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[DW] Blackthorn and Swordhand

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

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#1451
Mazer Rackham

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The Chimera trucked off with a heavy load of ammunition and stubbers, ripped from emplacements and every lasgun ammo pack, shotgun shell and autogun round they could find stacked in buckets, crates and boxes.  The chunky personnel carrier kicked up dust and smoke as Vorr hammered the pedal.  The big Marine had been maudlin for some reason Daon couldn't fathom, despite the wanton murder of good Imperial soldiers - Akkad wasn't as bothered about that as he was the thought of falling down into a Lictor's gullet or what the slaughter represented.  A threat could pop up anywhere - literally - they had to be on guard.

As the clanking of the Chimera tracks churned away, Akkad sat revealed on the roadside, his helmet off and whittling at a stalk with his combat knife.

"Well Ahu, it appears we are in the same...Waka."  He smiled thinly at the bigger Astartes and picked himself up, discarding the reed.

+What are you doing?+  The big marine cocked his head to one side.

"Are you deaf as well as huge?"  Akkad chuckled to show he meant no offence, banged a fist on Tyber's pauldron.  "I am following orders.  The Iazu said with a Lictor about, no one is to be left alone."  He banged his fist on his plastron with a wink and indicated they should walk together and sought to lance the pain from his Kin, to anchor the lad as Tyber had done so often for Daon.

 

"So, what is a Waka anyway?  I surmised it was a net?  Do I even want to know what a Tuakana is?"  The city was tiny in front of them, but he knew the miles would vanish with the tread of the large Marine.

 

MR.


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#1452
Steel Company

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Tyber tilted his head to the side, the words of the bay had been used, a sign of familiarity with Akkad that he had used them without thinking. He ran the word waka in his mind, trying to find a Gothic equivalent, finding none, he reached his arms up and behind his head as spoke, “Close, a waka would be a one or two person water craft, sometimes with a sail, sometimes without. They all have a hull and often an out-rigger hull or two with a platform between them… In the Glass bay they are used for fishing.”

 

Bringing his arms down again, he thought about how he had been using Tuakana and Ahu almost interchangeably, in Arce, he’d never use the words of the bay, at least not with those that had not come from the bay anyways, “Tuakana means brother, but it is not a phrase I have used for a long, long time…” he trailed off, looking down, thinking about the last time he had used it.

 

“The last time I spoke that word, I did so to my little brother, before I left for the Chapter… In Arce, we only speak Gothic, the words of the Bay are only used in privet with others from the Bay… every region has its own language that only sons of those regions use with each other. Take it as a sign of how highly I regard you and your friendship that I use the words of the Bay with you.” He said as he un-clipped the ident tag from his sword belt, rolling it over in his hand, his tone was down as he continued “Alicia deserved better than to die like that, taking a shower. She was kind to me for no reason… sharing what little she had with me at the temple…”

 

He sighed to himself, clutching the ident tag hard but not hard enough to crush or deform it, “I know that I allowed myself to feel for her death. It is harder to treat it just another body when I spent, even a short amount of time, with one of them…” he said as he looked up to the sky, almost issuing challenge to it.

 

“She was brave, willing to face the horrors the universe could issue head on... She did not treat me as some icon of their asinine cult. A cult that is in the direct opposition of what Grandfather had wanted with the Imperial Truth.” Tyber continued to rage at the sky, stopping to rub his now bald head with a gauntlet and taking a deep breath.

 

Closing his eyes, he centered himself before continuing to Akkad in open and honest words without their helms on, “I apologies Tuakana, I speak without thinking or knowing your thoughts of the Imperial creed. I think I am just angry that we cannot find Thorvald’s body, no matter how hard we try and that we are striking at shadows again.”

 

Taking a moment to reattach the ident tag to his belt, Tyber continued to walk down the road towards the city, wondering what next task Solastion will have for him.


Edited by Steel Company, 10 July 2019 - 08:18 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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#1453
Commissar Molotov

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Solastion (and Sabaan and Varvost)

As you watch the indicator-rune for the Demi-Squad led by Akkad turn back towards Beregar City, you see another icon on the hololithic display blink and then turn red. This is Outpost 37: closer to Beregar, a smaller compliment of troops, on the Demi-Squad's route back to the city. With a blink-click you are able to change your helm frequencies to those used by the PDF Levy.

"-under attack! We're under atta-"

"-the walls! The frakking walls!"

"Don't stop firing!"

 


Edited by Commissar Molotov, 13 July 2019 - 08:17 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.

#1454
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++Brothers, we have a Code Midnight-Alpha - Outpost 37 is under attack by infiltrators! It seems we've found our Lictors. Make all due haste, if we can, we will rendez-vous. Sending you coordinates.++ he said as he sent the relevant info to the demi-squad.

 

++Outpost 37, this is Command. Report your status, over.++


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Posted ImagePosted Image Posted Image

++Part of the ship...Part of the Crew++

+] Use the Report Button! [+


#1455
Commissar Molotov

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Solastion

There is nothing but silence on the vox-channels - a silence that is deafening, chilling even. Amidst the hiss of static, you wonder for a moment if you can hear the clacking of alien mandibles - surely not, though.

Akkad's force will arrive at the Outpost within twenty minutes; it would take much more than an hour for Brothers within Beregar City to join at this stage.
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QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#1456
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“I apologies Tuakana, I speak without thinking or knowing your thoughts of the Imperial creed. I think I am just angry that we cannot find Thorvald’s body, no matter how hard we try and that we are striking at shadows again.”

 

Akkad plucked a reed and chewed on it thoughtfully, the glands of his genhanced body made him feel memories of hands that tilled the soil, sowed the grain, watered and nurtured the earth, cropped back the weeds that the crops may grow, then the rotation of the sun, the pitch of the lunar orbital.  Mostly the warm summer winds and the distant memory of frost, the growth of the crops tended by different people, forgotten and died, but the soil remembered, the ground that gave them birth, gave them sustenance - remembered.

 

He took a breath to mention this to his big friend as the universe opened up to him as sometimes it did when Astartes stopped and used their senses to perceive the world around them instead of threats. The Lamenters had taught him this, he reflected and he knew no sons of Sanguinius more in touch with the universe than they, for they understood what fate was.  Nevertheless, Akkad stopped himself.  To offer Tyber comfort in that way wasn't what his friend needed, mysticism was not what the Dragon wanted.  Pragmatism, to hear that humans died, planted seeds that would grow under someone else's care was not the solace that would be accepted.  To merely cover his own pat speech that for humanity to live, humans must die, would not be enough.

 

Tyber was having a clash of frustrations and he had to be focused.  Astartes blood need war, especially the young ones.  Up ahead the Chimera stopped and Vorr emerged from the cupola.  Solastion crackled on the audio relays.

 

++Brothers, we have a Code Midnight-Alpha - Outpost 37 is under attack by infiltrators! It seems we've found our Lictors. Make all due haste, if we can, we will rendez-vous. Sending you coordinates.++

 

Akkad looked up as Tyber flinched, the Dragon had caught the message too and Vorr was thirty metres away.  Daon gripped the Marine by the shoulder guard and pulled gently.  The big Marine swivelled round and they locked eyes.  He slowly pulled the ID tag from Tyber's belt and dropped the chain around the hilt of the Oathblade, wrapping it, that the tags may be one with the grip and let go of the large warrior.  This was what Tyber needed, a challenge to answer, an axe to grind - something he could mete out with his fists.

 

"You owe me no apology.  You asked the heavens for guidance and they have answered.  The Shadows mock us.  What will you do?"

 

MR.


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#1457
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“The Shadows mock us. What will you do?” Akkad asked Tyber while pressing the grip of his arming sword into Tyber’s armoured paw of a hand.

Rolling the sword around to look at it closely, the way that the chain wrapped with the leather, Alicia’s ident tag resting over the cross guard. He took a moment to press it against his forehead with his eyes closed, while he spoke low enough that it would take the enchanced hearing of an Astartes to pick up on it, “Lend me your strength, Alicia, Grandfather and the Lion… I have a beast to kill.”

Opening his eyes, placing the blade into its scabbard, he gave Akkad a hardened look, his voice came out hard, vengeful, “I will rip out its spine while it is still alive. It will know fear before the light is drained away from its eyes, for I am fear incarnate. I am Astartes.”

With a bang to Akkad’s pauldrons Tyber set off at quick jog to try and close the distance to the Chimera.

+++
Outpost 37

It looked the same as 43 from the outside, silent, still, omnious. Tyber watched as the breaching tool went to work, busting the door open and again he enterd with both pistols drawn with the flashlights active, this place was just as narrow as 43, but he wasn’t going to let this beast get away this time.

Edited by Steel Company, 15 July 2019 - 12:34 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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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

#1458
Noctus Cornix

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[Delete this please]


Edited by Noctus Cornix, 16 July 2019 - 10:32 PM.

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#1459
Commissar Molotov

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GM: Noctus, per the OOC thread Posts #1440 and #1455 have been edited.

Montesa (and Greysight)

Under the dim light of the Xenocide's lumen strips, you see Brother Greysight's helmless face, framed by a mane of thick black hair. The warrior wears a noble countenance that hints at barely contained savagery; a physiognomy that could only have been sired by the primarch Jaghatai Khan. Smaller in stature to the Librarian, the Storm Son seems wary, as he steps forward towards you.

"Zadyin," the Storm Son says, the respectful deference in his gaze making it clear to you that the title refers to one of the Librarian cadre. His face creases into something resembling a frown, and reluctant unease seems to radiate from his form.

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 13 July 2019 - 08:55 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.

#1460
Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Yeng, Vorr and Teralil

Another outpost, and another distressingly familiar scene. The defenders of Outpost 37 are rendered in tableaus of gristle and gore that might be the mirror of Outpost 43; and yet you know that these corpses are fresher than those of the previous bastion. You might almost imagine that their death-screams are still reverberating around the rockcrete and flak-board corridors.

You know what this means - that you are catching up to the murderous creature that is causing all of this destruction.
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QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#1461
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Outpost 37 was another slaughter no troopers were left alive it didn't even look like they had hit anything in their panicked firing, one trooper appeared to have been killed by friendly fire, pathetic. The squad had missed the Lictor again! The room he was standing in looked to have been the command centre and the bodies were all over the place mostly in pieces. Vorr came across one trooper tucked under a desk with a laspistol in his lap and a las wound in his temple fury gripped Vorr and he wrenched the corpse from under the desk and hurled it across the room into the wall.

"You damn coward!" He roared as the body smashed into the ferrocrete.

++Squad get to the Chimera now, we are leaving and catching this filth. Anyone not at the Chimera is getting left behind! Solastion the Lictor appears to be moving towards Beregar ping all the Outposts around 37 and report which one fails to respond.++

The vox crackles as Solastion pings the nearby outposts as Vorr makes his way back to the tank.

++Vorr, Outpost 15 reports they are being attacked.++

The Red Talon grunts an acknowledgement back and once back at the Chimera Vorr accelerates towards the next Outpost 15. Pushing the engine to its limits the tank tore through fields of overgrowing wheat and other crops he didn't take notice of, his only concern was to reach the next Outpost in time and destroy the Lictor before it widened the gap in the defence network. Warning lights began flashing behind the steering controls that the engine was beginning to overheat but the warning chimes were ignored as the Chimera bounced through the rough ground smashing its way through a wooden storage shed in a cloud of dust and shattered wood, soon the Outpost was visible on the horizon.



Spoiler

Edited by Reyner, 15 July 2019 - 02:59 PM.

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gallery_60566_6038_242.gifgallery_26119_9644_9137.pnggallery_60566_6038_826.gif
"I don't need my left arm to run." - Sergeant Arkad VII Legion bad-ass.


#1462
Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Vorr, Yeng and Teralil:

The Chimera slews to a halt on the outskirts of Outpost 15, the next outpost on this projected trajectory towards Beregar city itself. As the armoured vehicle stops and some of you disembark, you hear shouts from the walls of the firebase.

"Open the gates!" you hear shouted. These firebases are pre-fabricated Template Constructs, built in identical patterns across the plains in an attempt to bolster Beregar's defenses against the oncoming tide of alien teeth and claws. The rockcrete is fresh and uncracked, the manufactora markings still visible and not worn away. The gates grind inward under the own power, unlike the previous Outposts.

You are swiftly met by a Levy officer wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant. His salute is crisp, his tone respectful.

"My lords, thank the throne you have arrived. We dispatched a patrol two hours ago and they have yet to report in."
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QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#1463
Mazer Rackham

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Akkad bowed curtly and offered the sign of the Aquila - it was done  more to meet the expectation of the Levy Officer than from anything else.

+Lieutenant, harden down your defences immediately and escalate your alertness to maximum.  No man is to wander alone and any disturbance - no matter how minor is to be reported at once.  We will investigate the missing patrol as soon as this is completed.+

 

Akkad unlocked the flamer from his back and ignited the pilot light.

 

+Smartly now, Lieutenant.  We're expecting uninvited company.+

 

MR.


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#1464
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Under his helm Tyber took on a look of annoyance on his face, another waste of energy. The walls he reminded himself, the beast was changing its tactics when it assaulted the two different outposts, 43 had been an almost slow methodical slaughter, 37 seemed like it had been a rushed assault, now at 15 it would look that the squad had gotten a head of it. Perhaps we will be graced with the foresight of the 15th to have beaten this beast here. He thought to himself as he listened to Akkad give command for the team to find perches to watch for the beasts approach.

 

His eyes were scanning the sea of vegetation before him, the wave of the wind rustled through the grain, almost like calm motion of the water of his home village, Tyber found it almost peaceful to watch, waiting for the first sign of the prey to test his skills against.


Edited by Steel Company, 18 July 2019 - 04:08 PM.

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

#1465
Noctus Cornix

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It had been... some time since he had begun to even try and understand the nature of that mind-numbing book. And, of course, his efforts had been utterly fruitless. Its eatheric composition was a cruel, teasing mirage. Not tainted by the malicious sentience beyond the void... and yet wholly subsumed by psychic resonance as though submerged in the warp itself. The several attempts he had to read and transcribe the shifting pages had left his eyes to ache. straining beneath his lids as salty stinging traced along the edges. Tears were not a natural sight on those of the Astartes, but this was not a natural subject of inspection either. 

 

Why was he even bothering with this useless thing? All fundamental logic demanded he focus his attentions on the impending invasion. That was his purpose here, after all. The Death Watch was an ordo militant founded upon the annihilation of the ill-made xenos breeds that threaten the very survival of the human species. By all accounts, he was better needed elsewhere. He was a veteran of Tyrranic Wars, perhaps the most experienced in countering these heathen creatures out of any of his brothers of Black Thorn or Sword Hand. He should be seeing to the invasion... And yet, here he was, with this vexxing tome...

 

A long sigh of mixed resignation and exhaustion issued from the codicier's lips as the pressurized hiss of the door filled the air. He stepped out from his ad hoc meditation chambers into the dimly lit hallways of the Xenocide, intent to depart himself from that wretched tome as best he could. The corner of his eye was captured to see one of Black Thorn standing not far from the corridor. 

 

A ragged yet noble beast, the composure of a true savage king, as fit of any that descended from the blood-line of the Khan. The Space Wolves could learn a lot from them. "Brother Greysight." Guillermo said in response, offering a curt nod of respect and a tired smile. He would admit he always seemed to like the White Scars and their descendants. Despite the almost alienated aspects of their culture, he always found them far more agreeable than even those of his own gene-line. 

 

"What brings you aboard the Xenocide?"


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#1466
Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Vorr, Yeng, Teralil

GM: Steel, per my previous post in the OOC, the second Outpost, 37, wasn't infiltrated through the generator room.


At the Astral Claw's curt instructions, the Lieutenant nods sharply and turns, issuing orders. You can discern that this firebase holds a platoon of approximately forty Levy troopers, in the main armed with lasrifles, with two heavy bolter teams and a mortar team. They man the walls with admirable efficacy, eyes focused on the endless fields of grain that stretch into the horizon.

There is nothing but an unnerving silence as the Deathwatch Marines establish their vantage points.

Nothing.

Nothing - and then - the flat cracks of lasgun fire, in the distance, punctuated with screams of rage, and terror, and pain.


Solastion (and Sabaan and Varvost):

The insistent beeping of a high-priority transmission forces you to draw your attention away from Akkad's Demi-Squad.

Even in the imperfect rendering of the hololithic projection, you can see the strain in Fleet-Captain Locke's expression, the subtle twitches in the corner of her eye that speak to the use of stimms to maintain her command for days at a time. Four days thus far of constant fighting, of trying to hold back a tide of chitin, teeth and claws. The Imperial Navy crews have performed admirably, but you know that such a situation cannot hold forever.

"My lord," she begins, characteristically terse. "Ammunition is running low. Even rotating our forces in and resupplying from the Levy, we are increasingly unable to prosecute a naval war in this manner. Three of the Levy vessels have been crippled or destroyed. I must inform you, my lord, that we anticipate less than 48 hours before the swarm reaches Syndalla."

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 18 July 2019 - 11:13 AM.

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

#1467
Mazer Rackham

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How far are they out GM?

 

MR.



#1468
Commissar Molotov

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GM: Perhaps two or three hundred metres from the firebase. Certainly within earshot, but obscured by the fields.

EDIT: Your auspex will confirm human bio-signatures as well as those that seem markedly alien.

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 18 July 2019 - 11:08 AM.

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

#1469
Mazer Rackham

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My thanks GM.

 

Akkad quickly calculated that men were dying and too far from help.  If it was a Lictor they would be dead in moments.  He turned around from the parapet he leaned over and directed his attention to the mortar crew.

 

Humans must die for humanity to live.

 

+Mortar Section!  Direction 998, Range 300 Metres, Target is enemy heavy infantry in the open, Incendiary Munitions, fire for effect!+

 

MR.



#1470
Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Vorr, Yeng and Teralil:

The Lieutenant might not be able to prevent the questioning look from crossing his face, but he turns and repeats your orders crisply. There is a whump-whump-whump as the mortar team propel three shells forward, in the direction the Astral Claw indicates. There are flat explosions, stolen of their resonance by the thick foliage between you and then, and within minutes the dry crops are alight, black smoke beginning to billow.

Amongst it all you hear the cracks of lasrifle fire and the screams and shouts. Your Lyman's Ears can hear it well enough:

"Help! Help - help us!"
 
QUOTE (voi shet magir @ May 31 2011, 05:38 AM
That is an unexpectedly strong assertion from a dead person.

#1471
apologist

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His face remained as impassive as the grille of his helm, but Yeng knew unaimed bombardment was not the way they would fell a lone, fearless foe.

 

Better to be the cat, than the mouse.

 

Slapping the pauldrons of his two nearest fellows, he secured his boltgun in the crook of his arm and vaulted the low parapet. 

"A monster out there – and five more in here, if we do nothing."


Edited by Apologist, 18 July 2019 - 02:25 PM.

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#1472
Steel Company

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The audio pickups in his armour found Yang speaking in a low tone from near Akkad, "A monster out there – and five more in here, if we do nothing."

 

Tyber grunted to himself, in an almost dismissive way, before he replayed over their vox network, Tyber chided himself mentally for sounding like Varvost in his own head. To the squad he was more level in tone and choice of his words, +Brother Yang, we are by our very nature monsters. Yet we are monsters designed, bred and honed for the conquest of the stars. Do you think mortals would be able to carve out the Imperium on their own if it was not for the Astartes?+

 

He watched as Yang leapt into the growth of grains below, shrugging to himself, he gave Yang a head start of a few moments before leaping as far as his jump pack would allow, the quarry would not escape him this time.


Edited by Steel Company, 18 July 2019 - 04:25 PM.

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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

#1473
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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Akkad watched as Yeng vaulted the wall.

 

+Mortar Section cease fire.+  He'd forgotten to allow correction for wind.  It was roughly 50 metres way from the shouting Guardsmen.

 

He couldn't let the Apothecary go out there alone.  The smoke was billowing and would guide them into the dense crop growth.

 

+Well that has capsized the Waka, my Kin!+  He quickly sent to Tyber, then vaulted the parapet and followed Yeng into the tall grass.

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 18 July 2019 - 02:36 PM.


#1474
Nineswords

Nineswords

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THE ARMOURED FORM of Brother-Librarian Guillermo Montesa was a smudge of coal black and dull silver, chipped and dented from his recent service on Syndalla. On Guillermo's right pauldon, the light partially illuminated an iron shod fist the colour of blood, set upon the dark blue of a clear night sky. 'Brother Greysight,' said Montesa, by way of greeting. ‘What brings you aboard the *Xenocide*?’

The warrior bowed, as was his custom. 'Zadyin,' replied the Storm Son, standing upright to meet the Librarian's gaze. His tanned face creased into a frown, as if unsure how to engage the Librarian; a curious mix of unfamiliarity and mystic superstition. 'After the cleansing,’ Greysight began, ‘I had taken to searching for Thorvald with the others, with nothing to show for it. The wolf's scent eludes me despite my best efforts.’

Montesa continued to regard the Storm Son, and after a moment, he got to the heart of the matter. 'I dreamed, Zadyin,' said Greysight, quietly, as if admitting some transgression. 'I do not dream, even when *The Unsleeping* stirs. I can recall past actions in near eidetic detail as a function of my enhancements, but this is different. I am not a Zadyin Arga, Brother-Librarian Montesa. I am not burdened with the Gifts of Heaven, but I dreamt, and as the Stormseers have taught us, dreams are important. So here I am.'

Edited by Nineswords, 20 July 2019 - 07:57 AM.

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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
+++

‘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

+++


#1475
Commissar Molotov

Commissar Molotov

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Akkad, Tyber, Vorr, Yeng and Teralil:

Mortar-fire is an indiscriminate tool, to be certain, but the incendiary fire is effective. The sound of of flames crackling as they devour whatever they can seems constant; the smoke is thick and black, obfuscating even your helms' auto-senses. As Yeng, Akkad and Tyber advance into the field and into the rows of crops that stand as tall as you, your weight cracks the dry dirt beneath your armoured footfalls.

Ahead, in the smoke, you see the smoke-shrouded form of a Levy trooper, staggering forward, his lasrifle slack in one arm, dangling at its side. He takes a few steps forward before falling to his knees.

Again you hear the plaintive cry: "Help! Help - help us!"


GM: Based on player posts, I've got it so that Reyner and Vorr don't leave the firebase yet.

Edited by Commissar Molotov, 20 July 2019 - 01:50 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.





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