To Recover the Past... [OW/DW] IC Thread

[Lord Heremes]

Awareness test: rolled 40 on 43 perception

 

Iron snakes, Wraiths, Space wolf, Blood wolf, Lamenters, black shields. To a Sand Wyvern heraldy did not matter, all space marines were cousins in gene-seed and brothers in duty. They were all given the chance to ascend to the peaks of humanity to protect the rest. Idle talk of the bad luck Lamenters seem to bring did not phase Jorek, neither did the presence of a librarian and his esoteric powers. Brotherhood and duty were what held humanity together and we all have our parts to fill. To betray those bonds were the gravest sin any human could make.

 

Betrayal was what caused humanity to loose access to the technology they were currently trying to recover. It is what forced the legions into chapters and spread them to the winds. Jorek would not allow for discontent and friction to form in his squad. He understood the reasonings for the secrecy of the mission, as most deathwatch mission require, but he did not approve of keeping other brothers in the dark. If we accomplish this mission however, no matter if the details are revealed or not, our impact will be felt.

[Karack Blackstone]

The Quartermaster apparently is not pleased with no knowledge of what mission this Kill-Team is on; however, that's his problem, as his slight frown and minor grimace shows, for those that passed the roll.

 

In the hangar bay, once the Blackshield is in better lighting, will be much easier to see clearly.

 

As the two fliers involved in the mission seem to be going towards proper mission preparation on time, this is a chance for the party to actually have some conversations, as well as, some insightful moments; whether those are mentioned verbally remains to be seen, as well.

 

Bursir seems to be inspecting his gear and equipment; the look on his face shows he seems fully aware of the gravity of this situation. The mission, despite its secrecy, and the required hiding of the nature of what is being attempted, is guiding everyone here well. Not one for much idle chatter, Bursir seems to be slightly relaxed while tense in the face of what is to come.

[Skinrider]

A stealth mission, not one of his favorites, but it was required. Besides, from the way the Inquisitor talked about the mission Igorot was sure that stealth was only the first part. With melta guns and a drop pod dreadnought on stand-by he felt sure this would escalate to a fighting retreat as soon as they had their prize. As he meditated, his mind wandered to his team.

 

The team seemed capable, a Lamenter‘s assault marine, a fellow 21st founding marine. He never believed in the horse :cuss stories about them being bad luck, you make your own luck. 

 

An Iron Snake devastator, he didn‘t know much about the Snakes, they fight Dark Eldar in the Reef Stars mostly, having grown up on a world that was raided by Dark Eldar he was thankful for his service to the people in the Reef Stars. 

 

The Immortal Guard librarian was in interesting combination of machine and psyker, it was odd he wanted to lead, but astartes that do so, can lead. He knew how devastating librarians could be, he looked forward to seeing him in action. 

 

The late-comer, the Sand Wyrm apothecary-techmarine, there was another oddity, but what works, works. He seemed quite busy with his work, but then again they themselves trained relentlessly. 

 

He was glad to see they had a Wolf Scout, not only was their skill as scouts hard to rival, but he shared a kinship with their tactics, all Wraiths studied them. The fact that within the Wraiths Igorot was a member of the Spectral Wolves clan gave him some kinship with a fellow “wolf”. 

 

Lastly there was the blackshield scout, his crimes? Who knew, the rules of the chapters were as diverse as they were many. He may have just been a psyker within the Black Crusaders, maybe he had shown too much ferocity within one of the more “civilized” chapters. Whatever it was he would atone, Igorot knew blackshields fought hard to redeem themselves.

 

Enough contemplation he rose, skull-face paint dry, the skulls on his trophy rack arranged, with room to spare for more on this mission. He did a one last check over all his equipment and swung his Power Lance. Melta gun and Stalker Bolter mag locked to his thighs and Power lance in hand he strode into the hangar where they would gather before launch.

 

As he reaches the hanger he greets his team: “Greetings brothers”. He nods his head at the Blackshield: “Brother, welcome”

 

“If anyone wants to take souvenirs from any xenos we meet I brought a carving knife” He flourishes his Power Lance and makes a few cutting motions. “I’ll make sure they’ll fit into a pouch”. 

 

“No need to be grim brother-wolf, we hunt” Igorot laughed and gives him a quick slap with the butt-end of the lance

[Boudan]

A gust of forced air enveloped Gallan as the blast door leading into the Watch Station’s hangar admitted him.  Swarming around the gigantic space were Astartes, serfs, techmarines and servants of the Adeptus Mechanicus.  Most of those milling about the hangar had no business with Gallan, and he avoided them entirely.  His chapter taught him early during his initiation that idle chatter was the hymnal of the Enemy.

 

Vehicles dedicated to the transportation of the Deathwatch were positioned throughout the hangar, many in various stages of departure. He approached the Storm Eagle chosen to deliver them to their target.  Gallan could feel the machine spirit lurking within the vessel as he touched its hull.  Countless oaths of moment hung on its inner walls, along with candles and votives, burned in endless supplication to the ghostly presence that lurked within the gunship.

 

Gallan found his jump pack, being blessed with unguents by an anonymous Mechanicus serf.  He watched the man whisper prayers and veneration, as if the machine’s ghostly spirit were a haughty athlete preparing to perform for a crowd.  He had never spoken aloud toward his weapons, but he supposed that the strange spirits must be inside those as well.  It occurred to Gallan that every tool, gun, ship and powered suit in the hangar must have some wakened spirit, and that they outnumbered the human beings at the Watch Station in multitudes.

 

He glanced at his new brothers, the other Astartes who had gathered earlier in the Inquisitor’s office. Each went about his own routine, preparing themselves for battle in their separate customs.  They were, collectively, a complete unknown to Gallan. Their lack of familiarity troubled him subconsciously.  Since he was raised up by his chapter, he had only known his Lamenter brothers and their Blood Angel kin.  All other Astartes were foreign to him, and the mental and physical scars of the Badab War were jaggedly carved into his perception of others. He had killed four Minotaur Astartes in one dark, terrible night - now years past.  

 

Four!

 

It was them or him, and he had never regretted it.  But he recalled their faceless, blood-drenched corpses, crumpled in their hulking bronze power armour, every time he slept.  He recalled much, and his memories of that time stalked him relentlessly.

 

Everyone who had touched his people had betrayed or attacked them.  Even the Blood Angels had ulterior motives they did little to obscure.  He could not help his apprehension toward the Inquisition's Ordo Xenos, and this Inquisitor, no matter her personable demeanor.

 

Gallan's eyes ended their search on the as-yet unnamed Blackshield, only now assigned to their growing cell of warriors.  Whatever reason for the blackened pauldron where chapter and kin should be honored, Gallan wouldn't ask.

 

He wants to be forgotten, to serve our greater master without the past hounding him. I will honor silence.

 

Was his chapter swallowed by corruption? Labelled 'rebel'? 'Heretic'? Perhaps this blackshield's kin had also been butchered for political gain. Maybe they were knowingly sent to die for nothing - Perhaps he and the Blackshield would have much to speak of one day.  

 

Perhaps.

 

Now, we fight.  No dishonor to our name - I will keep that vow.  He would show them.

[Black Cohort]

Irad meditated for hours, though he lost track of time.  The failed reading had disturbed him and he needed to calm his mind and prepare for the mission ahead.  Failure at this point was a setback, failure once they hit the ground could be life or death.  He thought back to his training and what his mentor, Shayan had taught him; how to clear his mind to let the warp flow though it.  How to use the cold, passionless steel of his left hand as a grounding rod to let him process the chaos of the warp with logic.  The warp fed on his emotions and while he had more psychic strength when he let his emotions guide him, he had far less control.  But the reason that only a tiny number of humanities warriors or even psychers could be counted among the ranks of the librarians of the adeptus astartes was the ability to balance the need for strength and the need for control.  To ride that razors edge a thousand times a day and come out the far side uncut.

 

As he mediated his mind went back to that day a decade or more ago now when he found out that Shayan had died and his name and armour was to be passed on to the next recruit to pass the tests and become a lexicanii.  They hadn't initially let him watch the vid feed but refused to let the matter the rest and without a chief librarian chosen none had the rank to refuse him.  His mentor had led 3 squads of the first company into the depths of a hive that had fallen to the fell powers.  The unholy creature they found in those depths could not be harmed by mere bullet or blade and his squads were tied up fighting the myriad legions of followers the daemon had enchanted.  He had felt the moment that Shayan had let go, had unleashed all his strength and held nothing back.  He knew that was the moment that his mentor's fate had been sealed but what he unleashed scoured all the filth from sight even as it drained the life from him.

[reckoning]

The memories came to him much as they always did, unbridled and unwelcome. He mused over the fact that it was never triumphs that returned, only failures. His failures. Once again he would be given the chance for redemption. Once again he would be given the chance for death.

 

A chance to atone for my mistakes. 

 

He didn't speak the words. He never spoke much at all. Thus had it been since he first presented himself to the Deathwatch. The opening of blast doors interrupted his thoughts. One by one the newly formed team entered. He recognized the heraldry of the Iron Snakes and the Lamenters, but did not recall having seen or served alongside the other two. As to the whereabouts of their leader he could only guess. He was never very trusting of witches or the risks their terrible power represented.

 

Even after one saved your life?

 

The thought pierced his mind like the tip of a spear. Only then did he realize that one of them had nodded and spoken to him. The gesture caught him off guard. Blackshields were rarely shown the same bonds of camaraderie as their marked brethren and only then if they had earned the team's trust. He returned the gesture but kept silent. And he did not fail to notice none of the others had acknowledged his presence, not openly so anyway. But he had expected as much. It came with the absence of color upon his right pauldron. 

 

The remaining two members had scarcely moved since their arrival. The wolf inspected his gear, a look of determination etched into his features. And the old one. He had fought alongside many ancient Astartes entombed within dreadnought armor. But the spectacle of their deadly form never ceased to amaze him. He secretly hoped the team would need the Fist's fury before the mission ended.

 

Even if it means another failure?

 

Once again the voices within his head disturbed his thoughts. He flinched ever so slightly at the intrusion. None of the assembled warriors seemed to notice. Not even the Inquisitor at his side registered the slight movement. He moved to check his gear one more time, hoping the effort would occupy his mind and prevent the memories from returning.

 

He knew it wouldn't work.

 

It never did.

 

 

 

 

 

[Lord Heremes]

Jorek strode into the hanger eager to embark on this mission. He had grown to enjoy the rush of the drop pod insertion as was his chapters specialty and was slightly saddened that he would not be using this insertion method. However mission parameters dictated a flyer insertion and a Wyvern needs wings. He approached his squad and saluted fist to heart.

 

He started running scenarios in his head of how each marines specialty would effect team cohesion in the field was cataloging most likely outcomes to maximize success and mitigate conflict. The black shield proved to be a vexing variable. Simply because there was no concrete data provided by him to assess further behavioural patterns. Jorek dismissed the distraction, it is rarely possible to account for all variables.

[Karack Blackstone]

Bursir eyed their Inquisitor as the kill-team was finally fully assembled; noting each warrior and their ways, including the Blackshield, and the entirely out of nowhere his tactics would appear to be, there was a slight hum he noticed, a decided feeling of a tension before the action was taken that he occasionally felt before battle amongst his own Chapter. He also thought others had a similar feeling at times, and it was decidedly here now; there was an almost palpable taste in the air to him, that felt just... right. The abrupt briefing style Janica favored for her super secret mission might have been unusual to others, however, right now, her Kill-Team just wanted to do what is right by those they served and served with; and that was as it should be, he felt.

 

As the entire team was now together,

 

"It is good that each of us is here, and appear to fully appreciate what we are about to do, and the benefits that can be gained by our mission. I suggest we keep to it, once we are on the ground and moving towards, at, and when hopefully finishing our objective. Irad, you are leader; now begins your saga of this mission, as my Chapter would put it. Leading by example is the best way, in my Chapter's experience, as I hope many others have noticed. Best of luck to us all."
 

As Janica watched silently, she slowly went towards the hold hatch back towards her quarters; it was best to let the Space Marines work their own way, once on task. The Inquisitor moving back away from the team might seem an ill omen; Bursir knew from experience that the woman was more inclined to have her Kill-team work as they chose.

 

Bursir remains calm, awaiting his first orders towards the hopeful accomplishment of the mission, as the hangar bay continues its hum and thrum as work finalizing work over their transports is underway, the two craft getting ready to take off as their pilots go over their preflight and pretakeoff rituals, prepping for the daunting yet vital task ahead of them all.

[Skinrider]

Tired of the wait Igorot heads to the aircraft and sits down inside. The anticipation of battle excites him and his hearts beat faster.

[Slips]

Seeing his impatient squadmate move to embark the transport, Apollus takes it as a cue to get things moving lest they waste any more time in the Hangar Bay. While not doing so ponderously slow, he quietly makes his way over to the craft Igorot got on and makes his way aboard too stowing his gear securely before taking his a seat himself and waiting.

 

Being the hunter that he is, Apollus decided to go over any Biologis Reports of the Planet he had access to, the better to acquaint himself with the local flora and fauna they would likely encounter. Should any of them prove worthy, perhaps their heads would make fine trophies to line the halls of his Chapter Keep on Ithaka. They would have to be of equal measure to the Great Wyrms of his home however, he thinks as he rolls around the vial of Ithakan Seawater in his palm.

[Lord Heremes]

Jorek follows his brothers onto the relic craft. And jacks himself into the on board systems as he secures himself in his seat near the front of the the compartment. He had immediate access to all readout a flowing through him so he could keep his squad appraised of any changes.

[Black Cohort]

Irad arrives at the hanger fully armoured with his helmet on.  From this point he is all business.  "Brothers as much as it pains me, remember that whatever foul xenos we encounter are not the primary objective.  We move fast but silent, complete the objective and get out of there.  Hopefully without anyone the wiser.  If things go horribly wrong we have a dreadnought on standby as a nice present for our foe."

[Skinrider]

Igorot gives a curt nod to Irad as he finishes

 

A Spartan Assault Tank would be a prize beyond what most Astartes could ever bring, bring an STC for a Spartan Assault Tank and Igorot and his chapter would be remembered till the end of time

[Boudan]

Gallan's jump pack hummed, as the quiet sensations of the machine spirit's presence pulsed through his armour.  His heads-up display registered nominal; all members of the team glowed green, as did the deck of the Storm Eagle.  Guns, precious and mundane, were clamped across his body; his chainsword felt heavy and sure in hand.  The vicious eagerness of the sword's spirit whispered at Gallan - but he shut it out.  

 

Not now.

 

Gallan sat still in the ship, listening and waiting.  The Librarian of the Black Cohort spoke, and reminded the assembled of their primary duty to recover certain artifacts.  Gallan said nothing, but followed Igorot of the Wraiths, and nodded an acknowledgment toward their leader.

 

[Karack Blackstone]

As the time for words appears to have swiftly passed, Bursir quickly boards the Storm Eagle transport, as the craft is swiftly going to take off and get these fine Astartes to their Strike Cruiser so that they may take on their task, and hopefully bring great glory to their respective Chapters.

 

As the Storm Eagle lifts off and flies out of the hangar bay, the view screen from the cockpit is pretty much open space; the pic feeds from said Storm Eagle's sensor arrays shows that the Watch Station is downright HUGE. About the size of a small moon, the design appears both ancient and well tested; oddly, it appears to be a repurpose of some other STC pattern thing, and modified to ends that appear both concealed and obscured by time, as well as the ways of the Mechanicus. The Stormbird is somewhat less fast, its ponderous form finally moving out of the Watch Station's hangar bay, and joining the Storm Eagle in its flight towards their waiting Strike Cruiser.

 

As the transport carrying the Kill-Team is enroute, it will be about ten minutes between the watch station and the Strike Cruiser; the trip to the available warp jump point is going to take about five hours, and the arrival at their destination planet Enciladus III is going to be ... a guess, depending, as the warp storms in the warp are almost always fickle.

 

The arrival of the Kill-Team on the Strike Cruiser finds the Indomnitus as the vessel is designated, to be an ancient and true Space Marine hull. Its majority of space is given over to the tasks that the Kill-Team has no real need to accomplish. After the trip, assuming all goes well, the vessel should prove more than sufficient when it arrives in its target system.

 

While the Strike Cruiser is enroute, the Kill-Team has some small amount of downtime, or, may train, as they so wish. ((Or, we can dive right into the action, as desired.))

 

If anyone goes to the bridge to find out what the Strike Cruiser has in the way of escorts, do please let me know; it would be unwise to go alone, and thankfully, the crew aboard the Indomnitus are acting at least in part like the vessel is not alone in its mission.

[Black Cohort]

"Brothers I will speak with this ship's captain, see what other information he can give us and pay my respects. Any who wish to join me are welcome."

 

---

 

Once they meet the strike Cruiser's Captain.

 

"Greetings Captain, I am Irad Farsight, librarian of the Immortal Guard currently seconded to the deathwatch. I am the leader of our mission. "

[Slips]

"I shall join you, Brother Librarian. It would do well for us to acquaint ourselves with, at the very least, the ship's Commanding Officer."

 

+++

 

Apollus salutes,"Apollus Kytys, Squad Thebes of the Iron Snakes on secondment to the Deathwatch to bring my Chapters expertise on matters Ork and Dark Eldar to more of our brethren."

[reckoning]

He hears the psyker speak but pays little attention. Their leader seems to fall into his role effortlessly. Knowing the voyage will take time, and unsure of what facilities aboard the ship they have access to, he decides to wait within the hanger. Eventually he will have to follow the librarian into battle. Until then, he decides to keep his distance.

 

For now he searches for a darkened corner near their transport. Again he occupies his mind by checking his gear and preparing for the coming battle.

[Skinrider]

"I will head to the firing range while we wait. I would welcome the company of any of my brothers there"

 

Igorot then asks for directions and heads there with anyone who joins him to train extreme range bolter shooting

[Lord Heremes]

"I will join you. I wish to commune with the machine spirit of this great beast. A Sand Wyverns always gets to know his mount"

 

++++++++++++++++

 

On arriving on the bridge he remains silent, observing the bridge allowing Irad to take the lead. Jorek hoped that after the bridge he would be able to go meet with the brother dreadnaught to acquaint himself with one whom may join them later.

[Boudan]

The Lamenters were a fleet-based chapter, and so Gallan felt a small sense of comfort walking through the many hatches and hallways connecting the Strike Cruiser.  His walk toward the ship's command bridge reminded him of years past, and of his brethren. He felt their absence.  He followed Irad and the others, allowing them to speak first when the group encountered the ship's commander.  Then, he added:

 

"I am Gallan of the Lamenters Chapter, and of the Watch."

[Karack Blackstone]

For those that have gone to the bridge, the place is not a mess, it's just a literal hive of activity.

 

The Captain glares openly for a moment, interrupting the tasks at hand to take the time to pop to, salute, and then present a professional air after a moment of clearly indignant anger at having the ship's vital operations interrupted. Once the salutes are over, the Captain returns to the very busy task of keeping the ship crewed, under way, and all tasks being properly managed under the watchful gaze of the vessel's Commissar.

 

"Captain Altruis Mengskiva, on deck and working as expected, Sirs."

 

The Commissar, none too impressed by this, is lightly tapping her Bolt Pistol's grip for a few moments; apparently, this Captain and Commissar are not on the best of terms right now...

 

The Commissar observes,

"To what do these fine Space Marines owe your ire, Captain? Surely, you can see that the crew can at least handle their tasks without you offering such disapproval of our Kill-Team."

 

"I know my duty, Krengis; there's little to be done for formalities when at any literal moment we could be beset by who knows what, and I damn well mean to be ready to respond and issue orders to see this vessel and its crew through to complete its objectives, no matter what those are."

 

To the Astartes, Captain Mengskiva replies,

"Greetings to all of you fine Astartes; my Commissar appears to forget that a skilled Captain is one that does their duty. As it is, welcome aboard, your quarters I hope are up to par, and the ship is already underway to our destination, where the mission is yours once the transports clear the launch bay, preferrably for your sakes cloaked, since they were modified by the Lady's orders."

 

Commissar Krengis, lofts her right eyebrow; her job of watching Captain Mengskiva and his lot of a crew appears to not sit well with her at all. This apparently flippant attitude might also be enough to get this Captain shot. The apparent problem is that the two just grate on each other, when it comes to formalities; what happens next is up to the party.

 

Igorot, who went to the on-board firing range, would find a very well maintained ship the whole way through; this crew and the vessel aboard which they serve, take their tasks very seriously. So much so in fact, that they barely salute that they are doing the very thing that they do so well as Igorot is left free to work away on the range as he sees fit right now.

 

As things stand, where the crew's observations of formalities is clearly lacking, if the team is on comms, then the entirety of the ship is a well oiled machine; otherwise, they just appear at first glance to be a barely passable crew, in severe lack of discipline. The problem is, the Commissar has let it slide perhaps a little too long, and does not seem to know exactly how to fix the situation; as this is not a very ... stable situation, the vessel appears to be in almost dis-array as to how things are going at command level, between the two figures aboard ship.

 

What might surprise people is that the crew just takes things from the Commissar in stride; apparently, the Captain rules this vessel, and the Commissar's displeasure barely is a blip on his radar; his ship, his crew, and his duty are all he knows and cares about at any given time, formalities and superfluous presentations of grandeur be damned...

 

What does the party do, say; how do you all react to this potential powderkeg?

[Slips]

Awareness Test to see if anything "else" is going on: 36 with perception 40 for 1 degree of success.

 

"Fret not, Captain, Commissar, I take no offense to the breach in protocol. Clearly, the Captain has much on his mind what with this being a very...special...Inquisitorial Mission. So long as everyone performs their duty to their utmost and that our Illustrious Inquisitrix is satisfied with our result, we can let a few missed Salutes and greetings slide. What say you, Commissar?"

 

Obviously, Apollus would rather the Commissar not shoot the Captain of the vessel for while a replacement would be found in due course and the mission continue to progress regardless of this mortal's life having been extinguished or not, the manner in which they would carry out their command would undoubtedly have...unforeseen...consequences on the crew and their effectiveness and that, due to the import of their task, was not something he was willing to risk.

 

As such, in this very moment, he was poised, invisibly to the Mortals but all-too-clearly to his fellow Astartes, to restrain the Commissar should she decide that a Bolt to the head of the Captain was the only way forward. 

[Black Cohort]

"Please Captain don't apologize on our behalf.  It seemed rude not to introduce ourselves to you and see if there is anything we can do to make our trip more successful.  Surely your crew is trained well enough to operate without constant supervision, after all a ship runs all the time and one must sleep eventually."

 

"Commissar I am pleased to make your acquaintance, perhaps you could give us a quick tour of the ship?  The Captain clearly has everything under control here."

[Skinrider]

Walking through the ship and noticing that people put more emphasis on their work rather than on formalities makes Igorot smile behind his skull-faced mask.

 

Let the Ecclesiarchy prostrate themselves, let those of use get on with their duties

 

Grabbing several clips from the quartermaster at the range Igorot practices single round fire with his Stalker Pattern Bolter at extreme ranges switching between ammo clips with the fire-selector, preparing to shoot different rounds at different targets in the heat of battle.