Overview

Cadfael A familiar sight, perhaps the first since he had been chosen from his world. The king before his cohort speaking of distant lands, vassals who called for aid or fell silent at the blade of another. War, perhaps even crusade, was the path that he had chosen for himself and fought loyally for his liege since he was but a child. And it was by war he had risen to this station amongst the stars. It was not what he had expected. Legends spoke of the giants who called to them the most noble warriors yet in him they had chosen only a survivor battered by war amongst a field of his foes. Instead it was a new king, for all his great might and the power he bestowed, and the same braggarts and eager killers and solemn warriors and the rest that he had seen many times on the eve of battle. The words of the first giant to speak to him rang ever true - "there is only war".

Rygel The Princepts levelled his pistol at the door while the Secutarii engaged the foe. "By flame shall the unclean be made clean, By fire shall the unholy be cast down. By our act and the will of the Omnissiah shall this ship be purged." He looked pointedly towards Tion and Samek "Seek the wisdom of the gellar field mechanisms." The first point of the tear is where the seal would hold strongest.

Daceon Thrace: It was a strange thing to share a body with what was tantamount to an alien organism. He wondered if the others about him ever thought about what was buried in their chests and neck. Between the two fleshy growths, there was the spliced harmony of one soul. He wallowed in the notion that it may be a bastardisation of the biological occurrence of gestational twins. There was more than that, though. He could sense - if he 'listened' closely enough - the voices of others subsumed, or perhaps superseded by the most recent. It wasn't a conversation, by any means, just a garbled mish-mash of background chatter from inside his body. Despite the nagging sensation of unilateral dislike emanating from the gourd-giblets, it was certainly a lot heartier than the incessant fingernails down the chalkboard of his mind. That is what it meant to be psychic, apparently. An eternal struggle to quieten the noise which could, if what Degier and his mental-mentors said was true (and he knew it was) turn into talons of aetheric origin, seeking to claw into his mind, soul and finally flesh. Aboard the Black Ship, Indefatigable, he came to know this, as well as many other truths. One such revelation was his capacity for learning, greatly accelerated by his strange and esoteric abilities. Some said his skill at concealing himself from the Neverborn was a gift, something which elevated him from his rudimentary peers - a choir of screaming imbeciles howling into the Beyond, almost asking to be devoured and unable to shut off the vox-mitter. At least some of those same people had called the powers a curse. Maybe both truths could co-exist. Reality and Formless did, after all. His conscious returned from wandering the vaults of the gone, to the tableau of now. Some small time before this bluster and bellow Daceon chose the moment in the path to find and sit up at the rear of the auditorium to rest his broad back against the circular wall. An unusually comfortable metallic hammock, all things considered, and the crate 'neath his nethers was just the right size. A tight smile. Yes, a gift, sometimes. He tensed and relaxed his muscles in sequence, as the biologers had instructed with his...newness. The fleshy things spoke to him, told him how to harness the trappings of war. One stroke of his fingers, a brush of mind, and understanding came. A riot of applause begat excited hubble from the keener group. Jostle and clamour of war-plate driven by fibre-bundles obscured some of it, but the ease of simple garments and the robe trussed about his mammoth frame diminished him not in the harnessed company. It was a handsome thing to be nine feet tall, with a breadth of ample shoulder to hang it all from. Perhaps that was why he was presented with Taranfollt. A wonder-weapon, a hand-and-a-half sword with flamberge-wrought blade - except for the tip, eight inches of razor-sharp, straight magsteel balanced in purpose and aesthetic by eight inches of ricasso, flared on the point side into short parrying hooks. An urge of something from that which was gone poked him. On his world, such a fine sword would be worth much horseflesh, iron, and beyond the ransoms of kings. It too was an alien thing. Unpowered, it was empty, save for the strange echoes of unreal memory and haunted labyrinths of psycho-reactive crystal. Indeed, rendered indestructible by will of artifice, it was destruction incarnate by will of self. A vessel for his spirit, the keenest knife. At present, his hands, and mind emptied to exload Talek Varn's commandments. Daceon's mind strayed not far from his skull, too busy locking all the doors and windows in the mental fortress. He physically shrugged the deep blue robe into something less like a sack, pleasantly amused by the jolly pale blue liner - a juxtaposition with the grim ash-grey and murderous-murrey wrapping his comrades. A presence fleeting pressed at the environs of Daceon's patrolled borders. The other 'Librarian' cast a glance his way before snapping out some epithet in High Gothic. Daceon's lips pursed. Yes, he would have to get round to learning that, too. Right after he'd digested the subtext of Talek Varn's latest endeavour.

Judging the angle of the swing just right the Secutarii adjusted his stance, feet planted to support the braced shield. Stepping forward to deflect and push the blade aside, the energy field whines on contact. For the slightest of moments it is as if the blade would cut right through, the bulk of the shield immaterial to the apparition’s strike, but only for a moment. Robed of its momentum and brushed aside the Secutarii saw an opportunity and struck with the lance. An awkward blow direct at the blade, enough however to wrench it from the apparitions hand. As it fell it cut into the floor, spark erupting from some power line beneath the deck plate that had been pierced. So disarmed the devil howled, and from somewhere there was an answer. Round Two.

Drekar The Lord spoke and told them of their mission. Reconnaissance and test in one, done by those considered somewhat expendable. Very well. If Talek Varn wished to see if Drekar and his fellows were competent, he would get his wish. The auditorium was large and the Astartes spread out. Veterans and new-bloods stood mixed yet apart, in both look and demeanor. Drekar kept to the edge of the gathering and watched. His scout armor was different than almost all of the others, clad in their MK VI suits of heavy ceramite. He was slighter and sleeker than them, carapace covered in a color-shifting cloak that blended into the background of any surface. His was a scout and assassin, first to find the enemy and first to spill their blood on the edge of his knives. He had been raised to do this, surviving the gang wars in his hive by stealth and sheer viciousness. The Iron Goods had given him further gifts and training, making him powerful and lethal beyond the understanding of the scum he had been born among. For that he owed them and would fight for Varn in his wars. Bring the tests and the trials and the challenges. Drekar of the Iron Gods was waiting.

Torrek The mental scarring he had endured to his psyche from the Rites, burned. Nothing had worked to tame his Anima. He held the Storm. He watched the others, the veterans, the elders, Talek Varn and the Teacher. He looked further into the shadows and saw Varn's dreadful shadow. Mharkad. He played with the Keys on his belt, to calm his mind. He looked towards Daceon 'the Learned' and then he looked around the cavern once more as he listened to the Breifing. "Khaos ite domum!" He hadn't meant to speak, it was the Storm.

Torrek's Character Sheet is complete. I couldn't work out Lifting as the Table only goes to 20 and Torrek's total SB & TB is 22. P150 - Mk VI armour gives a +10 increase to Agility. So I just added +1 to Agility Bonus. I couldn't decide on a Personal Trapping.

No worries, mate. If things change and you want to join later, that might well be doable? But in the meantime, @Machine God it looks like you get that 2nd Librarian slot if you want it! So, looking at people's sheets, have I got the following all correct? 1. Mazer - Daceon - Librarian, Feudal, Plotter, GS:7 2. Necro - Ormenos - Techmarine, Hive, Plotter, GS:8 3. Tro - Gerbrand - Tactical, Agri, Hunter, GS:1 4. MG - Torrek - Librarian, Feral, Brawler, GS:8 5. AT - Cadfael - Apothecary, Feudal, Firebrand, GS:1 6. Ikka - Drekar - Assault, Hive, Savage, GS:5 6 is a nice solid squad, and we've got a good mix of Archetypes and backgrounds, but if anyone else still wants to join in, please do post and let us know! Edit: As previously mentioned re the Geneseed rolls, I'm going to randomly assign the 9 Loyalist gene-lines a number between 1-10. The last number will represent something more... chimeric... or even traitorous. But you won't know which you've got unless/until it comes up in the course of the game! Interesting that a few of you have some of the same choices and roll results... these should create some good potential for interaction?

/snip @Machine God ”My Librarian and Tactical are written down on paper. Just waiting for @Xin Ceithan availability to see if he is playing “ I really appreciate that but I am sadly still boggged down by RL issues - so don’t wait on me. Go ahead and get yourself knocked out !

I believe Drekar is also good to go, pending the Geneseed roll of 5.

Darius Parry Test Target - 54 Roll - 44 Result = Pass, 1 DoS

Brother Cadfael is good to go I believe.

My Librarian and Tactical are written down on paper. Just waiting for @Xin Ceithan availability to see if he is playing

*vanishes in a puff of smoke, as another Guardsman speaks up* "Oh wait, there he is, doing a runner." *slides the bolt back, home, and takes aim*

Gerbrand is ready??... I Think.

Hi all, Apologies for the radio silence, everything got a bit busy! I'm kinda back on track (ish), so I thought I'd get an IC opened up. I can't quite remember where everyone was in terms of being ready to play, but there's no great rush. If anyone still has questions, feel free to ask?

Iron Gods: Scions of Talek Varn Prologue: New Blood You stand in the vast, dark, echoing stone chamber that is the Crag's Auditorium. Almost a hundred Astartes have gathered on the wide tiers that lead downwards towards the brightly lit podium. A high proportion, perhaps eight or nine of every ten, are like you - youthful, largely clad in beaked MkVI armour painted in the grey and red of the Iron Gods. Some wear heraldic patterns or devices reminiscent of Feudal Houses. Others bear randomised camouflage designs. Pictograms and slashes of feral origin are oddly similar to and interchangeable with the gang tags and graffiti of Hive slums. There is an air of excitement, eagerness at this first prospect of battle, of glory. The hubbub is tremendous, as young warriors jostle and mock in friendly - and sometimes less friendly - rivalry. The few veterans of the Iron Gods who are present do not hold themselves aside from you, but nevertheless each one stands out in your midst. For the most part, their wargear is a mishmash, decorated with a wealth of trophies and knick knacks. In manner, most seem outwardly cool and calm. Some even appear bored. However, a few are almost as raucous and eager for bloodletting as the new recruits. Either way, whether they run cold or hot, each one has open space around him, respect demanded - and given - by their younger brethren. Atop the stage, another Astartes waits. He has stood silently, unmoving in shadow, towards the rear of the podium as you filtered in. Even as the Iron Gods veterans are lions amidst wolves, this figure is yet another step beyond - some monstrous apex predator of myth. He is clad in ill matched Terminator warplate, and armed with a wicked axe and a brutal power fist/storm bolter combi-weapon. His helm has become a new source of legends whispered over the last half-decade, a terrifying, grimacing skull mask with piercing green lenses. Talek Varn. He steps forward and raises his axe aloft, and silence falls immediately, a deathly hush. With remarkable precision, the fingers of his unpowered glove reach up and delicately remove the skull-faced helm, revealing the cruel, patrician features of the Lord of the Solios Nebula. He nods to someone in the darkness to one side, and a moment later the hololithic emitters create a huge, glowing orb of light in the air above his head. A planet, a temperate world of broadly even division between landmass and blue seas. All is given a grayish cast, an all-pervasive haze that suffuses the atmosphere. “Iktab III.” Varn's voice is a deep, gravelly rumble. “One of our vassal worlds in the Ultima Segmentum, located a short distance beyond the north-western border of the Solios Nebula. It lies directly between our home and the ‘Great Rift’. Iktab III is a mining world, sending a vast wealth of raw materials to the Adeptus Mechanicus… and diverting a much smaller percentage to the Solios Nebula. However, that fraction is not small to us. In fact, it is vital to our ability to continue to grow.” “We have lost contact with Iktab. Reason unknown. It was only a matter of weeks since our last communication. All was well at that time, but the ship that was supposed to be carrying our supplies never arrived, and no answer has been forthcoming since.” “We are not aware of any movement of Imperial forces that would account for this sudden silence. Perhaps it is something out of the Rift, Chaos worshippers? Maybe Xenos? Equally, it could be that some more independent Imperial group - a Rogue Trader, Astartes… even the Inquisition? - has arrived unscheduled at Iktab.” “You will go in Company strength, aboard the Avarice. Degier will lead, aided by Ghoran. For many of you, this will be your first mission with the Iron Gods. A new generation of our brotherhood. It is your opportunity to begin making a name for yourself. Prove your skill, your loyalty, your value. You will be rewarded, with glory, with wealth… and with the knowledge that you are having a share in building something better for Mankind than the moribund Imperium.” Whether Varn says it openly or not, whether each of you understands it or not, to a discerning listener the truth is clear. The resources of Iktab III cannot be that important to the Iron Gods. There are always other ways to find what is needed. So, this mission is a test. The odd breakdown of communications with the mining world is a perfect opportunity to turn loose and evaluate the new warriors that have been created at the Crag. A trial run, before the next generation of homegrown Iron Gods - several hundred more Astartes - reaches deployment readiness in a matter of months. Eighty-plus Astartes, even new-minted ones, should be more than enough to bring this world back into Talek Varn's fearful fold. And if something truly terrible has engulfed Iktab, something beyond the ability of such a force to defeat? Well, the Pride of Kings has given Varn temporarily deep pockets in terms of weapons and armour… …and there are always more young rebels ready to take up those arms against the hated Imperium… *** OOC: Well, firstly, apologies for the delay in getting things started! I'm still not in a great rush to get things going, but I thought I could start up the IC with an opening post. If people would like to add posts to introduce and/or describe their characters, please do. Feel free to interact with one another if you wish, either during the hubbub before Varn begins his mission briefing, or after it has concluded.

It does prove satisfying when the heretic puts his own head into the noose. *Meaningfully reaches for his bolt pistol*

The electric discharge crackled along the apparitions left arm before earthing itself into the metal walls. The creature appeared no worse for wear; though perhaps a little more transparent where the lances charge had passed through it. Another swing with its blade, fast despite the apparent heaviness of the blade. Darius can attempt to Parry or to Dodge. At the consul in the mean time Tion had called up a schematic of the Nostalgia for Infinity and was trying to filter the alerts, alarms and damage report into a coherent, or at least comprehensible, form that could be parse onto the schematics to reveal the root of the troubles. Taw-Samek stepped up and made some suggestion on how to filter out unnecessary information from the general flow of the ships networks. Once implemented it helped a lot, but revealed a new issue, the most crucial information was security encoded and locked from common access, the cogitator would not yield its secrets so easily. I think Machine God was working on a post for Hastus, so I am going to wait on starting round two a few days (and I do mean a few, not two and a bit weeks, hopefully), also gives Lord Ikka time for that Dodge or Parry.

Sorry for the lack of posts the last two and a bit weeks, been too busy, had a little unwanted Nurgle gift and the few times I had time to try and do something B&C was being slow/not loading. Will try to get something up this weekend.

Are we not *Chaos* cultists?

[ spoiler ] your text then [/ spoiler ] with no spaces.

Question: I haven't posted in a while how do you end a spoiler? Is it Back Slash Spoiler or Forward Slash Spoiler ?

Red three, standing by.