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DW: Campaign - Head Hunted (IC Thread)

FFG RPG Roleplaying Deathwatch In-Character

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#101
BadgersinHills

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"Acknowledged, Silkbeard. I will take damage control, Brother Loth."

 

Khordelia-Cáo walks into the Blackstar, the word brother sour on his tongue. But it is an attempt.

 

He had not forgotten the Exorcist's reaction, and anger filled him. He had seen the same reaction from hundreds of other Space Marines, but it never failed to make his blood hot.

 

But the Emperor called, and Khordelia-Cáo would answer. He always had. 


Edited by BadgersinHills, 17 February 2021 - 08:21 AM.

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Maybe you could model TWC-sized "were-templars" who's inner Templar took over in the fury of battle transforming them into a giant half man - half templar?

gallery_62972_14467_9630.jpg. gallery_48988_16228_1694.png  

My Works in Progress

 

Credit to Julie Hang for the profile picture. @juliehangart on Instagram.

 

 

 


#102
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Mag-locking his shield to the wall next to one of the unmanned stations Brynjarr activated the controls and familiarized himself with the display. The presented external optical feed was limited in scope, and a short test to see how far it would go in each direction while still in the hunger showed Brynjarr the extend within which he would have to work. This was clearly a secondary system and at less critical times the pilot would control all these functions directly.

 

The onboard vox issued Ironbreaker's ten second warning, they where abut to take off.

 

+++Tactical confirmed.+++ Brynjar replied.


Edited by Trokair, 17 February 2021 - 01:59 PM.

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My Assorted Projects
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You know the game is in trouble when your GM says things like this:

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening with this game?


#103
Mazer Rackham

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Status Update:

 

Tactical Station: Operates flare and chaff decoys as well as forward facing hurricane bolters (BS) - Brynjarr

 

EWEAPS: Sensoria Jamming and ghost doppler fragmentation (Int) - Ains

 

Damage Control: Fire suppression, auto-repair systems and internal pressure control (Ag) - Khordelia-Cao

 

Comms:  Co-ordinating with Kerberos as you descend, may-day beacons, black box flight recorders and Failsafe detonator in the event of capture (Int) - Mantanor Carde

 

Co-Pilot: Assist with routine and mundane tasks leaving Torin free to execute manoeuvres (Ag) - Silkbeard Olafsson

 

Observation and Augur Array:  May call targets for evasion or attack, either for Torin or for the Tactical Station (Per) - Loth

 

+++++++++

 

With all stations reporting in, Ironbreaker's smile comes through the vox.

 

+Three...two...one...+

 

Then the force comes.  It is not unlike a drop-pod, the heady and vertiginous feeling of the ground rushing up towards your feet, but the press of a fist onto your chests, driving you into the seats at each of your stations.  The cables and lines snaking to and from your power armour tremble and flex with the force, and those of you who have a line of sight to Inquisitrix Galleus can tell that she is suffering from the gravitational forces too, although in her case, her human frame only tolerates so much before she slumps, unconscious.

 

The force is exceptional.  The gravitic ram hurls the Blackstar without any of the expected grating or grinding to be expected from such a launch.  With no friction to arrest her, the gunship hurls forth into the blackness, the twinkling of lances and macrocannon illuminating the immediate area with miniature stars.  The near-miss of ship-killing ordnance meant for Kerberos rocks the Blackstar and Ironbreaker wrestles with the controls.

 

He executes a sharp turn, and filling the window is the grey-streaked, blue-green vista of Baraban.

 

All at once, the threat warning tones begin to chirp and pulse.  Across all stations you see a wing of red triangles moving in unerring formation, sweeping towards your projected course.

 

+Barracudas,+ Ironbreaker hisses.  He heaves on the sticks.  +All stations, stand by!+

 

+++++++++

 

The team will now work together to avoid destruction of their Blackstar and ultimate failure of the mission.  Each of you will now test against the Characteristic Stat of the station you currently control.  Please post your rolls plus any successes of Failures in this thread.

 

Your rolls and narrative will directly effect the outcome of the action, and you are entitled to one re-roll each without needing to use a Fate Point.  This is to reflect the enhanced reflexes of the Astartes and the nature of the encounter.  Like any re-roll, if you use it, the new number stands, even if it is worse.  There are no modifiers for these tests.

 

When posting, just put your station and Stat test, so:

 

EWEAPS Test (Int): 54

D100: 24 PASS plus  DoS

 

You may add any flavour text to this you wish, pass or fail.  Post in here in OOC green if you need clarification, or for further discussion drop a note in the OOC thread.

 

I will update with the full outcome hopefully tonight.


  • Commissar Molotov and TechCaptain like this

Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#104
Trokair

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As the young Wolf’s countdown reached its end Brynjarr chants under his breath. The Void embraced.

 

On the screen in front of him the tactical map pulses with the red markers of enemy crafts while the optical feed shows naught but three points of light, ringed by tactical information, speed, distance.

 

Operating the controls Brynjarr was ready to take action.

 

Tactical Test (BS): 43

D100: 23 Pass plus 2 DoS

 

Spoiler


Edited by Trokair, 17 February 2021 - 05:47 PM.

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You know the game is in trouble when your GM says things like this:

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening with this game?


#105
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Comms Test (Int): 36

D100: 54 Fail plus 1 DoF

 

He can hear that the Kerberos is trying to hail them, but he can't figure out how to dial in on their signal. The evasive maneuvering employed by Ironbreaker, as skillful as it is, distracts him futher.

"This cursed thing!" He smacks the side of the comms panel. "Tinkerer!" he calls out. "This machine spirit is angered! How do I bring it to heel?"

I will attempt a reroll, but I'm going to leave it hanging for a bit to build a little drama and see if Ains has any sage advice for me.

 


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gallery_48988_15465_18333.pnggallery_48988_15465_40221.pnggallery_45765_13882_2878.pnggallery_96397_14126_674.png

 


#106
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Gravity presses into Silkbeards chest, but the thick suit of armour surprisingly keeps most of the Gs at bay.

 

rolled a 32. Ag is 42. Exactly 1 degree of success.


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#107
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On Carde's monitors, the delta formation of six Barracudas become a shoal of four.  With loss of communication with the Kerberos' advanced IFF Augur Array, the Blackstar can only do so much against the Alien's own efforts to jam your sensor suite.  Two of the hunters are now dangerously invisible, and it is perhaps something which the Dark Hunter finds ironic.

 

Foosh - foosh- foosh.

 

At Brynjarr's command, strobes and flares punch from the back of the Deathwatch gunship as no less than three T'au missiles are fooled by the ignition of the Infernum Halo-Launcher, blasting out golden fire and ribbons of reflec-coated plasteel, leaving majestic shimmering clouds in the wake of the Blackstar, into which the enemy munitions plough - and detonate.  Pressure waves thrum against the hull, rocking you all in your seats.

 

Silver-blue pulses flash past the window where Olafsson and Ironbreaker sit.  The beams cut past as the Skyclaw jerks his controls violently shifting to port.  Olafsson compensates for his sudden, hull-shearing manoeuvre by swiftly firing attitude jets.  The resulting vector change thwarts another blinding stab into the darkness, as T'au Ion Cannon beams narrowly thump past the canopy, making the photo-sensitive cockpit glass darken.

 

As one of the enemy fighter makes a sweeping pass to get into point-blank range, the stuttering impacts of burst cannon fire rake the starboard wing and engine nacelle, lighting up Khordelia-Cao's strange Lupine helm with red and amber icons.  He will need to act swiftly to prevent the damage becoming mortal.

 

Baraban grows larger in the viewscreens, promising the sanctuary of Imperial AA guns, but it's a long way yet, and the Barracuda are circling their meal.


Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#108
grailkeeper

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*Vweep, Vweep, Vweep, Vweep"

Red warnings stain Silkbeard's face a strobing crimson.

"Sort that out Apothecary, before we have to start breathing in zero atmosphere".

Edited by grailkeeper, 18 February 2021 - 02:56 PM.

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#109
Mazer Rackham

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Your ears and eyes are suffused with all manner of input.  Klaxons and data, icons and warning runes.  All this would be too much for a human mind to process, but Astartes are beyond mere men, and this craft was envisioned by those who understood such matters.  As the Mantis Warrior apothecary attends to his duties, treating the craft as if it were a patient under his scalpel, another intrusion blasts through the Comms station.

 

++ This is Kor'Vre T'Ana Phal, Commander of the Strike Wing Goro'kah.  Surrender Gue'la.  There is no chance for you.  Say the word and we will escort you to our command vessel - as honoured guests.++

 

There is a smile in the vox transmission, the T'au pilot is obviously a veteran, with staunch confidence infecting his superior tone.


  • Commissar Molotov likes this

Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#110
Trokair

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The reduction of the tactical readout was a concern, and Brynjar tried to compensate by focusing on the optical feed from the hurricane bolters. Their field of vision was limited and it was hard to tell if the points of light that where the enemy crafts where the same as the ones from the tactical display or different ones.

As another Barracuda approached for a close pass the Vox sprung to life.

++ This is Kor'Vre T'Ana Phal, Commander of the Strike Wing Goro'kah. Surrender Gue'la. There is no chance for you. Say the word and we will escort you to our command vessel - as honoured guests.++

‘Honured guest indeed,’ thought Brynjarr ‘captured and disgraced was hardly hounrable. Though might be an opportunity for boarding party to cause some trouble, but that was not their mission, nor did they have the back up of further boarding parties to take advantage of such a ploy.’

Eyes darting between the tactical display and hurricane bolters Brynjar was ready to launch more missile decoys or open up fire if the Barracuda swung into range.

 

 

Dice roll if requiered for one/both/either action.

Tactical Test (BS): 43

D100: 44 Fail (just!) No DoS


Edited by Trokair, 18 February 2021 - 03:23 PM.

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My Assorted Projects
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You know the game is in trouble when your GM says things like this:

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening with this game?


#111
grailkeeper

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Silkbeard wrenches at the controls. The Barracudas might be able to out maneuver us but they can't out run us. Much as he would like to kill enemy ships, there are more important threads to sever on the planet. He points the ship at the LZ and guns the engines. 

 

 

Ag 42 Roll 07 3 Degrees of Success!


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#112
Mazer Rackham

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The Comms line cuts with a snarky fizz as the Blackstar lurches forward.  With more flares and chaff blown into the void behind you, it appears to the T'au pursuit that you have fired some kind of weapon, and this is borne out by their strange emergency evasions.

 

One enemy pilot misunderstands your intent and as Ironbreaker makes use of the speed piled on by Olafsson, the hurricane bolters chatter, driving glowing shells out in front, to smack into his fuselage at the left wing root, causing slow flames to sputter briefly and die in the airless environment.

 

A decent hit, but nothing vital.

 

The gunship blasts past the aggressive knot of enemy fighter craft, the crazed, unpredictable pattern of flight surprising them.

 

The reply is as fierce as you would expect, but ultimately fruitless.  The weapons shred nothing but the atmosphere you catapult towards, the proximity of re-entry beginning to buffet the nose of the craft, searing the vessel's frame.  The Barracudas have been shaken off a good deal behind you, but they are also atmospheric capable, and at least two hang on grimly, burning engines hard into a ridiculous loop, coming high and above for a kill shot.

 

They unleash harassing fire, looking to force a pilot mistake on the cusp of the atmosphere, where a single slip is fatal.  Their burst cannons once again are their best weapon, the ionised plasma pulse rounds spanking and clattering off the hull, with three rounds slamming into the cockpit and painting it with the crimson of Astartes blood.

 

+Skitja!+ Ironbreaker snarls, gripping his left arm by reflex, as the craft lists before Olaffson corrects.  The auto seals cut in with a hiss, preventing the craft from depressurising.

 

A conduit blows further back in the gunship, and hungry flames begin to lick the cables next to the reserve oxygen tanks in the rear of the passenger compartment.


  • Commissar Molotov, grailkeeper, Boyadventurer and 1 other like this

Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#113
TechCaptain

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Ains with calm hands used his panels to try to increase the obvious confusion of the enemy pilots by creating sensor ghosts that would go on wildly different tracks that would be more predictable than the current path they weretaking. Further He released the kinds of chaff that would disrupt their ability to properly coordinate as much as possible. For the most part however Ains was distracted by the need to watch the rest of the team and see how they were reacting to each other. His own feeling that he was an observer and a outsider as all who follow deeper into the worship of the Omnissiah are. 

 

EWEAPS Test (Int): 

D100: 32 PASS 


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#114
grailkeeper

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Silkbeard can only vox in snatches as he tries to do the work of two pilots.

 

"Talk to me Ironbreaker"

 

 

"Will you need the assistance of the apothecaries?"

 

"Its getting hot in here, and I'm not talking about enemy fire".


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#115
Mazer Rackham

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Ains' counter-jamming pays off, although the vox signal you can pick up is scratchy and fragmented.

 

++Unidentif- Imper- ..ip.  This is White Lake- ...battery.  We are track- you.  Turn to....cover fire, over?++

 

Ironbreaker turns in his pilot seat, but he is favouring his side.  +My left arm is smashed, Grey Hunter.  I will take you low over the canopy, you will have to jump.+

 

As the fire in the rear cabin intensifies, thermal warning runes highlight in your visor.


  • TechCaptain likes this

Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#116
grailkeeper

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"Very well Blood Claw. Signal that battery for covering fire."

 

Olafsson struggles out of his crash webbing, fighting both gravity and the restraint harness. He grabs his helmet. Something dented the front of it but it still works. Just as well he had it underneath him. 

 

"Silkbeard to Squad. Looks like we're going to have to make a quick exit. Prepare to jump ship. Someone grab the inquisitor. She won't make it on her own. If any of you snuck a jump pack on board now would be a real good time to tell me." 

 

He slams his fist on an emergency release button and the escape hatches slam open in turn. Gale forces toss anything that isn't strapped down. Having ensured the squad's exit he grabs the emergency release lever and is jettisoned out into the rushing grey air.


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#117
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While watching the hit of the bolter barrage was satisfying it proved ineffective, maybe if they had been lower in the atmosphere the nascent fire could have caused some harm. The lurch of another evasive maneuver pinned Brynjarr to his seat, but he heard smoothing go smack in the hold. Taking one glance to see if his brothers are alright he spotted the inquisitor, her right arm had come loose from where she had tucked it into the harness strap of her seat. That would sting later, though it did not abear to have been broken.

He had forgotten the inquisitor for a while during their decent, too much had happened and as an unconscious mortal she had nothing to contribute to the current situation any way. Remembering Captain Martinez words Brynjarr found them just as hollow now as then, ‘Joint Escort’ indeed.

This hiss of escaping atmosphere drew his attention, they had been hit, but autosealant acted almost immediately to contain the breach. A flicker of flame reflected in the corner of the tactical display, somewhere behind him a fire was taking hold, no doubt brother Cao would deal with it monetarily.
 


Edited by Trokair, 19 February 2021 - 09:04 AM.

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My Assorted Projects
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You know the game is in trouble when your GM says things like this:

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening with this game?


#118
Mazer Rackham

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The Corvus Blackstar is in bad shape.  The order is given to evacuate the craft in a mad plunge to the forest floor, yet Inquisitrix Galleus is still unconscious and unable to fend for herself.  She remains firmly bucked into her harness, although the flames are getting close to her recumbent form.

 

Since Astartes can lift over a tonne, there will be no test to remove or carry her, however, whoever gets in close proximity (1 metre) can be rendered violently ill, as she is a Psychic Null.  The effects such people have are well-known to the Deathwatch, and Space Marines in general, so will be no surprise to your characters.

 

You all have Psychic Resistance, and have stronger stomachs than mere mortals, and as such, this will be a Routine (+20) Willpower Test (inclusive of all bonuses).  If you fail the test by three or more degrees, you vomit inside your own helmet.

 

You aren't harmed by this - it's just horrible.


  • Commissar Molotov likes this

Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#119
Trokair

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Scant moments later the order to abandon the craft came through, no gentle landing but a combat drop, they should have brought jump packs or grav shuts with them.

Setting the Tactical controls to release one more round of flares to provide cover for them Brynjarr begun to unstrap himself from the seat. He could see his brothers doing likewise. A might roar fills the cabin as the hatches opens ready for their departure.

Amongst all the movement the inquisitor remained still, seeing that the others were occupied with their own preparations Brynjarr drew his combat knife and advanced on the inquisitor.

WP: 43 + 20 = 63
D100: 67 Fail, No DoS


As he approached he mentally flinched, shaking his head he continued but felt the wrongness build. Dark memories snapped up from his subconscious, reciting a meditative chant he had be thought after his recovery from that moon Brynjar stilled his mind.
 

Finally standing before the inquisitor he intends to cut the straps, undoing them normally would take too long, given how entangled she had become and how close the flames where.

 

"You almost saved the Inquisitrix's life before I did, Brynjarr. That is not an outcome that I shall tolerate."

 

The disconnect between the Apothecary’s words and tone give Brynjarr pause. Quickly reviewing the memory he concludes that this must be the Excorsit’s brand of humor and banter, and not a challenge or accusation.

 

“It would be a dereliction of duty if we let our ‘joint escort’ get lost, practically or terminally.” He replied, hoping that the sarcasm and emphasis on mimicking Captains Matinez’s words would make his intent clear.

 

Seeing what Loth was doing with the chair Brynjarr sheathed his knife, no cutting of straps would be needed here, and he could see the logic in leaving the unconscious mortal in the chair for her safety. It offer enough support and protection if they had to jump that her spin would not snap on contact with the ground. Moving in to assist Loth, Brynarr saw out the corner of his eye that Carde had also come over and was trying to shield them, and in particular Galleus, from the flames behind them.       


Edited by Trokair, 23 February 2021 - 06:29 PM.

  • Mazer Rackham and Boyadventurer like this
My Assorted Projects
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You know the game is in trouble when your GM says things like this:

Can somebody tell me what the hell is happening with this game?


#120
Dosjetka

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The Exorcist follows the instructions of the rest of the group, taking up position in front of the augur console. It takes a few moments for Loth to access the memories of his training that covered flight and how to operate the various stations in an aerial craft. He has not flown in a Corvus Blackstar before, but the station design ressembles that of a Stormraven sufficiently that he is able to make a certain number of safe deductions.

Loth keeps an eye on the augur blips, communicating any change of trajectory or seeker missile launches as clearly as possible to the pilots.
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Despite this, the vessel sustains hits from both the hunting Barracudas and the unfortunate friendly AA fire.

Oridyn, realising that they are all likely in for a very sudden death if action is not taken immediately, leaves his station and heads for where the Inquisitrix is seated. Her unconcious form is held up by the harness strapping her body into the flight chair. The Voidborn Marine is standing beside her, clearly intent on ensuring her survival, but oddly immobile as if kept back by an unseen force.

"You almost saved the Inquisitrix's life before I did, Brynjarr. That is not an outcome that I shall tolerate."

The tone is cordial, jovial even: in stark contrast to the current circumstances.

Moving decisively towards the human, Loth feels two simultaneous and uncomfortable tugs from deep within his head and chest. These are barely perceptible but just as the Exorcists have learned to recognise the signs of the Daemon, so too have they learned to recognise the signs of those over whom the Daemon has no power, at least not in its incorporeal form.

Gauntlets fastened around the armrests, carefully avoiding the frail human arms upon them, Oridyn pulls upwards, as if attempting to uproot a tree. With a brief shriek of tortured metal, the chair is removed from its base and the Inquisitrix with it.

The Exorcist looks up sharply from his task after hearing the Space Wolf's order. It takes a few moments for Loth to register that their group leader has left the vessel. A volatile mix of rage and disgust bellows up from the depths of his stomach, potently acidic bile burns the back of his throat. His words are spoken to the Voidborn through gritted teeth.

"That... coward shall make amends for this. In blood. I shall ensure it if it is the very last thing I do in the Emperor's service."

His shoulder pads heave and fall as the Exorcist gets his anger under control.

"...but to achieve that, we need to ensure our survival and the success of our mission, to fulfill our oaths."

A measure of calm returns to the Exorcist's speech.

"Your Chapter appears to be proficient in aerial craft: what is the optimal course of action now, Brynjarr?"
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#121
Mazer Rackham

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Loth's augur returns paint the picture as you suspect.  Four of the six Barracudas have indeed broken off, returning to harass the main Imperial fleet, no doubt to wage the little war of fighter pickets in high orbit.  The relays also snatch some internal chatter from the T'au pilots, but you can't make it out.  They are quite agitated and excitable, perhaps the lesser experienced of the group.

 

With Loth's directions, Brynjarr's final flare deployment lashes out with some accuracy, although there is a significant bonus in that one of the chaff rounds vanishes into a dorsal engine intake on the closest Barracuda and a thunderous bang reaches your sensoria array.  The whole upper-right engine cowl has been torn off and the leading pilot throws the craft around, but it begins to go into a spin and plunges towards the forest canopy several thousand metres below, trailing thick smoke all the way.

 

The second pilot guns his engines and follows, but he is distinctly cagey, sliding left and right against the punishing atmosphere as both vessels close the distance towards the landong zone - which has now become a drop-zone!

 

Whilst Carde is trying to dial up White Lake, ground-radar picks up threat sigils from an anti-aircraft battery occupying a position with the Imperial lines.  It seems they have been unable to identify your Deathwatch transponder and an accident is looming.

 

As you descend at breakneck speed, crimson hornets cut across both ships.  It is Imperial gunfire from below, a broad pattern of dazzling rubies bracketing your ship and the one behind, but thankfully it is neither accurate, nor damaging at this range.


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Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#122
Boyadventurer

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Through all the commotion and turbulence, Carde tried to redouble his efforts and focus on dailing in on White Lake's frequency to establish the Blackstar's credentials as an Imperial vessel...

 

Comms Test (Int): 36

D100: 56 Fail plus 2 DoF

 

"The Imperial forces cannot identify us," he calls out. "We're about to be fired on!"

 

Carde prepares to evacuate the ship, and takes up position beside the Inquisitor opposite of Brynjarr, trying to use his frame to shield the prone figure from the flames enveloping the hold.


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#123
Mazer Rackham

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The Dark Hunter's words ring with doom.

 

Literally.

 

A peal of thunder clamours across the hull, swiftly followed a millisecond later by a fist sized hole, punching through the hull one foot above, and three feet to the right of the assembled Astartes' heads.  It is obvious that White Lake battery is now using the heavy stuff.

 

The all too human voice that follows it is filled with loathing where the Tau jamming allows.  +We'll ...ach- you ali-.. bast...s!+


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Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#124
Mazer Rackham

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Olafsson:

 

With your orders given, and expecting naught but obedience, you ram your hand down to find the release lever for the co-pilot salvation-throne release.  At your urging, the canopy above you blisters and shreds outwards as the crack-crack-crack-crack of the explosive bolts holding the panel sound in rapid succession.

 

Rocket motors ignite and if you could smell it, you know your keen senses would be filled with the stick of exhaust and tortured ceramite as the seat lifts you from the fuselage protecting you from Baraban's environment and the punishing shells rattling from both the Tau and the incompetents at White Lake Battery.

 

You vault into the air, away from the Blackstar and her pursuer as they race beneath your heavy Mk III sabatons, the scream of displaced air and smoke in their wake.

 

At their passing, there is an eerie silence punctuated by the crack and rattle of weapon fire coming from the desperate aerial battle.  The craft are now 500 metres away and vanishing rapidly and no-one else has come out of the Blackstar.  Their defiance or ignorance is something to chew on as your grav-chute lowers you safely to the treetop canopy 700 metres below your backside.  The ships become dots, banking to starboard, perhaps swinging back around, but that is a hope that does not lie in your breast.

 

This is the first chance to actually see the scope and scale of the arboreal planet.  The trees dwell in a carpet a lighter man could walk on, their branches strong together, forming a bouncy resistance to your slow descent, until your throne punches through by weight alone.  The creak and snap of timbers bearing the blue-green leaves aloft is sharp in the dim silence of the secondary forests below, which grow in stunted thickness under such a broad envelope.  The trees do not prevent the entire grav harness coming to rest on the spongy bracken and brown leaf litter that carpets the forest floor, and you have ample time to admire the giant boles of these leafy giants, some stretching as high as 20, maybe 30 metres into the rich oxygen atmosphere your HUD tells you exists beyond your armoured hide.

 

The gloom of the canopy is now broken by a spear of light from the dawn sun above, a blistering orange creeping up.

 

The disturbance cannot go unnoticed - and you realise that you are way off target, deep behind enemy lines, and very much alone.

 

For now.


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Indexes: IA: Scions of Gehenna IA: White Paladins

 

You see, it all started with an Only War game I played long ago. I was heavy weapons guy.  I wanted an Autocannon, and by bargaining, trading etc, I managed to get in the neighbourhood of 5% chance, and guess what? I got it! I howled and cheered and professed my luck as an insult to Tzeentch.

 

And ever since, I swear that begrudging clown has had it in for me. Not two missions later, I was charged by a cannon-proof Ork, brutalized, and forced to burn fate. Many other cases of ill luck have befallen me in other games, but I can at least take solace in the fact that I have someone to blame...

 


#125
grailkeeper

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From the cacophony of the cockpit, the outside was eerie soundless. All Sytrygg could hear over the rushing of the air was his laboured breath and the beating of his hearts. For minutes or perhaps seconds he tumbled until his grav harness kicked in. The  sssssth sssssth sssssth sound of incoming fire brought him sharply back into focus. Rounds missing him and an uncomfortably close range. He heard the strange drone of the xenos stratocraft engine, as it flew some distance below him, pursuing the stricken craft.

 

"Bail, out, repeat, bail out" he voxed but heard nothing in return. 

 

By the time he reaches the tree line he hasn't seen anyone bail out from the craft. Then his main concern are the tree limbs buffetting and pummelling him as he crashes through them. Briefly caught on a low hanging bough, he hacks through his harness with his combat knife and lands cat like on the floor. Thanks to the miracle of mag-locking his equipment remained with him. Just as well. He's going to have to make every round count if he is to take out a Xenos Commander alone. There have been better landings.

 

In the small glade he removes his helmet and sniffs the air. It smells of ash and death, with a hint of ozone. This planet has sustained a lot of lasfire. It is a bad place, as was the watch station. He sees little reason for Imperial forces to waste resources on this miðja. There must be some reason to hold it beyond, killing xenos. There are a thousand worlds where they can be killed.

 

On the alert for enemies, he risks a vox check.

 

+++Squad Hellebore+++ are any of you hálfvitar alive? Hone in on my location.

 

Watching the shadows for ambush, he checks his map to see where he is. Once he has his bearings he starts to make his way in the general direction of the enemy commander. There are still threads to sever. 


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