Iron Father Ferrum

I updated the post to include the full Stealth roll. Do I need to roll to cut the wire, ideally in such a way that I won't leave an obvious hole? ....Deceive, maybe?

Obadiah Obadiah frowned as the searchlights swept the area, mentally keeping track of the patterns they followed. There might be a few tricky parts, but he should be able to get to the fence line without issue. Silence would have to do for cutting a hole. He let out a deep breath and began worming his way across the rocks towards the facility.

I admit it's possible that the prison runs the mines 24/7, but I'm assuming the work is conducted during an 18-ish hour day shift with a 6 hour allotment for sleep during night time hours, in which case the guard force will be at its strongest during the daylight hours when the workforce actively needs to be patrolled. If this is the case, then fewer guards will be awake and fewer will be active within the facility during nighttime hours. Again, I could be completely wrong, but putting aside the guard shifts, the northern approach just has the shortest distance from perimeter fence to another structure for cover & concealment from the other towers. I doubt the armories are within pre-fab barracks and are instead within the main complex, so even if I do have to wade through some off-duty guards they will ideally be unarmored and bearing only rudimentary or light arms.

Obadiah Prisons are, by definitions, first and foremost designed to keep people inside from getting out, and with good reason as lots of the people inside always wanted to get out. Now here he was, trying to break in. He inspected every inch of the facility from his vantage point to the west. Inside the wire, the western & southern approaches were wide open with a long distance to cover. The eastern approach had even more active guards because of the extra towers around the landing field. The northern approach was, at first glance, likewise a bad place for infiltration; the barracks there were likely to be bustling and filled with people. However, at night time, most of those guards would be asleep, and the few awake were unlikely to be armed or armored. Plus, the barracks themselves provided cover from visual acquisition from the surrounding towers. It was probably the best out of four bad options. Obadiah backed off from the ridge and began making his slow way around, circling to the north of the complex. He'd wait for the wan green sun of the system primary to set behind the rocks, and then begin his move.

@Lysimachus So if the facility is to the east, I assume I'm approaching then from the west (left side of the map)? Also, what's the sun's position in the sky? Midday, near dusk, middle of the night?

Obadiah Muscles lock in place, and hidden behind the layer of rip-stop cameleoline, the Mantid doesn't move a millimeter. He's just a part of the landscape, another uninteresting rock. Calculations fly through his mind; he can certainly kill all four of the patrolling guards without suffering any great injury...but mere slaughter wasn't his task. And it was near-impossible to get all of them without any one voxing a contact report back to their headquarters. And besides, the insertion was supposed to be covert -- a missing patrol would make infiltration much harder -- and so he waited patiently for the patrol to pass beyond sight. Only once he was confident they were out of eye-line did Obadiah start moving again. It ate up valuable time, but speed was the antithesis of stealth. Finding his one particular needle in the stack of needles inside was going to be hard enough, but exfiltrating with the heretic -- and, in particular, finding something that they could pilot out of atmosphere for pickup -- was probably going to require the abandonment of stealth. His steps slow but steady, Obadiah continued to make his indirect approach to the smokestacks.

I edited them into the my post.

@Lysimachus let me know if you need me to make any Stealth and/or Awareness tests during the foot approach to the facility.

Obadiah Obadiah kicked himself free of the last scrap of the "hatch" of the capsule, a sour look curdling his features. He doffed his helmet for a moment, and took a deep breath of the dry, dusty air of this forsaken place. The smell was surprisingly clean for the most part; at this distance, he only caught a whiff of the acrid, burning-prometheum smell from the mining complex. There was a bit of a metallic taste as well, just a hint of iron in the back of the throat. It reminded him of the taste of aerosolized blood. He knelt in the tan dust, curling the cloak around his form as he did so. The cameleoline material immediately picked up the colors of the terrain around him and shifted, slowly, from its neutral color into a patchwork of red, brown, and khaki. He replaced his helmet, sealing away the ferrous-tasting air, and pulled the cloak's hood up over the top to hide himself as completely as possible. He double-checked Silence -- the 50cm blade was still nestled snugly in its sheathe strapped to his plastron -- and unslung Fate's Eye. He went through a functions check to ensure the rough landing hadn't jostled anything, then reloaded the magazine. With one last look back at the scrap of his insertion vehicle, he began making his slow way across the desolate landscape towards the plume of black smoke. He kept his head on a swivel, eyes constantly scanning for signs that his arrival was noticed.

Ferrus at least has a prophesy of return. But yeah, Sanguinius returning would be mighty dumb.

Sweet. Mazer got me started with one post in the IC thread and I've been antsy ever since!

Obadiah Skritch. Skritch. Skritch. The rasp of Silence's edge against the whetstone fought to fill the quiet of Obadiah's quarters on the Wolf. It rankled a bit that he'd been sequestered here instead of joining the infiltration of Brimstone. He wasn't much for massed assaults, though it still rankled that he'd been ignored again during the muster calls for the main attack force. Even now, he could feel the slight shudder in the deck beneath his feet as the landing craft shot out of their bays. Why was he here if they wouldn't put him to use? Obadiah stowed the whetstone and slipped Silence into his sheath at his side. "Enough waiting," he muttered to himself as he pulled on his cloak and slung Fate's Eye. He had every intention to sneak his way to the embarkation decks, but his first step towards the door was arrested at the booming knock. Coincidence, or something else? He opened the door to the monstrous Astral Claw and his mortal minion, fighting to keep the sneer from his face at the sight of such a ludicrous weapon. Firepower is a wonderful thing, certainly, but that kind of gun belonged on a tank. Still, he nodded at the invitation. "I shall attend him at once." The Astral Claw turned, and Obadiah followed. The minion smiled at him, and Obadiah allowed himself to smile back as he strode onward.

They wouldn’t stop coming. The enemy washed over the earthworks like a gray tide, an unstoppable ocean wave that cared not what lay in its way. Obadiah watched the enemy, their armor the color of some deep-sea predator and their chainblades fashioned as the teeth of the same, butcher the Endymion militia that was tasked with holding this valley. Whoever had ordered a platoon of mortal armsmen, firing nothing heavier than an autorifle, to hold the valley mouth against the Carcharodons would ordinarily have been considered optimistic at best. While these foes were savage and dangerous, they were also easily manipulated – and this static outpost of a few dozen human soldiers was irresistible to such base barbarians. Obadiah, prone in his hide, allowed the ghost of a smile to pull at his lips as he smoothly pulled the trigger on his stalker-pattern bolter. Fate’s Eye coughed and a few hundred meters’ distant, the unhelmed skull of a Carcharodon detonated. Blood and brain matter spattered his compatriots, but they had too little time to react. He shifted and the bolter spat quietly again; this target was wisely wearing his helmet, which saved his life. The head snapped to the side from the impact, but the Astartes didn’t fall. The squad revved their chain-axes, looking about, trying to spot Obadiah’s hide. He held his fire – held his breath, too – and waited patiently as they milled about, unsure of their target’s location. This was fine by Obadiah. His shots were not really meant to kill. They were just meant to pin the invaders in place. Rockets screamed over Obadiah’s head, wailing like the bane-sidhe of myth, before arcing down into the cluster of Carcharodons. Ashen soil fountained skyward at the impacts. Broken limbs and torn viscera were mixed with the detritus being thrown about, proof positive that the Whirlwind crews knew their jobs. Volley after volley rained down, and soon the valley entrance was hidden from view by a pall of smoke and dust. Obadiah and his spotter, Steyn, stood from their hide, their cloaks slipping back to reveal the soft green and yellow livery of their power armor. Steyn clapped Obadiah pauldron. “Good kill on the sergeant. I’ll vouch for it with the Captain.” Obadiah just pulled the camo cloak tighter around his shoulders. “We need to reposition. The bastards will. . . be. . .” he trailed off as his throat tightened. “I don’t believe it,” Steyn said. “How?” Obadiah dropped to his knee, Fate’s Eye snapping back up into firing position. He was almost too slow. Three Carcharodons had survived the Whirlwind barrage. There had only been seven of them to begin with! They sprinted out of the smoke with barely a whisper, drawn to the quiet voices of the two Mantis Warriors. As soon as the Mantids reacted, any pretense at stealth evaporated. Chain-axes roared, as did the charging Space Marines. They crossed the intervening hillside in moments, their powered strides eating up distance with remarkable speed. Obadiah’s first shot caught one in the knee. The mass-reactive shattered the ceramite there, severing the limb. That Carcharodon toppled over when there was no leg to take the weight of his next step. Steyn’s bolter – unsuppressed – chattered on semi-automatic, blasting impact craters out of the plastron of a second. It didn’t kill, but it did slow him down. Obadiah tracked to the third, and Fate’s Eye coughed again. This round found the soft-seal at the inner shoulder. The idiot Carcharodon was waving his axe in the air like some death-world savage and exposed one of the few parts of his plate that wasn’t actually armored. The bolt took the arm off at the shoulder, and the Space Marine crumpled to the ground, groaning as his suit no doubt pumped pain suppressants and coagulators into his system. The one Steyn had staggered was now close enough to draw his bolt pistol and started firing at his attacker. The spotter leaned into the impacts, shrugging off the hits, as he kept up his fusillade. The last Carcharodon crunched into what passed for soil on the wastes of Endymion barely two meters from the Mantids, and lay still. Steyn quickly reloaded his bolter while Obadiah dropped to a knee and scanned the area with his bolter’s optics again. The wounded one moaned in pain again, but managed to get his remaining arm under his body. Steyn took a step towards him, but Obadiah snapped out a quick, “No.” His spotter glanced over in confusion, but Obadiah simply looked up as a Thunderhawk, in the same shark-gray scheme, blew past them overhead. “They’re going for the artillery park,” Obadiah muttered darkly. “We thought we were the hunters in this. Turns out, this lot was just bait. They wanted us to kill them so they could find the Whirlwinds.” Steyn swore profusely, and the two Mantids turned to run back down the ridge towards friendly lines. That meant their hide had been expected. And that meant, as always, that more were coming. * * * * * The Carcharodons Astra were ruthless in their campaign against the peoples of the Endymion Cluster, and doubly so against their protectors -- the Mantis Warriors. They were outnumbered against the Fire Angels, but they had been easy to fight. They held to precepts of honorable conduct. The Carcharodons did not. Every trick of guerilla warfare that had so effectively pinned down the Angels for years did nothing but feed bodies to the Carcharodons. The end came for the Mantis Warriors swifter than anyone had thought possible, and the Chapter had lain down its arms before any loyalist ever set foot on Badab. Well, the Chapter had surrendered. Obadiah Barzani had not. The Imperium had killed his brothers and butchered his people. Obadiah Barzani would lay down his arms only when there was no more life left to heft them. After the end of the war and the withdrawal of the hated Sharks, Obadiah and a small cadre of like-minded Mantids had managed to sneak off-world. They made their way into the Maelstrom, intent on becoming the same reivers they'd spent centuries trying to eliminate, and eventually found that the Tyrant had lived, and had sworn similar oaths. To enlist in his service once again took little consideration. Obadiah continues to wear the green-and-yellow livery of his Chapter, though with a few added red saltires to honor his new patron. His armor is of a mix of Mk. VI and VII, mostly unadorned since any loose, swaying accoutrements were likely to give away one's position. Beneath his helm, his skin is a sun-dark tan which contrasts wildly with his brilliant blue eyes. His hair, kept short, is jet black, as is the close-cropped beard that serves to help hide his expression. His stalker-pattern bolter, Fate's Eye, is a relic of his Imperial service, and remains his primary means of dispensing vengeance at range. Scoped and silenced, its purpose is obvious -- and the addition of a cameleoline cloak draping Obadiah's form speaks to his preferred methods.

@Mazer Rackham I sent you my gmail address. As for ideas, if we're sticking to Renegades, my first thought was a survivor of the Emperor's Swords, who were shattered by an Alpha Legion assault on their monastery on Ghorstangrad. The Inquisition should have prevented his chapter's fall by destroying the Alpha Legion millennia ago, and his chapter should have been strong enough to fight off the incursion; by this reasoning, their loss -- and his turn to faithlessness -- are the fault of Imperial leadership and not personal failings. I like the idea of a Champion for this guy simply for starting off with a power sword, but the Chosen identity might be more fitting. Still working it out. I had another idea about a Brazen Claw having fallen to Chaos during that chapters Crusade into the Eye, but it's still a bit more informed than the Emperor's Sword concept. Edit: I started reading the IC thread and it feels like a Badab Reunion Tour, so a Mantis Warrior would fit right in too! Maybe a sniper-like Chosen.....

I received nothing physical, but my in-laws put some credit on my account at the LGS. So I'll be putting that to use at some point.