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Blackthorn/Swordhand: FIREBREAK / A DYING WORLD

Deathwatch Roleplaying Game RPG Play by Post Commissar Molotov Blackthorn Kill-Team Blackthorn Fantasy Flight Games Kill-Team Swordhand Swordhand

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#1526
Mazer Rackham

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Solastion:

The Crimson Knight erupts through the wall - although not precisely where he wanted.

 

It is clear that nothing is impediment to the Astartes - Rockrete, nor threats, nor death itself will obviously stay him from his divine mandate to inflict justice and deliver wrath upon the foes of the Emperor.  He also is slick with gore, two criminals as well as the hostage have been obliterated and now are mingled in death on the armour of this merchant of slaughter, coated in thick grey power as if he has stepped from the pit of hell.  Gobbets of the Crimelord's underlings clog the teeth of a chainsword the length of a human being and the tower trembles as the flimsy wood explodes into splinters.

 

Large clumps of masonry rain down into the square like tombstones and the sound of his proclamation is the hammer of death against an anvil of might.  The criminals are cowed.

 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"  The Crimelord screams.  "Kill him or keep him busy!"

 

Varvost:

Snarling at the threat, he wrathfully tears his chainAXE free and ignites his jump pack, declaring a charge in support of his brother at the uppermost window.

 

Free Action: Ready ChainAXE

Free Action: Draw Bolt Pistol

Full Action: Charge

Personal Pilot Test (Obscured target): AG 54 

D100: 99 FAIL

 

Attack Roll: WS 72 +10 (Charge) = 82

D100: 005 Pass, Plus 7 DoS.

Damage resolved at Pen: 3

Damage: 1D10 (2D10 Tearing) + 5 (Damage) + 10 (SB) = 22

Location: Body

 

Crimelord: Dodge

AG: 34

D100: 14, Pass, 2 DoS.

 

Varvost's crazed leap causes no damage to the Criminal swine within, however a shower of gore falls over him where his mighty chainaxe hacks deeply into another hostage, now all condemned as Martyrs by the words of the Crimson Knight, spilling her lifeblood over him and tumbling her head to the square below.  He dangles now, 30 metres above ground by a single arm, his Bolt pistol abandoned to arrest his fall with a free hand.  A tumble of Rockrete dust and rubble follow it in a sad cascade.

 

The man in the menial worker's garb is horrified.  "My child!" He wails and although an Enforcer thumps a baton into him again to drive him to his knees, he does not relent.

 

The Criminals are now confronted by two gore-drenched Astartes but seeing the second fail and almost fall, the invincibility of the Angels of Death is dented and the malcontents gain heart, but in the pregnant pause you can see thick bands of detcord running up the walls and across the floor, to substantial bands of industrial grade explosive.  Power cables have been diverted from properly sanctified conduits to act as priming charges.  Does their blasphemy know no end?

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 15 August 2019 - 06:30 PM.

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#1527
A.T.

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The attack had come sooner than expected, the method of detonating the explosives still unclear from his position. But the grenade launcher might well provide the spark, and Varvosts charge had provided the opportunity.

 

The marksman rifle fired silently but the effect was immediate, the toxins contained within intended to deal with far more dire threats than man, stripping away flesh and even bone like acid. That the shot had hit only a limb in its haste would simply prolong the inevitable.

 

Spoiler


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#1528
Mazer Rackham

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Atratus:

A shot of opportunity it may have been, but a keen hunter knows when to take them, as a hawk knows when to ride the thermals.

 

Crimelord:

Damage Location - Left Leg

Armour: 3 reduced by 7 = 0

Damage: 9 - TB 3 = 6

Toxic Damage: 4

Toxic Test: T 40 - 45 (Toxic) = -5 (Auto Fail) = 4 Damage

Total Wounds 14.

 

"Curses!  Damn you Space Marines!"  The Crimelord falls sideways, staggering against the wall and smearing it with his own blood.  His knee has been injured badly, a bloody rent in the flesh and mangled flak padding.  The skin around the wound begins to turn black.  He falls back behind a press of his minions.

 

EDIT: Toxic applied as per AT's post.

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 15 August 2019 - 07:36 PM.

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#1529
Xin Ceithan

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(Placeholder)

Sabaan will advance and attempt to support or relief the Sons of Sanguinius either by suppressive bolter fire or taking down targets as they present themselves.
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#1530
Mazer Rackham

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Ghent:

 

The Mob fix to storm the tower and it is clear they are going to attempt to take the one remaining Astropath - the very one who alerted you - by force.

"Take the Witch, burn the Witch!  Witness your faith before the Angel of Death!"  The robed man comes up to you and begins to prostrate himself.  His eyes are rolling and he's foaming at the mouth.  The mob pours past him, clubbing down the two soldiers that were guarding the entrance and begin to flood the lower level of the Tower Of Echoes.

 

GM: I'm going to hold off the Lictor fight for the moment as I want to give Teralil/Morovir room to post.

 

MR.


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#1531
Morovir

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Pausing briefly to curse the name of the tech-priest, Teralil returns to the ramparts. bolter back in his hands. Striding over to the lieutenant, Teralil briefly nods at him.

 

"The power should be restored. Praise be to the Omnissiah. What is the current situation?"

 

OOC: If the doors are meant to be opened to let the rest of the kill team back into the firebase, Teralil does that too before returning to the ramparts.


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#1532
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Teralil:

 

The thunderous tread of an irate Space Marine announces you long before you reach the parapet.  The Lieutenant looks to you and nods as the large gate doors of the compound grind open with a throaty rumble.

 

"My Lord, your brothers struggle to kill the beast, but a vox message tells us it is now between us and them."

 

GM: Your brothers are approximately 50m away (allowing for Tyber's jump and subsequent movements of the team).

 

Solastion, Varvost, Atratus, Sabaan:

 

Bastion Combat Round 1 Continues:

 

[x] Solastion AG 3 x 2 (LR) = 6 + 7 = 13 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 4/4 

[x] Varvost AG 5 + 5 = 10 | WOUNDS 24/24 | FATE 3/3

[x] Sabaan AG 4 + 6 = 10 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3 

[x] Atratus AG 6 + 3 = 9 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3/3

 

Nycax Sabaan:

>>Threat Negligible<<

Sabaan eyes the Heavy Bolter warily, unimpressed with the athletics displayed by Varvost.  From his covered position, he enters Overwatch, covering Varvost and Solastion.

Full Action: Overwatch.

 

Criminal Scum:

The mob shuffles forward almost to swordpoint reach, realising perhaps that this is the break point - they kill you here or they die.

Half Action: Half Move

Half Action: Standard Attack - Lasguns

Target: Solastion

BS 34 + 30 (Point Blank) = 64

D100: 100.  FAIL and Jam (not bothering with reliable)

 

It is obvious that these scum are merely putting on a brave face, the way worthless criminals do under the gaze of Imperial Law.  Untrained in war, their shots bracket the Crimson Knight, merely glancing off his plate, lighting up the space inside the tower and filling it with the burning sizzle of lasbolts.

 

Sabaan's Overwatch:

The Criminal Scum have stepped forward.  Logic, so cold in his heart, Sabaan pulls the trigger, the rules of physics and chemistry firing the bolter into a Semi-auto kick.

BS 51 +10 (Range) +10 (Semi-Auto) - 20 (Overwatch) = 51

D100: 78 FAIL and MISS

 

For a second the light from the lasguns flares in his helm, throwing his calculus off by 0.0033 degrees. A cold admonishment flows from...nowhere. >>Aim next time<<

 

Crimelord:

Half Action: Half Move (Crawl)

Half Action: Standard Attack Krak Grenade

Target: Varvost

BS 40 (No bonus)

D100: 14, Pass, plus 2 DoS

 

Varvost's helm indicates the threat.

Varvost will Dodge: AG 54

D100: 001 Pass, plus 5 DoS

 

Varvost twists and turns, but his grip shifts on the Rockrete and he plunges 30 metres.

 

Fall Damage: 30 (Negated by Jump Pack).

Varvost lands in the square.

 

Criminal Gunner:

The gunner sees Varvost land heavily in front of the bastion.  In plain view, angrily, the goon opens fire on him.

BS 34 +20 (FAB) +10 (Range) = 64

D100: 64, 1 Hit

Varvost Cannot Dodge!

Damage: 1D10 (2D10 Tearing) +8 (Damage - IG HB) = 14

Absorbed by TB and Armour, No Damage.

 

Varvost sneers in contempt beneath his helm at the pathetic attempt to kill him.  The enforcers and others around him are not so lucky however and the command centre is decimated by the indiscriminate bolter fire, Enforcers are torn in half and precious equipment is destroyed.  The Menial worker goes to join his daughter in a thunder of detonations and wet pop of gore. 

 

ROUND 1 ENDS.

 

Akkad, Tyber, Yeng, Vorr and Teralil:

 

Round 3 Begins:

 

[x] Tyber | AG48 (4x2)+4: 16 | WOUNDS 20/20 | FATE 2/5 (Unconscious 4/6 Rounds)
[ ] Brakan Vorr | AG50 (5)+5: 10 | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 3/4 (SQUAD)
[x] Oto Yeng | AG40 (4)+6: 10 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3 (SQUAD)
[ ] Morthas Teralil | AG40 (4)+5: 9 | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 4/4 
[ ] Daon Akkad | AG45 (4)+4: 8 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/4 (SQUAD)

 

[ ] Lictor STATUS: UNKNOWN.

 

GM: Yeng will have to spend this round healing Tyber as Medicae is a Full Action (You did get the free fate point! ;p).  Yeng Heals Tyber Fully.

After returning to the parapet, Teralil is now considered to be in Combat again and may make Combat Actions. 

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 17 August 2019 - 11:00 AM.

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#1533
Mazer Rackham

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Solastion, Varvost, Atratus, Sabaan:

 

ROUND 2 BEGINS:

 

[x] Solastion AG 3 x 2 (LR) = 6 + 7 = 13 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 4/4 

[ ] Varvost AG 5 + 5 = 10 | WOUNDS 24/24 | FATE 3/3

[ ] Sabaan AG 4 + 6 = 10 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3 

[ ] Atratus AG 6 + 3 = 9 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3/3

 

[ ] Criminal Scum

 

MR.

 

Updated 22/08/2019


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 22 August 2019 - 07:32 PM.

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#1534
Slips

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Seething with barely contained Fury at the assembled traitors before him, Solastion flared his jump pack to close the small gap that the crimelord had succeeding in making between them and brought his chainsword down again, the roaring of the weapons teeth deafening in the enclosed space 

 

IF there is enough distance between them, he will 100% Charge him. Otherwise, he makes an all-out attack for +20 either way. If he can't reach the Crimelord, he will swing into the assembled mortals before him.

 

WS: 46 + 10 (frenzy) + 20 (charge or all-out) + ?? for a Prone Target = 76 + ??. Slice and Dice: 1d100 5 for at least 7 DoS.

damage w/ Flesh Render: 3#1d10+17 20 23 21; taking the 23.

Total Damage: 23 Rending Damage, Pen 3 to the Torso..?


Edited by Slips, 22 August 2019 - 12:47 AM.

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#1535
Mazer Rackham

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Solastion:

 

The Crimson Knight grinds out a furious bellow and catapults forward in a charge, the fallen Crime Boss desperately saws himself to one side, but to no avail.

 

Crime Boss: AG 34

D100: 64 FAIL (Bro do you even evade) plus 3 DoF.

Damage: 23 - 4 (TB), - (0) Armour = 19

Wounds: -3

Critical Effects: Body - Stunned 1 Round, 2 Levels of Fatigue.

 

The mighty blow opens the criminal filth from throat to stomach, spattering scraps of flesh over the immediate area.  His eyes roll into the back of his head and his hand goes slack.  A cylindrical device slips free from his palm.  A red light pulses from the top and the explosives on the walls and cieling are awash with similar lights.  It looks to Solastion like something from Sanguinala.

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 22 August 2019 - 07:35 PM.

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#1536
Slips

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As the gore and guts splattered all over his armor, Solastion quickly informed his squad mates ++Watch the Detonator!++ as he recovered from his coup de grace. Standing back to full height and flicking the remnants of the crime boss of his chainsword back into a ready stance, Solastion's Vox Grilled blared once again.

 

++I GIVE YOU ONE FINAL CHANCE TO SURRENDER BEFORE YOU ALL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN HIS++ he said trying to step towards the detonator to make sure no other mortal would be able to jump onto it and activate it.


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#1537
Mazer Rackham

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Solastion:

 

Criminal Scum:

Test to resist Solastion's mighty bellow:

FW: 34

D100: 100 FAIL and LOL

 

The lasguns clatter to the floor in a shower.  The criminals kneel, with their hands on their heads.  One of the hostages starts crying.

"The Angel, the Angel!"  She manages, with a blub.

 

It takes only a moment for the sound of weapons falling to let you understand the tower has been pacified.

Once turned over the the Arbites, it should be the work of an Enginseer or two to disarm the explosives.

 

Ghent:

 

The tower is engulfed in flame now and the peasants prostrate themselves around you.

The screams of the Astropath wash over everyone as she burns alive in agonising torment, the stink of cooked meat and singed hair waft down and swamp the square upon which the tower stands.

 

Her death wail forms a psychic thread as well, that wraps itself around those minds able to feel it.

 

"The Angels of Death will it, praise to the Emperor, praise to the Angel!" The crowd cries.

It seems you have made a few friends....

 

I will now pass control back to Mol, I hope that it was a good stint for everyone and thank you all for helping with such wonderful posts.

 

MR.


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#1538
Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Yeng, Vorr and Teralil

As the Apothecary crouches over the prostrate form of Brother Tyber, Akkad and Vorr stay alert, their weapons following the motion of their eyes. The air is thick with smoke and flame that fouls auto-senses and deprives you of the ability to track the Lictor-beast.

Suddenly, a bundle of chitinous armour and jagged blade-limbs bursts from the crops, trailing flecks of burning wheat that dance in the heat haze. It tackles the Astral Claw, knocking him to the ground, arcing talons scything down like the mythical reaper claiming its toll. Even as Akkad attempts to fend it off with his arms and the bulk of his venerable weapon Cadence, the hook-tipped tentacles writhe and reach for his helm and the vulnerable neck-seals.

The next moments seem to stretch into infinity as your bloodstreams are flooded with potent mixtures of stimms and combat enhancers designed to keep you away from death; designed to ensure you are still useful to the Emperor of Mankind.

The Lictor reels backwards, a line of craters blooming on its carapace - the telltale marks of bolter detonations blowing fist-sized chunks of chitin to shrapnel. The bilious green mutagenic acid of hellfire shells sizzles through Tyranid flesh and the creature screams - not the stolen voices of Humans, or the sounds of weapon-fire that have become so usual for you. No, this is an honest scream of pain.

This is a creature that cannot stand against the Imperium of Mankind.

This is a creature that can be hurt, hunted and killed.

Yeng half-kneels, his bolter steadied, firing careful shots at the lithe alien. Beside him, the Red Talon's shotgun fires a constant metal storm that patters against ceramite but sheers through flesh and scythes through the field behind.

Rolling out from under his erstwhile executioner, the Astral Claw reaches out for a weapon, any weapon - anything that can be used to administer the Emperor's judgement to this creature; anything that can help him to fulfil the design and duty of the Astartes.

If Akkad knows that he snatches up Tyber's chainsword, he shows little evidence of conscious thought - his actions seem entirely instinctual. He brings the weapon round, his thumb depressing the activation rune and the weapon's throaty engine roaring to life. The monomolecular teeth blur and there is a spray of black ichor as they bite into chitin, flesh and bone.

Another welcome scream of alien anguish - and then a silence as the Lictor seems to almost evaporate into the pall of smoke. On the ground you see one of the Lictor's giant scything talons, bisected by the chainsword.

The creature is gone, near impossible to track in these conditions without the aid of one such as Atratus or Greysight. And yet you know that this is not the last time you will see the hunter-killer again.


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

#1539
Commissar Molotov

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DAY 27
++00:23:47:19 until projected landfall++

As the grim-faced Enforcer pulls the lever and the criminals who sought to fight against the Deathwatch fall, there are some within the command bunker who turn away, or look down, suddenly busying themselves with data-slates and sheaves of paper they have read and re-read a thousand times since the preparations for the Tyranid invasion began.

As the ropes pull taught and their bodies twitch wildly, there are those whose jaws grow taut, or who swallow desperately to avoid gasping.

Solastion of the Crimson Knights does neither. This is a time of war, and weakness must be excised, lest the whole body suffer. This, at least, is one thing that the vile Tyranids understand - operating as one cohesive entity, all parts focusing on the common good.

The Strategium bunker, situated beneath the Governor's Manse, houses command and control systems, cogitators and data-looms for coordinating the ground war. Massive hololith projectors emit eerie green glows showing different aspects of the theatre of war, and several dozen acolytes of the Adeptus Mechanicus move about ensuring the proper rites and supplications are made to the fickle machine spirits dwelling within.

Several of the Deathwatch are within the strategium, green light gleaming on their black armour. Others are dispersed elsewhere within the city, attending to important business in the preparation for the invasion.


PHASE ONE: DEPLOYMENT
Syndalla now prepares for the Tyranid onslaught. You have encountered the main characters in the planetary defense and established relationships with them that will be sorely tested in the weeks to come.

The war for the planet will take place over three weeks of in-game time, with each week taking a month in the real world, like so:

  • Week One: September
  • Week Two: October
  • Week Three: November
Each week, the Deathwatch will take stock of the planet’s status, bolstering defences and deploying troops. After doing so, I will calculate the results and tell the players how their tactics have fared.

The fantastic map below, created by Nineswords, shows the key locations vital to the defense of the planet. Each of these locations is important to the defence of the planet, with some more important than others. For example, the four quadrants of the City Walls are especially important to the defence of the city, and many locations may not come under attack until they’re breached.


bzHqDjg.jpg

These are the key locations:

Spoiler


The Deathwatch have the following troops at their disposal:

Spoiler


The first task for the Deathwatch is to assign the troops to either defensive or defensive operations - remember that the walls of the city will need to be manned - so that we can determine how the overall war goes.

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 01 September 2019 - 02:23 PM.

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

#1540
Commissar Molotov

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Per my previous posts in the OOC, and in an effort to increase engagement from players, there is plenty to do for those players who don't wish to engage with the strategic elements of the game, or those who want to push into the narrative.

It can be assumed that all of the Deathwatch will be engaged in conflict throughout the invasion: this affords them the opportunity to influence the war firsthand. Each week of the war (each month in real-time), a Deathwatch Battle-Brother may use his own Skills to bolster the defenses of a location. When a Battle-Brother makes the Skill Test, success means he raises the Strength of that location - succeeding by multiple degrees of success will strengthen the area accordingly.

For example:

  • Command Tests may show Battle-Brothers taking charge of locations, issuing orders, directing troops and giving instructions to subordinates through leadership and personal inspiration.
  • Charm: Some Battle-Brothers may wish to interact with the soldiery on a personal level, boosting morale with their charisma, wit and personal bravery.
  • Common Lore (War): The Battle-Brother’s personal experiences with combat and warfrae allow him to impart a veteran’s insight on the coming conflicts, making sure untested soldiers will fight as veteran warriors.
  • Forbidden Lore (Xenos): Knowing the habits of the vile alien, the Battle-Brother instructs the soldiers under his authority to set traps and ambushes that anticipate their instinctual behaviour, ensuring the Tyranid’s very nature is their undoing.
  • Tech-Use: The Brother sets up defences using arcane war-systems, such as automated Tarantula sentry turrets, minefields, jamming beacons and localised void shields.
I will inform players how many tests they can make each month - but they should (as much as possible) be accompanied by narrative!

Players can start thinking about the tests they'd like to make (and these can be discussed in the OOC!)

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 01 September 2019 - 06:59 PM.

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

#1541
Steel Company

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In his state of near total shutdown, his mind took him places, places and memories he had not thought of in decades. The sound of the grass blowing gently in the distance sounded to him like the waters of the Bay, so much so that his mind took him to the day his father had finally taken him with him on a fishing expedition, he was finally big enough to paddle with his father and his fishing partner. It had taken most of the morning to reach the fishing grounds, placing his paddle down, he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, a with a soft rolling rumble that was his tone he spoke to Tyber, “Ahi, stay in the hull of the waka, you’re not a strong swimmer yet, me and Kaha will handle getting in the water with the spears.”

 

Tyber sat in the hull, watching as his father and Kaha dove into the water, every so often a large fish would be tossed up onto the platform that was supported by the hull and the out rigger. He had no real idea of how long he’d been sitting, watching the rising and falling of the horizon, the only thing he knew forsure was that the dark clouds on the horizon were getting closer. Storms were rare in this area, but they did come during the rainy season, but that should still be weeks away.

 

Lying on his back looking up at the sky, he blinked as the first water droplet hit his cheek, blinking a couple of times; he heard it, the howl of the wind picking up. Sitting up right he looked into the water, not seeing either his father of Kaha, he knew that he needed to get the sail down, less the Waka be pushed away from the fishing grounds. Hulling himself on the platform, his small six year old body had to jump to reach the rope to bring in the sail, pulling with all his might on the rope in time with the wind the lower part of the mast came around, hitting him in the chest hard enough to send him in to the water, the wind knocked out of him. Down he sank below the waves, deeper and deeper, the pressure on his chest grew and grew the deeper he sank, he couldn’t breathe. The only thing he could think to do was thrash about, but nothing was working, the pressure grew more, squeezing the air from his lungs as the world turned black on him.

 

He felt only pressure on his chest, no pain, he could hear a soft beeping in the distance and could feel a bright light shining down on him, the beeping was interrupted by words that he couldn’t make out; an impossibly deep voice spoke in response to one that had to have been his mother’s voice. He wanted to cough, he couldn’t help it, he needed to sit up, but the pressure on his chest was holding him down, he thrashed around, gripping something cooler than the air he felt on his skin. Opening his eyes he looked at it, he knew what it was, one of the Lords was here, their arm was white, following it up he saw the twisting symbol on the shoulder guard, moving his eyes to the head, he knew this Lord, he had seen him every year for as long as he could remember, hoarsely he whispered out “Lord Artemis.”

 

Artemis, smiled, his features youthful for an Astartes of his years, he liked these trips out to the Bay, it had become his area, “I told you Ahi would be fine, he is strong.” He said in his deep voice, his smile became a grin, “He’s got a destiny before him.”

 

*****

 

Tyber felt the rush of chemicals through his body, the powerful mix of combat stimulants and pain suppressants pumping in through him, he was drawing closer and closer to being fully aware of what was going on he thrashed about violently, like breaking through the surface of the water, his world still fuzzy he spoke out hoarsely, “Artemis, that is two I owe you.”

 

He gripped the forearm of the Apothecary that was leaning over him on the right arm that was holding him down as they came more into focus. Blinking a couple of times, he found himself looking into the face plate of Iron Armour, not the Maximus helm with a white strip down the center that Artemis wore, narrowing his eyes the stab of pain in his chest reminded him where he was. The pain was more than physical; it was a deeper pain, the kind of pain that only came from being alone and away from anything or anyone from his home chapter. “Yeng, I thank you for your ministrations, was the beast put down?” he asked with his lips dry and caked with dried blood.

 

No answer came from his brothers, looking to his left, he saw Akkad kneeling a black chainsword still in his grip. It took Tyber a moment to process this, reaching behind him, he found that his assigned blade was missing. Sitting bolt upright, he started to feel to his right, each hand motion becoming more frantic than the last, till his mighty paw fell upon the hilt of his arming sword. His shoulders fell in a physical expression of his relief of finding it.

 

A sharp pain in his chest had him place one hand over the rent in his armour, causing him to look down and see it for the first time, a soft set of words escaped his lips, “Sabaan is going to be mad…”

 

*****

At a later date…

*****

Having come back to the capital, Tyber found himself wandering aimlessly, stopping at each carving of the mortals’ devotion to the Emperor. Occasionally he’d touch one of the mortals that was gawking at him or had prostrated themselves at his presence, when he would touch them they seemed to fall into what one could call a religious ecstasy. For Tyber it was done mostly to get them out of his way during his wandering. Ever since he had awoken in the field, something deep inside of him felt off.

 

Akkad had returned the chainsword, but in his hand the blade no longer felt like his, it felt borrowed, borrowed like the armour he wore. Looking down at the Aquila on the chest, it felt wrong to him, he missed the thunderbolts that his plate bore.

 

Again he found himself standing before a statue devoted to the Emperor, this one dozens of meters tall, Tyber pulled his helm free, placing it on the dais before removing the rest of his plate, laying it out as if it was a fallen Astartes on the ground, with the head sitting between the feet of the Emperor. He sat cross legged his arming sword across his upturned palms, eyes shut, breathing controlled, there were questions that burned in his chest, answers that needed to be given, his tone low, hushed just above a whisper he spoke “Tell me why, Grandfather. Why have I been chosen of the First Legion to turn our attention from the edges of the Imperium towards the center, what is your plan for me? Why does your realm seem to have fallen so far from your ideals?”

 

 

He had no idea how long he has sat there, waiting for an answer that never came, sighing to himself he placed his arming sword down before armouring himself to continue on his wanderings throughout the city.


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#1542
Mazer Rackham

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Akkad had returned Tyber's chainsword, but the big Marine seemed to look at it as if it was the leg of a Dark Eldar Incubus.  Akkad grimaced at the memory from the Maelstrom, when they had pounded the Pirates of the Blood Moon into dirt and burned their ships.  It had been a costly day, but one long coming for that cabal.  Just like the Tyranid invasion about to slam into the planet with all the fury and gnawing hunger of a Catachan Devil.

 

The 303rd looked up at him.  All had been seated on the grass bluff outside the Manse and stormtroopers, Arbites and PDF Commissars alike looked at the decadent employment of time and the Emperor's good grass in seating the battalion in the noon sun.  Akkad glowered at them.  This was the first of many lectures.  He removed his helm, dumped it on the floor with a thud.  He put his hands on hips, decided to give it to them straight.

 

"The time is coming when the enemy will darken the sky and he will darken the sky with such numbers to make you doubt the sky exists at all."

There was a murmur at the back that Akkad didn't stop, but it died out to silence.

 

"The great minds of the Mechanicus and the Astartes have devised a plan, a shield of fire that will burn everything which falls through it to ash."  He paused for a moment, saw the glazed eyes, tired and weary to agitprop actually sharpen, interested.

 

"But that will not save you."  He smiled nastily, seeing the hope flutter, "this, this will save you."  He reached down and took a lasgun from a soldier.  He checked it, nodded with a small grunt of approval - the weapon could have been cleaner - but that wasn't the point.  "This will save you."  He reached down and scooped a handful of soil, crushed it in his palm and let it trickle through his fingers as dust.  "This will save you."  He stepped back, smashed his fist into the wall with a clang of metal against stone that woke up one or two of the sleepier ones who'd been at the Amasec.  He could smell it from there.

 

"Everything on this world was grown by this soil, made from the gifts within it.  It will save you and you will save it."  He opened a pouch at his waist, withdrew a canister and showed it to them.  It was a heavy bolter shell, sealed at both ends.  He twisted it open, smelled the scent of hanging gardens, of stream beds, tall grasses that danced in the silver light of the Two Moons.

 

"This is the soil of my home - millions of light years away.  Emperor willing I will see it again.  It made men who gave their banner to the Emperor - whose silk hangs within his very sight at the Palace in the Hall of Honours!"  He flicked a glance at the loose knot of Commissars standing there, saw even they were impressed.  He dropped a pinch of the soil onto the ground, mixed it with the dust he'd already ground up, kneeling, adding an intimacy to the whole piece of theatre.

 

"Now this is my home as well - and together we will save it.  Now.  Pay attention and I will show you how!"

 

MR.


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#1543
Xin Ceithan

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Sirens.
Tracer fire.
Ignition.
The sky, all claws and teeth, burning
Weeping tears of acid
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#1544
apologist

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His mouth was filled with an acrid tang as he descended the broad, open stairs down from the walls. Even this early in the morning, the air was heavy with the smell of foot traffic; bedraggled bands of weary refugees moving into the uncertain safety of the city. Enforcers and local volunteers ushered the people towards the Fallows and Commercia district; where brightly-coloured tents were already filling the spaces.

 

He came to the Forum Cabbas, usually a primary marketplace, but now given over to housing the refugees. It was busy, loud. Amongst the throng, Yeng walked with an even pace. Some shrank back from him, bowing their heads. Others rushed up to him, reaching out, crying for benedictions. His helm stowed, he wore an amiable smile on his face. He radiated confidence; nodding to some, but did not break stride.

 

Some of the people – including a determined and serious-faced boy – trailed half-heartedly after him as he left the crowded square. One by one, they turned back; more frightened of the risks of the open country than reassured by his presence. The boy was the last, pursuing him to the gate itself, but there he was held back by the guards.

 

Yeng spoke with the guard, softly requesting transport to the nearby medicae facilities and water treatment plants – if these could not be adequately fortified and defended; their personnel and equipment must be rehoused within the city walls.

 

As he waited, he looked about; assessing the gate. The boy had retreated to a short distance – a stone's throw from the guardhouse – but lingered. 

 

[OOC: I'd like to do a Common Lore: War test that involves my Survival and Awareness skills; with an eye to advising the guard of likely approaches and weaknesses; perhaps advising them of ways to retrench or resite their weaponry for maximum effect.]


Edited by Apologist, 06 September 2019 - 09:11 AM.

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#1545
A.T.

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Atratus studied the proposed defense of the city. With so few heavy weapons and soldiers the forces had been split thinly, covering as much area as possible to prevent any xenos that reached the surface from establishing a beachhead for more to land. But cultists or desperate civilians could open a breach at any point and the xenoform that had been encountered by his brothers still lurked, like not alone.

 

The others were better suited to the politics of the defense and the visual threat of the astartes on any who might stray from their duty to the Emperor, but until the tyranid ships reached this world those who would cause most harm would lurk in the shadows, and he would see that they found no refuge there.


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#1546
Slips

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PH to keep the ball rolling:
 

  • Solastion is frustrated at the sluggish behemoth that is bureaucracy
  • Solastion does what he can to give as much operational freedom to the mortals under his command so that they don't feel like he is undermining them.
  • Wants to know who instigated the burning of the Astropath. If its one person, he personally, and behind closed doors, executes them because he had made no such decree/order. If its a group, does the same but with a flamer.
  • Is being slightly worn down by the burden of command; however, only in death does duty end and he was not one to shirk from responsibility even if it is not his area of expertise.
  • Frequently goes to the square or makes the rounds so that he is seen on a semi-relative basis to keep morale up.
  • Does not like being idolized, however.

 

Skill usage ideas:

  • Tactics: Assault Doctrine / Scholastic Lore: Codex Astartes to try and formulate a way to better prepare for enemy assaults (How I wish I were an Imperial Fists with access to the Tactics: Siege and what not right now :P)
  • Fellowship: to try and unite the people fruther
  • Command: to help with Morale
  • Medicae: to do what I can to keep everyone in as good a shape as he can if possible
  • Scholastic Lore: Chymistry to try and develop anti-tryranid toxins

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#1547
Steel Company

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OOC:

Spoiler

 

Another day came and went, and again Tyber found himself in front of the massive statue of the Emperor, and yet again he found himself sitting in contemplation before it, unarmoured and sitting cross legged his arming sword held across up turned palms. He whispered his thoughts to the statue, in some vain attempt and finding an answer for his troubles; “Again, Grandfather I ask for guidance. I am troubled by my own failures. You’ve shown me glimpses into that plan you have for me, I ask again to be shown a part of my destiny.”

 

He had no idea how long he sat again, sighing to himself with no answer coming, he stood and turned to find a small gathering of mortals had come with offerings to the Emperor, paying them no mind he gathered his equipment before returning to duty.

 

On the third day of finding himself there Tyber found the gather of the mortals had grown exponentially with each day. It was on the third day that when he arrived the mortals had grown daring enough to touch his skin as he sat seeking answers. This touch caused him to open his eyes and turning slightly to see the collection of mortals each touching the one before them with one hand, leading all the way back to a child that had the audacity to touch him.

 

The child felt his eyes on him, looking up to Tyber he spoke in a soft voice, “Thank you Lord for coming to our world, will you save us?”

 

Tyber looked away, then back to the statue of the Emperor, before he gave his answer, “I cannot save everyone, but I will do what I can. I give you my word as one who’s lineage is that of the first Astartes.”

 

Turning to kneel in front of the boy, Tyber placed a massive paw on him before he spoke, “Your bravery will be rewarded to day.”  Taking some dirt and crushed rock that had been left from the fighting he drew a Palatine Aquila on his forehead.

 

The boy kept his eyes on Tyber, as he asked again “Lord, may I ask what you pray for?”

 

Tyber felt his insides twisting, the faith these mortals display he found uncomfortable, centering himself  as he finished his drawing, he placed his arming sword tip down as he gave a warm smile to the boy before he said, “I pray for nothing, I only offer my oath of service to the Emperor. I will serve him till he determines that I am no longer needed, when that day comes I will greet it with open arms.”

 

Looking beyond the boy, he found the crowed had prostrated themselves and had begun chanting “The Emperor Protects.”

 

Standing to his full height he gathered his equipment before returning to his brothers in the palace.


Edited by Steel Company, 09 September 2019 - 05:13 PM.

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

#1548
Mazer Rackham

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Akkad stood with a long stalk in his teeth, fiddling with the end.  His helmet was maglocked to his hip and beside him, planted firmly in the ground stood the long claw of the Lictor.  He patched into the vox communicator on the walls, some three-hundred metres away.  He could see the soldiers milling about.  It was another of his exercises.  He was five metres from the torn appendage.  Solastion and Yeng had already taken samples.  His proximity to the...target...would help with motivation.

+Alright Captain, you may commence firing by platoon.  Just let them know, if I am shot, I shall pull the arms off the perpetrator.+  He grinned into the vox to take the sting out of his words, but he was only half-joking.

 

BS Test: 022 vs 052 = Pass, 3 DoS

Las bolts sizzled the air, chopping around him, snapping in sharp bites as it tore the earth.

+Correct their aim Captain.  Three clicks down and right on their sights.+

The fire intensified, now closer.  They were getting it.  He could feel the heat of a hundred lasguns at a time barking past him, tearing at the chitin, melting it into runnels.

+Better Captain, my compliments.+  He waved am arm, +Next batch!+

 

The farmers were still farmers.  The PDF were better but not by much.  Akkad drilled them in attack, but they couldn't quite get a handle on the more advanced techniques.

Assault Doctrine: INT Test: 071 vs 41 = FAIL, 3 DoF

+No, no, no!+  He strode across to them and knocked his fist on a few helmets.  The crowd of milling chickens formed some semblance of order once more at his tongue lashing.  He snatched a lasgun from a tired pair of arms and gestured, marching up towards the sacks filled with straw they had been "mock attacking"

+Come with me, all of you.+  They gathered around him as he stood in front of a viciously inoffensive target.  He bayoneted it savagely, growling like a devil  +If all you can do is run and stick a blade in, that is good enough.+

 

+Jenkins, what are you doing?+ Akkad pounced on the man, literally, the lioness on his pauldron flashing into motion in imitation of the big cat.  The grenade exploded harmlessly, with Jenkins winded and bruised underneath the giant Astartes.  Akkad stood and picked up the hapless trooper.

Defensive Doctrine: INT Test: 022 vs 41 = Pass, 1 DoS.

+Right!+  Akkad strode over to the grenade bucket.  +If you're all as useless as this fool, I'm going to blow you all up.  What are you going to do about it?+  They looked at him and he started pitching, the fragmentation grenades crumping earth and air and shearing brick.  They learned quickly how best use cover.

 

+The enemy are filth of a devious and slippery nature, they will fall where you least expect them and where you fear them to.  They will come in behind you, around you, even underneath.  Trust nothing, not even the foxhole you just left.  Watch for tremors in the ground, loose rubble.  Camouflaged Lictors can be hard to see, but listen!  Smell - no, I do not mean your own armpits, Jenkins!  The Emperor allowed you six senses.  Use them all.+

Perception: PER Test: 010 vs 050 = Pass, 4 DoS

 

+You must follow orders - especially mine,+ He broke off to smile at them, for they had worked hard and pleased him, +no matter how crazy they may sound, or how much you feel that following them will cause you to give your life.  Your life belongs to the Emperor.  By following orders, you repay him and more importantly, you purchase another foot of our shared world.+  He paused to let the earlier sessions take root.  He looked over them all, sat down in front of him.

Fellowship: FEL Test: 015 vs 48 +10 (Armour) 58 = Pass, 4 DoS

+But know it well, nothing is more important in a battle than time.  And the only thing that buys time is the sacrifice of men.+  He gave the last oration gently, as if they were brothers.  The effect was instant and he knew it would endure.

 

MR.


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#1549
Commissar Molotov

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DAY 28

The Tyranids' mycetic spores burst through the morning's cloud-cover, streaking with atmospheric fire like falling meteoroids. Those that come overhead, within range of the city's guns, Are destroyed with swift and righteous Imperial fury. Many others streak towards the horizon, revealing as they land out of sight the truth that this is not falling space debris - but living creatures of murderous intent.

Across the city, sirens wail, a clarion call that is taken up again and again until the noise overlaps and becomes meaningless. Still, your helm displays provide you with all the confirmation that you need; across the city, Levy troopers are taking up positions and civilians are being herded to emergency shelters in readiness for the forthcoming war.

Fleet-Captain Locke's predictions had proven correct; the Imperial Navy forces had fallen back, engagement by engagement, finally pulling the Levy's vessels to one side when it became clear they could not withstand the full and unabated force of the splinter-fleet.

Apothecary Solastion stands on the walls of Beregar, surrounded by Levy troopers in wheat-yellow fatigues that already bear stains. Though for all intents and purposes the Priest of the Sanguinary Cult is alone - in all the ways that matter. Heavy is the head upon which the crown lies, and whether the agri-world of Syndalla lives or dies is in his hands.

The clouds are heavy and dark, bloated with the micro-organisms seeded by the Tyranids into the atmosphere. The Levy troopers' coats flap fitfully, and the wind grabs at the purity seals and tabards of Solastion's armour.

Already, the planetary vox-net has reports of outlying communities and Levy bunkers coming under attack from the lesser bio-forms of the swarm, those that were able to land quickly. Soon, the swarm will converge upon the greatest site of resistance on the planet - this city, and the warriors within it.

Solastion looks to the sky as the first rain begins to fall. In a more poetic age, a remembrancer may have remarked upon the beauty of the image, of the raindrops upon the Apothecary's armoured helm, and said that the Angel of Syndalla wept.

Solastion cares little. Within his helm, his instructions are clear.

++Brother Greysight, Brother Sabaan. Ignite the shield.++
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QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM) 
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#1550
Nineswords

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THE XENOCIDE THRUMMED with activity, the ceaseless sounds of toil and industry layering on top of one another, culminating in the unmistakable chorus of war-making from the Emperor’s own design, and perfected over ten bloody millennia.

A string of voices came first: the clipped orders of the ship’s disciplined officers complemented the low timbre of murmuring compliant servitors hardwired into the Xenocide’s bridge consoles. Below, the chanted prayers of the Ordo’s serfs entwined with the syncopated rhythm of the ship's primary defence systems, punctuated by the whine of lance batteries powering up in anticipation of the void war to come. Undercutting them all, was the ever-present vibration of the Xenocide’s enginarium, and below that, the dim subsonic oscillation of the vessel’s dormant Gellar Field.

Near the centre of it all stood the techmarine Nycax Sabaan of the Iron Hands, whose statuesque presence on the bridge was at odds with the delicate dance of mechadendrites on his servo-harness, the spindly appendages accessing data port consoles and manipulating control panels. Next to him, almost hidden, was the more diminutive form of the mystic Storm Son known to the crew as Greysight, conversing quietly with the techmarine and finessing the finer points of the highly unorthodox strategy about to be put to the test. Seated near them both in a command throne of polished copper was the Xenocide’s shipmaster and conductor, Siskus Rubio. The Adeptus Astartes were impressive specimens of humanity’s warrior lineage, but Rubio’s flair for void warfare diminished even the Space Marines’ imposing presence, and they deferred to him. The ship's master was intently observing the Imperial Navy's first contact with the tyranid hive fleet, through a vast crystal-flex port.

Deployed in geostationary orbit, the ships of the Imperial Navy and Syndalla's Planetary Defence Force presented their broadside weapon batteries towards the bio-fleet; the blockade intending on maximising their ordnance spread, to slow the inevitable deployment of the tyranid ground forces in their initial attack waves. Captain Locke's Dauntless-class cruiser King of Kings was flanked on either side by the escorts Thricebound and Saint Orestes. Radiating laterally from them, were Syndalla's own system defence vessels Caligua, Deadly Harvest, Scythe of Syndalla, Exuvium, Guilliman's Bounty and Fallow, all of which had been heavily modified by the Adeptus Mechanicus to accommodate additional torpedo bays and lance batteries at the expense of mobility.

The necessary sacrifice of the few, in order to save the many.

Behind them all lurked Xenocide, six mega-tonnes of tempered steel and adamantium, the very embodiment of its namesake, prepared to cast its own deadly payload against the Great Devourer. Already, the vanguard portions of the tyranid's bio ships hurled themselves towards the planet, punching through the blockade by attrition alone. Hundreds, thousands, then tens of thousands of projectiles, from bulbous spores to viciously barbed predatory creatures, hurtled into the promethium firestorms of the Imperial defence, like a hail storm scaled to impossible proportions. Lance strikes, torpedo bombardments and the strafing runs of Fury Interceptors wings did little to stifle the tyranid's inexorable advance.

Syndalla's plight, as it appeared to Greysight, was akin to a lone candle's flame amidst a snowstorm.

‘Status, Master Rubio?’ asked Sabaan.

The voidmaster peeled his eyes away from the spectacle and swivelled his command throne to address the Iron Hand directly. ‘We are ready, Frater. The Xenocide is locked in position to enact its first directive.’

It was Greysight who voiced the question that all on board wished to know. It carried with it the uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty. 'Will it work?'

Sabaan turned to regard the Storm Son. 'Curious, Brother Greysight, that you of all of us harbour doubt in your heart, since this stratagem is of your own devising. "With steel we are stronger, but without a soul we are nothing." Words uttered by the Iron Hands War Leader. Sometimes, faith must give way to conviction. That conviction, brother, is forged from the blessed gifts bestowed unto us by the Omnissiah. We have run the simulations and have spent considerable resource concocting the exact chemical formula to compromise the heat-resistant outer carapace of the xenos deployment projectiles. The thermobaric shield will perform to calculated expectations to a margin of error of point-oh-three.'

Greysight nodded, emboldened by the Iron Hands' words. In truth, the Storm Son was not entirely sure why he was present on board the Xenocide, whilst the brothers of Blackthorn and Swordhand were planet-side. His encounter with the Librarian Montesa, and the enigma of the strange book unsettled him. Conviction, Greysight reasoned, lay with a boltgun in his hand, and the wind in his hair.

Rubio raised a gloved hand to get their attention. 'Incoming transmission, Lord-Brothers.'

'Locke?' asked Sabaan.

'Negative,' replied the shipmaster. 'Ident markers come from S-PDF Global Strike Command, boosted and rerouted via the local Adeptus Astrocartographus. Broadcast, Kalestes.'

The Communications Officer, Kalestes, turned to face the shipmaster and the Deathwatch Space Marines, pressing a brass auditory headset to his augmented ear. He flicked a switch embedded in the broadcast console. A strained voice barked out of the bridge's vox-grilles, each syllable accentuated in order to cut through severe interference. The feedback was discomforting, and Kalestes resorted to dimming the master volume to compensate for the audio spikes.

'–eat, this is pilot Welles of Reaper's Fortune, Maurauder A/C Four-One-Two-Six-Two-Nine, Forty-first Wing, 698th Bombardment Squadron. Prime directive is achieved, aerosolised chemical agent deployed. The seed is sown. Repeat, prim–' The sound of collision and extreme turbulence filled the bridge of the Xenocide, several miles above Reaper's Fortune. '–stards have destroyed Maiden of Carmine and Solus. 41st Wing under heavy flak. Repeat, prime directive achieved, initiating secondary directive. The Emperor pro–'

The transmission cut abruptly.

'Signal Strike Command, acknowledge receipt, officer,' ordered Rubio. He stood, pacing across the bridge.

Beyond the ordered bubble of the Xenocide, unrestrained fury raged across the heavens. Interceptor wings weaved precariously through the increasingly dangerous concentration of vanguard bio projectiles, like moths drawn to flame, only to be extinguished in painfully brief collisions, one by one. Beyond them, Exuvium and Scythe of Syndalla were all but spent of their primary munitions, slowly turning to enact their last desperate ploy to ram into the larger bio ships. King of Kings had also begun to rotate, so it could present its opposite broadside weapon batteries, all the while covered by the escort frigates. At near ninety degrees, the Dauntless-class battleship suddenly unleashed a deadly lance volley at the nearest bio ship, striking a crippling, but not fatal blow. The Xenocide's human crew acknowledged Captain Locke's strike with restrained triumph. Rubio, Sabaan and Greysight remained impassive.

As if sensing the Imperial's desperate tactics, the damaged bio ship slowly surged forward, followed by a shoal of lesser vessels. With mounting horror, the tyranid's counterattack coalesced into a single trajectory, intent on ramming the King of Kings before it could complete its rotation.

The Xenocide suddenly rocked violently, struck by a small vessel that had somehow managed to circumnavigate the blockade. Several crewmen were knocked off their feet, and the bridge momentarily went dark, before red warning lights bathed the chamber in crimson. A warbling alarm sounded, drowning out all immediate communications.

'Damage report,' commanded Rubio. Greysight noticed the shipmaster had blood over his face, black as the void in the red light. Siskus Rubio crawled, before slumping into the command throne.

'No significant casualties, through enginarium reports damage to its secondary thrusters,' shouted an officer in the turmoil.

'Initiate defence-pattern Damocles,' commanded the shipmaster, wheezing.

'Sir,' continued the officer, his voice breaking. Rubio turned to face him.

'Out with it, Toposhka.'

'Sir, we've been boarded. Numbers unknown,' Officer Toposhka said. Before anyone could reply, the Storm Son raised his bolter, stalking towards the main access corridor with terrifying speed.

'Full alert!' yelled Rubio. 'Terminate hostiles with extreme prejudice.'

Momentary panic gave way to grim determination despite the chaos, forged from a lifetime of discipline and the rigorous standards of the Inquisition. Sabaan also moved to assist Greysight in repelling the invaders, but suddenly stopped, as if struck. Inside his helm, the Iron Hand cycled through encrypted channels to confirm what he had just heard.

It was Watch-Sergeant Solastion. 'Brother Greysight, Brother Sabaan. Ignite the shield.'


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Edited by Nineswords, 27 September 2019 - 06:06 PM.

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'We are the sword of Jaghatai. Had you not created great sins, the Emperor would not have sent a punishment like us upon you.'

 Index Astartes: Storm Sons
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‘We estrange our fathers and forsake false brotherhoods. The War God cares not from whence we came, only that we fight.’
The Unbroken: A Renegade Cult of Obliteration

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