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The Final Sanction - Part I: Recruitment

Deathwatch roleplaying game Dosjetka

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#1
Dosjetka

Dosjetka

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A tall, thin woman approaches while you are going through your daily weapon drills, alone, in the area adjacent to your personal arsenal. Her auburn hair is pulled back thight into a small bun hiding nothing of her porcelain features. Her dark green robes mark her as a scriptor in the service of Watch-Captain Lucien Ebarra while the gold-threaded decorations along the clothing's hem indicate that she is held in some esteem. She waits for you to finish what you are doing, standing in the low-lit doorway, just within sight so as to show her presence but not otherwise disturb you. She is tense, nervous perhaps. Her eyes never look directly at you but instead dart around the room, looking for something familiar to set her eyes on and finding nothing. Definitely uncomfortable.

A wall-mounted servitor, nothing more than a reconstructed torso and head mounted into a small alcove, blurts out the result of today's training and it is above the minimum score required. You put your weapons down onto a grease-stained, rag-covered metal workbench and turn towards the waiting scriptor, curious to know why she has come. As you tower over her, she bows and without looking up at you speaks quickly in a slightly high-pitched voice.

 

"My lord, I hope I am not disturbing. Captain Ebarra has requested that you read this as soon as possible."

 

Before you even have the time to answer she adds:

 

"He did not give any indication as to what it may concern."

 

You turn your gaze to the outstretched hand an dataslate held by it. As you reach to take it, she suddenly withdraws her hands and lets go of it, as if scared to come into physical contact with you. You deftly catch it before it drops to the floor. The scriptor stands there, frozen both in fear and awe, mouth slighlty open and eyes wide.
 

You ignore her momentarily as you concentrate on the contents of the dataslate. After conducting a quick bio-scan, it unlocks itself and reveals a few lines of text.

...[+ // // // // //+]...
...[+DEATHWATCH EYES ONLY+]...
...[+AUTHORISATION GAMMA-02348+]...
...[+ // // // // //+]...
...[+PLEASE COMPLETE MISSING DATA+]...

...Name: N/A
...Age [Terran standard]: N/A
...Rank/specialisation: N/A
...Biography: N/A

...[+AWAITING VERBAL OR WRITTEN INPUT+]...
...[+ // // // // //+]...

GM Note: If you are interested in participating, please post the filled in form in the OOC thread and a in-character reply of your interaction with the scriptor here. I will select four participants and inform them via PM of their participation.


  • Commissar Molotov likes this

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You carry the Emperor's will as your torch, with it destroy the shadows.


#2
Steel Company

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Tyber Sighed heavily while filling out more pointless paperless paper work, such things were beneath one of the Emperor's Chosen. The slate felt small in his hands, by even Astartes standards he was a giant. Once filled out he hands it back the frail thing before him before he asks of her "Well? Is there anything else the Watch Commander requires?"


To all you Space Wolf Players... Its called a Razor and the Soap isn't a Daemon.
--Dremen


The Iron Hands, they are the real emo marines. Seriously. The Dark Angels aren't the ones who sit around cutting off bits of themselves, wearing black, and complaining about weakness and ennui...

--Octavulg

#3
A.T.

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Khyod reviewed the pads authorisation code and completed the required fields without comment, returning it with a hint of displeasure at the scriptors slow response.

 

The blank data slate was an unexpected task that the watch captain could have no logical need of. Perhaps it was to be provided to another not authorised to glean such information from the cogitor systems of the Deathwatch. Khyod dismissed such thoughts and returned his focus to his weapon, a wandering mind begat doubt and doubt begat heresy.



#4
Sun Reaver

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As he caught the data slate, Lucanus Nero, 4th Company Lexicanum of the Knights of the Raven Chapter, glanced at the woman. Her aura radiated a yellow-greenish color.

 

Fear. 

 

Humans reeked of it whenever in his presence. To live, fight, and die to protect beings that in turn, are afraid of you. After a 125 years, the irony still amused him. Sending mental pulses of trust and safety, the marine smiled as he filled out the data required. 

 

"Thank you courier. Please send my regards to the Watch-Captain."

 

 

 

 

 

 


'By his Blood I am made.

By his Blood I am armored. 

By his Blood shall I triumph.'

 

-Catechism of Blood

 

 

 

 


#5
Commissar Molotov

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With care, Brother Tarvus answered the questions that the Watch-Captain had asked. In part he was curious; surely the Captain was already aware of such trivial details. And yet he obeyed; whilst new to the service of the Deathwatch, he had quickly learnt that there was often an inscrutable reason behind the most inane of things. He returned the data-slate to the scriptor and returned to his work.

 

Tarvus had arranged the component pieces of his chainsword on the workbench; a hardy and venerable weapon that had served him well for over a century within the Castigators chapter. Sacred incense was thick within the air and he moved with an almost meditative air as he applied oils and unguents to the gears and linkages. At each stage, he murmured blessings to the weapon's spirits, thanking them for their aid on the many battlefields he had fought. Once reassembled, he ran his hand along the chainsword's casing, his fingers touching the scrollwork almost reverently. PURITAS, it read; an honorific earnt through fire and blood and anguish.

 

Tarvus knew that the Deathwatch counted many rare and esoteric artifacts amongst its armouries, and yet this chainsword was almost an extension of his own body. It had reaped a bloody toll of the enemy; Emperor-willing, it would take many more on Captain Ebarra's next mission. 


 
QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM) 
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#6
bluntpencil

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Brother Aegis looked over the dataslate impatiently, but did a good job of hiding this flaw of his. It would not do to scare the mortal, after all.

 

He offered a grin to the woman after, very quickly, entering 'Classified' into every box.

 

"Inform the Watch-Captain that Brother-Sergeant Aegis was... disinclined to answer these questions. Again."

 

He made to return to his training, with the hope that the poor woman would not get in trouble for his, no, his Chapter's secrets. Perhaps it would be best to offer something in recompense to the mortal woman? He could not send her back a failure, after all.

 

"...and let him know that I am, as ever, at his service."



#7
Steel Company

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Watching the soft thing turn with her task completed Tyber returned to his practice of the long forgotten art of the Legion Breacher squads. Bolter in his right hand shield in his left. This form being the most familiar to him after all his years with the Second Claw of his home chapter. Sighing to himself, he almost longed for the sound of the Razerbacks of his Claw, the near constant drone of their engines seem to bring him to his center.
To all you Space Wolf Players... Its called a Razor and the Soap isn't a Daemon.
--Dremen


The Iron Hands, they are the real emo marines. Seriously. The Dark Angels aren't the ones who sit around cutting off bits of themselves, wearing black, and complaining about weakness and ennui...

--Octavulg

#8
Xin Ceithan

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Yrakai skims the text scrolling down the dataslate. The human's reaction is irritating. Unexpected. He is not unused to this reaction from humans. Yet, it surprises him, given the circumstances. Should not someone attached to the Watch be more ...accustomed... to the presence of an Astartes? His eyes wander from the dataslate to the unfamiliar silver of the gauntlet holding the slate. His gauntlet. Well, maybe some things take more time to get used than others.
In the corner of his eye, the woman's unease increases as she waits for his reply. Her heartbeat seems to fill the room. She is not afraid of me, he realizes. She is afraid of Astartes. Has she been hurt before? Yrakai closes his eyes. Subconsciously running his hand through the stubble on his chin, then on his scalp, he let's his breathing slow down. A sensitive situation calls for a more sensitive approach.
"First, you swear us to secrecy. THEN, you ask us for information?"
Opening his eyes, he directs a sideways glance at the scriptor and attempts to summon what he hopes will pass for an disarming grin to his pale features. "By the Emperor. Woman. Relax. I am not going to eat you." He chuckles and returns his attention to the dataslate.
Yrakai begins typing, taking confidence in his right gauntlet's familiar colors. "Not when I have the feeling I will be required to fill out an essay on it later on."
He hears the woman's breath changing. Her smell betrays the conflicting emotions within. Confusion. Irritation. Good. Frightened humans are poor allies. Yrakai continues typing, seemingly ignoring the human. His entry complete, he gives the slate a spin with his right gauntlet, then turns toward the scriptor. For a moment, he lets the dataslate spin on the palm of his open left hand. Involuntary, the human follows it's movement, the slate turning in front of her eyes. Then, closing his fist, he stops the slate'srotation and let's it slide from his hand, towards the woman. The scriptor reaches up, catching the dataslate by instinct. Glancing up, she realizes the transhuman warrior has already retreated from her.
"Fear does not become you. You must learn control. You do the Emperor's work here. Do not let your fear stand in the way of your duty."
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