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DW: Kill Marine - Operation Deadbolt (IC Thread)

Deathwatch Kill Marine Kill-Team Lone Hero The Long Vigil Movie Marines FFG RPG In-Character Play Thread

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#1
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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2qwbRz4.png

 

 

=][= DEATHWATCH: SOLO PLAY =][=

 

=][= KILL MARINE: OPERATION DEADBOLT =][=

 

 

 

med_gallery_29538_15031_74234.jpg

 

Watch Fortress Erioch - Home to the Deathwatch in the Jericho Reach

 

 

F
or nearly five decades the tomb at the heart of the Watch Fortress has been silent, sitting dormant only, waiting.  With a howling of sirens, the sentinels are roused and Watch Commander Mordigael of the Blood Angels and his immediate staff, the highest potentates of the Ordo Xenos, and all authorised personnel race to the heart of the Fortress, the event a signal of consequence.

 

The Omega Vault has opened.

 

A sealed chamber, armoured and shielded, the thick walls are proof against all attempts to perceive what it harbours.  No-one knows who constructed it, nor how it functions.  The Deathwatch and the Ordo Xenos are merely its inheritors - and custodians, awaiting the time when the locks grind and clank, when the Vault gives unto the Deathwatch and the Imperium, the glimmer of hope to avert the gravest catastrophe.

 

"Better hurry," Mordigael whispered.

 

He peered to left and right, noting the grim faces of Chief Librarian Daecor and his retinue of Codiciers seemed to be in harmony.  He idly wondered if they were frowning independently or caught in some psychic commune.  The brethren of the Librarius were easy to discern in their mismatched armour of black, blue and silver.

 

His mind returned to the pair of Keepers he'd sent inside.  The automated defences would recognise the clavigers, the special devices harnessed to the vambraces of the veteran Space Marines, but even so, the Vault was strict with how long it would remain open and they had to navigate a maze inside.  The Vault would close regardless of their presence within, if they took a single misstep and it could be centuries before that part of the Vault opened again - if at all.

 

Just as the huge Vault doors began to shut, the two Keepers appeared from the dense mist that thickened in the portal.  Dark shapes against the pale curtain, they continued to run as the mighty doors closed behind them with a firm tap that spoke to the weight of ages and metal they carried.  The retrieval team knelt, one proffering up his hand, which unfurled to reveal a datacrystal.

 

Forgemaster Severian stepped forward, his artificer plate segmented and angular, his heavy tread the thump of an industrial press.  His right eye, replaced with a bionic lens, blazed with emerald light.  At Mordigael's nod, the Martian priest took the crystal ina  delicate pinch and dropped it into a reader.  A broad Hololith sputtered to life in the air.  The Servo-Harness mounted around his cuirass worked and flexed of its own volition as they studied it.

 

A multi-faceted gem stood proudly at the end of a sceptre, two metres in length.  The second Keeper gave an object wrapped in purple velvet to Daecor, who reverently opened it to reveal a jagged block of metal devoid of machining marks or cuts.  Every facet of the point at which it was cleaved was smooth.  It matched the butt of the sceptre floating between the assembled warriors.

 

"I do not recognise it," the Chief Librarian said with a shrug, "with your permission, I will attend the archives."

 

"There is nothing like it in the Reliquary," a deep voice rumbled across the chamber floor.

 

Mordigael rubbed his chin and half-turned to find a towering, robed figure standing in the entrance to the passage leading to the Reclusiam.  Half gold, half blue, his robe was interrupted by a black stole, embroidered on each facing with the silver etchings of the Deathwatch.  The Commander nodded, giving the stern features of Mosar, a Celestial Lion 'Death-Speaker' the faintest welcome.  "It is a treasure hunt, then old friend?"

 

"It is," the giant intoned, the strong accent of Elysium IX smooth and warm, "and we will need the fastest of hunters."  His lips split into a grin.

 

"I will summon them," Mordigael decided.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 19 November 2020 - 06:42 PM.

  • TechCaptain likes this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#2
Steel Company

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Raziel stat on an over-turned bucket while he cleaned some mud out of the drive hubs on his bike, a can of black paint beside his left foot to touch up the scratches and chips in the paint after he was done with the mud. The heavy approach of an astartes in tactical dreadnought armour drew his attention up and behind him, as his green eyes fell on the black of the armour he felt his insides tighten up. Only one branch within the chapter wore armour like that, an Interrogator Chaplin.

 

“What do you need Interrogator Chaplin?” he asked the new arrival in his direct and to the point way.

 

Removing the skull helm the scarred face of the brother appraised Raziel as he asked, “You are Raziel, correct?”

 

Nodding confirmation but returning to pulling out the mud the Chaplin continued, “I hear you have a talent for finding what doesn’t want to be found. A talent that suppresses even those normally found within the Ravenwing.”

 

Raziel shrugged as he offered up with a guarded tone, “I would call it a curse when it comes to our chapter and finding things that want to be hidden.”

 

The Chaplin gave a belly laugh putting a hand on the pauldron of Raziel as he said, “In this case, you may well be correct. Still, we have need of that talent.”

 

“Whatever you need Interrogator, I’ll find it.” Responded Raziel as he pulled the last of the mud and started to touch up the paint.

 

“Good. You are to be seconded to the Death Watch watch station in the Jericho Reach, your task for the Unforgiven will be to find out what happened to a Brother from the Angles of Absolution that was serving as our eyes and ears there.” Spoke the Chaplin.

 

Raziel nodded, he knew better than to deny a direct request such as this from a member this high up in the web of leadership caused by the circles within circles of the Dark Angles.


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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

#3
Steel Company

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Raziel pulled back the cover from his bike in the storage container that he had used as his transport from that overly nervous Rouge Trader who insisted that he lived in it during the transit from that blasted station to this watch station. It was almost like he hadn’t welcomed the idea of an Astartes on his ship, still, the mortals had been entertaining, and those in the hold had been very open about the cargo once they had started to drink an alcoholic substance they brewed on the cargo deck. The first time he found them they soiled themselves, but when Raziel had taken the drink, sat with them, and started to drink too they opened up. About the cargo, some artifacts from some lost human world they were takeing to some other forgotten human world.

 

Shaking his head he pushed the memory from his mind and ran an armoured hand over the armour plates of the bike, smiling to himself as he spoke to it, “We’ll get you out to run soon.”

 

Adjusting the robe he wore, the edges a little frayed and tattered, still it was his, the quartered white and black on it making it stand out, even among the other of the Ravenwing, he was a tracker after all. Turning his attention to the servitors he barked an order at the mindless machines, “Careful with her, she’s worth more than you are.”

 

Turning from the unloading he made his way to his contact on this station before heading to meet with the watch captain.


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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

#4
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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  • Location:The Little Grey Hells

The halls of Watch Station Erioch are vast.

 

So vast, for a second it reminds you of home - the Rock.  Cavernous vaults stretching tall, intricate buttresses festooned with batteries of votive candles and draped thick with oath-papers, gothic colonnades four metres in height at the shortest, framing the frescoes of ancient and revered figures slaying the enemies of man.

 

Though given over to less grim humours than your peers amongst the Dark Angels, there is a noticeable lack of abhumans you have seen milling around Imperial Navy star-fortresses.  The hall of banners opens to your left, mighty staves in serried ranks, brandishing the colours of numerous Chapters of Astartes, some you recognise and some you do not.  You have told to wait here by a serf, but the banners call.  Frayed squares of heavy-stitched silk and other, aline fabrics drip gold weave and lace into the passageway.

 

History is heavy here.  It can be smelled - time and damp air.  The burned propellant of a thousand battlefields and - there, sits the banner of the Dark Angels.

 

Close beside it, shoulder to shoulder, stand the colours of the other Unforgiven, the closest that of the Angels of Absolution, reminding you of your own, personal duty.

 

Suddenly a footfall stirs your notice and you are shoved firmly in the back before you can respond.  The air is filled with a different smell - angry kill-urge and...wild animal?

 

"Watch where you are going, oaf!" the voice brawls over you.

 

Easily absorbing the shift in weight as you would lean to make a turn on your bike, you swivel and are confronted with a leering grin with teeth a little too big.  You quickly realise that no fault is yours.

 

It's a Space Wolf.


  • Steel Company and TechCaptain like this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#5
Steel Company

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Raziel’s nose wrinkles at the scent of the wolf, dirt, ice, and blood on that one. With a slight smirk on his lips, Raziel teases the wolf, “You know, soap is not of the warp and might make it easier to not give yourself away. Or perhaps a razor might be of use for that bird's nest you call a beard?”

 

Not waiting for the wolf to react Raziel extends a hand to him as he says in a more serious tone, “I have heard that you Wolves know how to find a good drink, I’ve been forced to share engine degreaser with mortals for weeks, and something more tasteful would be welcomed. I am Raziel of the Dark Angles, and you are?”


  • Mazer Rackham likes this
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

#6
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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The Space Wolf looks like he's been poleaxed.  Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that, yet whilst your rapier riposte of bonhomie has dented the blunt axe of his braggadocio, his face takes on a sly look, but even so, he takes your hand in good humour, the grin a real one and even goes so far as to cup your elbow with his free hand.

 

"Well now!  I thought I had pulled the tail of a Lion Cub, but here is a real man!  Still," his bantering tone returns and he gestures to the small crowd now gathering at the promise of impromptu violence, "you fooled me by wearing the tablecloth of a garbage scow."

 

He steps closer, his eyes travelling all the way up your arm, catching the light in the canine pupils.  When he speaks, the humour is replaced by a more earnest tone.  "I am Iorek Grimjaw, of the Clan of Black Sails, of the Great Company of Engir Krakendoom, the Seawolves."

 

The outburst of camaraderie is suddenly quashed as a man in full power armour, painted in arterial red, strides into the group, shoving aside serfs and helots.  He is noticeably more careful around the Battle Brothers.  His face is a slab-jawed knot of distaste and his bald-shaven head carries a long tattoo along his crown, the design dropping down to hover above his eyebrows.  A loincloth in red drops from the front of his equipment belt and the symbol matches that upon the pauldron of his Mk VII Warplate.

 

A large white Skull with a superimposed symbol of the Inquisition.

Spoiler

 

"When you are finished despoiling this holy place with your drunken ribaldry," he sneers, "you will come with me.  I am your escort."


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 20 November 2020 - 05:53 PM.

  • Steel Company likes this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#7
Steel Company

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Spoiler

 

Raizel speaks to the Wolf, again a friendly tone of jest in his voice as he says, “Some might consider it such, but still it at least smells better than anything in your fleet.”

 

Turning his attention to his escort he addresses him, “Brother, I could mistake you for an Ultra Marine with how far that bolt shell is wedged up there… But yes, please lead on.”


Edited by Steel Company, 20 November 2020 - 06:11 PM.

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


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

--Octavulg

#8
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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  • 2,624 posts
  • Location:The Little Grey Hells

Grimjaw is beaten, he lets out a bolt of laughter that wouldn't be amiss in a kennel, and smacks his chest.

 

The escort's face is unmoved.  He promptly turns on his heel expecting you to follow.  You know of his ilk all too well, the Red Hunters are spoken of across the Imperium in all nooks and crannies where Astartes can be found.  A servant to the Inquisition, hunters and lapdogs at best, they worship and revere the Emperor as a diety, not the father figure and leader of Mankind as the bulk of other Chapters do.

 

You follow on, regardless, the tramp of three Astartes in power armour loud across the dark granite floor of the bastions you pass through.  Left and right, so called Kill-Teams are resplendent in their semi-gothic warplate, so many different marks, not unlike the three of you, Grimjaw in his mix and matched Mk V and VII, and the smooth contours of Corvus harness shielding your body.

 

The pace is brisk, but the walk long - a normal human man would have been tired by now, but the genhanced limbs you now have are barely warmed.  The Red Hunter stops outside a bulkhead door carved with Aquila relief.  The door could have easily been missed, embedded into the proud fresco of the wall.  The only note of anything important is the statuesque form of a Deathwatch Keeper, his heavy artificer armour and broad-bladed halberd rigid.  The stiff Astartes escorting you presents three dataslates and the Keeper merely nods.  You can briefly see the images of your Space Wolf companion, your own face and the unchanged 'mug' of the Red Hunter.

 

"Come!" the voice is deep, obviously too much to be merely mortal.  It is deceptively light, in a way that is used to authority.

 

Inside, a powerfully built warrior is robed, standing behind a holotable.  His garments are also crimson, but that is where his parity with the Hunter ends.  His hair is straw blonde and his eyes are piercing blue.  The sigil of the Blood Angels and Deathwatch fall over each shoulder although some would call his face sculpted, it carried enough scars and lines to show he was proven in the hottest of fires.

 

The table is a circular affair, not unlike those you are used to back at the Rock.  Five places are sat.  A figure lurking in the shadows next to the armoured glass windows shifts, but Astartes eyes are not fooled.  He is six feet tall, thin and moves like a human, lacking the feline grace of the Space Marines around him.  He steps from the raised floor and makes his way down the tiered room, to the table at the centre.

 

"I am Watch Commander Mordigael," the blond warrior pronounces.  "Please sit.  All of you."

The Space Wolf looks apprehensive, but nods, the words obviously for him and the table blossoms to life as Mordigael taps a rune.  The holotable is keen and the images of the sceptre and screeds of writing tumble in bright brilliance.  The Blood Angel rubs his eyes with one hand and you notice the roughness in his voice.  It is obvious this is not the first briefing he has given today.

 

"The Imperial Tarot has predicted a great crisis. Other...things have happened to support the reading.  We will reveal all when you are Oathed to service, but we have little time.  Inquisitor Jerrill?"

 

The man keeps his hood up, but the light from the holotable and the wan glimmer from the glowlamps above paint the shape of someone wrapped in an armoured bodyglove.  "We must consult the Oracle of Tabius Rasa.  We'll swear you in on the way."


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 20 November 2020 - 06:48 PM.

  • Steel Company likes this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#9
Steel Company

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Raziel takes a relaxed stance, watching the mortal without looking like he’s watching him, a quote coming to his mind from one of his seniors that had disappeared years ago, ‘Who watches the watchers.’

 

Turning his attention fully to the Blood Angel, Raziel nods as he says, “Then we best hurry. Once you can tell me what you need found, I can get started hunting it down…”


  • Mazer Rackham likes this
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

#10
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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  • 2,624 posts
  • Location:The Little Grey Hells

Mordigael gives you a raised eyebrow for the comment, but nothing more.  The Commander of the Reach manages to convey that he's seen and heard a lot of this from those in his charge.

 

"All three of you will be looking for it, actually," Commander Mordigael shares a quick glance with the Inquisitor, his gaze easily piercing the gloom and angle of the hood.  "Three can cover more distance than one.  You'll work as a loose group, a...trident if you will.  Your callsign will be Outrider two-five."

 

He beckons to three Serfs who were standing out of the way and they approach with caskets embossed with the Opus Mechanicum.

 

The images on the holotable continue to circle,  as the helots approach and break the selas on the boxes.  They each withdraw a sensoria helm and each is connected to the holotable via the datacables.  The helms are offered to the Space Wolf and Red Hunter.  Niether look happy, but under the Watch Commander's gaze you don yours and out of the corner of your eye, you witness Grimjaw stiffen, and your body twists into a rigid seating position too.  A strange sensation of pins and needles floods you and the the world darkens and is gone, until you fall into memories not your own.

 

Under the three suns of Eleusis, three armies battled on the staggered slopes of the great Ziggurat of Ur-Kansh.  Humanity fought the fell Heretic Astartes and their mortal slaves, in turn besieged by a warhost of the fickle Eldar.  Deathwatch silver was slicked in blood, noble Imperial Guard officers bled and died, and a company of Battle Sisters added their holy fire to the tumult.  The battle was joined by the Dark Powers themselves, cracking the ground and sundering the Ziggurat.

 

At the height of the battle, a mighty champion of Chaos struck a mortal blow to the Deathwatch Captain leading the defence.  With his last breath, the Astartes hero drove the haft of the Sceptre into the chest of the monster-daemon and the jewel erupted, spewing viridian balefire over the hordes of Chaos until they were eradicated.  The Eldar were driven off with heavy losses.

 

Upon this victory you see the staff glowing, as if to melt, but it explodes, shattering into three parts.

 

In the conclave held after the battle, it is decided one fragment be kept by the Deathwatch, retained in their  strongest fastness, the others given in trust to the allies of the day.

 

The memories fade and the room becomes reality once more.

 

"If you have questions, keep them brief, but ask them now," Jerrill demands.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 20 November 2020 - 09:27 PM.

  • Steel Company likes this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#11
Steel Company

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Raziel’s brow knits together for a moment and he asks, “I guess we have one piece here? Or do we need to find some abandoned watch station?”

 

After another moment he asks, “and you want us three to find the other two, correct?”


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

#12
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

    ++ SCLOPETATOR SIMULAMINIS ++

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  • Location:The Little Grey Hells

The Watch Commander smiles, but it is indulgent as opposed to warm. "Remember yourself, Raziel of the Dark Angels.  It wouldn't hurt to use 'my Lord' now and again - but I did ask for the fastest..."

 

"We have one piece here, yes, "Jerrill says to you, standing.  His heavy hood flops and his narrow face finally catches the light, showing a face crossed by scars. He holds up the butt of the sceptre, the purple velvet falling away from his hand.  He passes it to you to handle.  "It and I will accompany you on the mission."

 

"But Raziel is in charge of the Astartes deployments," Mordigael warned.

 

Jerrill's body posture shifted, surprised, but he acquiesced with a grunt.

 

"What?" the Red Hunter blurted, "my Lord, surely-"

 

"Kraevus, you're all skilled riders, chosen for the same reason, but I have made my decision. Raziel has the experience," with the Red Hunter's face slipping into a sneer, he continued, "Your void transport is waiting for you at Dock Sigma.  Your Deathwatch Oaths can be sworn in the Reclusiam there.  Your wargear is already aboard."

 

We'll break here and assume you have transferred to the Xenobane, a Dauntless Class Light Cruiser operated by the Ordo Xenos (not the Deathwatch).  After being sworn in and having your armour painted black and fitted with your silver sleeve, you have some time to collect your thoughts whilst she puts out of harbour.

 

It may be an opportunity for you to reflect on what responsibilities Raziel has inherited, how he feels about now being part of a loose brotherhood of individuals.  Maybe he dwells on how to satisfy his own personal mission, or what the Ordo isn't saying.  Secrets are not just a Dark Angel thing....


  • Steel Company and TechCaptain like this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#13
Steel Company

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Before heading to the transport Raizel left a note at the designated dead drop for his contact, providing a personal vox frequency that would be useful until he left the station. He had done what he could, but the mission couldn’t wait.

Speaking the oaths to the Death Watch felt hollow to him and left him feeling in a compromised position, he understood the need for this collection of chapters but found the conflicting nature of the secrecy a pale shadow of that of his home chapter. As his armour was fitted with the sliver arm and new pauldron, Raziel found a space in the transport to set up a small metal dish with warm water, simple soap lather, and a small polished metal disk, all laid out on a white towel.

Kneeling on the deck before the collection of items, he took out his combat blade and a small vile that he had been issued on the Rock, looking at the oils inside he put a drop into the metal dish with the water before wetting his head and leathering it with the soap as he spoke, “I give my flesh for Him on Terra…”

A cutting sound could be heard as Raziel begun to shave his head and continued to speak, “For the Lion, I give my birth name…”

Another pass with the combat blade over his head and still he went on, “For humanity, I will give my life.”

A final pass left Raziel with a single stripe of hair down the center of his head, little a little Mohawk. Wiping off his blade, he took the cloth he used to clean his blade and placed it in the dish, letting it become heavy with the mixture before placing it above his head and wringing out the water in drips over his head as he offered out, “This I swear.”

++++

Once back in his plate, Raziel sought out the Wolf, finding him in the midgets of his own ritual he called out, “I have need of drink brother and a need to not be hit by a bolt shell should our Red Hunter clench too hard!”


  • Mazer Rackham likes this
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

#14
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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  • Location:The Little Grey Hells

The Wolf looks up, wiping his gauntlets on a rag, just as you have done so many times.  The vague surprise that all three of members of 'Outrider Two-Five' are mounted on Space Marine Bikes - even the Red Hunter - has faded quickly.

 

Casting a professional eye over the machines tells you a lot about the riders.

 

Whereas your bike has panniers and holsters where you want them, Grimjaw's steed has totems, strings of teeth and strange coloured iron filigree over the facings.  Where your bike carries worn leather, here it is a strange but thick hide pelt.  One such pouch is open and inside you spot the snow-chains that no-doubt adorn the huge wheels when the Wolf is ranging abroad upon Fenris.  Kraevus, the Red Hunter has all his pouches where they should be, as dictated by ten-thousand years of Guilliman's teaching.

 

Grimjaw smiles, his fans peeping through his lips as his eyes rove over your new haircut.  "If that is what soap and a razor does, I will keep my bird's nest."  He reaches into a saddlebag and withdraws a mini-keg, twisting a tap to let the rich aroma percolate.  It is heady, strong and makes the glands in your mouth twinge just at the scent.

 

"Mjod and a stroll to the loading deck?"

 

A comms channel you have been monitoring chimes in your collar.


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=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#15
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Clasping the wolf on the pauldron Raziel says to him, “I look forward to it, I’ll be along shortly, I just need to double-check to make sure that everything is stored in my bike as per the tents of the Ravenwing and not some dusty old book.”

 

Once he was away from his fellows, Raziel answered the beeping, +What news?+


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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

#16
Mazer Rackham

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The message is an automated vox signal.  It is a burst transmission, encoded in such a way that is used in the proximity of enemy decryption equipment.  It is intelligible to the ear, even one as super-human as yours.  Your armour's datavault has already recorded the data, the binharic cant the message is encapsulated in, opening the relays.  The sudden burst of noise makes you flinch and one of the menials casts a questioning eyebrow, but seeing the origin of the disturbance, returns to his duties quickly.

 

Donning your helmet, with a quick blink-click, the runes display the message in coded text.

 

The transmission is encoded in a cipher similar to that used by the Ravenwing whilst they are on the hunt, yet it is not exactly one you are familiar with.  It will take time...and privacy to decode.  The Xenobane is on course to Tabius Rasa and it will be a couple of hours before it arrives.  The decks of the ship have been committed to your keeping as a matter of course.  A wander to the lower decks, towards the ship's waste recycling plant, will maintain the secrecy you crave, yet the longer you tarry may well invite the curious.

 

To solve the decryption, I will require 5 Challenging (+0) Intelligence tests, using full stat.  The complexity of the code means this will take at least 15 minutes of narrative time to complete.  Successes will reveal the words or numbers, with any degree of success (DoS) upon each test placing the word in the correct order.  Any degree of failure (DoF) on each test will add 3 minutes (regardless of how many DoF, it caps at 3 mins).

 

You may re-roll any failed tests.

 

Interruption of the decryption will reset the challenge.  Once the cipher is decoded however, your armour will automatically interpret any further messages using the same code.

 

"Don't take too long ironing your saddlebags, my friend," Grimjaw's voice rumbles around the cavernous arming deck, "lest the Red One become jealous!"

It seems the fastidious Kraevus has been pigeonholed by your new drinking companion.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 26 November 2020 - 12:46 AM.
Clarity.

  • Steel Company likes this

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#17
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Pounding on the pauldron of the wolf Raziel jested, “Then I just might have to do that, just to bother him! I will be along as soon as I can.”

 

 

Once he was alone and to buy himself some time he hit the ammunition release for the belts of his bikes ammo hoppers, spilling the contents across the deck. As he let his muscles run through the memory of replacing the belts and racking the bolts he let his mind turn to the task of decoding the transmission.

 

Spoiler

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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

#18
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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As the bolt shells spill everywhere, your sleight of hand is lost as serf and Astartes alike either move back or hasten away to avoid blame - this is an Inquisition ship after all.

 

The rhythmic snapping of bolt round after bolt round into your ammunition hoppers coincides with your calculating task.  Extracting rods and rotating the spheres (think of the decryption scene in The Running Man) each piece of the puzzle falls into cohesion.

 

"That's all we need," sighs Kraevus as his sturdy form erupts from the bulkhead hatch leading to the passages deeper into the ship.  He does not bother to deign you with anything more than a tightly set line of his lips.  As he bends over, the tattoo of the Inquisitorial seal is fully displayed.

 

You are only dimly aware of the Space Wolf making rejoinder on your behalf. "Maybe we should wax your head, Red One, and stamp our reports with your skull."

 

All other sounds die away as the code is revealed, resolving in bold emerald neon on your visor.

 

Contact lost with Nomad 477.3hrs Terran.  Last location 46.0159-N 77.4523-W (Bekrin)

 

You recognise the terminology.  "Nomad" is a term often used by a Ravenwing biker seconded to one of the other Unforgiven Chapters.  Whilst the world of Bekrin is known to you from hypnogogic briefings undertaken on your journey to Erioch, only the bare essentials not censored by the Inquisiton and Deathwatch linger in your mind.  A Cardinal World, deep into the Canis Salient.

 

Declared Perdita by Lord Ebongrave.

 

Reality comes crashing back in with Grimjaw, belching.  "Of course there was one Blood Claw, name of Hakri.  Clumsy as a brain-dead troll, called him Steak-fetcher.  Maybe we should call you Bolt-catcher eh, Lion Cub?"

 

He sets the Mjod barrel on the saddle of your bike.


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=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#19
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Raziel laughs before admitting, “Perhaps, but it was my own doing. While inspecting my pouches I thought I noticed that some menial between my last deployment and now had loaded a few rounds of dummy bolts into the belts… I was mistaken”

 

Taking a swig from the keg he adds, “Though I think naming my bolt catchers after him, might be too much of an honour… how about the exhaust pipes?”

 

Turning back to the Red Hunter Raziel offered a swig from the keg and asked, “Join us brother in some permission bonding?”


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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

#20
Mazer Rackham

Mazer Rackham

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Kraevus looks at you like something noisome you drained out of your engine sump.

 

Grimjaw snorts, the sound echoing in the vast chamber.

 

The arming deck of the Xenobane is different to most of the Dauntless Class you have experience with from your travel aboard the ships of the Dark Angels fleet.  It is obvious that the space housed pulleys and racks for the huge torpedoes to fill the maw of prow tubes, but the whole space has been sequestered for your use, providing ample room to fit the supplies, tools and spares for three Astartes warriors, plus their redoubtable Space Marine Bikes.

 

Any further rejoinder or 'bonding' is interrupted by the bland but insistent tones of the emergency voxcaster.

 

The warning rumbles through the whole arming deck, followed by the unmistakeable noise of the main compartment door hissing with hydraulic pressure, a door which should be hard-sealed against the void.  It is bathed in amber light from the bulkhead lamps, spilling across the deck.

 

+++Warning: Emergency Depressurisation imminent, vacate immediate zone....seek salvation alcoves.  Warning: Emergency Depressurisation imminent, vacate immediate zone...+++

 

There is not much time to act as already the magnetic clamps towards the bow begin to unlatch.  The cloying stink of blood reaches the Wolf first, but you catch it too, even over the Mjod - decades of warfare have acquainted you with the human fluid all too well.  As if to confirm it, a runnel of crimson begins to draw from the Deckmaster's control pulpit some ten metres above you on the port side of the inner hull, to drop in thick beads on the deck.

 

He is slumped over his console.


=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#21
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Raziel curses out as he sprints for the hatch before the deck is exposed to vacuum, +Emperor’s teeth! We best hurry brothers.+


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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

#22
Mazer Rackham

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This is space.

 

It does not co-operate.

 

And you know what explosive decompression will do to the ship if those doors open more than a Caliban Dart-hare's whisker.

 

The emergency lever to arrest the heavy doors and to keep the precious environment in lurks in front of you. The scene inside the arming deck is deceptive.  With gravity at normal Terran standard, your beyond-mortal speed carries you quickly, but it may not be enough and time is not on your side.  You sense Grimjaw beside you, but the bulk of the stanch Red Hunter is absent.  The Wolf spots the danger at the same time.  He swears in Fenrisian, and although the language may be alien to you as Aeldari, the context is not.

 

"For the want of a good spear!" he he mutters between invective.

 

Kraevus is more blunt and comes over vox.  He's donned his helmet first.  +Get to the alcoves, fools!+

 

You have covered a massive amount of distance in but a few seconds, but the security override is still dozens of metres away.  You will have make the shortfall up with brains or brawn somehow, or retire to the safety of the decompression pods, to ride out the coming storm.


Edited by Mazer Rackham, 30 November 2020 - 09:52 PM.

=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#23
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"Last one to a pod, buys the first round at the first bar!" Raziel yells at the Wolf while changing direction and sprinting to a pod.

 

OOC:

 

Activate codex solo mode, burst of speed


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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

#24
Mazer Rackham

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The alcoves are not made for Astartes, so you have to hunch a little, but sucking in your extremities is nothing new, how many canyons have forced you to tuck in your knees and elbows?  Heavy plasteel carapaces slam down over you, with a viewing hatch made of armoured glass only a few inches tall and wide, similar to a techwright's welding helm.  The Wolf is caught unawares by your sudden change of direction and as the shield clangs down over you, you see him reach for the helm on his waist, as a thump of pressure reverberates the door keeping you safe.

 

Outside, kneeling enough to peer through a window meant for a human, you can see silent chaos.

 

The Space Wolf's sabatons bite into the deck, sparks pulling from the friction incited by his magboots, he is holding upright, his helm now on, but there is something wrong, so much is obvious.  He fiddles with the clasps and seal, his beard peeping through the gap, until you see him no more, as a large crate, suspended from a crane whacks him with hammer force, sending him sprawling out of sight and worse, lose of any tether.

 

He is not alone.

 

The detritus of stores, ammunition and foodstuffs sail past you, as do unhelmed armsmen and Ordo Xenos serfs, one of them slamming into the shield separating you with a bloody slap.  His eyes glaze as he chokes on vacuum and he too vanishes in a bloody smear.  After a few moments, it is over and the same toneless voice echoes in your pod.

 

++ Decompression zone...abide...abide...recompressing in three hundred seconds +++

 

You have to wait.


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=][= Deathwatch PBP Game =][=

Indexes:

IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

"Vorr is as subtle as a brick with the word subtle written on it."

- Reyner, describing his Character, Brakan Vorr of the Red Talons.

 

Damn you, GM! verymad.gif *shakes fist at sky*

- Dosjetka, cursing my benevolence as a GM.


#25
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In the safety of the void bunker, Raziel muttered one phrase, "I had always heard that the Wolves were stupid...I just didn't know they were incompetent about keeping their face clean so the helms fit."


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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





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