[DW] Blackthorn/Swordhand: Episode III - The Sundered House

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad keeps his counsel as to the Eradicator's heedless charge.  Was he any better?  He moved to the front of the team and ignited the pilot light on Cadence.

 

++Perhaps the carriage of the casualty could be eased by manufacturing a bier from the steel sheets of the vessel?  He could rest and we could move.++

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

GM:

Yeng removes 7 damage from Varvost, taking him from 30 to 23. (Putting him at 1/24)

Varvost spends a fate point to recover an additional D10 wounds: 8 (Putting him at 9/24)

Varvost's missing eye permanently reduces his Ballistic Skill by 10. (41 --> 31)

In addition, he suffers a -20 penalty to all Skill and Characteristics Tests that rely on sight.

 

At Akkad's suggestion you hear a wet grinding sound. Perhaps for a moment some of you might wonder if the metallic bones of the Voice of Thunder are collapsing around you, or if the flood of digestive bile is taking the ship faster. But the sound comes from the form of Varvost, as he makes to stand. That the Eradicator is not dead is truly a demonstration of the marvels of the Emperor's gift within each of you - or of Varvost's stubbornness and refusal to die. Yeng and Solastion have truly excelled themselves in the apothecary's art.

 

"I can fight," is what Varvost says. His patchwork armour, ugly before, has new rents and tears that flake black paint. Servo-motors groan angrily as the machine spirit within expresses its displeasure at its treatment. The Eradicator shares a look with Greysight, who holds Varvost's battered helm. With a pressurised hiss his ruined face is sealed away.

 

"I can fight," he repeats again.

 

+ + +

 

You know your time aboard the Voice of Thunder is limited. The vessel is sinking, slowly but surely - the hive ship's digestive fluids are corroding and dissolving the hull, and it is only a matter of time before more Tyranids come to hunt you down.

 

Some of you have expressed ideas that the cruiser's warp core could be rigged to detonate, consuming the hive ship from within.

Some of you have considered using the cruiser's gunnery decks to grievously damage the hive ship.

Some of you remember that in fleeing the Voice of Thunder behind, Kill-Team Blackthorn may have left many valuable supplies of weaponry, equipment and ammunition.

 

There may still be human survivors aboard the vessel, though the chances are exceedingly remote.

 

A plan must be forged, so that it can be wielded against the Tyranid horde.

Edited July 19, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Slips]

 

"I can fight."

 

++Good, cousin.++ Solastion states as he extends a hand to help the Eradicator to his feet. ++You have much yet to give in service to the Emperor before joining the Great Angel forevermore.++

 

++Suffice to say, we'll have to get you a replacement eye once we've dealt with this xenos monstrosity.++ he rhetorically states what it obvious for all to see, his apothecary instruments whirring audibly as they retract back into place.

 

++Now that we are onboard, we have a scant amount of time to achieve our objective. If the armorium is yet intact, there might be some equipment therein worth retrieving otherwise we need to decide now whether we scuttle the voice of Thunder or use her Macro Cannons to blow our way out and potentially leave her in a recoverable state.++

 

++The Pragmatist in me would opt for scuttling her and taking the whole hive ship down with her. A stab from hell's heart, on might say. But, Strike Cruisers are a commodity I am loathed to leave the Deathwatch without.++

[Mazer Rackham]

++We would never let a ship like this go to waste in Battlefleet Maelstrom, but this beast is so vast it may survive the vivisection of Thunder's guns,++ Akkad paused a moment, calculating the killing power of the turrets, macro-cannon and potential for torpedo launch.  If even half of it was left it may cut the beast open, but waht of the filth aboard it - even half daed the thing would carry doom wherever it went.

 

And he would not countenance that.

 

++We must also be careful to use the plasma drive for the heart of any bomb.  To use the Warp-drive may dump this sock of Asurru into another place and time,++ Melindra Orduul, Mistress and Rogue Trader had done that very thing with a prize vessel she was unable to tow back to Imperial controlled space.  Two years later the damn thing crashed into an orbital station, killing three thousand Adeptus Mechanicus thralls and Magi.

 

++My vote is to scuttle,++ he decided.

 

MR.

[Xin Ceithan]

„I can fight!“

Another wailing creak echoed through the warship‘s bulk, approvingly, two warrior souls united in their defiance.

 

>>They are tough bastards, the both of them. To stubborn to die.<<

The Iron Hand opened his remaining eye. The sensation memory of the grin again. He locked eyes with the Eradictor for a moment. The slightest nod, as Solastion described the intended >>This one deserves the blessing of Iron<<

 

The Techmarine began to move among the Astartes, running diagnostic protocols, intoned cleansing rituals, giving benedictions of mending as the clade began formulating their next move.

 

++Engaging the trans empyrean drives this deep in the System and this close to allied fleet elements is not advisable++

 

The harsh light of a plasma torch cast flickering lights as he cauterized parts of a wounded warplate.

 

++Our numbers are insufficient to operate the remaining macroweaponary at a level required to cause sufficient damage on the tactical scale required to terminate the xenoform. Ordonance usage is projected to be likewise limited. Torpedo delivery systems are probably compromised, might already be submerged. I project the probability of delivering a decisive strike by conventional means to be very low. Probably negatable.++

 

The force by which he injected a molecular bonding patch was the only hint at his frustration.

 

++I suggest we look into more...unorthodox...ways of force projection. ++

Sabaan glanced sideways at the ...thing.. that was now Cadence. >>As if scribbling on shells was not enough...<< A respiratory hiss. Then...

 

++ We already have some experience at this. Access is projected to be difficult. We should consider locating the Plasma Core. Ammunition and / or Torpedo Magazines. Depending on which components of the vessel are still accessible, I advise we rearm and resupply as possible along the way as we move to employ those assets.++

 

His thoughts raced while his bionic fingers threaded bundles of servofibre.

 

++At this point, the Calculus is lacking sufficient data to reasonable project if it is more advisable to commit our full force here first and then move on to the original target or if we should send a more clandestine strike element ahead already...++

 

He had walked over and finally reached the desolation that passed for warplate on Varvost at this point. He could feel the machine spirits of their Armours growling like caged beasts, uncomfortably close to another, eager to fight again.

 

Sabaan straithened and turned to face the killteam. There was something in thoughts, streaming, like hot quicksilver..

 

++We have been blessed by the Omnissiah, the Emperor and the Primarch.

(>>In that order! << Was that... a chuckle? His mind was on fire. Still his voice remained steady, clinical.

 

++HE has provided us with with the means to do our duty, to prevail even inside this xenos blasphemy!++

 

He slammed his gleaming left fist into the wall with a bang, then, unexpectedly, again onto Varvost‘s shoulderguard. Neither flinched.

 

++This is the Voice of Thunder! It is HIS voice! Let it be heard!++

[Slips]

++Any other thoughts or opinions on how to proceed? We must all be of singular purpose, body and mind going forward lest cracks be formed and exploited by the Xenos we seek to slay."

[Steel Company]

Tyber stopped his poking around the deck for a weak spot to turn to Solastion and tell him, +I do not care, I only want to get this over with... I feel there is something... Something or someone calling to me to the Dark Lantern.+

[apologist]

Yeng shrugged. The atmosphere was dour.

"Action itself is best course of action. Longer we stay here, longer the creatures have to find us." He looked mournfully at the blistered paint on all of their armour. "...And less protection we enjoy."

 

He looked about, to the techmarines. 

"Does this vessel possess means to void-transport personnel? If we can find teleporter, we can bypass creatures' defences to plant virus."

[Steel Company]

Tyber continued stomping around on the outer hull armor as he waited for the hole to be made for them to pass through, his shoulders moved to show a heavy sigh, frustration clear to all watching the motion.

 

Taking out his arming sword, Tyber gripped it loosely and started to rotate it around, letting go of the grip at key moments to grasp it before the weapon would be dropped, clear that these were practiced motions. He hated these moments, these moments let him think about the past, a past that as he looked back at it now, he saw how petty he was, he closed his eyes and thought about that time.

 

+++

 

The assignments had just been passed out; Tyber felt heartbreak, the second company. He had thought the First Company was an assured thing, he had Advan as his master, he had the size and bulk of an Astartes many years his senior.

 

He stalked through the halls of Arce, fury filling him, Sergio had gotten First Company, Sergio seemed to get everything handed to him… Sergio was slammer than he was, weaker than he was, less skilled with the blade than he was.

 

“Beach Savage!” came that voice, Tyber gritted his teeth, Adavan had warned him to be gracious in letting Sergio have his victory.

 

He tried to ignore it, he felt a hand on his shoulder and that voice again, “Beach Savage, where are you goin…”

 

Tyber rounded on him, his fist balled up and struck with all his might, knocking him to the ground, diving on him to start punching repeatedly as he yelled out, “Why is it always you? Why do you get everything handed to you?”

 

Tyber felt the nose give way to his fist, blood coating his fist as he kept striking, the third or fourth strike was halted by a hand on his fist, he turned to see Keeva standing there, a sad look on her face as she said to him, “Tyber, stop. You have proven your strength over him a hundred times, this does nothing for you…”

 

Tyber sighed and let go of Sergio before standing and walking away down the hall, not looking back.

 

+++

 

Tyber opened his eyes and hung his head, that was the last time he would see Keeva, with a heavy sigh he looked back to see how the progress was coming on entering the hull.

[Commissar Molotov]

The Wreck of the Voice of Thunder

Cargo Sub-Decks

Solastion, Varvost, and...

 

The Voice of Thunder is eerily quiet as you penetrate further into its depths. The ceramite footfall of your armour's boots upon metal-grilled floors resounds through darkened corridors. With Solastion at your head, you have traversed broken, twisted passageways of sheet metal on your way here. Your path even took you through the wreckage of the dorsal spine corridor - and there are those in your number that bitterly recall the fight to defend that bastion against the Tyranid borders. A fight that seems futile now, for the Voice of Thunder is in its final death throes.

 

In places flickering glow-globes attempt to light the way, but most of the time you find your way shrouded in darkness. You are forced to rely on your suits' auto-senses and the stab-lights attached to your helms, your backpacks or your weapons to pierce the gloom.

 

There is a door ahead. A door that will lead you to the cargo-bays that Kill-Team Blackthorn first used on their journey from Watch-Station Azurea to the world of Syndalla, over a month ago now.

 

 

The Wreck of the Voice of Thunder

Enginarium Complex

Sabaan, and...

 

Passing through the twisted wreckage of yet another bulkhead door, you enter a high-vaulted chamber. Ahead of you, you see the cog-and-skull symbols of the Machine Cult; countless waxen seals bearing testaments of worthiness and operation have been affixed to the iconography, doubtless by Tech-Adepts seeking the favour of the Omnissiah. It does not seem to have worked; you see fallen corpses in the red robes of the Mechanicus, their flesh withered and mummified.

 

Sabaan steps forward, sweeping dust and detritus from a cogitator console and pressing the rune-buttons. The cracked screen flickers to life, accompanied by the grating grumble of the device's machine-spirit. Only a few seconds later the screen flashes a startling blue, white screeds of runic text scrolling past, far too quickly to read. You can make out the binaric squeals of the Tech-Marine's armour as it attempts to commune with the console and to find some way through.

 

It is vital that you ascertain the status of the Voice of Thunder's warp drive. If the drives are operational, then perhaps it is possible to use the stricken cruiser as a bomb. If not, then determining which systems are still operational aboard the vessel will be important in determining the next stages.

 

 

GM: Players, decide who has gone with Solastion and who has gone with Sabaan. I will then move things forward and give you some of the answers you need!

[Steel Company]

Tyber watched as the two groups broke off, his natural distrust of both the priestly nature of Solastion and the superstition of Sabaan made him sigh internally. He knew that Sabaan would be the least receptive to his assistance as there was little he could offer the Techmarine aside from raw physical labor. Turning his attention towards Solastion, he didn’t really want to follow but knew he’d likely be most useful this way.

 

As Tyber followed through the spinal corridor he stopped at the statue from before and leaned his helmet against it as he asked it through his vox grill, “Grandfather, your guidance would be most welcome again…”

 

With no answer coming again, he removed his helmet from the contact with the statue and followed along again, halting at the door behind Solastion as he voxed to him with some levity over the squad coms, +Where is a cargo container when I need one?+

[Slips]

++A cargo container to fill with as much salvage as we can wouldn't be too bad of an idea; better not let the Omnissians among us hear that, however.++ he responded as he made to open the cargo bay doors with his sub-team assembled near him.

[apologist]

"Two fields to plough before nightfall – he is wisest who owns two yokes," Yeng quoted. "I will accompany Sabaan; a Gentle – I mean apothecary – for each group." He nodded, politely, to Solastion.

 

+++

 

Yeng looked around the Enginarium, and tapped two fingers to the blunt prow of his helm in mute warding. The external optics whirled and refocussed with clicks as he panned his view around. Drumming the fingers of his left hand on the foregrip of his boltgun, the Gatebreaker waited, alert and ready, for Sabaan to complete his task.

[A.T.]

As soon as the order to move was given Atratus advanced silently ahead of the Solastions demi-squad, familiar with the layout and structure of the ship from their time in transit and aware that there was little he could do to assist in recovering the dying energies of the ships enginarium.

 

As they approached the cargo bays Atratus recalled their training, everything here had its place and every claw mark or displaced object was a caution of what might still lurk here as swept the path ahead for his brothers.

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad bumped his vambrace off Tyber's Pauldron.

 

"Keep your elbow up."

 

With that he followed the Techmarines, to ensure they were not...disturbed...in their ministrations.

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: If you're reading this some time in the distant future, you will be aware that the game has stuttered for the last few months - the global pandemic hasn't helped in this regard!

 

I've been emailing the players on our email ring - thank you for your constant and continual support. This game wouldn't be what it is without your enthusiasm and effort.

 

 

 

+ SOME TIME LATER +

 

The facts are becoming increasingly - and unpleasantly - clear: time is running out, and your progress through the Hive Ship has been too slow. For each hour you spend within the belly of the beast, it draws closer to Syndalla, and the agri-world's destruction becomes more certain. For each minute, the rag-tag Imperial armada must endure the Tyranids' prodigious onslaught. The longer you tarry, the greater the immune response; the larger the swarm the enemy can muster.

 

The Iron Hand’s projections are grim, indeed. The shattered carcass of the Voice of Thunder is sinking into the acidic ocean at a precipitously exponential rate; the light cruiser’s prow and its under-decks are filling with digestive fluids that have spilled over - or bubbled straight through - the void-hardened bulkheads. Your tenuous sanctuary is slipping further and further away.

 

When Sabaan identifies a series of coordinates on the Voice of Thunder’s deck schematics, appending them with ident-tags and marker-runes indicating extreme urgency, the two halves of the Kill-Team alter course. You navigate broken corridors, bulkheads frozen shut and obliterated compartments that would have exposed whole decks to the void of space but which now allow the hot, dank atmosphere of the hive ship to intrude. You allow nothing to stand in your way.

 

When you unite, there are few words exchanged of battles won and foes vanquished. Your battered armour and depleted stocks of ammunition attest to that plainly enough. These are not times of glory and honour - this is a story simply of survival - Mankind's, or that of the Xenos.

 

++The warp drives have cooled entirely,++ the Iron Hand's metallic voice is a counterpoint to the clanking of his heavy tread, ++They are irretrievable. It will not be possible for a critical failure to be initiated. Even then, such a procedure would be nothing less than catastrophic in close proximity to the agri-world.++

 

++We passed through the gunnery decks on our way here,++ Varvost's voice is strained, belying the injuries he has sustained at the Tyranid horde. ++This ship will blow, sure enough.++

 

++Then we should away, no?++ another voice - Yeng, the Gatebreaker. Even in these trying moments, his melodic voice comes across the vox-link cloaked in an insouciant half-smile.

 

++Indeed,++ Sabaan points forward with the barrel of his bolter.

 

The Iron Hand has brought you to a large bulkhead door, inlaid with arcane runes and sigils in electric blues and ruddy golds. Their meaning is unclear to you - except perhaps Montesa - but even so their unfamiliar shapes tear and mock your peripheral vision, seeming to shift and change subtly. Upon your approach, the door begins to open with a hiss of escaping stale air. The hydraulic mechanisms of the door squeal in protest as they fight to keep it closed.

 

The chamber within is dominated by a heavy platform; alongside the customary gargoyles of Imperial architecture you see snaking cables and pipework that drips with viscous fluids. The air is cold, artificially so, and smoke hangs heavily like fog. Even through the rebreather systems of your helms you swear you can taste sacred incenses.

 

++Is this...?++ Solastion asks - and he may well be one of the more familiar of you, having served with the Terminator elite of his Chapter.

 

++A rarity among vessels of the Imperial Navy. Even the Xenocide does not have a functional teleporatarium.++ Sabaan inclines his helm, the crenelated face-plate catching a gleam of light along its edges. ++It will allow us to teleport deeper within the beast, bypassing its defenses and allowing us to strike.++

 

Teralil flanks the Iron Hand - his voice somewhat more dubious than his fellow techmarine. ++This is a process normally tended to by ordained tech-priests versed in the appropriate rites and rituals.++

 

Even as you take a moment to consider what you see before you, the Iron Hand approaches a console, making the sign of the Cog to a small shrine set within a console. Having made the requisite benedictions to the slumbering Machine Spirits, he begins to turn knurled knobs, flipping switches and entering access-codes into rune-screens with dizzying speed. A deep humming sound fills the air as tendrils of crackling energy begin to crawl over the emitter arrays above you.

 

++Take your positions on the platform,++ the Techmarine says.

 

GM: Your character might be very dubious here - and they are entirely right to be!

[Steel Company]

Tyber adjusted his jump pack as he took his place before kneeling with his arming blade pointed tip down, leaning his armored head against the black blade as he spoke to the squad, +Grandfather, we trust in your will, your vision, and your faith in us.+

 

Tilting his head slightly to bring his lenses onto the Techmarine he added, +When you are ready, brother.+

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad grimaced.

 

+It will be a safer trip through hell than in the Maelstrom Zone,+ he shrugged and made Cadence safe for transit, stepping onto the pad.

 

MR.

[A.T.]

The mechanism was unknown to Atratus, not yet of the rank to have been committed to such an assault by either his chapter nor the Deathwatch. As his brothers took their positions he chose to stand as though preparing for something more familiar - assault from a drop pod, each direction assigned and none presumed safe.

 

Raptors standard doctrine for warp exposure in the event of gellar failure or hull collapse was grim. Seal armour, auto-sense filter omega, entertain no thought but for the objective at hand. A teleporatarium though... glancing towards Montesa it seemed a poor time to put thoughts of pride over survival, "what advice on preparation brother Librarian?"

[Commissar Molotov]

As you swiftly take your positions on the teleportation platform, Sabaan and Teralil continue entering commands into the control console. The two Techmarines communicate in screeching blurts of binaric cant that are faster and more efficient than spoken language, working in an eerie synchronicity as they wrestle the teleporter array’s technologies into obedience.

 

You feel yourself bracing, as though readying yourselves to take a blow. Few among the Astartes could consider themselves familiar with the process of teleportation - such a method of warfare is nearly always reserved for those within the Terminator elites. Trusting in the inscrutable and unknowable wisdoms of these ancient mechanisms to hurl you through space is an unnerving experience even for battle-hardened Space Marines.

 

The chandelier-like emitters that hang above you begin to hum; the air itself seems to thicken palpably, mist curling around your boots. The hum begins to deepen to a bass note, a deep vibration that travels up through your leg bones and settles in the pit of your stomach.

 

++One minute,++ Sabaan’s voice carries through the charged air.

Edited November 26, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Frost cracked over Akkad's warplate.

 

"Enlil, Misnu-ni Alam'u Nekelmu," he whispered into his helmet.

 

It repeated in his mind a moment later in Low Gothic, a lifetime of serving two thrones, two peoples.  He never considered himself a religious man, but it never hurt to be invisible.

 

Lord of Heavens, hide us from the Evil Eye.

 

A minute later, hell blinked.

 

MR.

[Noctus Cornix]

This has to be a joke.....

 

Guillermo's grim amusement was writ plain upon his features, though it was masked from his brothers behind the ancient mk IV helm. Still, it did it was at least somewhat noticeable in even his artificial vocal cords as he offered a wry glance to the tech marines. He was hoping humor would alleviate the serious doubt he had in the validity of this plan. 

 

++ Honoured Techmarines... Should I even ask what the odds of this working are? ++

 

It was a rhetorical question. He really didn't want to know. 

 

Still, the reality was far more grim than anything a botch Teleportarium jump could offer. The system itself was in peril. They had to reach deeper into the ship and kill the beast from the inside... To tarry any longer was a sin. Even without a discussion, it seemed that they were all in agreement without even voicing it. They would put their lives into the hands of the God-Emperor and simply pray for the best... That was comforting...

 

The Librarian sheathed 'Mariana' to his side and stepped up onto the platform to join his brothers, offering a curt nod to the Astral Claw before he took his place upon one of the circular plinths. 

 

++ I must admit, brother Atratus, that I have only been part of a Teleportarium jump once before when I was briefly attached to the Command Squad of Captain Selig Torres' 5th Company...... The honoured Ancient and the company standard were... _{fused to a wall.} ++

 

Truly, bold and inspiring words.... 

 

Guillermo paused, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathed deep the recycled air of his helm. Trying curb his characteristic pessimism, the Librarian opened his eyes once more and peered over to the Raptor. There was more reassurance to the Codicier's tone now than when he had last spoke. In truth, his words were as much for himself as they were for Astratus.

 

++ Steady yourself, brother. It will be brief, but we will be traveling through the Warp. Even in an instant, the predators of the Warp will try to prey at your mind. Do not give them ground. Remember the prayers of fortitude the Chaplains taught you. Steel your mind and focus on the task at hand. With the Emperor's guidance, we will see this through and slay this beast.... ++

[Commissar Molotov]

The Librarian's words hang heavily in the thickened air; the gruesome images he has conjured remain longer still. To travel into the crucible of war using such a truculent and difficult device speaks to the urgency - or desperation - of your mission.

 

A maelstrom of tamed lightning begins to crackle around you as the Gellar Field generators activate.

 

Suddenly, there is a juddering crash. Dust dislodges from the curved metal stanchions above you, forming obscuring clouds all around you that crackle and sparkle, forming miniature thunderheads. It seems impossible to determine whether this is an intentional part of the process, or a harbinger of something terrible.

 

++Brother…?++ one of you starts to say, before Sabaan silences you with an upraised hand.

 

You feel an electric itch from deep inside your bones as the arcane technology begins to disassemble your body, your armour and your wargear into its constituent molecules, one atom at a time.

 

++Forty-five seconds...+++

 

The Techmarines move from the console, taking up places alongside you.

 

++Thirty.++

 

Somewhere - in the distance, perhaps - you hear a noise like an ocean tide, or a waterfall.

 

++Contact.++ Atratus is typically brief, raising his rifle. If you follow the Raptor’s gaze to the darkness of the corridor outside the Teleportarium, you see the shadows coming alive with screeching shapes - multi-limbed nightmares beginning to coalesce.

 

If you are to survive, you must leave immediately.

 

The Iron Hand motions with hand and servo-arm towards the Raptor. ++Remain still, or else the consequences will be dire.++

[apologist]

Every part of Yeng urged action; instinct screaming to move, to fire, to fight... but it was subsumed beneath will. ’Supreme Will; intent made manifest’; such was the virtue of Volnoscere Silverstar; the second Divine Prince.

 

Yeng forced his heart to still, muttering imprecations against the wave-bodies of the warp to stiffen his resolve. His stomach roiled...

[Steel Company]

Tyber gripped the cross guard and hilt of his arming sword tighter, tensing every muscle in his frame. He would not charge, not now, not when he is so close to the answers locked away with in the Dark Lantern.