounted data slate started beeping incessantly. He paused, handed his box of fresh purchases to his Mechadendrite and activated the data slate. The station's communications network was buzzing with chatter about rapidly approaching all-out gang warfare. Frowning, the Enginseer looked up from the backlit screen and noticed the streets had significantly emptied since he had started walking and the few people he did see were now armed, lurking near back alleys and small side streets and anxiously smoking lho-sticks.

It was time to meet this Rogue Trader and get off the station.

Gaelor took the box of supplies back from his Mechadendrite and switched its arc-welder on. The shoulder-mounted device whirred and started emitting a high-pitched whine as the arc-welder powered up, ready to deliver high-energy electrical shocks to any assailants. The Enginseer wished he had his hands free so he could arm himself with his lascarbine, but he was unwilling to part with his purchases. Speeding up his pace, Gaelor changed directions and stomped towards the outpost's void port, where he knew the Rogue Trader would arrive shortly.

On his way there, Gaelor spotted an unassuming man in a dull yellow coat and gray fatigues -- what caught the Enginseer's bionic eye were the medals pinned to the man's chest. Fueled by the self-perceived limitless authority of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Gaelor approached the man and spoke.

"YOU, GUARDSMAN. ESCORT ME TO THE STATION PORT."

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

I think he could get along well with Safi, being all ''ESCORT, REMOVE THESE PEOPLE FROM OUR PATH'', or something like that.

@Peik

I'll write a post where the two run into each other then, shall I?

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Does anyone in particular feel like banding together with Pratus Gaelor?

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

The Trade Market

One of the side effects of Pratus Gaelor's extensive bionic augmentation was that his footfalls were exceptionally heavy for a man of his stature. The artificial limbs of his body were considerably more dense than organic matter, crafted out of chromium and steel, and thudded heavily on the ground of Outpost Fifty-Seven's trade market. Gaelor had come here to purchase supplies for a trip into the unknown, as he had learned that a Rogue Trader had arrived into the outpost's orbit -- a potential ticket out of here. One of the first things Gaelor had done upon his arrival on Outpost Fifty-Seven was patching his data slate into the outpost's communication network, allowing him to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the void traffic.

All around Gaelor, people looked up from their business as they heard the Enginseer approach. Murmurs followed shortly after. Gaelor doubted these miscreants had ever been fortunate enough to lock eyes with a blessed tech-priest of the Machine Cult before. Vermin, he thought to himself as his bionic eye scanned the crowd, lingering a little longer on those with weapons. His Mechadendrite twitched.

"REMOVE YOURSELVES FROM MY PATH," Gaelor said, the vox-unit grafted into his throat projecting the statement in its characteristic, flat tone. Gaelor moved his white cloak aside to reveal his las-carbine, its stock folded, strapped against his thigh. Immediately, the crowd parted in front of him. "WHERE CAN I FIND... PARTS?" Gaelor asked, struggling to make himself known in terms that the yokels before him could understand. A few hands were raised, fingers pointing towards a storefront set into a building so decrepit Gaelor wouldn't have been surprised if it collapsed then-and-there.

Without another word, the Enginseer stomped towards it. He was briefly distracted by a banshee's wail as some kind of commotion occurred elsewhere in the market, but he paid no further attention to it.

Inside, the store was gloomy, and Gaelor cranked up the brightness setting and amped the contrast on his bionic eye. The store resolved into focus and Gaelor saw machine parts, oil flasks and tools scattered everywhere -- on the floor, on workbenches, littering cabinet shelves; everywhere. "I REQUEST THE PRESENCE OF THE ATTENDING SHOPKEEPER."

At this call, a small man shuffled into view. He was old, hunched over and the visor on his face made him look like an insect with its large, bulging lenses. "Y-yes? How can I help you, tech-priest?" the shopkeeper asked in a wheezing voice. "I REQUIRE A FLASK OF MACHINE OIL, TWO DENDRITE COGS, A COGITATOR POWER SUPPLY UNIT AND AN ICTHELION-PATTERN DATA SLATE BATTERY," Gaelor asked. He strongly doubted the man had everything he needed, but to Gaelor's surprise the shopkeeper simply nodded and shuffled away into the back of the store.

Noise emerged from the back as the shopkeeper presumably started overturning everything, looking for the requested items. Bemused, Gaelor waited, taking the time to inspect the store more thoroughly. He realized some of the machine parts here belonged to a Sentinel walker of the Imperial Guard, and yet others once belonged to a... was that really the unusually wide wheel of an Astartes Assault Bike? A most interesting store, Gaelor thought to himself. It was a potent reminder that this outpost had once housed the Imperium's armed forces.

The shopkeeper returned with all of Gaelor's requested items. The Enginseer inspected the data slate battery, turning it over in his hand, and asked: "HOW DID YOU OBTAIN THIS?"

Wringing his hands together, the shopkeeper replied. "Well, master tech-priest, from a feller just as yerself. He weren't happy to part with it, but he needed the coin. And, eh, speaking of coin... that'll be three throne gelts, if ye please."

So I am not the first to pass through here, Gaelor mused. That was somewhat unfortunate news. It could possibly mean that any technological relics in the Kronus Expanse had already been pilfered by one of his colleagues. Mentally digesting this tidbit, Gaelor paid the shopkeeper from a pouch at his waist and left the store with his goods, his bionic eye automatically adjusting its settings to the bright sunlight outside. The Enginseer had rented an apartment not far from the trade market, situated between it and the station port, from a rather terrified landlord. He made his way there now, occasionally pausing to blare another REMOVE YOURSELVES command at the bustling crowds of the outpost's streets.

Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

Surely some of the Inquisition high-ups would keep records. Or not. But I really like the idea of an incredibly disillusioned Inquisitor who carries on the duty of things he doesn't believe in, for the sake of humanity.

@Peik

So... Eisenhorn?

EDIT: And speaking of images, I mostly based Gaelor's appearance on this image, minus the gas mask:



In case it helps anyone visualize him.

Swords & Septims: Adventures in Tamriel (The Elder Scrolls)

Hector furrowed his brow as Balen did his best to translate the Draconic words -- the Dunmer's explanation wasn't exactly reassuring. Hector doubted a millenia-old undead draugr overlord, Dragon Priest or not, would be susceptible to hubris, so the claim of being equal or superior to them worried the ex-Legionnaire.

While Hraf spoke some uplifting words to Balen, Baladas Venym strengthened Merci's magelight. The Telvanni had yelled something into the gloom, laughing, which Hector presumed to be some kind of Draconic taunt. Why do all these Dunmer speak Draconic? Hector asked himself bemusedly. Scholars... Either way, they needed to find a way out of here. Sheathing his sword (but keeping his shield on his arm, just in case), Hector approached the walls of the circular chamber they were stuck in. He investigated some of the sarcophagi littered around on the floor suspiciously, but nothing jumped out at him. Looking at a sarcophagus standing upright in one of the chamber's alcoves, however, Hector noticed something -- it was tilted to the left, leaning against the wall of the alcove. In the small slit of space visible behind the sarcophagus, Hector saw pitch black darkness.

Hector motioned for Hraf and Balen to help him. Together, the three of them pulled the sarcophagus out of its alcove, which landed on the chamber floor with a thunderous crash, breaking into dozens of pieces on impact. Hector wiped his gauntlets' palms clean and stared into the dark tunnel. "Let's check the rest," Hector said. "Ungimros and Baladas, start on the other side of the chamber. Ladies... just, uh, catch your breath, okay?" Hector didn't feel comfortable ordering the women around to do heavy physical work, though he suspected the Altmer might take offense at not being called upon.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, the party removed all the sarcophagi from the alcoves. It quickly became apparent how the draugr had left the chamber as they found another dark, hidden tunnel. "Two exits," Hector murmured to himself.

Clearing his throat, Hector spoke up. "Well, we could split up and explore both of the tunnels simultaneously. It would save time, but considering the threat just made to us, I don't think that's a good idea. We should stick together." Having said that, the Imperial looked at one tunnel, then at the other. Neither had any distinctive features to set it apart from the other. Both were rectangular, about seven feet high and five feet wide. Hector sighed, pulled out a septim and flipped the coin.

"Heads," Hector said, looking towards the tunnel exit to his left.

Cautiously, the party moved into the tunnel, weapons drawn and spells prepared. Merci's magelight followed them inside, illuminating the walls. Unlike those they had seen before, these walls were plain and undecorated, roughly hewn out of the stone earth. Hector felt trapped with the ceiling so close above him, and there was only space for the party to move in double file.

Fortunately, their trip through the small tunnel was uneventful and they reached a wide, open room after a few minutes. The ceiling was equally low here, an eternal reminder of the weight of the earth above them, but at least there was space to move freely now. This room was a mess; cabinets filled with old, illegible books and scrolls lined the walls and several tables were scattered around the place. On these tables, Hector saw the following items: a pile of amethysts, a magical scroll of some kind, several gold nuggets and a dagger that gleamed with enchantment.

There we go, Hector thought to himself, relieved. Something to make this trip worth it. Without speaking, Hector grabbed several of the amethysts and stored them in his leather satchel. The magical scroll was wasted on him and Hector disliked fighting with a dagger. The unspoken rule was to divide the spoils equally, and Hector wasn't about to be pedantic enough to remind the rest of the party of that fact. They were all adults.

[GM note: loot is marked in bold.]