The Liber Cluster

[Teetengee]

NAVITORCI

     Navitorci orbits a strangely active star in the Ghostlands. This star, Argus Ophanim, is notable for strange energy emissions related to an extremely dense sunspot cycle. These cause massive disruptions in any large electrical systems in the system which it illuminates. Therefore most of the planets surrounding it are of a markedly low tech level and only a few ships can even enter the treacherous space surrounding the star to collect the imperial tithe.

     Navitorci however, is a clear exception to this rule. Ruled by Archmagos Eliza, it is a forge world populated by one of the stranger offshoots of the cult mechanicus from the very early days of the initial colonization of the Liber Cluster. They have rejected every attempt at absorption by either the Martian Orthodoxy or the Saneslau Mechanicus, and due to the system wide anomaly of their star, they have been fairly successful in such endeavors.

     The Navitorcian Cult worships the Omnessiah as a deity of cogs and steam, belching smoke as she looks upon them from beyond the smog filled sky above. As such, and likely in response to necessity they have produced a forge run by steam and clockwork, even their space ships are powered wherever possible by such devices. Great shuddering and clanking engines of war stalk from their forges with gears grinding and whirring away in defiance of the Martian Orthodoxy’s claims of tech-heresy. STC patterns for Navitorcian creations have been uncovered by investigations by several inquisitors, although they are apparently of a highly nonstandard format. A questioning and watchful eye is ever pointed at the Navitorcian cult.

     However the usefulness of such devices is without question, especially since they appear to be mostly immune to the haywire weaponry of many xenos races. The religious use of solid shot ammunition has also proven particularly suited to the battles fought on many of the heavily polluted planets of the cluster when laser weaponry tends to be diffused and scattered at a much shorter distance than its normal operating range. Penal legionnaires the Cluster over have begun to gain a grudging respect for these devices that fight alongside them on such worlds, particularly the ever common Navitorcian pattern Onager, commonly called the Steam Spider. Meanwhile, their skitarii tend to take to battle in clanking exosuits powered by hyper-efficient steam engines on their backs, often fueled by the corpses of the dead over long campaigns. These niche advantages have lead to a cautious acceptance by the rest of the cluster, although the Ordo Mechanicum keeps a rotating cabal of inquisitors always at the ready and researching Navitorci.

[Azekellon]

Forge Worlds are generally heavily polluted, with corrosive acid rain and constant fumes from the various manufactorii. Any manufactorum can be the size of a small city, to where they straddle an entire continent. Human life is present, but only to serve the continuation of the Forge World's production.

[Gorkimedes]

In a hurry so I'll look over this later and fix any mistakes, just a general idea.

 

Forgeworld Cryptoclast - Englica Subsector

 

-General Information-

 

Settled in M.36 the world that would become Forgeworld Cryptoclast was a dead and inhospitable planet. Though the binary star-system contained a more comfortable habitable sphere priority was given to Cryptoclast. Initial excavations on the world hinted at widespread human habitation dating back tens of thousands of years. Hope of finding long lost knowledge led the Mechanicus to invest massive amounts of resources in the planet.

 

Past disasters of unknown origination had blown off whatever atmosphere the world once possessed. Electrical storms and solar expulsions sear much of the planets surface on a regular time-frame. The majority of the worlds population escape these natural hazards by residing in a vast equatorial circling city. A snaking line of void shielded hives and buried cities that the people call home.

 

Outside of the circuit-city, Cryptoclast is covered in massive, mile high towers. These structures capture the energy of the storms and flood the city with power. The mega-foundries of the Mechanicus are never without fuel.

 

Cryptoclast is the chosen seat of the Fabricator- Lumanare, known informally as The Candle-Shield. Shortly after the reclamation of the Liber Cluster began the Martian Mechanicus gre concerned that their far off holding would suffer further degradation. A representative was sent with the full backing of Mars to ensure the people there "did not develop unacceptable thought-systems and structure drift". The fabricator's duty involves sending bi-centennial reports to Mars. 

 

( Would it be possible for this guy to still be alive as some sort of shadowy figure that is almost entirely machine or someone supported by massive life-support apparatuses like an unmovable dreadnought ? How long do Mechanicus people live?)

 

 -Important Events-

In 203.M.37 excavations on Cryptoclast unearthed a pre-Imperial shlter city buried six miles below the planet's surface. Initial excitment was soon replaced with desperation. The shelter was controlled by a long dormant artificial intelligence that once awakened proceeded to sow chaos across the planet. Forges were infected with code and instructed to build legions of disposable battle drones, generator towers overloaded systems with oceans of energy and hab units were destroyed as plumbing and filtration systems ceased to function choking the occupants within.

 

As the rulers of Cryptoclast struggled to reclaim control of their world the A.I. seized the systems of a small fleet in orbit above the planet.  These ships sped towards Warpstorm Id'Ilmar. Functions in the city returned to normal at the exact moment the vessels activated their warp drives. 

[Olis]

( Would it be possible for this guy to still be alive as some sort of shadowy figure that is almost entirely machine or someone supported by massive life-support apparatuses like an unmovable dreadnought ? How long do Mechanicus people live?)

 

There is precedence for Magos' (Magi?) to live for centuries if not millennia, however the means should be extreme for home-grown characters and I would wager any individual living into a four-figure life span should have made quite severe trade-offs for survival.

[Nomus Sardauk]

NAVITORCI

     Navitorci orbits a strangely active star in the Ghostlands. This star, Argus Ophanim, is notable for strange energy emissions related to an extremely dense sunspot cycle. These cause massive disruptions in any large electrical systems in the system which it illuminates. Therefore most of the planets surrounding it are of a markedly low tech level and only a few ships can even enter the treacherous space surrounding the star to collect the imperial tithe.

     Navitorci however, is a clear exception to this rule. Ruled by Archmagos Eliza, it is a forge world populated by one of the stranger offshoots of the cult mechanicus from the very early days of the initial colonization of the Liber Cluster. They have rejected every attempt at absorption by either the Martian Orthodoxy or the Saneslau Mechanicus, and due to the system wide anomaly of their star, they have been fairly successful in such endeavors.

     The Navitorcian Cult worships the Omnessiah as a deity of cogs and steam, belching smoke as she looks upon them from beyond the smog filled sky above. As such, and likely in response to necessity they have produced a forge run by steam and clockwork, even their space ships are powered wherever possible by such devices. Great shuddering and clanking engines of war stalk from their forges with gears grinding and whirring away in defiance of the Martian Orthodoxy’s claims of tech-heresy. STC patterns for Navitorcian creations have been uncovered by investigations by several inquisitors, although they are apparently of a highly nonstandard format. A questioning and watchful eye is ever pointed at the Navitorcian cult.

     However the usefulness of such devices is without question, especially since they appear to be mostly immune to the haywire weaponry of many xenos races. The religious use of solid shot ammunition has also proven particularly suited to the battles fought on many of the heavily polluted planets of the cluster when laser weaponry tends to be diffused and scattered at a much shorter distance than its normal operating range. Penal legionnaires the Cluster over have begun to gain a grudging respect for these devices that fight alongside them on such worlds, particularly the ever common Navitorcian pattern Onager, commonly called the Steam Spider. Meanwhile, their skitarii tend to take to battle in clanking exosuits powered by hyper-efficient steam engines on their backs, often fueled by the corpses of the dead over long campaigns. These niche advantages have lead to a cautious acceptance by the rest of the cluster, although the Ordo Mechanicum keeps a rotating cabal of inquisitors always at the ready and researching Navitorci.

 

Steampunk AdMech, take all of my likes!

[TDF]

 

( Would it be possible for this guy to still be alive as some sort of shadowy figure that is almost entirely machine or someone supported by massive life-support apparatuses like an unmovable dreadnought ? How long do Mechanicus people live?)

 

There is precedence for Magos' (Magi?) to live for centuries if not millennia, however the means should be extreme for home-grown characters and I would wager any individual living into a four-figure life span should have made quite severe trade-offs for survival.

 

We know Dreadnoughts can survive for ten thousand years (although they spend a considerable portion of that time in stasis) I think the longevity of Dreadnoughts is more down to the life-support apparatus rather than the physical capabilities of the Astartes. I think a suitably augmented magos with above-average mental strength and willpower could live for thousands of years. They would undoubtedly suffer substantial sanity decay, however.

[Olis]

Brothers and sisters, we still have five outstanding tasks. If Conn agrees to it, I propose a final deadline - May 1st, miss it and miss out. The tasks are many months overdue and the time is nigh for moving on, I feel. That leaves eleven/twelve days for content creation - plenty long enough to finalise what you have already crafted or give at least a brief account.

 

The tasks that are still outstanding are to be found quoted below. As you can see, number four has been struck through - it is complete. Time to wrap things up and stop dragging our feet. 

 

Six remaining missions:
 
1. Captain Nameless, taking the Sereiki Lions to Andalus (present and accounted for)
 
2. Sanguine_Knight, taking the Black Falcons to Thravis Prime (not present or accounted for)
 
3. Tiberius Cato and SanguiniusReborn, taking the Eagles of Glory and Scarlet Sentinels to Baluarte (present, accounted for, and probably working on their 25th page of content)
 
4. Aegnor and Teetengee, taking the Iron Ravagers and Angels Exultant to Cenicika (Teetengee is present and accounted for)
 
5. Conn Eremon, Wade Garrett and TDF, taking the Lords Inviolate, Black Judges and half of the Heralds of Letum to Evin Prime (Wade Garrett is present and accounted for)
 
6. Astus, keeping the remaining half of the Heralds of Letum at Venet (present and accounted for)

[Teetengee]

I am willing to assist anyone who wishes this week on those tasks.

[Nomus Sardauk]

I can only offer my apologies for the lack of progress and promise to have my part of the story finished before the deadline, I vow this upon the honour of my Chapter.

[Olis]

Sanguinius, you and Tiberius have probably done more than anyone else so far in terms of material written. Try to keep it short and sweet next time, eh? :P

[Nomus Sardauk]

Sanguinius, you and Tiberius have probably done more than anyone else so far in terms of material written. Try to keep it short and sweet next time, eh? :P

Aye, next time I'll just use a post-battle report format, skip the dramatic storytelling altogether. -.-

[Tiberius Cato]

Sanguinius, you and Tiberius have probably done more than anyone else so far in terms of material written. Try to keep it short and sweet next time, eh? :P

How am I to tell of the legendary deeds of the Eagles of Glory with less than 25 pages of content? Surely you jest in saying keep it short and sweet, brother. ;p

[Gorkimedes]

Would this be enough of a draw-back? Or should it be more Grim and Dark 

 

There has been only one Fabricator - Lumanare. The holy knowledge of the Mechanicus stretching her life into the millennia. Being a staunch traditionalist the Lumanare has never replaced the entirety of her brain with artificial components. This reliance on biology has come with a price. Though the brain-systems used by Lumanare are amongst the greatest the Biologis of the Mechanicus can craft the flesh has limits that the machine does not. The human mind was not made to cope with the storage of such lengths of time. The Lumanare has taken to continuously removing filled up brain tissue and replacing it with more energetic replacements.

 

These past memories have, over the millennia,  been discarded, implanted in Ambassador-constructs or even given as gifts to loyal followers. It is not unheard of for a rogue servitor to be active in the Cluster claiming to be the true Fabricator- Lumanare. As of present the Lumanare does not remember her youth. She does not remember walking upon the red sands of Mars in the shadows of God-Machines or the names of the far off Magi who charged her with her task. Friends are lost and loyalties forgotten seemingly at random. Many have enjoyed the patronage of the Lumanarae one day only to wake up and find their interests have been cast off.  Only the duty remains constant. Whether this individual is indeed the same Magos who sailed to the Cluster through the lifeless void millennia ago depends largely on ones personal philosophy.

[Olis]

Interesting flaw, I must say. It reminds me of Trigger's Broom. :lol:

[Nomus Sardauk]

Drake's eyes widened as he saw them, giants so large they even towered over Astartes, lumbering though the hissing mist of depressurisation. Their armour was so heavy that the main chestpiece completely encased the titans' heads, with no need for a helmet. Oversized gauntlets clutched hulking carbines that made Bolters look like toys in comparision, while others wielded crude, pneumatic fists able to fit his entire head in it's palm.

Mastodons. So they do exist. The words resounded in his mind, a sinking feeling growing in his gut. "Fire!"

 

As one, the Ark's bridge crew unleashed a deafening storm of gunfire with bolters, lasguns, any weapon that was to hand from behind their consoles, now improvised cover. The Mastodons responded in kind, raising their carbines and loosing bursts of 40mm rounds as they advanced, fire ricocheted off their lumbering frames. Some of the brutes fell, weakspots pierced by the hail of death they sought to weather, but far too few for comfort. Quickly he opened an auxilliary channel on his vox-link. "Activate automated defences, authorisation code Epsilon-Rho!"

 

At his word the sound of clanking, whirring machinery joined the cacophony of battle as great panels in the roof and walls of the bridge chamber swiftly unfolded to sprout the boxy forms of Tarantula Sentry Guns. The predatory machine spirits within eagerly annoucing their activation with the staccato thunder of Heavy Bolters as they opened up on the advancing Mastodons, yet still onwards the monsters charged.

 

"Tch, stubborn b s." Gritting his teeth Drake darted forward, Power Sabres in hand he vaulted over the consoles and onto the lead Mastodon, sinking both sparking blades deep into the surprised beast's chest and toppling it backwards. He was already moving as the giant fell, leapfrogging over the corpse he became a whirlwind of steel, sabres flashing as they cut and stabbed renegade flesh. All around him he could see Astartes & chapter serfs fighting for their lives against the abhuman abominations, catching glimpses of desperate struggle as he wove through the chaos; A bellowing Mastodon tearing a Battle-Brother in half over it's head. An Astartes side-stepping a charging Mastodon, a krak grenade missing it's pin hooked to the giant's belt as it passed by. A crowd of serfs throwing themselves at an isolated abhuman, dragging it down with weight of numbers.

 

Don't get distracted. He thought to himself, parrying a clumsy swing before reliving the offending beast of it's limb, swiftly followed by an energised blade through the cranium. His vox crackled to life as a gruff, accented voice came through "Commodore, Moore here, I hear you're having a wee'bit o'trouble up there, d'you need a hand old friend?"

 

Drake growled angrily at the Caledonian Sergeant's whimsical tone "Primarch curse you Moore! Spare me your sarcasm and get up here!" A wry chuckle echoed through the vox "Aye Commodore, the Ironclads are on their way, brace for teleport."

 

Without warning the air turned greasy and electric, a sickening sense of vertigo overcame him and he felt an otherworldly pressure in his skull. For a split-second reality imploded in a blinding nova of multi-hued light before disappeared as quickly as it came. Reality quickly re-asserted itself, leaving the five hulking Terminators suddenly tearing into the Serekei forces the only evidence anything had happened, the booming chorus of Storm Bolters and Assault Cannon accompanied by Sergeant Moore's boisterous laughter. "Come now little beasties, dunnae be shy! Come'an take yer' just desserts!"

 

Seizing the initiative Drake surged forward, the Ironclad's arrival had put the renegades on the backfoot and he had to capitalise on it. "Fight! Fight! Drive this filth back!" He roared, scything the legs off another abhuman before impaling it as it hit the blood-soaked deck. I need to find their leader, I kill him, it'll break their will to fight.

Quickly scrutinising the anarchy his eyes caught a glimpse of his target, lurking a few metres away at the back of the renegade lines stood the unmistakable figure of a Pride Astartes, the Ashen's elite killers. He'd already spotted Drake, hastily energising the Lightning Claw upon his right hand as the Sentinel charged, bolt pistol blasting chunks from his armour. Drake powered through it, heedless of the danger as he closed the distance. Electricity discharged wildly into the air as blade met claw, power fields flaring violently as Drake brought his off-hand sabre up only to have it roughly knocked aside as the Lion instead brought his pistol to bare, squeezing off a burst of mass-reactive rounds in the Captain's breastplate. Ceramite shattered and caved under the punishment, not fully, but enough to force Drake to disengage, blood oozing from the breach as he staggered back into a defensive stance.

 

"Hrmph, you've done well to get this far lapdog, but you've no hope in this fight. I am Adar, Overseer of Barluate." The renegade growled, extending his claw to Drake. "Lay down your arms, pledge yourself to the Ashen and become a free man, or resist and die like the slave you've always been. My Lord Khroda would warmly welcome a man of your talents, even allow you to remain the Captain of this vessel. You'd have the freedom to go wherever you wilt, kill whomever you wilt, take whatever spoils you wilt."

 

Drake's reply was to spit a glob of blood on Adar's boots, a dark scowl upon his face. "Feth you, and your whoreson Master." With a roar he sprang back into the fray, blades clashing against claw as the two dueled. Parries, dodges and feints, both combatants brought every trick and tactic they had as they struggled back and forth. Drake's sabres cut two vicious gouges across Adar's chestplate, he retaliated by mangling Drake's right pauldron with his claw, Drake drove a sword through his foe's thigh, in turn Adar blew a hole through his collarbone.

 

So it continued for several minutes, both warriors equally matched, ferociously trading blows that would have slain lesser men several times over. Each man studied the other as they brawled, vigilantly watching for an opening, any mistake they could exploit. Grinning with murderous glee, Adar saw his chance.

 

Catching his opponent's right-hand sabre with his claw Adar felt a surge of triumph as Drake sought to counter using a upwards thrust into the traitor's guts with the second blade. But the blow never came as Adar's pistol roared, the mass-reactive round piercing the soft joint armour between arm and forearm, brutally shearing the limb off in a spray of transhuman blood.

 

So caught up in his success however, Adar failed to react swiftly enough when Drake, rather than flinching away, thrust the bloody stump at him, spraying the rich vitae into the Lion's eyes. In his surprise the traitor's grip loosened enough for Drake to slip free, and he brought his blade around in a vicious arc, burying it deep inside his breast.

 

With a crash the traitor collapsed back, the sabre run straight through him, blood dribbling from his mouth as he vainly tried to process his defeat. Wearily Drake trudged over, lifeblood oozing from over a dozen wounds, he calmly reached down and wrenched the blade free. "I believe this is mine." He sneered, sheathing the blade and removing his battered warhelm. He turned his gaze back to the fight, only a few Mastodons remained now, and they were quickly being brought down by the vengeful defenders, themselves much depleted. "What was that again about us having no hope?" He jeered, though his expression soured as he noticed the smirk on Adar's face.

 

The dying renegade chuckled weakly, blood leaking from his mouth as he broke into coughing. "F-fool... This changes n-nothing..." Another bout of coughing, this time accompanied by a bloody froth bubbling around his lips. Weakly he raised his hand, a small item in his shakey grasp. "F-fight hard, and die laughing..." He spat, his chuckling fading into silence as he triggered the device with his last breath.

 

Drake braced himself, expecting an explosion, only none came. What was that all about? He pondered for a moment, then remembered he was, in fact, missing an arm and in great pain. Grimacing as he nursed his still bleeding stump, he opened his vox-link. "Drake to the Apothecarium, please send a Medical Team to the Bridge" He glanced over as the last Mastodon died, messily hammered into the deck by Sergeant Moore's Thunder Hammer. "And bring a mop and bucket." He smirked.

 

"Commodore, come in, can you hear me?" A familiar voice spoke through the vox, Drake felt glad to hear his old friend's voice. "Drake here, report Brother-Chaplain."

 

-----

 

Chaplain Charlen surveyed the carnage around him, Serekei corpses strewn across the command centre as his brothers stood watch over the objective, the rust-red form of Techmarine Babbage hunched over a console interfacing with Junker's Jump's Machine Spirit. "Aye Commodore, the objective is secure, we've seized the command centre and Brother Babbage is currently venting the remaining Serekei forces aboard the station."

 

"And the enemy vessels that are still docked?" Drake replied. "Fear not Commodore" The augmetic voice of the Techmarine came over the vox. "I have remotely locked down their systems through their connection to the station and have re-assigned the automated defences Friend-or-Foe priorities. Any Serekei ships still afloat would do well to vacate the area." He explained, still managing to sound proud of himself despite his mechanical tone.

 

-----

 

Drake gave a sigh of relief, quietly thankful the assault on the station had gone smoothly as an Apothecary treated his arm. "Excellent work brothers, well done. Remain on guard in case the enemy attempts to retake the station, Drake out."

Closing the vox-link Drake turned to the Apothcary. "Well? Can it be re-attached?" He questioned, staring forlornly at his severed forearm as it floated inside a preservation tank at the Apothecary's belt. It had been a risky move, sacrificing his arm to blind Adar and leave him open, but a calculated one.The Apothecary glanced at the tank, before finishing sealing Drake's stump with medical syth-skin. "The forearm is salvagable, although you'll need a bionic replacement for that missing elbow. The syth-skin should keep you from bleeding out until we can get you down to surgery, in the meanwhile I have other patients to tend to." He answered calmly as he gathered his tools and walked away, leaving Drake by himself as he opened a new vox-channel. "Drake to Philidelphia, how goes the assault on Dolrado?"

 

"Hail Commodore" A voice responded "This is Sergeant Presley, acting Captain of the Philidelphia. Captain Grant's strikeforce has successfully made planetfall and reports they're nearing the Governor's palace, it seems the enemy were unconvinced we'd make it through their orbital defences." Drake let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Thank the Primarch, he thought to himself.

 

"Good, tell Grant he can expect orbital support soo-" Alarms suddenly sounded through the bridge, cutting Drake off, striding to his command throne he quickly re-assumed his Captain's role. "Sensors, report! What the hell is happening?!" He angrily demanded. "Sir, the Spirit of Saint Jocelyn has changed course, she's now on a direct collision heading with us sir!" Drake's mind raced as a holographic display activated, showing the Spirit rapidly approaching the Ark, his thoughts drifting back to Adar's final promise. Die laughing...

 

"Bd." He growled, gritting his teeth in fury. "So this is what he meant. Helmsman! Can we manuver out of her path?" The serf shook his head worriedly "Negative Captain, she's moving too fast, we'd never be able to get out the way in time. Sir, if a ship that size hits us at that speed..." Drake didn't need the serf to finish, he knew it was a death sentence. "Emperor help us..." He whispered.

 

"With respect Commodore, the God-Emperor is busy enough as it is. We can handle this." Drake's eyes shot up in surprise at the words, in his haste he'd forgotten to close the vox-link. "Presley? What in the Emperor's name are you doing?!" Immediately the shape of the Philadelphia appeared on the holo-display, rapidly shedding saviour pods and evacuation vessels. The strike cruiser's engines were at full-burn, rapidly seeking to put herself between the lumbering Ark and the incoming Saint Jocelyn. "My duty sir. It's been an honour fighting alongside you Commodore, commend my soul to the Emperor, Presley out."

 

The vox-link cut as Drake looked on, helpless to act as the Philidelphia and Saint Jocelyn collided with an explosion like a newborn star igniting as both ships' plasma reactors detonated in a spectacular kaleidoscope of destruction.

As the light faded away, Drake stared in grim silence, the space battle for Barluate was over.

 

-----

 

Hoo boy, now that was a lot of work, but this (finally) marks the end of my half of the Battle for Barluate. Thank you to everyone for your suggestions and encouragement, I hereby solemnly swear to never ever write a story this freaking long again.

 

EDIT: Typo purge sequence initiated.

[Olis]

Excellent Sanguinius. Are you sure it's definitely, definitely done? :lol:

[Nomus Sardauk]

Excellent Sanguinius. Are you sure it's definitely, definitely done?

 

http://media.giphy.com/media/xmAw5i9ALzEIw/giphy.gif

 

*deep breaths*

 

Yes, I can say with 100% certainty, it is done.

[Ace Debonair]

Splendid stuff!

Now we just have to write up enough content that this battle isn't bigger than the rest of the EWC, and we're good to go.

 

EDIT:

 

Man, reading that back, that comes across kinda harsh. I only mean the above in 100% light-hearted attempted-dry-wit fashion, guaranteed no malice.

 

It's good stuff, SR, and it's definitely good to finally see a conclusion to the conflict!

[Teetengee]

Also, kudos for having Drake sacrifice the arm, seems like the sort of thing a transhuman marine would do.

[Olis]

All right, this is good. We have four items on the list left to cross off and we have about a week to go. Can we poke Wade or the others to see if we might see material from them? Much as I prefer this to be the final deadline, it would suck if they don't finish their tasks.

[Nomus Sardauk]

Also, kudos for having Drake sacrifice the arm, seems like the sort of thing a transhuman marine would do.

Thanks, I wanted to get across that Adar was no pushover and Drake wasn't walking away from this fight without paying a price, plus I wanted to demonstrate that he's as much a tactician as a fighter, hence the calculated sacrifice. :)

[Olis]

Just over two days to go, brothers and sisters. If you plan on getting your item done, you'd best do it now.

[Tiberius Cato]

Bah! The deadline cometh when I suffer from writer's block!!! This is a challenge worthy of a son of Dorn. By the Primarch I swear to finish the Siege of Baluarte!

[Captain Nameless]

All right, one more piece for andalus coming up. Almost done with it. Is Wade still deciding if the Sereki Lions come to a truce with the imperium?

The Players (part 1)

From: Magos Thilot + confirmation code +010101110011101001010101001+

To: Baldwin

Subject: capabilities and specifications of the vehicles and equipment of the Sereki lions’ task group, “Wolfpack”, present on Andalus

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

While chirugon Almoni is busy compiling his histories, I feel it necessary to provide you with the greatly important information which has been outlined in this missive’s subject.

++ ground attack craft; designation: Bloodhound++

The Bloodhound is roughly analogous to the Vulture craft used by our own forces; the Bloodhound being 13.29% faster, though 19.80% less maneuverable than the Vulture. The distinguishing feature of the Bloodhound is its advanced sensor package, making it a capable night fighter. Its ability to detect even objects hidden by Saneslau stealth-tech, though imperfect and erratic, bears investigation. I have sent samples to the nearest agreeable forge world. The craft’s design does rely a bit too much on the sensor package, as evidenced by the comparatively small canopy. While this would provide the pilot with greater protection also limits his visibility without the use of the aforementioned sensors.

Best way of dealing with these would be to either utilize sufficient camouflage and/or cloaking or disable the sensors, preferably both, as the pilot would be rendered effectively blind.

++ Multipurpose fighter; designation: Gray ++

A highly versatile craft, its capabilities place it between our thunderbolt and lightning fighters exactly, though it has an edge over both in speed and the additional maneuvering jets placed before the wings give it another edge in terms of maneuverability. A standard armament would consist of the two inbuilt auto-cannons located above the forward intakes and for hard-points on the wings and the retractable chin-mounted turret. The turret is of special note; it seems to be almost entirely dedicated to firing against ground targets, and it seems to always be capable of accurately tracking its targets even when traveling at the top speed. This would suggest the presence of a fairly well-developed machine spirit or possibly the beginnings of an Abominable Intelligence. It is unknown which these is the case, as we have yet to take one of these craft in any form of intact-ness, thanks to the speed at which these usually crash.

It has been noted that while incredibly fast, at its higher speeds it seems to become more unstable and therefore more difficult to control. Additionally, while it’s turret does possess lethal accuracy, it will seize up and lock in place, not infrequently. Likely, the servos burn out from the constant rapid movement necessary to track targets at speed. Also, it likely shares the Bloodhound's weakness, due to an apparent lack of any means of manually observing the surroundings. Once again, an intact craft would be needed to verify.

++ Heavy gunship; designation: Dirge ++

This craft is disturbing. While it’s design appears to have some connections with the stealth transport used by the Ash Wolves, it is obviously designed for a much more offensive role in mind. However, apart from the sheer amount firepower it can bring to bear this is not the most worrying thing about. Both the internal structure in the skin of the craft are laced throughout with psychically conductive crystalline circuitry. Each of these craft is crewed by three modified and psychically attuned humans whose efforts and psychic power is coordinated and focused by a single astartes psyker. Though I did have a hand in the capture of the crew of one of these craft, particularly of the astartes, they fall outside of my realm of expertise. You will have to wait for chirugon Almoni’s report for any more information on them. Adding the reflexes and skill to the quite impressive coordination achieved through a psychic link significantly boosts the capabilities of this craft. The astartes psyker also seems capable of directing the energies of the entire crew through the crystalline circuitry of the gunship into a psychic “dirge”. This at the very least demoralizes through causing extreme terror or paralysis; at the most, it is quite lethal.

The complex nature of the gunship means that I do not have the resources and equipment necessary to fully analyze it. It must be given to the nearest Saneslau forge for a complete analysis. If you want to look at it later,...Ask nicely.

End Code: +01001101111100100111001001011010+

[Olis]

All right, one more piece for andalus coming up. Almost done with it. Is Wade still deciding if the Sereki Lions come to a truce with the imperium?

 

Don't know as of yet. We can decide for sure after tomorrow. Also, good to see you making it before the deadline. :)