Candlemass Guard Duty [Closed][Imperium][Semi-Canon]

Private Cudjal’s eyes took in every detail of the car-carriage. Vernard may have spent a lot of time in the sewers but there were still some things even the lowliest native knew and one of them was some of the sigils and symbols often used by the powerful houses of Haven. As a man having waded through trash, he probably seen several of their discarded items before to say the least. Anyone that lived in a society with a clear hierarchy could tell that, even though there were no obvious signs of nobility aboard, this vehicle had to be expensive. A noble was the most likely candidate, especially in a world currently undergoing a war. Knowing this, Vernard started searching for anything that could give a hint on what the potential noble could be.

Black wasn’t enough of an indicator, it a common color everywhere, but the yellow vest and hat the driver wore were colors commonly used by House Vaya. The rat-catcher’s sharp eyes also caught a pin on the driver's blazer lapel shaped like a mailed fist offering a coin, confirming his (and Private Ilona’s) suspicions. Every native knew of the Vayas for they were often associated with the banks on the planet, and it’s said there is rarely a deal that happens on Haven's Garden that a Vaya wasn’t involved in by some way. Vernard may have heard some of the rumors about them such as some of their very bloody history but also how they were one of the first to cooperate with the Guard. The driver, while young and scared, still seemed to have a cool enough head to not panic with so many guns pointed at him; likely indicating he was a professional or at least had something similar happen to him before. In fact, with the way his eyes kept glancing back to the black window he seemed to be perhaps more worried about the cargo he was driving. There was probably a Vaya noble, or someone important to them, in that car-carriage.

---

The duo tensed when they saw the Guardswoman approach. When Specialist Treston remarked on the condition of the wagon the man said defensively, “When there’s a war going on you gotta use what you got! Would have made the trip too if it wasn’t for…”

He paused to bite back some words before resolving to wave his hand at the car-carriage and finishing with, “That!”

He winced when he did so; bringing his arm quickly in. The woman quickly when to his side to try and dote on him. Aside from the clear bump on his that could be easily fixed with time, ice pack, and mild painkillers; the trained medic could tell he clearly dislocated his shoulder. She could also see that the axle of the wagon was fine, but the broken wheel was finished. It needed some sort of replacement.

---

Nothing seemed to warrant the ire of Trooper Dekker’s lasgun at the moment. However, some movement from her left might have caught her attention. The other civilians from the now flattened line perhaps, but it was hard to tell simply from her peripheral.

((If Trooper Dekker wishes to investigate what’s going on with the civilians that were formerly in the line, please make a roll with target of 1.))

---

To the credit of Trooper Ilona her sights were squarely on the car-carriage like how she trained so many times on Mordian. This vehicle probably did belong to a noble, and she was pretty sure the driver was just that.

---

((To all looking at the car-carriage))

Seeing no one moving at all as they continued to point guns at him, the driver pleaded, “Please, can we go through?”

He continued to have his hands raised. Aside from the grumble of the engine the rest of the vehicle remained unmoving.

((If anyone else wishes to investigate the thing Private Dekker noticed with the civilians they need to stop paying attention to the car-carriage and roll with a target of 2.))

“If you say so,” Treston shrugs, “I’ll take your word for it.
She turns back to the couple, “That shoulder looks pretty rough. The line is pretty long now so it could be painful to deal with while you wait, so you better let me take a look at it. Though if you really want to wait till you’re inside, I can’t force you.”

She glances over to the others at the gate then back to the couple, “I got a lot of work to do so make your decision quickly, if you don’t mind.”

Trooper Dekker might want to change her mind about having her carbine at the low ready for she’d just manage to spot a man trying to sneak through the gate at a low crouch. She’d have recognized him as the man that was in the next clump of people that had children. Their eyes met for a second, bloodshot they were, before he dashed for the gate.

((Any attempt to stop him will require a roll))

---

The driver blinked, clearly surprised by his commands, but then nodded. Private Cudjal would watch as the driver knocked on the black window by him three times. A brief moment later it would open and a slender gold gloved hand would poke out holding a light violet card. The driver would take it, the window would close, then he’d step out of the car-carriage and close the door after himself. He stood within arm's length of the door but kept his hands up with the violet car in his right hand.

“I’d have to reach into my jacket to get my ID,” the driver called loudly to Vernard.

---

The man looked reluctant but a stern yet pleading look from the woman seemed enough to sway him as he sighed and said, “Well, I won’t say no to help. We’re gonna need it as you can see.”

He’d nod to the broken wagon. He sighed then presented his arm to Specialist Treston.

“Think we might miss the party,” he said to the woman, making no effort to hide what they were talking about to the medic, “Hopefully they still pay us.”

“Better late than never,” the woman said.

“Exactly,” the man grumbled, "Might close before then."

"He said they were staying open late."

"Sure, but by that point there might not be anyone to drink it."

"Sounds like his problem."

"It'd be ours if he deducts pay for late shipment."

Despite the excitement to the side of the barrier, Cudjal didn't even glance away from the driver of the noble's vehicle. One could say a skill developed from looking for rats while another catch beats a vermin to a pulp to ones side.

"Get it out nice and slow." he called out to the driver. The plan in his head was once the ID was given a detailed check, he'd confirm how many people were in the back of the blanked out carriage. Maybe he'd even do a scan? Just to be safe.

With everyone busy and no one telling him what to do, this whole situation had turned out to be a opportunity to which the PDF trooper was going to milk as far as he possibly could. It's not every day that you get to reverse the flow of the proverbial sewerage pipe and send it back up at the high and ever so mighty nobility. Especially when they attempt to rush a checkpoint.

[[Roll to yell=5. Vernard's voice is still holding out!]]

with no specific threat, (and a growing sense of unease in regard to Vernard's harassment of a carriage belonging to nobles) . . . Trooper Bembenek kept her weapon trained, her posture locked and waiting for violence or an all-clear. Belatedly she wondered how visible her face was to those in the carriage, would they remember her face? Have her killed later? Switching grips momentarily, she pulled on her collar to take it higher, and tried to hunch down further into her uniform. Might as well not make it easy for vindictive nobles.

“What in throne’s name?” Treston mutters at the sound of running feet. She turns to see the man running from Dekker, now illuminated by the gate’s lights. She swears unslinging her lasgun and shouting to the old woman, Penelope apparently, and the old man to get down.

Despite knowing she isn’t going to catch him, Treston races forwards to stand in the way of the runner.
LanternO'Red Request: `[4df+2]` Roll: `[+, +, , -]` Result: `3`
She fires a burst from the lasgun towards the runner’s feet, more to trip him up than to hit the runner themselves.

There was no confusion when Specialist Treston unslung her lasgun. The old couple dove to the ground and covered their heads. The Mordian took her position in front of where the runner was heading and let loose with her lasgun as she aimed around his feet. Her aim was true as they littered the ground ahead of him, yet he made no noise of pain; only panic at his new dilemma as he danced around the shots. However, it was clear he was not going to change direction as he was now close enough for the medic to spot desperation in his bloodshot eyes as he continued to barrel toward her.

((If you wish to brace or try to detain him as he runs into/past you it will be an opposed roll.))

—

Things seemed to be looking brighter for Private Cudjal. 

The driver’s dull yellow ID card identified him as Roland Treb, an address in the Inner District, and at Employee/Sponsor it said House Vaya. On the back there was print stating the one issued this ID has been verified to be working for House Vaya and therefore authorized in the Inner District. There were two signatures: one that was the same as the Administratum member that signed his ID and another being Elsabess Vaya. Both signatures had their appropriate stamps with the Vaya one having a mailed gauntlet holding a coin. The photo on the ID was the spitting image of the man squinting in the light before Vernard right now. He recoiled down with his hands over his head as one might naturally do when gunfire starts going off. When the PDF trooper said it was under control he straightened back up, still having his hands above his head while one hand held the purple ID.

Inside the driver’s cab were nice cushy seats, a well maintained dashboard with some modules he recognized for vox transmissions, a glovebox, and the handle of a gun in the middle compartment holster. There was also the black tinted sliding window to the passenger compartment that produced an ID earlier, but even with the light from the wall he could not see inside.