TO BURN, VENT, OR TAKE AS PRIZE (Warhammer 40k Naval Quest)

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HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP, THE VALIANT, AND HER CREW LISTS
  • Informational
    • Cruise Start Date: 3.004.755.m41 | CRUISE COMPLETE
    Shiptime: 180 Days
    Current Date: 3.412.756.m41
    Current Location: The Tempestos Ring
    Current Status: Under Repair and Refit for Duty


    CHRISTENING: The VALIANT
    CLASS: Falchion Class | KEEL LAID: 02.0011.231.m41
    COMPLICATION: Haunted (-10 to max morale, +6 to detection, enemies get -10 to boarding/hit and run attacks)
    MACHINE SPIRIT TEMPERAMENT: Wrothful! (+1 speed, +7 to maneuverability in combat, -1 speed, -5 maneuverability, -5 detection while out of combat)

    --

    HULL INTEGRITY: 36/36 | VOID SHIELDS: 1 | ARMOR: 18
    TURRET RATING: 1 | SPEED: 9 (7) | MANEUVERABILITY: +24 (+12) | DETECTION: +30 (+25)
    CREW QUALITY: Elite (40%) | CREW: 99/100 | MORALE: 87/90
    SUPPLIES: 12 Months (at 6 months go on short rations)

    --

    Dimensions: 2.2 Kilometres in Length | 0.3 Kilometres abeam at the Fins
    Mass: 6.5 Megatonnes (approx) | Crew: 27,871 Souls (may the God Emperor Protect)
    Acceleration: 4.6 Gravities (Constant)



    DORSAL CANNONS

    Mars Cannons
    The Jumping Bastard, Long-Lolly, Big Lass, Old Contemptible, 'Nought More, Domination, Obliteration, The Silly Lad, Gigatech, Omnisiah's Child, Emperor's Fist and The Smiling Jack
    Range: 6 | Strength: 3 | Damage: 1d10+3 (Crit: 5)

    Ryza Cannons
    Furious Sun, The Sisters
    Range: 5 | Strength: 5 | Damage: 1d10+6 (Crit: 4)
    If this weapon deals the Destroyed critical hit, it destroys two components rather than one

    TORPEDOES
    Speed: 10 Void Units per Turn | Damage: 2d10+14 (Crit: 10) | Terminal Penetration: 3
    Rating: +20
    Maximum Range: 60
    14 Torpedoes


    Space: 34/34 | Power: 42/45

    Jovian Pattern Class 2 Plasma Drive: Blessed be her Fury, for she Driveth us to Salvation.
    (Space: 10 | Power: 45 Generated)

    Stelov I Warp Engine: Blessed by her Swiftness, for she Taketh us to the Foe
    (Space: 9 | Power: 9 | This Component is Best Quality, reducing it's Space and Power requirements by 1.

    Weir-Miller Pattern Geller Field: Blessed be her Aegis, for she Hold the Darkness at Bay
    (Space: 0 | Power: 1)

    Single Layer Mars Pattern Void Shield Array: Blessed be her Sneer, for she Winks upon Death
    (Space: 1 | Power: 5)

    Command Bridge: Blessed be her Ire, for thou shall smite her enemies from this sacred place.
    (Space: 1 | Power: 2) | Special: +5 to Command Checks and +5 to BS checks. If unpowered, roll 1d10. On a 1-3, this bridge is not unpowered)

    Vitae Pattern Life Sustainer: Blessed be her Breath, for thou shall sup from her teat and live evermore
    (Space: 2 | Power: 4)

    Voidsmen Quarters: Blessed be her Arms, for the encircle your Earthly Body.
    (Space: 3 | Power: 1)

    Deep Void Auger Array: Blessed be her Eye, for she Sees All
    (Space: 0 | Power: 7)

    Prow Mounted Voss Pattern Torpedo Tubes: Blessed be her Fist, for she striketh the foe!
    (Space: - | Power: 1) | This component is included automatically and cannot be removed.

    Dorsal Mounted Mars Pattern Macrocannon Batteries: Blessed be he Sword, for she sweeps away the Shield
    (Space: 2 | Power: 4)

    Dorsal Mounted Ryza Pattern Plasma Battery: Blessed be her Lance, for she driveth into thy Enemy's Belly
    (Space: 4 | Power: 7) | This component is of best quality, adding +1 Strength and +1 Damage. Praise the Emperor.

    Munitorium: Blessed be her Quiver, for it is Ever Filled with her Hate
    (Space: 2 | Power: 1) | This component is of best quality, reducing Space and Power Requirement by 1. Hail to the Omnisiah!
    VOLATILE: IF THIS COMPONENT IS DAMAGED, IT EXPLODES, DEALING 2D5 DAMAGE TO THE SHIP IGNORING ARMOR AND SETTING A NEARBY COMPONENT ON FIRE

    COMPLIMENT

    Bridge Crew
    Captain: Commander VYNN
    First Officer: Lieutenant Yorke ZELLA
    Chief Surgeon: Doctor Jonathan BALTHEZAR
    Helm Officer: Lieutenant, 2nd Class, Privata SONJA Blitzkovatch
    Ship's Master: Xandi ES
    Gunner's Mate, 1st Class: Sujek KHAN
    Gunner's Mate, 2nd Class: Khotar VROOK


    Guildsmen and Civilian Officials
    Cartho-Artifex: Sir Jividias VONT (the Younger)
    Chief Purser: Mrs. Sydwynn Carter
    Head Confessor: KURGHAN Malik

    Midshipmen
    Mr. Tommen Blakely (aged 13)
    Mr. Vindalin Cork (aged 15)
    Mr. Dashire Rainwild (aged 14)
    Mr. Bower Xon III (Aged 12)
    Mr. Ted (Age 13)


    The Priesthood of Mars
    Chief Enginseer (aka Enginseer Primus): Isabella "ISA" Turantawix


    Navis Nobiline
    Warp Guide: GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma (Guiding Light of the Astronomicon, The Daring One, Mistress of the Stars)
    Warp Secondus: SEVERUS GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, Husband to GALE
    Warp Tertrius: MARY GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, eldest daughter to GALE
    Warp Quaternus: TOMMEN GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, younger son to GALE

    The Crew

    Boatswain Frik (MIA, ship-date 112 at warp, no body found)
    Able Voidsman Darya Ivanova
    Able Voidman Sa'adah Sanguhamat (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless His Soul)
    Able Voidsman Nasir Naaji
    Voidsman Akulina Ignatov (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless Her Soul)
    Voidsman Irina Kuznetsov (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless Her Soul)
    Voidsman Lev Volkov
    Voidsman Mikha'il Abdulrashid
    Voidsman Isra Saqqaf
    Voidsman Asim Ahmad
    Voidsman Happy Jack Sheng

     
    Last edited:
  • Informational
    • CHAPTER ONE: DEBTS, DAMNED DEBTS, AND DEBTORS (1.2)
  • Threadmarks
    • The smoke clears and you flinch ever so slightly. You have seen several rather horrible examples of the augmeticists craft, from the gauche to the grotesque, but you had not expected to see such a frightful example right before your eyes so...immediately. The officer that has come to meet you - with a nervous, trembling, pale faced mid who can't be more than thirteen years of age - is about a meter and half tall, coming up to your chest. But he is no reedy lad, he is stocky and muscular, underneath slabs of scar tissue that seam him from the top of his head to the base of his boots as far as you can tell. His left arm has been replaced with a simple steel augmetic and his eyes are both concealed (or replaced) behind a grated visor that glows with a malevolent red lumination that draws to mind the blood of martyrs and cranberry jam and such.

    The officer's meta jaw was crude, but he had a vox somewhere in that ruined mess of a throat, and thus, was able to say, reasonably clearly, with only the smallest of crackles and hissing popping sounds and a tinny warble, the required 'sir!' as his hand snapped to and you gave him your best cheerful nod and a smile, while Jon immediately began to walk about him, examining his augmetics and his scars with equal curiosity and equal lack of good manners and tact. The man, to his credit, ignored him, and instead held out his hand for a shake. "Lieutenant Yorke Zella, of his majesty's ship the Valiant."

    "Capital," you say, clasping his hand.

    Now, you were no boor, unlike your good friend, but, you did sometimes prefer to test yourself against others. It was a way of making sure you had not grown soft. Growing up upon a Death World meant you had certain standards you had to uphold, you see? Can't let the common run Imperial born orthodox chaps look down their noses at you, it wasn't good for your statue, your reputation, your honor! And so, you tightened your grip and Zella tightened his grip and metal bit and flesh squeezed and you were quite pleased at the small hiss and pop that came from one of his joints and the tiny nod that came from him - and dare you hope? - a glint of respect. In as much as respect could be shown by a glowing red lumen that slowly swept from left to right and right to left like some kind of dark pendulum, keeping the time of the damned in a face ruined by war and woe.

    "Shall we?" you ask, then toss your ruck into the hands of the mid, who had already been burdened by the good doctor, who was entreating the poor lad to not drop anything be a good boy now those materials are quite valuable if you'd be so kind.

    The walk to the berth itself takes a few minutes, and during this time, you try and get some measure of both the man and the lad. Zella seems a good enough sort on first blush - he doesn't make any cracks about savages or tattoos, but that might be because it's hard to read any expression at all off a face that is more scar and metal than meat. But then you come into the gantry bay itself and find yourself looking upon your ship up close and personal. It is suspended from the ground by a vast array of support struts and harnesses and gantries, allowing tech-wrights by the thousands to swarm across it, working on the outer hull, removing vast skinsegments of armor plating to reveal the vast mass of machinery beneath. Void shield emitters are being slowly removed from their housings by vast cranes and crews of men and women, all of whom chant their work songs, echoing into the vast space.

    The ship herself is quite a sight from the outside and your practiced eye takes in the obvious components. Hmm, yes...a single void shield array...hmm, geller fields projectors run along standard Jovian-Titanian lines...yes...very good, ah, is that...yes it is, a brace of Ought-Eights Carronades on the prow, right upon the edge of the dorsal ridge, sparred against median stresses...hmm, good, those would be quite accurate at the five to ten thousand kilometer range if fused properly, that was just it, you had to fuse the shells properly if you couldn't guarantee a direct strike...and yes, was that the armor plating on the magazine? With a water jacket? Excellent, wet storage was safer, even if it did mean the condensation gathered, yes...hmm...

    Your fingers stroke along your chin as Zella speaks. "We have had a full refit of the ship - had a nasty run against the Toe."

    "Tau," Jon says, distractedly.

    "The who?" you ask.

    "The Toe," Zella says.

    "It is pronounced Tau, my fellow," Jon murmurs, then to himself. "Quite remarkable, I do believe...that is a fumigation team! Are there vermin aboard the boat?"

    "I fought them for three months in the Pacificus Campaign, they are the Toe," Zella growls. "And yes, we have some rats."

    "Rats? From Terra? I must have one, I've never seen a rat in person. Did you know-" Jon turns to you.

    "What in the bloody blue blazes are the Toe?"

    "Tau!"

    "The Toe are a new kind of xenos. Perfidious, heretical, they must be destroyed en mass."

    "Ah," you say, as this clears up nothing, as that single sentence could be used to describe everything from the Jokero to your average xenogenic pond scum in the eyes of certain members of the Ecclesiarchy. "And they...are like?"

    "Vile," Zella says, flatly.

    "They're quite interesting, now, about this rat..." Jon mutters. You ignore him, instead listening as Zella says.

    "Fast ships. Accurate guns. Terrible in melee."

    "Capital! I do love a good boarding action," you say, stroking your chin. "Is the gunnery why the ship got so savaged?"

    "Yes, we were caught coming from a low orbit - straight into a high orbit, fast pass attack run by one of their ships," Zella says, his voice flat. "Plasma carronades took the shield, then it was all lance work. Smaller than our long millenniums, but accurate as the Ruinous Powers. Scoured through armor, pierced cisterns three and eight, killed seven thousand men in an instant..."

    You shake your head. "Dreadful."

    "A single rat...to actually dissect a creature descended from Terra herself...oh, what a comparative biographic analysis I could make..."

    "...then, of course, we had to come to grapple with them. Our old captain, Gideon Burchen-"

    "Ah, I know him, served with him aboard the Triumphant!"

    "-he died."

    "I do believe I have a book detailing the evolution of the rat, boy, might I bother you for my..."

    "Terrible news, that...my condolences."

    "Yes. Well. We came around and-"

    "No, not that book."

    The rucksack spilled its contents upon the floor as the midshipman's hands slipped and the entire parcel was lost to centripidal forces and the whims of physics. Zella reacted with a bellow. "MIDSHIPMAN BLAKELY! YOU WILL PICK THOSE PARCELS UP THIS INSTANT OR BY THE GOD-EMPEROR, I WILL HAVE YOU UP FOR LASHES!"

    This has the effect of getting the luggage under control and scaring Midshipman Blakely out of a year's growth, but you do frown ever so slightly to yourself. "Shall we inspect the interior?"

    "Very good, sir."

    LIUTENANT ZELLA BEGINS TO LEAD COMMANDER VYNN THROUGH THE SHIP, BEGINNING WITH THE BRIDGE AND WORKING DOWN. WHILST EXAMINING HER NEW COMMAND, VYNN THINKS TO HERSELF...

    [] Hmm...a great deal of Cadic stock - solid and dependable, and I do like the cut of their uniforms. But good heavens, there's a lot of pressed men here. How badly did the tau savage them? And how many gratings can one man set up for lashes? I don't like the smell of this at all. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40% )

    [] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)

    [] Good GOD-EMPEROR what is that smell? Oh! YES! YES! THIS SHIP HAS VEDICS! Curry! This ship has curry, oh delightful! ...oh, my, that's a lot of gratings for whippings...and I do believe I've never seen so many Confessors out and about. Is our priest that orthodox? Vedics may be odd, but they're Emperor worshipers too. And curry... (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)

    AN: I want a curry now.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)

    A fun mish-mash of different forces sounds like it could be fun.
     
    A fun list of penalties!

    -15 to Command checks, -10 to Ballistic Skill checks, and -10 to ship maneuverability.

    You're 20% morale loss away from being unable to do hit and run OR boarding attempts because too few of the ship's crew can be trusted to hold weapons.
     
    [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)
     
    [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)
     
    [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)
     
    [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)​
     
    [X] I do believe I've never seen such a motley crew! We have Khans, Tibens, Catcheans, and...yes, yes, those are Valhallans, only Valhallans could get away wearing so little, and is that a half Tallran baby in that woman's arms? But good Emperor, there are a lot of pressed men here...pressed men on the one hand, families on the other, never good, breeds resentment. (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)
     
    [x] Good GOD-EMPEROR what is that smell? Oh! YES! YES! THIS SHIP HAS VEDICS! Curry! This ship has curry, oh delightful! ...oh, my, that's a lot of gratings for whippings...and I do believe I've never seen so many Confessors out and about. Is our priest that orthodox? Vedics may be odd, but they're Emperor worshipers too. And curry... (Crew Skill: Elite | Crew Morale: 40%)

    For curry.
     
    CHAPTER ONE: DEBTS, DAMNED DEBTS, AND DEBTORS (1.3)
  • Threadmarks
    • You begin, of course, with the bridge.

    Ah, what a bridge, what a lovely bridge. The layout is standard Martian, the kind of bridge you've served on thrice before, on the Unlimited Devastation, the Bilious Hatred, and the Slippery (oh what a ship the Slippery had been, you had seen how Captain K'Hone had made the orks howl with her.) There is an auspex pit at the front, there, yes. There is the firing console there, very good. Yes. There is the cogitation arrays for astromantic calculations (damned slide rules!) there. Very good. There is the incredibly buxom, milk pale, freckled, green eyed, red haired Valhallan beauty wearing a sleeveless jacket and a half buttoned white shirt there, yes, ah, your eyes do come back to that and your brow furrows as you look upon this delightful fantasy, this wonderful apparition, this lovely visage of an impossible paradise as promised to all his Majesty's most loyal servants after their deaths claimed them, this...

    "Sir," she says, bringing her hand up, which caused the delightful physics of this wondrous galaxy act upon the chest thus and so...and so, you did cough and nod and salute back and she lowered her arm and, ah, the lovely counterpoint. Just as the first movement in Siciro's 9th Fantasia played meditatively with the sprightly 4/8ths time before darting off to a frenetic 3/8ths, allegro! Allegro! You can already picture the allegro in this case - the rapidity of breath, the quickening of the heart, the movement of certain fingers, the closeness of lips...

    "This is Lieutenant, 2nd Class, Privata Sonja Blitzkovatch, our helm master and astrometrics officer."

    You incline your head. "Valhallan names...uh, do forgive me, my world, we have but the one, and even that can be a bit of a muddle..."

    "Mr. Sonja is acceptable," she says, and dare you say, she smiled. Ah, allegro, allegro indeed.

    You take your time to admire the cogitation apparatus, primarily, the way that Mr. Sonja takes her seat at it and begins to work the punch cards with such marvelous dexterity. You do note that Jon has gone to the vista plates, to examine the ship beyond - and what a capital idea. You step over and look down at the snot nosed mids in the auspex pit. It is a common tradition that the mids, so named for their cabins were near the middle of the ship, where they were most protected, being the future of the Service after all, were placed first in the auspex pit, where they could put their figuring and their numbers and their ciphering to work in the great heaping bore that was determining where anything in the void was. You swept your gaze across them, raking fast, and caught one picking his nose, another hiding her pornographic magazine under her chair (rum mistake that, that was the best place for it to be run over by the rollers) and one who had clearly been sleeping before his neighbor kicked him and hissed in his ear: "Wake up you great looby!"

    Four mids, four youths, not a single sprouter among them!

    Excellent! Nothing distressed you as much as meeting a twenty, thirty year old midshipman. It was just depressing, oft, a sign that either they had no aptitude or, as was just as often, they filled out a uniform nicely and might as well have quit the service, married the captain and been kept on as a guest but sometimes, there were bigamy laws involved or inheritance or familial expectations, and so, instead, the poor fellows and ladies sweltered in their dress blues and tried to not get in the way between their times in the sheets and everyone would blush for them, if they knew, and if they did know, would endeavor to know as little as possible. That was the way of it in the Navy! You knew at least five officers you could have easily sent to the void-locks purely on innuendo and hints alone - but as you knew nothing for certain, you could quite gladly sit before a court martial and say: Captain Harkness has no more a harem of lovely boys than I have a hatpin!

    "Well, misters, give me your names," you say.

    The nose picker says, quite stupidly: "Are you the Captain?"

    "Yes," you say, quite seriously, taking your hat off to brush your hand through the wild mane of your blond hair. "Have you never seen a Death Worlder before? Now! Names! Come along, smartly now."

    "Midshipman Vindalin Cork," says the nose picker.

    "Midshipman Dashire Rainwild," says the pornographer.

    "Mishipman Bower Xon III," says the snoozer, his voice so high and piping that you aren't sure if he's old enough to be aboard, but, you know what they say about children sired by parents on juvinat! Ha ha!

    "Midshipman Ted," says the last, the one who had kicked the snoozer.

    "Ted?" you ask her. "Just...Ted?"

    Ted nods, her black, frizzy hair bobbing about her dark face.

    "...Ted, are you quite sure?"

    "Yes, Captain!" She smiles at you and you harrumph.

    "Ted..." you shake your head. "Now, you mids, you mind your lessons. If you don't, I'll have the doctor tutor you."

    "No you certainly shall not," Jon says, distractedly. "Vynn, old girl, why is the cistern filled with what appear to be macrocannon shells?"

    You sigh and shoot the midshipmen a look and they all smile at you, save for Cork, who is picking his nose again. "My good Doctor, the macrocannon shells are surrounded by water so a singular penetrating shot does not blow the ship in twain."

    "Ah, very clever..."

    From the bridge, you were then taken to peruse the rest of the ship, Zella pointing out the armerments and those were a sight to see. The gun decks, always a rowdy place on a ship, were utterly cacophonous here due to the repair and the fixing going on, but even among the chaos, you admired the macrocannons - fourteen in total, and you see that twelve of those are what the layman might call the Mars class of macrocannon - but in truth, they are a dizzying array of complexities. For instance, the cannon you saw had the name of Long-Lolly inscribed upon the brass finishing, was more accurately called a Vulcan Hammerer, which was actually sixteen barrels that rotated rapidly and each projected, through means of chemical propellants, a dumbfire rocket similar in some ways to the common bolt shell used by the big blue boys with the hats, but at a greatly increased scale and size. Then there was, over there, a classical maglev impeller coilgun, with jacketed flash cooling systems. Could one truly say that they were both of the same class?

    ...well...

    Yes, you...you easily could, as what one did with twelve shells fired in five seconds, the other did in one shell fired every twenty, and the math all evened out in the end. But the two cannons at middle section of the ship were ah, yes, those were the things you were so very pleased to see. A pair of high energy impact weapons - which were named the Furious Sun and The Sisters. The Furious Sun was a classical microwave induction job - you pointed to it: "Ah, Jon, you see there, the bracketing system, oh what a terrible wound it will cause, ah, fire and death and destruction!" to which he nodded and shouted, at the top of his lungs: "WHAT?" for the sounds of jackhammers and drills were filling the room terribly from all the repair construction. The Sisters were a pair of linked macro-las weapons, but as you drew closer, you had to crow, crow for delight! They were not las weapons at all - they were las impelling plasma cannonades!

    You were still trying to explain the distinction to Jon, who insisted on not seeing the point of using a high energy laser to rapidly accelerate through the voltaic principle a package of contained starstuff when you could instead simply focus the coherent light upon the foe, when Zella led you from the weapon decks to the crew quarters - and here, it truly was beginning to impress upon you just how...

    How...

    You would say diverse the crew was, but you did not want to insult them with one of the worst invective in the Common Churchbook's List of Insulting Phrases. Better to say they were...a mongrel lot? Motley? ...eclectic? Was that better? You did not rightly know, but you saw Catcheans, Tallerns, Khans, Cadic stock, Imperial mongrel, Valhallans, good Emperor, you were shocked you saw no men who were blue or white or polka dotted in this fine mess. You did see, though, that once one looked past the head-wraps and the mismatched uniforms, that there were two clear breed of crew. There were those who clearly had family and a place in the ship - they smiled at you and nodded and touched their forelocks as you wound your way through the cabins with Zella at your side (and was it just you or did you notice a great deal of hurrying away whenever he did approach? Or was that your imagination?) but then there were also the sorts who looked sullen and beaten upon.

    It was when you crossed through what passed for the hold - bare enough to hold the stores and maybe the smallest pinch of booty if you took a ship for prize or raided an enemy colony (not exceptionally likely, but an old cut and run expedition was always a possibility!) - that you noticed just how many gratings were arrayed up, and how many had groaning men upon them, backs flayed.

    "Was there a mutiny?" Jon asks, looking across the suffering on display, his brow furrowed, his nose wrinkled, distaste clear upon his face.

    "Mutiny? Nay." Zella shook his head. "Collective indiscipline. Rum runners, obscura smugglers, gamblers and, in one case, two sodomites."

    "Sodomy?" you frown.

    "They buggered a grox."

    "Ah, yes, well..." you frown, finding it rather unfortunate to have to make the case for sodomy, but...really now, you were expecting these men to die for you, it seemed a bit much to whip them to the bone for bothering a grox. But then again, it was a sin against man, nature and the Emperor, and did make him turn his face from the poor fool, which you supposed was worse than a whipping, but...

    You headed on - eager to see the final stop - the torpedoes!

    VYNN, JON AND ZELLA ENTER THE TORPEDO BAY TO FIND THE CHIEF ENGINSEER!

    [] Good heavens! It is your old comrade, Enginseer Prime Isabella Turantawix! A beautiful lass, wonderful, beautiful, no hard feelings, you hope, requirements of the service, new posting, you did plan to write, honest...ha ha, surely, you, ah, would not hold an indiscretion or...seven against your old bunk, er, shipmate?

    [] Ah! Enginseer Prime Vixtria Tosh! Surely, you cannot STILL be mad about the plasma vents! They were going to explode anyway, using them upon an orkish ship was merely the most expedient way to dispose of heavily damaged techno-sorcery. Yes, they were five thousand years old, yes, they were your life's study, but...exigencies of the service?

    [] ...oh...hello Enginseer Prime Balor...I...did send flowers to your brother. And...in my defense, he challenged me to the duel...ah...is it...truly logical to have such attachments to the flesh? Is that not what you cog botherers say? Ah...um...oh dear...

    BUT WHAT'S THIS? IN THE TORPEDO RACKS? A DISTRACTINGLY INTERESTING ARRAY OF TORPEDOES?

    [] Nope! You simply have 12 MP-091.m22 Plasma Torpedoes in racks and 2 in the tubes, with standard guidance systems and machine spirits
    [] Oh! You have...12...modified...where are the warheads? Wait, good god, are these boarding torpedoes!?
    [] ...where are my bloody torpedoes!? (You have two Vortex Warhead Torpedoes with Advanced Seeking Cogitation units in the tubes)
     
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    • [x] Ah! Enginseer Prime Vixtria Tosh! Surely, you cannot STILL be mad about the plasma vents! They were going to explode anyway, using them upon an orkish ship was merely the most expedient way to dispose of heavily damaged techno-sorcery. Yes, they were five thousand years old, yes, they were your life's study, but...exigencies of the service?
    [x] Oh! You have...12...modified...where are the warheads? Wait, good god, are these boarding torpedoes!?
     
    [X] Good heavens! It is your old comrade, Enginseer Prime Isabella Turantawix! A beautiful lass, wonderful, beautiful, no hard feelings, you hope, requirements of the service, new posting, you did plan to write, honest...ha ha, surely, you, ah, would not hold an indiscretion or...seven against your old bunk, er, shipmate?
    [X] Oh! You have...12...modified...where are the warheads? Wait, good god, are these boarding torpedoes!?

    I'm sure this degree of crazy can only end well.
     
    [x] Ah! Enginseer Prime Vixtria Tosh! Surely, you cannot STILL be mad about the plasma vents! They were going to explode anyway, using them upon an orkish ship was merely the most expedient way to dispose of heavily damaged techno-sorcery. Yes, they were five thousand years old, yes, they were your life's study, but...exigencies of the service?
    [x] Nope! You simply have 12 MP-091.m22 Plasma Torpedoes in racks and 2 in the tubes, with standard guidance systems and machine spirits

    If we had a Space Marine contingent or something, boarding torpedoes would be great. As is, we have a nearly mutinous crew to load into them. And the Vortex torpedoes... well, they're cool, but this is a torpedo boat, and I dislike having two shots alone.
     
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    [X] Good heavens! It is your old comrade, Enginseer Prime Isabella Turantawix! A beautiful lass, wonderful, beautiful, no hard feelings, you hope, requirements of the service, new posting, you did plan to write, honest...ha ha, surely, you, ah, would not hold an indiscretion or...seven against your old bunk, er, shipmate?
    [X] Nope! You simply have 12 MP-091.m22 Plasma Torpedoes in racks and 2 in the tubes, with standard guidance systems and machine spirits
     
    [x] Ah! Enginseer Prime Vixtria Tosh! Surely, you cannot STILL be mad about the plasma vents! They were going to explode anyway, using them upon an orkish ship was merely the most expedient way to dispose of heavily damaged techno-sorcery. Yes, they were five thousand years old, yes, they were your life's study, but...exigencies of the service?
    [x] Nope! You simply have 12 MP-091.m22 Plasma Torpedoes in racks and 2 in the tubes, with standard guidance systems and machine spirits

    edit:
    Sorry failed on copying the post . But i agree with ur comments , if we had more reliable crew sure the boarding torpedos would be useful otherswise lets just go basic for that .
     
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    atrophy said:
    [x] Ah! Enginseer Prime Vixtria Tosh! Surely, you cannot STILL be mad about the plasma vents! They were going to explode anyway, using them upon an orkish ship was merely the most expedient way to dispose of heavily damaged techno-sorcery. Yes, they were five thousand years old, yes, they were your life's study, but...exigencies of the service?
    [x] Nope! You simply have 12 MP-091.m22 Plasma Torpedoes in racks and 2 in the tubes, with standard guidance systems and machine spirits
    If we had a Space Marine contingent or something, boarding torpedoes would be great. As is, we have a nearly mutinous crew to load into them. And the Vortex torpedoes... well, they're cool, but this is a torpedo boat, and I dislike having two shots alone.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Looks like you copied some of my commentary, I edited my post so the distinction is more clear.
     
    [X] Good heavens! It is your old comrade, Enginseer Prime Isabella Turantawix! A beautiful lass, wonderful, beautiful, no hard feelings, you hope, requirements of the service, new posting, you did plan to write, honest...ha ha, surely, you, ah, would not hold an indiscretion or...seven against your old bunk, er, shipmate?
    [X] ...where are my bloody torpedoes!? (You have two Vortex Warhead Torpedoes with Advanced Seeking Cogitation units in the tubes)
     
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