Iron Father Ferrum

I'm a big fan of hard copy. I despise trying to read a book on PDF...and OW's core rulebook is $200+ at the usual suspect webstores. That's bananas.

Never played that one...

Obadiah: Control returned gradually, and soon he was able to lever himself up to his feet. He only paid half a mind to the squabbles of his compatriots as he took a moment to flex all the muscles in each extremity to make sure everything was working right. That done, he interjected himself back into the conversation. "Yes, we need a plan before we all die. Again, though, who in the name of the Tyrant's black blood was that?" he demanded, eyes flitting between Hagga and Ukalegon. "You called him Valex. I don't need to know his name before I kill him, but I'd like to know why he wants to kill me." He rubbed at his jaw where the kick had landed; the bone was perhaps a little soft, and his Larraman cells were no doubt hard at work repairing the bruise that he was certain was forming. "I don't even know what a thinblood is, but it sounds like a slur."

Thank you, sir, for the wonderful game, and I hope I didn't disappoint. It's been a while.

Did I misunderstand something? Mazer said we couldn't take any action -- just being snarky through "gritted teeth" -- so I assumed we're all still muscle-locked on the ground?

I mean...I'm assuming that Valex's plan will come to fruition, and we're the survivors of the Razor's Edge crashing on Bounty. At which point, we're hunted by the Inquisition. So the crew will be liquidated no matter what.

Obadiah: The Mantid gritted his teeth so hard he swore he heard a few crack, but his muscles would not respond. Twice? In one day? He tried, he tried oh so hard, pressed every ounce of willpower towards convincing his hand to move to the pistol at his side. He wished that the tremors he could see and feel were his muscles responding, but it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. That was just pain. He could only watch helplessly as not-Iscario disappeared down the corridor. He couldn't shoot the bastard in the back, but he needed to know who he was to find him again. So that he could shoot him in the back. He felt his lips peeling back from his teeth as some part of him finally responded to commands. "Who. The. Was. That?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Soooooo...is the campaign over? We all die in a fiery ship crash?

Obadiah: He sighed in exasperation as Varne put a pistol to the Lamenter's head, but he did not relent on the pressure placed on Kraggan to keep the magos kneeling. "Oh, Varne, for Throne's sake," he began, but his voice hitched at the word Throne, as if some part of his body distinctly did not like saying the word. "Can we finish with Kraggan before you go picking a new fight?"

PLOT TWIST!

Because I spent a lot of my time in this narrative stabbing and slicing, I took a Simple Advance to Weapon Skill.

Okily dokily, Drei-Hands McBoomerface coming right up!

Obadiah: He tucked himself close in behind Hagga and basically followed him as the Executioner went on his killing spree up through the heart of the bastion. He did not know if Hagga was aware of it, but Obi fell into a curious pattern fighting around the bigger man. He kept Silence sheathed this time; the storm of heavy blade swings left no real room for him to engage with his blade. Instead, he relied on Fate's Eye. When Hagga's strikes carried him to the left side of a corridor, Obi flowed to the right. When Hagga dodged to the right, Obi slipped left. And whenever he had a clear line of fire, the bolter coughed and Arbites died. After the first few floors of this, Obi caught on to Hagga's sword-style and began to predict his movements. He would start moving before Hagga died, side-stepping into position and firing as the Executioner cleared his line. He could only imagine how odd the dance looked to those behind them. His pet was a different story, but thankfully the mastiff was short enough that he needed worry too much; his rounds punched the air above Eska. It wasn't a perfect dance, though. Lasbolts and hard rounds came down the corridor at them at almost every juncture and stairwell. Hagga caught the most, of course, as Obi was -- completely unintentionally, of course! -- using him as a shield, but "clear lines of fire" go both ways. Most of the shots that connected rebounded from his plate, of course, though a few did find the seams. The sting of ants to him, nothing more. When all the killing was done, he stood on the landing pad and watched his brother tearing apart the defenses. He could feel a light sheen of sweat across his skin, and his respiratory rate was slightly elevated. They'd been carving their way through the bastion at a near-breakneck pace, after all. He released the seals and lifted away his helmet. The cool air on his skin felt good, and the view of the semi-flooded, semi-burning city from this high up was actually quite impressive. He maglocked the helmet to his belt and stripped the spent magazine from his bolter. He reloaded the weapon even though the battle seemed over; one could never be too careful, after all. Hearts calm and breathing back to regular, Obi rolled his shoulders a little, then walked over to Hagga. He gave the other Astartes a playful punch to the pauldron to get his attention, then nodded at the red mess that used to be the anti-aircraft crew. "I don't think I've ever told you this, Rykaz," he said with a wry grin, "but I'm extremely glad you're on our side." Obadiah takes d6(4) Wounds during the battle.

Obadiah: Obi did his best to ignore the contents of whatever the sludgy liquid they were trudging through consisted of. He looked over at Varne as the Doom Eagle moved up to his side, and the other man's voice filled his ear. +How do you fare, Mantid? Did you get a moment to witness the extent of the flooding wrought by the dock attack? I found myself... distracted.+ He shrugged a little and rolled his shoulders, looking up into the faceplate of the taller Astartes. +I didn't get a good look at your handy work, unfortunately. And besides, between this delightful trek and my crash-landing in the river, I've seen enough water to last me a good while. Well. Liquid, at least. I don't think this murk qualifies as water anymore.+ He laid one hand on his slung weapon and muttered a quick solace to the weapon's machine spirit. +If this drek gums up my bolter, I'm going to be pissed.+