Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20190911202955

You step off the shuttle ramp and find yourself shielding your eyes from a burning sun, staggering onto the landing pad as you’re greeted by the pale blue morning sky of Ratajczyk. You are met by the sight of assembled Imperial soldiers. They are different from the Guard and PDF you might’ve previously encountered defending Ratajczyk; they wear finely wrought armour and the finest silks in the province; they carry las rifles carved from ebony wood and bear the scars of the recent battles. Their armour is minted with a gothic P symbol, representing their loyalty to the Rogue Trader family. One of the soldiers approaches you and, with a tone that struggles to hide their slight disgust, greets you,

“Welcome to Golgotha. The Governess has been awaiting your arrival, this way please.”

Golgotha is the temporary capital; after the Tau routed the Imperial Guard from the capital in the north. Its air is filled with the hum of war machines and engineering work, the whole of the old industrial city mobilised for the war-effort. The city is made up of ancient, crimson sandstone buildings interwoven with newer, sleeker pale white marble skyscrapers and hab blocks. Golden statues of the various governors and leaders of Ratajczyk flank one as they pass through the streets and into the small gardens and spaces of greenery once reserved only for the best and brightest of Golgotha’s citizenry. But as with the rest of the city, even these places have changed; as you march through the city you see how buildings have been laired with sandbags and housing converted into bunkers. The Guardsmen of a dozen different regiments lined the streets, while anti-air guns and missile batteries constantly scan the skies for Tau fighter-bomber craft. Citizens dig trenches and work to put out fires from the last raids, while others work through the rubble to recover loved ones.

The temporary capital is unlikely to get better before it gets worse.

It takes you some time to reach the Governess headquarters, a massive, sprawling palace complex that is surrounded by an army of Private Security forces and Imperial armour, with several Hydra Flak Tanks always on hand. You are rushed past the Guard on duty, as not to further damage the Governess’s already strained image. Rushed through the marble halls and exquisitely decorated chambers and rooms, you manage glimpses of Imperial officers bickering and squabbling. Eventually you are brought to the Governess.

Sioux awaits you in a makeshift throne room, which appears more like the bridge of a ship than a royal chamber. Monitors and computers have been thrown up in place of paintings while dozens of maps and star charts are sprawled over tables, attended to by dozens of staff officers and adjutants. Their attention is turned to you, Imperial officers muttering at the state of their situation, reduced to begging for help from outsiders and criminals.

Sioux herself wades forward to meet you. She wears a large long coat and a captain’s hat crowned by a trio of multi-coloured feathers, using a silver sabre sheathed in ebony leather as a makeshift cane as she hobbles towards you. She is not an old woman, appearing no older than forth, but is clearly tired from the conflict and examines you with slightly glassy eyes, her expression neutral. At all times she is flanked by a cadre of guards, all masked and armed with antique rifles. After a few moments of silence she extends a gloved hand, “I’m Governess Ballion, I’m glad you could make it; you’re the best news I’ve had all day, now, shall we get down to business?” 