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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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#176
Commissar Molotov

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[Post Deleted for Clarity]

 


Edited by Commissar Molotov, 24 March 2018 - 01:02 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.

#177
Xin Ceithan

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Beware the Zodangian bearing gifts. The Martian proverb echoed through his mind. Sabaan could not quite recall it's origin, but he suspected his Mechanicum Mentor. Irrelevant. He pushed the thought away. Strife and competition came naturally to a native of Medusa. Easily, even. The idea between this contest escaped him, though. With their arms and armour toned down, the exercise could hardly assess their capabilities in a real combat environment. The Servitors had not been much of a challenge, but they at least posed a potential threat. Unless...[...DO NOT TRUST...]...
It also seemed ill-advised at this point. They had just begun to develop some rudimentary kind of coordination. Fanning the fire of competition at this point might lead to unfavorable complications later.

"A children's game. Blunted weapons."
The words came between respirator clicks. Even toned. Low. Yet, Combined with the molecular bonding patch placed above his left eye sense, they still managed to convey the image of a sceptically raised eyebrow.
"By your command, Watch-Sergeant".
As he turned, Sabaan held Solastion's gaze for moment. He gave an almost unnoticeable shrug, then retrieved his steps towards his Demi-squad. It took him several seconds to access the training protocols. They had obviously not been used for a long time. If ever.
His Armour resisted being tuned down. It screeched it's frustrating at being forced to a non lethal force. Sabaan finally could get it to accept the settings once he had rerouted, established and tested a short-cut to return it to full power on a moment's notice. He understood it's frustration and uneasiness. Facing a room full of other Astartes in a low powered armour. With powered down weapons. His unease grew while he unloaded his Boltgun and linked it to the training feed. He tested The rate of returning full power to his servo arm twice before he set it, too, to a training setting. At this point, his Armour and weapons were profoundly disturbed. He began a continuous binaries incantation to keep them from reawaken get as they struggled in the unnatural containment of the training rite.
Still moving, he ibrought up his boltpistol. He cleared the chamber and went through the ritual of rearming. Blessing it between his continued binary chanting, he loaded a bolt shell into the chamber. He then replaced the magazine with another full clip of live ammunition, then maglocked it to a quick draw position on his hip. He would not ne caught in this without a real weapon at the ready. He felt a sense of approval rising from inside him. Remember Istvaan.
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#178
Slips

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To Squaddies:

Spoiler

 


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#179
Mazer Rackham

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Akkad nods to the others of Blue Team as they begin to move and take up position.  He gently lays a hand on Thorvald's left pauldron, his palm resting on the Inquisitorial reliefs.  Cadence was maglocked to his chest.  Still uncertain of what this event might bring, his chill receded a little.  At least he could try to connect a little with Thorvald - the two had not really spoken to each other properly - although whether by design or circumstance, he dared not guess.

 

+Tell me brother, would you care for a small wager?+

 

In an attempt at nonchalance, he casually turned back to cast a glance at Red Team, the lion on his shoulder gleamed with golden brilliance, as he watched them hastily forming up their battle-line.  He stopped and raised his left hand in salute, including them all - as well as Vaidan, standing there with a grin plastered to his face - but Akkad was concerned for other reasons now.  The abilities of the opposition were evident.  They would do what they could.

 

Squaddies and GM and Dos maybe - only!

 

Spoiler

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 22 March 2018 - 03:06 PM.

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#180
Steel Company

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As Tyber moved to take position beside Solastion, he noticed Akkad give his salute, in response Tyber brought his arming sword up to his helm, holding the flat out towards Akkad, before dropping it to his side, with the tip held slightly behind him in what is called a tail guard stance his left hand ready to grip his chain sword for parrying, he crouched a little, getting ready to launch himself at his brother across the way.

 

Tyber gave a quick signal to Solastion, indicating that he had gotten the message and was ready to go the moment the contest started.


Edited by Steel Company, 22 March 2018 - 02:53 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

#181
Commissar Molotov

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GM:Just a clear and explicit reminder that very few of you have clearly told me where you wish to deploy. I have said that you can deploy in the side rooms, or within five squares of your "edge."

The more explicit you are, the clearer it is for everyone!

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

#182
Nineswords

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GREYSIGHT XI

Falcon's Flight
 
DAWN ON NAKARIS was a sliver of gold that threatened to break through tumbling storm clouds far away at the horizon's edge, but the blue black hue of the night gripped the landscape in its cold embrace. Saraluzekh, called Cloudwatcher by his bond brothers, had been moving since the night crept upon the rolling hills and savannahs of the Nakarene reaches. It was said that the grasslands of Nakaris were so vast in scale, they rivalled the boiling oceans of the southlands and beyond. Cloudwatcher could well believe it, but the grass was dotted by steep ridges and rocky hills that looked like the claws of a colossal beast that had punched through the landscape from the core of Nakaris, and had never retracted them.
 
These ridges in particular were known to the native Nakarene as the Chuluun Gar, the Stone Hands, home to several species of predatory birds that were literally the size of small adults. It was for this reason the Stone Hands were avoided by the local herders, for without too much effort, one could find the scattered remains of grazing cattle many times the birds' size, and in some cases, the remains of their owners nearby. 
 
Two species of the same genus dominated the Chuluun Gar, both oversized raptor falcons that had crossbred with their local counterparts over the last two millennia, producing two particularly savage and territorial strains that were constantly battling to eradicate one another, in an unexpected avian clan war. Blackclaws were the larger of the two, darkly coloured predators that relied on bulk to annihilate their prey, but the Bloodbeaks, though smaller, were faster and more vicious. The primary breeding grounds for both species were situated on opposite sides of the roughly crescent shaped chain that formed the Stone Hands, separated by just under twenty miles of the same unending grassland that dominated the rest of the continent.
 
It was here that the Storm Sons and their honoured guests had made their camp for the night, protected by the Stone Hands. A cluster of over-large round tents housed both the Shah-Khan's retinue, along with Cloud Watcher's neophyte bond-brothers, and twenty of the Khuu Arga's own genetic primogenitors, the Storm Lords, along with their own aspirants. All were arrayed in drab hunting gear of Chogorian tradition, though the Storm Lords' garb was emblazoned with blood and bone coloured silks, whilst the Storm Sons were more demure in saffron accents. The day's hunt was successful, with all seventy four warriors of the two chapters encircling a large area within the flatlands of the Chuluun Gar, and driving game towards a point in the middle where the slaughter was made. None used standard issue bolters, for they were consecrated for the use in the destruction of the Emperor's foes, and not to hunt animals for food, leather and bone. 
 
The gathering's purpose was to commemorate the Divine Purging undertaken by the Storm Lords and the White Scars, a conflict that had almost consumed Nakaris in righteous fury two millennia ago, and birthing the Khuu Arga out of their remnants. The Storm Lords had dutifully sent a small delegation every twenty years to mark the occasion, usually a junior Khan and his keshig, though it had been nearly two centuries since the White Scars had sent their own from Khum Karta. It was a small, almost trivial mark of honour in contrast to the Great Hunts and other undertakings prosecuted by the Vth gene-lines, but to the Storm Sons of Nakaris, it was a stark reminder of kinship that bonded the Emperor's sons together, and such kinship required competition.
 
'These,' proclaimed the Tömükher-Khan over the din of the feast, 'are the eggs of the Blackclaws and the Bloodbeaks'. Conversations faltered and soon there was an expectant hush as the Shah-Khan's second held up two very large eggs. Both were the colour of peaches, though the Blackclaw egg was streaked with bands of brown wrapping around its circumference, whilst the other had a faint mottling of russet on its surface. 
 
With a nod of encouragement from the Shah-Khan, Tömükher continued, softly depositing both eggs by his feet. 'Tomorrow, we undertake a game to test our mettle against our cousins. The flight of the falcon,' he said, looking at the assembled aspirants who were now stood mingling in a loose group.
 
'The rules are simple. You must navigate the Chuluun Gar into the breeding grounds of the opposing groups's falcons and steal one of its eggs, and bring it back to your territory to be consumed by your falcons. The first group to do so wins the contest.'
 
The neophytes from both chapters looked at each other, smiling, clearly relishing the prospect of planning and executing a strategy to win the contest. 
 
'Beware!' warned Tömükher-Khan, clapping his hands together loudly, and cutting through their excitement. 'These falcons will not hesitate to rip your flesh if you threaten their eggs, so consider your options carefully. The Storm Lords will guard the Blackclaws to the north. We begin tomorrow.'
 
---
 
THE NIGHT WAS still and absolute, but for the nocturnal sounds of the plains' fauna. Cloudwatcher had wasted little time and had stolen away from the camp on his own unceremoniously, using the distraction afforded by a wrestling contest between the nominated champions of both chapters to slip away. By his count, he could traverse the landscape heading north and be in Blackclaw territory just after midnight.
 
The journey had taken several hours, and Cloudwatcher had been cautious, doubling back, and using bundled grass to sweep away his footprints on the dusty ground, where the savannah met the Stone Hands. Through sheer chance, rather than any skill on Cloudwatcher's part, he had come across a Blackclaw nest low in the ridges. He had worked quickly, for Cloudwatcher was reasonably sure that the nest's owner would return from a nocturnal hunt soon enough.
 
From there, he had run a long, circuitous route south that added another six or seven miles, but was sufficiently far enough from the main camp to evade detection. At his current speed and endurance, Cloudwatcher was certain he could run the near thirty miles as dawn broke, accounting for a short break, and win the contest on a technicality before it had actually begun.
 
Three miles out from Bloodbeak territory, Cloudwatcher stopped by a small creek to catch his breath, splashing cool water onto his dirt smeared face, and collected his thoughts. The dawn had blossomed from a sliver, into a tapestry of light that bathed the landscape in a fiery glow. Loping into a run once more, it was not long before he had spotted his bond brothers, who stood in a group at the bottom of a rocky ridge, that marked the beginning of Bloodbeak breeding territory.
 
'Hai Nakaris!' shouted Cloudwatcher, laughing and triumphantly holding up the Blackclaw egg for others to see. They looked back at him, stone faced and Cloudwatcher's laugh died as he noticed his brothers lacked their slingshots and hunting gear. Jebe, called Arrow by his brothers, nodded sharply with his eyes looking up, and Cloudwatcher saw his folly. Protected by the ridges of the Chuluun Gar, he spied the bone and blood accents of the Storm Lord's own young neophytes, aiming their slings at him. Behind them, were two fully fledged warriors of the Storm Lords, grizzled veterans of decades of war, their nocked arrows seconds from killing Cloudwatcher outright.
 
'Very good,' said a voice behind him, and Cloudwatcher whirled around to look at the Storm Lord's khan, Gansukh, standing but four feet away.
 
'How did you do that?' breathed Cloudwatcher, his triumph fading into a curious mix of disappointment and astonishment.
 
'What is your name, bondsman?' asked Gansukh.
 
'Saraluzekh, my Khan,' replied Cloudwatcher, in a hoarse whisper that failed to keep out the bitterness of his defeat. Cloudwatcher kneeled in submission to the Storm Lords' leader, and proffered the stolen egg to him in both hands. The Khan took the egg, and gently put it next to a Bloodbeak egg in a satchel of ork-hide hanging off his shoulder. 
 
He nodded his approval.
 
'Very good indeed, but the rules of war are nebulous, and our enemies never play nicely. If you bend the parameters of the game to suit what 'tomorrow' means, then so can we. Tömükher-Khan never said explicitly said who was to undertake the contest.' 
 
The Khan gestured to the two veteran Storm Lords. 'Reinforcements. You do what it takes to achieve ultimate victory. To begin, you must study the end. You don't want to be the first to act, merely the last man standing.'
 
The Storm Lord signalled his warriors, and they clambered down from the ridges. The two veterans nodded in respect to Cloudwatchers's ingenuity as they walked past, and presently the other group retreated, running in a low gait that gradually picked up speed, heading north.
 
Once they were out of sight, turning towards his bond-brothers once more, Cloudwatcher could only shrug his shoulders as Arrow shoved him hard, his disappointment flaring.
 
'You don't think they noticed you leaving last night?' shouted Arrow accusingly, his voice oddly shrill despite his gen-hanced maturity. 
 
Cloudwatcher shrugged.
 
'We couldn't even prepare in time!' snapped Arrow, looking around at the rest of the group, who glumly nodded in agreement. 'They were upon us before the dawn, and took our weapons and kit. We can't even fight back.'
 
Cloudwatcher looked at his friend, and began to laugh again. The group looked sharply at him, anger in their eyes as they began to encircle the upstart amongst them.
 
'Arrow, how long do you think it will take them to run back with both eggs back to Blackclaw territory?' 
 
'I don't kn–' 
 
'About two and a half hours at full pace, navigating the terrain and in a big group,' finished Cloudwatcher. 'I know, I've just spent many hours doing it trying to conceal myself.'
 
'So?' asked one of the others, to Cloudwatcher's left.
 
'So, I stopped three miles away to have a break, and therefore we win,' replied Cloudwatcher. The other aspirants looked bemused. 
 
He grinned.
 
'Why go to all that trouble to steal just one egg, when you can steal two?'

Edited by Nineswords, 25 March 2018 - 01:35 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

+++


#183
Commissar Molotov

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Vârvost nods at Solastion's words, though you might be able to perceive his gauntleted fists gripping tighter on his weapons. 

 

++Very well. I shall do as you ask.++

 

The slab-fronted helm of the Eradicator's armour does little to blunt the disdain in his words.

 

 

 

+ + +

 

 

++A wager, brother?++ Thorvald hefts the weight of his frag cannon as he takes up position against the crates of the room. ++What are the terms?++


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

#184
Mazer Rackham

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++A wager, brother?++ Thorvald hefts the weight of his frag cannon as he takes up position against the crates of the room. ++What are the terms?++

 

Akkad smiled under his helm, warming to his demi-squad and the rough-hewn nature of the Space Wolf.  So much like Ichoma...Ichoma Dentath.  The memory of that redoubtable brother stilled him a moment.  It had been Ichoma who had convinced him to join the Astral Claws so long ago, two young scions from supposedly warring houses, finding friendship in the sports and tournaments they attended.  They had been distant strangers at the start - but became close, despite the different Demi-Legios they served in.  He had been good with a blade.

"I will break this one day," he had said once, "but never my word to the Throne."  The thought ended abruptly and he was propelled into the present.

 

OOC: This is an homage to Noctus Cornix, whose amazing thread got me into Astral Claws.  May Akkad's tale honour you.

 

++Very simple brother++ His smile had returned and became wry, ++Today I believe I can cut more threads than you...the prize is a trinket from a battle we fought - what say you?++

 

He kept the smile in his voice to show he meant it in bonhomie - then he squared up his feet, drawing Cadence level.  Her war-spirit stirred, hunting.  He nodded meaningfully at both Sabaan and Greysight.

 

MR.


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#185
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A fortified position... Atratus crouched low behind the crate allowing his augers to calibrate to the shifting positions and assessing the cover before him, how long until the simulation would determine it inadequate.

 

To his right Varvosts approach was masked, to his left the elevation of the defended position would make any attempt to fire on the others difficult at best. A hope to draw them in and divide perhaps, or misdirection. The doubt a refreshing change from the predictability of the servitors.


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#186
Commissar Molotov

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GM: (Insert however Vaidan chooses to start the exercise - Dos, if you could write something and PM or otherwise message it to me, I will paste it in here.)

 

 

 

 

 

>>Structured Time Begins<<

bzYZjRl.png

 

Initiative Order (AG+D10)

Solastion: (2x3) + 7 = 13

Akkad: 4 + 9 = 13 

Sabaan: 4 + 8 = 12 

Tyber: (2x4) + 3 = 11
Greysight: 4 + 4 = 8 

Atratus: 6 + 1 = 7

Thorvald: 4 + 3 = 7 

Vârvost: 4+ 2 = 6 

 

GM: You need to now decide if you are happy with your place in the initiative order, or if you wish to spend a fate point to count as having rolled a 10. Please note that any characters who used a fate in the last exercise have not replenished their fate pool. I believe that only applies to Vârvost and Akkad.

 

You typically have one full action or two half actions (along with a reaction.) See the actions list below: 

https://i.imgur.com/8zJxQeO.png

 

In your post, you should tell me what you would like to do - and I will go through the initiative order. You should have a "Plan A" and a "Plan B". That could be as simple as "I'd like to move towards the left, and shoot servitor A if possible. If not, I will shoot at servitor B." I anticipate that you might use a lot more green OOC during structured time. 

 

Please be as explicit as possible in terms of what circumstances you'd like to dodge or parry - or under what circumstances you'd be willing to use fate. In this battle particularly, it will be important to let me know your criteria so I can update accordingly.

 

Again, for reference, each "square" of the cargo hold is approximately 5 metres. The crates are approximately a metre tall. The ceiling of this cargo hold is about 15 metres high.  


Edited by Commissar Molotov, 24 March 2018 - 02:45 PM.

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

#187
Steel Company

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OOC:

 

Tyber will spend a fate point to have rolled a 10

 

 

Plan A

Spoiler

 

Plan B

Spoiler


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

#188
Slips

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Solastion will also use one of his Fate Points to have rolled a 10 for initiative to bring him up to 16.

 

As the Nova Marine gives the signal for the match to start and seeing that the opposing team has holed up in their own starting location, rushes forward on foot, once again silently bemoaning his lack of a jump pack to himself as he witnesses his demi-squad mates fly past him.

 

Still, his grip tightens around his drawn weapons in anticipation for the fight and what sort of surprises his new Brothers might have prepared for them.

 

Solastion will take the Run Action (-20 BS to shots against him) to move up to 24 meters as far as he can in the following pattern: 1 down diagonally, 2 across, 2 down diagonally to hopefully end his movement close to the 2 crates north of the right hand side pillar in the center of the room hopefully using the pillar to block line of sight being drawn to him.

 

As he ran down the hold, Solastion used his speed as much as he could to render himself a difficult target to hit but, with the mental map drawn of potential sight lines, wasn't all too concerned about being hit at this point in time. Still, he was glad that, whilst rarely used, that the Emperor, in all his wisdom in eons past, sought fit to include training protocols in all the equipment present in a Space Marines arsenal.


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#189
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Atratus stays low, allowing his companions to move into position and studying the response of the other team through his scopes auger array. An exchange of fire with the heavy bolter seemed unfavorable but also offered the clearest shot he was likely to have.

 

Plan A

Spoiler

Plan B

Spoiler



#190
Xin Ceithan

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His irritation at the simulacrum exercise was still fresh on his mind as the Iron Hand settled into position. The squad had discussed the situation over a secure vox channel.
The situation favored close quarter combat, a task to which they were not set up to deal with at optimum performance. Of course, they were Space Marines. They were undaunted. Failure was not an option. The logical tactical solution would therefore require negating the tactical disadvantage. It called for coordinating firing arcs and funneling the enemy into kill boxes. They would have to find a way to delay the inevitable dissolution into individual Hand to Hand combat. He felt his servo arm twitch at the thought. If they could separate the enemy or force them to attack individually....

Sabaan grimly noted how the projected numbers turned increasingly in favour of the opposition, especially if they chose to charge in full force early on...
The Iron Hand doubted the other Marines would be so foolhardy, though. Still, the simulated combat environment and it's false sense of security could lure a combatant into an action he would never initiate in the face of a real threat.
His anger flared again. Sabaan tried to focus on the task at hand. ÛAs his optical cluster scanned the metallic walls around him, a memory uploaded, triggered by the emotion...

In the shadow of the colossal wreckage of ages past, Sabaan crouched behind what had once been some sort of tracked motion device. Corrosion had turned the wreckage black and shaped into some bizarre form of geo-industrial amalgam. The searing wind whipped sharp flakes of debris and sanded particles across the landscape. It had torn his robes over the days of his pilgrimage. The rags had the color of the sand.

The sand was everywhere. The acidic soil had eaten through the plastek of his boots.
His feet left bloody smears behind which only showed on the blackened metal. The sand already had the color of blood. As he assessed his situation, Nycax absently regarded the contrast between the chrome of his bionic left hand and the flesh of his left arm. The ambient radiation had triggered the workings of his MelanoChrome and turned the skin into a deep, glossy black. Already, the upper parts of his epidermis had begun to come off in flakes. Acidic rain and searing winds scarred his face. It was eating the cartilage of his nose. His native Medusa was cold and indifferent to the life struggling on it's back. Holy Mars actively hated the pitiful organic life and did not delay purging the weakness of flesh from it's surface.
As a Famulus to the Magos of Mars, Sabaan had bee sent into the wastes on a pilgrimage to relive the origins of the Cult of the Omnissiah. It was a rite of passage prior to his induction into the mysteries of the machine cult and training as a Techmarine. He had been stripped of his Armour and clad in garments resembling the equipment worn by those who had labored to spread the workings of the Proto-Mechanicus during the Age of Strife. He would venture into the wilds of Mars and return with an artifact of ages past and thus prove he was indeed blessed by the Omnissiah. Or he would not return at all.

Sabaan coughed and spat. The corroded sand and the radiation were eating his through his multi-lung. His acidic phlegm ate through a chunk of debris. The hiss was lost to poisoned winds. He had survived by drinking the remains of coolant fluid and galvanic tanks he found among the debris. His shredded glottis would have to be replaced. Without his optical implants, he would be blind already.
Blessed Mars. While it would have revealed the inferiority of the flesh to any Famulus, it only served to enforce the belief in the Sacred Iron in a descendant of Ferrus Manus.
Mars did not rely on it's natural hazards to weed out the unworthy alone, however.
Out in the dust, shapes moved. Howls of degraded code echoed from the peaks of mountainous scrap. Packs of feral servitors roamed the irradiated wastes. They were far better equipped to fight in this environment than Sabaan in his sacramental replica of a planetary survival outfit. The equipment he carried was mostly ceremonial. He could not trust his failing organics to outlast or outrun them. Nycax concluded his assessment. The tactical solution was obvious. Faced with an situational superior enemy, he would have to force a decisive encounter at a location which would negate their numerical advantage. He drew the ragged robes tighter around his shoulders, lowering himself into a crouched position. He wiped the caked sand from his bionic hand. The shine of silvery chrome filled him with confidence. The flesh WAS weak. Sabaan formed the cybernetic limb into a fist and pounded it against the ferroplas of the mountainside. And again. The rhythmic thumping of his challenge thundered out, rising over the howl of the winds. It's call had the timing of an atomantic timepiece.
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#191
Commissar Molotov

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Initiative Order (AG+D10)

Tyber: (2x4) + 10 = 18 (FATE POINT)

Solastion: (2x3) + 10 = 16 (FATE POINT)

Vârvost: 4 + 10 = 14 (FATE POINT) 

Akkad: 4 + 9 = 13 

Sabaan: 4 + 8 = 12 

Greysight: 4 + 4 = 8 

Atratus: 6 + 1 = 7

Thorvald: 4 + 3 = 7 

 

 

Thorvald's throaty chuckle reverberates through the vox. ++You're eager, brother. As I said - it's easy when they come straight for you. I look forward to toasting our success!++


Edited by Commissar Molotov, 24 March 2018 - 02:55 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.

#192
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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Akkad could not resist the infectious laugh of the Space Wolf and replied with a chuckle of his own.  He watched as Sabaan moved towards the back of the room, distracted by something, his head cocked as if listening or remembering perhaps.

 

GM Only.  Like the A Team, there is no Plan B.

Spoiler

 

 

MR.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 24 March 2018 - 06:02 PM.


#193
Xin Ceithan

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Sabaan shook the memory away. He increased the grip on his weapon and felt his armor power up...

OOC
GM and Squad only
Spoiler


Edited to make sure spoiler works properly

Edited by Xin Ceithan, 24 March 2018 - 05:46 PM.

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#194
Commissar Molotov

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GM: Thanks all for the awesome posts and the discretion!

 

Initiative Order (AG+D10)

Tyber: (2x4) + 10 = 18 (FATE POINT)

Solastion: (2x3) + 10 = 16 (FATE POINT)

Vârvost: 4 + 10 = 14 (FATE POINT) 

Akkad: 4 + 9 = 13 

Sabaan: 4 + 8 = 12 

Greysight: 4 + 4 = 8 

Atratus: 6 + 1 = 7

Thorvald: 4 + 3 = 7 

 

 


Edited by Commissar Molotov, 25 March 2018 - 08:31 AM.

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

#195
Commissar Molotov

Commissar Molotov

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Tyber, Solastion, Vârvost, Atratus
Spoiler
 
 
Sabaan, Akkad, Thorvald, Greysight
Spoiler

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

#196
A.T.

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For GM:

Spoiler


Edited by A.T., 25 March 2018 - 10:20 AM.


#197
Commissar Molotov

Commissar Molotov

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Spoiler


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

#198
A.T.

A.T.

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For GM:

Spoiler



#199
Steel Company

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Seeing the door is shut, Tyber moves to lift one of the cargo boxes.

 

Plan A

Spoiler

 

Plan B

Spoiler

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

#200
Xin Ceithan

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GM / Squad:

Spoiler

Edited by Xin Ceithan, 26 March 2018 - 04:57 PM.

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