Drawing a Blank [40K]

[Horologer]

Spoiler: rolls

Rolling for other factions:
Are you noticed? Rolling... - 10 (Time) - 20 (Misidentified) = No sign of anyone noticing you.
Are you identified? Rolling... 10 (Time) - 20 (Costume) - 20 (Misidentified) = No sign of anyone identifying who you are.

Rolling for Ariadne...
Overhear anything? Rolling... + 20 (Guile) - 20 (Location) = No.
Carnival roll 1: 45 - The Big Tent
Carnival roll 2: 7 - The Freak Show

Random event...
From who? 1d12 = 1 - the Inquisition
Magnitude: Rolling...

The carnival's atrium is less a room and more of a plaza that happens to have a roof and walls. Tents and prefab structures fill the room with a riot of color. Diversions of all sorts abound. Test Your Strength, one sign challenges. Amusing Caricatures, proclaims another. Buffoonery, a third sign announces. None of them hold your interest for very long.

Instead, you walk into the largest tent, which is simply labeled "Performances". Seating slopes down into stage, on which acrobats are performing– jumping though hoops, standing atop each other, carwheeling across impossible narrow beams, and more. As you find a corner to stand in, the act comes to an end, and the acrobats bow and depart to loud applause. As they do, someone else walks onto the stage. They wheel about smartly to face the audience, and you notice that they have a metal grille covering– or perhaps replacing– their lower face. Wiring connects it to large bullhorns mounted above their shoulders.

"And now, Beast Tamer Atka, with the ravenous Fiend-Eater of Camazotz!" they announce. A grizzled man steps onto the stage from the right, dressed in a strange, tasseled outfit. A moment later, an enormous beast bounds in from the left, growling and snapping. It's roughly in the shape of a cat, but it's the height of a man and covered in a grayish chitin. The only visible feature on its face is a huge, fanged maw. It sizes up the man on the stage, and without warning pounces at him.

Gasps and little shrieks break out in the audience, but at the last second, the tamer steps aside. The beast– Fiend-Eater, the announcer called it– whirls about in an instant, and swipes at him with a viciously clawed paw. And again, the tamer dodges, with inches to spare. Again and again, the Fiend-Eater tries to grab, bite, or maul the tamer. Each time, the tamer narrowly escapes. Eventually, it backs off a little. The tamer bows deeply to the Fiend-Eater. For a tense moment, it looks like it's going to lunge at the tamer again– but then it dips its head in response. Cheers and applause break out as the tamer leads it off the stage.

"Presenting Lady Kirku, of the Cult of Deadly Conviction!" the announcer proclaims.

A tall, muscular woman steps up, dressed in form-fitting clothing. A variety of knives strapped to her. She pulls out two and begins flipping them from hand to hand. Then she pulls out another and begins juggling them. Then another. Then she reverses the direction she's throwing the knives. Then she begins striking poses as she juggles: right leg forward and left leg back, then left leg forward and right leg back, then one arm behind her back, then standing on one leg, with her arms tucked in, then with them stretched out– no matter how contorted her poses become, she never fails to catch a knife.

She moves quickly, but calmly, with the total certainty of someone who knows exactly what she's doing. She handles the knives so elegantly that they seem to be dancing in midair. The knives rise and fall steadily, flashing and gleaming in a hypnotic pattern. Suddenly, the woman throws out her arms to the side and lets the knives fall. With audible thuds, they embed themselves point-first in the stage in front of her, all in a row.

After a moment of stunned silence, the audience breaks out into wild applause. She gives a small bow and then walks off the stage. The announcer begins to walk up, and you decide you've had enough for now. You walk out and head off down another row of tents. Again, nothing catches your eye... until you reach the last tent, a large one with a single sign. Freak Show, it reads. It doesn't take a genius to guess what must be inside.

You waver outside the entrance. Most of you wants to get as far away as possible. What if you fit in? What if someone inside sees you, and compares you to an... exhibit, then realizes what you are? Come see the incredible soulless mutant– fifteen credits a peek! The thought makes you feel like your guts are tying themselves in knots.

It couldn't happen to you, of course. You know the Inquisitor values your abilities too much to send you away like that. But you can't chase the thought out of your head. If your mutation had been more obvious, or less useful, you might have wound up in a place like this. And even that much would have been a stroke of luck. More likely you would have just been fertilizer: reported as a stilborn and fed to the recycler, lest your parents' genetics come under scrutiny.

You definitely don't want to go in... but maybe you should? You can't really do anything for them, but at least you can bear witness to whatever indignity they're suffering. Or maybe that would just make it worse...

"Don't worry, miss," a man says to you, breaking you out of your reverie. "They're all dead."

"Pardon?" you say, turning to look at him.

"Oh yes," he says blithely. "We did have a live show several years ago, but one day the local Ecclesiarchy objected to bringing mutants planetside. We had a stroke of luck, though: they didn't mind us showing off dead ones, so we just..." he flicks a hand. "Thankfully, the bodies preserved well." he adds quickly. "All of the deformities are all-unnatural and labeled for easier identification! In fact, speaking of the Ecclesiarchy, all our exhibits have got placards about the importance of prayer in ensuring genetically acceptable offspring, if you're interested in that?"

You can't think of anything you are less interested in than that. It must show, because the man's smile wobbles and he begins to sweat. "W- well, I'll, be, uh, let m-me know if you need anything," he gabbles, and then hurries back into the tent. Problem solved. Time to go literally anywhere else. You spin on your heel and walk away. The hustle and bustle of the crowds is grating. As is the color and bombast of the carnival, now that you know what might be hiding behind it...

You try to head for the atrium's exit, but a gaggle of people is blocking your way. You squeeze into a gap between two tents to try and skirt around around the crowd. As you exit the alleyway, you nearly plow straight into a man wearing a fruit bowl on his head. "Oh. Hello–" you manage to catch yourself before you say his name.

"Hello," says Navigator Darwin.

"Hi," says Aurum, coming up behind Darwin.

The time is 7:30 PM.

Tell them about the strange person you met at the beginning of the party?
[X] Yes.
[X] Not right now.

 

[Horologer]

"I need to talk to you about something," you say quietly.

"Can it wait?" asks Darwin.

"I don't know," you say. "I met someone, and they seemed. Very strange."

"...Very well. Follow me..."

{ }​

"... and you are certain that is what they looked like?" asks Darwin. Despite the distance between the two of you, he seems to be hanging on your every word. Aurum is standing further back, at what must be a safe distance for him, and seems confused.

"Yes."

"Aurum, please find the Inquisitor immediately. He will want to hear of this personally."

"Will do," Aurum says. He walks back out of the side room and out into the party. The door closes and the room falls silent.

"Navigator? There was something else I heard at the refreshments room..." You relay the exchange you overheard between the Commissar and the Rogue Trader.

"He just took you at your word when he said you'd keep silent?" he asks in disbelief. "By the light of the Throne, this party really is amateur hour... Did anyone else overhear them?"

"I don't know. Nobody else was as close."

"Well, let's hope nobody else was listening. The last thing we need is the nobility and the Guard at each others' throats..."

"It's that important?" you ask.

Darwin shrugs. "If you're a Guardsman on Chorale, probably. Otherwise, no. Even if it were, it's not really the Inquisition's department. Cleistos has more pressing concerns than Zhang's dubious recruitment practices. It's not a terrible idea, but good God, trust a Commissar to fumble the one thing that could sink negotiations... Well, one more thing to keep our guests ignorant of, I suppose."

You're about to ask him more when the Inquisitor strides into the room.

"Darwin, what's this about?"

"I believe we have an unexpected guest. Ariadne, describe the person you saw for the Inquisitor."

As you repeat your description of the person you met, and the conversation you had, the Inquisitor's expression shifts from mild annoyance to concern, occassionally interrupting and asking for clarification about some detail or another.

"And they were about your height?" he says.

"Yes, Inquisitor. Maybe a little shorter."

"Did they ever address you by name?"

"No, Inquisitor. I think they might have mistaken me. For someone else."

He looks you in the eye. "And what makes you say that?"

You hesitate. "I. Don't know. Just a feeling."

"Did they ever make a reference only you would understand?"

"I don't think so."

"And you have been repeating the conversation exactly as it occurred? Or at least, as closely as you can remember?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Then we cannot discount the possibility." He presses a hand to his ear. "Karst, did you get that? Good, have Felix scan the footage for the meeting. Let me know what you find." The Inquisitor is silent for a minute. "This makes no sense," he says at last, turning away from you. "The description Ariadne gives matches a xeno of interest. Aurum, I presume you know what a Harlequin is?"

"That was a Harlequin?" says Aurum, sounding alarmed. "Here?" You're similarly shocked. You've never heard of a "Harlequin". (Aren't those some kind of clown?) But the idea of meeting a xeno face-to-face is horrifying, especially one in disguise. You had been a few steps away from an alien, and you hadn't even known until it was too late. The conversation with them seems much more sinister now. Were they trying to lure you astray with all that talk about duty? If you had answered wrong... what would they have done to you?

"That is the question at hand," says the Inquisitor. "It seems so, but... there are inconsistencies. At ease, Miss Ariadne, your account is not under suspicion. No, I mean that what Ariadne saw does not quite match the xeno described."

"For one thing, the Harlequin was much taller than the person Ariadne describes. For another, Eldar particularly despise Pariahs. Eldar are heavily reliant on Warp-craft, and the mere presence of a Pariah should be enough to distress it... Aurum, Darwin, do you think you could hold a conversation with Ariadne at close range? Presuming her limiter was active, of course."

"Probably," says Aurum. "I'd probably give some sign I was, uh. Uncomfortable," he finishes awkwardly.

"Are you uncomfortable now?"

"A little. It's not a problem," he says quickly, glancing at you.

"Darwin?"

"Yes, absolutely. With her limiter on, it would unpleasant, but hardly unendurable. Tasman endured something rather similar on the way down. He felt off-color for a while afterward, but the experience was tolerable, except for an ill-advised attempt at a nap."

"Well, he could have told me; it wouldn't have been hard to rearrange the seating... At any rate, I suppose we must assume an Eldar can hide its reaction as well. And you're certain it's impossible to identify her by witchsight?"

"You can't identify a Pariah until it's too late," says Darwin.

"I see," says the Inquisitor. "It might be a copycat, then. Perhaps someone wants us to believe it is the xeno in question. It would be out of character for the major cult, but we know there's some interference from a smaller one... Yes, a deception like this would be right up their alley. And I'm willing to bet my remaining hand that they're planning something for this party. They can't resist the temptation to meddle. But, damn it all, if it isn't an impostor..." He trails off. You've never seen him look so intense.

"Do you think they're dangerous?" asks Aurum. "Should we evacuate?"

"Very dangerous," says the Inquisitor. "And no: I do not think anyone is in immediate danger. If it was merely here to kill someone, I think it would not have revealed itself at all, and we would only uncover its presence after we found the corpse. I suspect it is here to meet with someone– probably more than one person. And I want to know who and why. If by any chance it is truly the Harlequin I speak of... If there is any chance to gain intelligence on it, or from it..."

"Quite the risk," says Darwin.

"Darwin, if it has any idea of what–" the Inquisitor stops himself. "If it has the intelligence we need, it is worth risking lives to recover it."

Get a Clue: 15 + 20 (Guile) = 35 and ??? vs. ??? and ??? No luck.

You glance about at the others. The Inquisitor is looking away from everyone, his expression still intense but now more distant. Darwin is looking at the Inquisitor, apparently waiting for his command. Aurum is glancing back and forth between the two. And you're left staring at all of them, wondering what they're thinking, and what all of this means.

Eventually, the Inquisitor speaks. "Felix tells me he has found the footage of Ariadne's conversation. Whoever or whatever she met is not showing up on camera, however." He sighs. "A setback, but I expected as much."

"Everyone is to watch for this... interloper. If anyone does find it, approach and attempt to engage it in conversation. Attempt to stall it, so that it can be detained, or at least conversed with. But if it will not be held, do not use force or attempt to capture them. I cannot risk an armed confrontation if there is a risk they will escape. Instead, tell them I am willing to– parley– at Dis Junction. In good faith, for whatever that's worth to an Eldar or a heretic."

"Aurum, locate all our operatives. Confirm they are still mission-ready. If this individual can interfere with cameras, comms may be tampered with as well. I want visual– and physical, if circumstances allow– confirmation. Darwin, if you could do the same for our hosts." After they file out, you are left alone in the room with the Inquisitor.

The time is 8:00 PM.

What do you say to the Inquisitor?
[X] Volunteer to find this person.
[X] Volunteer to assist Aurum.
[X] Volunteer to assist Darwin.
[X] Volunteer to resume your previous duties.
[X] Ask him about the plan to seize Castitas.
[X] Ask him about the conversation you overheard.
[X] Ask him about the xeno he mentioned.
[X] Ask him about the intelligence he needs.
[X] Ask him about the "major" cult he mentioned.
[X] Ask him about the "smaller" cult he mentioned.
[X] Say nothing and wait for his command.
[X] Say something else. (Write-in.)

The three most popular options will be chosen, unless "say nothing" wins. The volunteer options are mutually exclusive.

 

[Horologer]

Spoiler: rolls

Rolling for other factions:
Are you noticed? Rolling... - 20 (Misidentified) = No sign of anyone noticing you.
Are you identified? Rolling... - 20 (Costume) - 20 (Misidentified) = No sign of anyone identifying who you are.

Rolling for Ariadne...
Overhear anything? Rolling... + 20 (Guile) + 20 (Location) = No.
Find who you're looking for? Rolling... Yes.

Random event...
From who? 1d12 = 4 - the Governor
Magnitude: Rolling... Awk-ward.

"Inquisitor, sir. Is the plan we discussed earlier...?"

"Yes. It may happen earlier, if events force my hand, but otherwise the plan remains unchanged. I release you from your obligation to socialize. You have already done quite well gathering information, and you are not obligated to go looking for more."

"Yes, sir."

"Inquisitor. Could it really be a xeno?"

"I have said as much, yes," he replies, sounding slightly irritable.

"Is it," you begin, and then pause as you collect your thoughts. "How would you know if it is really a xeno, Inquisitor?"

"Eldar are tall, wiry, and they move unnaturally," he says dismissively. "There are other signs, but most of those are not useful in this situation. In any case, it is not your job to make that determination, so do not concern yourself with it. If it becomes relevant, I will direct you to speak with Iona or Claritus about the matter. Why do you ask?"

"I was going to volunteer to look for them," you confess.

"I see," he says, the irritation returning to his voice. "Next time, lead with that. I do not entertain idle questions, especially when time is short." He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Very well. In truth, I was considering ordering you to do that anyway. You have found them once before, or they have found you. Since you have a need to know... To verify their identity, ask what the first card drawn for Akira was."

"What the first card drawn for Akira was?" you ask. You have no idea what that means, but of course that's the point.

"Yes. If it is the xeno I speak of, they will know the proper answer, which is 'The Eye'. If they do not give the answer, or they give the wrong answer, for the love of the Emperor, don't let them guess you're onto them."

You nod and bow. "Go," says the Inquisitor. "If someone else finds them, I will notify you. May the Emperor's fortune be upon you."

"As you will," you say, feeling slightly awkward at the sudden blessing. You hesitate. "My lord," you begin, and then stop. You want to ask what the intelligence he wants so badly is, but as you look into his eyes, your nerve fails you. Instead, you ask: "Is there anything I should know about the intelligence you need recovered?"

The Inquisitor's eyes narrow slightly.

"The day I became your master," the Inquisitor begins, "you gained my protection, you gained my trust, and you gained the tiniest, most miniscule portion of my authority. All of those are great gifts. Gifts that people would kill for. Gifts that people have killed for. You are but a servant, it is true, but you serve on an Inquisitor's retinue. And that counts for a great deal more than you might imagine."

"But you also gained two other things that day. You gained duties. A duty to serve me, just as I have a duty to serve the Emperor. And those duties may demand everything from you: your time, your labor, your health, your very flesh and blood." He holds out his mechanical hand and draws into into a fist. "You may even have the duty to martyr yourself for my cause, just as I may have the duty to martyr myself for the Emperor."

"Piety is one of those duties. Perhaps you cannot be saved before the Throne– but perhaps you can, and either way I require that you cultivate the proper mindset of faith. For the sake of appearances, if nothing else. Knowledge is not contrary to piety– indeed, is that not the nature of the Inquisition? To inquire, after things that are not yet known, but must become known?"

"Yet this search is constrained, Miss Ariadne. We seek knowledge so that we may use it to uphold the foundational truth of the Imperium– the divinity of the Emperor and His right to rule all of Mankind. Curiosity purely for its own sake so often leads to doubt, and from doubt it is only a short and gentle path to heresy. Your career, Miss Ariadne, is off to a promising start. It would be unfortunate to see that promise undone by carelessness."

You feel yourself shrivelling under the weight of his disapproval. If there is any pity in his gaze, you do not see it, and you bow your head in shame under his rebuke. "And yet," he says slowly. "And yet..." he looks away from you, his expression troubled. "And yet you may need to know," he sighs.

"But not today," he continues, his tone becoming brisk again. "To answer your question as far as I am willing, Miss Ariadne... On the day I became your master, the second thing you gained was the hatred of my enemies. I suffer not my enemies to live, and while you serve me, you shall not suffer them to live either. They know this, and so– you are now their mortal enemy as well. What I seek is knowledge about one of those enemies– a particularly dangerous and implacable one. More than that, you need not know."

"Yes, Inquisitor. My apologies, Inquisitor." You hesitate a moment. "From a xeno, Inquisitor?" The rest of his speech seems abundantly clear, but. Getting information about your enemies, from your enemies? Truly, the Inquisition works in mysterious ways...

"The irony is not lost on me," says the Inquisitor dryly. "Go," he says again. "And if you cannot find it quickly, perhaps it would be best to trail our other target instead. I have the creeping suspicion this evening is going to get a bit messy before all is said and done."

{ }​

The crowd is thin when you step into the main chamber. Perhaps the music playing now is popular, or maybe you're just lucky. Either way, you find yourself with plenty of space as you skulk through the dark corners of the room. And that's about as far as your luck gets you. You search the crowd from various balconies, and you diligently look into every secluded nook and cranny you can find. Despite an exhaustive search, you find nothing.

Well, not nothing. Just the regular stuff you find when you walk into places where people don't expect company: improptu games, whispered conversations, sloppy makeout sessions, drunken rants (company optional, of course). Speaking of that last one...

"...but I tell you, duckie, it's not all sunshine and daisies," comes a man's voice.

"I know, great-uncle."

"Oh, you've heard, but you don't know. You can't know until you get old enough to get tangled up in all..." he makes a vague noise of disgust. "Lords and ladies and magnates and Arbites and Inquisitors. Everyone below you grabbing at your coattails, everyone above you breathing down your damn neck." His voice is a little slurred, but loud enough that you can hear it from a fair distance– and you're not the only one. You pass several people walking speedily away from the sound, and if you weren't on a job you'd join them.

"Uncle, please," says the young woman desperately, but he's on a roll.

"Just ask your daddy– our good Emperor knows he's dealt with enough of them. I remember when all these up-and-comers were glints in their daddy's eye, and now here they all are. Palus skulking in some corner, and Veritas trying to marry you off to what's-his-name, and Mors putting on airs like we didn't make his family!" Oh boy. Ohhh boy. Better get in and get out before fists start flying.

"Why now," she groans, "why couldn't you get drunk at literally any other time, uncle, please quiet down."

"Yeah, yeah," he subsides, the fire leaving his voice. "It's your birthday and you don't want any of this. I'm just– seeing a good young lady like you grow up in times like these– it makes an old man bitter." His voice finally drops to a reasonable volume at last.

"Uncle, really. You sound like someone monologuing in one of Sidereum's trashy plays. It's not that bad," she says, sounding exasperated.

You hurry past them before they he can start up again, looking everywhere but at them. Thankfully, everyone else seems to have excused themselves, so it takes you a grand total of three seconds to check the area. Then you walk out as quickly as you possibly can. You don't trust that this uncle won't start mouthing off against the other nobles– or Emperor forbid, the Inquisitor.

"It's worse," he says tiredly. "You'll see. Something's coming. I can feel it in my bones. You go enjoy the dance– and look after yourself, you hear?" You finally power-walk out of earshot, and thankfully don't have to listen to the rest of his rambling.

The next few minutes of the search are fruitless. You can't find them anywhere on the edges of the room, and you don't see them in the crowd, either. Perhaps you missed them... Or perhaps it's time to change tack entirely? You haven't checked the upper balcony or the atriums. You turn to move, and as you do you catch a glimpse of a lithe figure in patchwork and a battered overcoat, resting their forearms on the railing as they stare out over the crowd. You've found them!

Oh. You've found them. You hesitate. Your orders are clear. And you intend to obey them! You're not a coward. But...

Nobody back home had ever so much as seen an Eldar, and your brief time in the Inquisition has taught you little about them. But even the whispered rumors you've overheard are enough to bring you up short. Eldar are sorcerers, slavers, shameless murderers who worship evil gods that drink blood. They eat the souls of the wicked to sustain their immortality. Eldar are daemons wearing human skin, if you believe the wilder tales. And the war stories old soldiers like to tell about them always end with the same warning:

Never get taken alive.

And yet you have to walk up to one. Or perhaps something even worse, if they're a heretic instead. How hard would it be, you wonder, to take one of the skin-wights, and ensorcell it to walk and talk like a normal human being? A glowing skin, with nothing but evil inside, flattening itself to squirm under doors and between windows, all the better to grasp at the unwary with its hollow hands... Is that what lurks behind that mask? And did you really find them? Or did they– or it– find you instead?

And yet you know what you must do, even though every step forwards feels like a step further into the jaws of a trap. As you walk up, they straighten out and turn around. Perhaps they sense your approach. Or perhaps they were waiting for you.

"Looking for someone?"

[X] ...Maybe. (Try to strike up a 'normal' conversation. Perhaps they'll let something slip if you put them at ease?)
[X] Yes. You. (Just get to the point. Who are they, and what do they want?)

The time is 8:30 PM.