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

[reckoning]

Satisfied with the condition of his gear, the blackshield begins cleaning both of his bolt weapons. He reflects on the mission briefing and knows the team will value his bolter more than his blade. He reassembles the weapons and heads for the firing range.

 

En route to his destination, the blackshield takes notice of the lack of ceremony aboard the vessel. He cares little for the formalities of humans; he cares little for humans in general. The occasional salute offered his direction is ignored. It isn't hatred for their kind necessarily, just the weakness they inherently possess.

 

Not all of them are weak. 

 

Most of them are.

 

The same could be said for you.

 

Wanting an end to the debate, the blackshield is grateful to have arrived at his destination. He spots Igorot already practicing and moves farther down the line. After stowing his nonessential gear, and grabbing extra magazines, he takes aim at the first target and slowly squeezes the trigger.

[Lord Heremes]

The ships machine spirit reverberated strongly on the bridge. The static hum emenating from the terminals spread around the rooms as akin to being inside the brain of this beast. Every process passing through this point. Jorek felt the Omnisiah distinctly here. The logic among the chaos was beautiful in its efficiency. Satisfied with the running of the ship, Jorek addressed Irad.

 

"This beast runs well brother shaman, by your leave i will join our brother dreadnaught in the launch bay, such a revered brother should not be left alone."

[Boudan]

Awareness Test: 52 with perception 40 - failure.

 

Gallan liked humans generally, but had an immediate distaste for the Commissar, for he knew what her office symbolized and how her ilk went about their profession.  The captain was lax in his manners, yes. However, Gallan had lived on voidcraft for many years of his post-human life;  the captain of a ship was the final, absolute authority. With such authority came the privilege of ignoring passengers.  The suspect reputation of Gallan's chapter made any confrontation with the Commissar politically problematic.  The words of his chapter master surfaced again in his mind: "Bring no dishonor to our name." Gallan would let the little bully make her threats unchecked. Hearing Irad's diplomatic efforts toward the Commissar and Captain, Gallan decided to help.  

 

"I would accompany the Commissar on this tour as well, if she agrees to escort us."

 

Gallan shuffled his giant frame to the side, so as to create a path toward the hatch for the woman.

[Karack Blackstone]

The Commissar's eyebrow twitchs slightly; afterwards she looks at each Astartes, and then the Captain. As the Commissar has just been cornered, and her entire point in life, her Captain and his loyalty, are quickly forcing an interchange in her head. As she sighs slightly, and then turns towards the nearest hatch, walking along as if nothing is wrong in her world.

 

"Very well; I shall not forget this, Captain..." With a look over her shoulder to the Captain, she then starts the tour of her ship, as it slowly becomes apparent. Where the Captain is the point by which the crew is to report, the Captain reports to her. So, that makes her in charge, in her mind, and over the course of the tour becomes abundantly clear. Most of the crew are clearly working at their best, at least, until the Commissar comes along; this leads to a rather ... unfortunate dichotomy: there is no time to be formal, however, the effort works out about at normal pace.

 

The Commissar, considering the crew lackluster at best, is sadly not able to shoot anyone, considering that the crew is at least trained enough to know how to be formal. Considering that the crew is so well behaved, the poor woman is stuck showing the Astartes guests of her vessel the various parts and crews that make up this ship.

 

As the tour continues, there is little to do other than just walk around, and listen to the Commissar talk about the crew and their tasks in each ship component. There's the Geller Generator, the Life Support systems section, the Macro-cannons on each side, port and starboard; the engines, the bridge they saw first, and so on and so forth throughout most of the day. Once they finish the tour, it is about time for the crew and the guests, the Astartes, to go get something to eat, namely dinner. No, lunch was not skipped, it was merely rations during the tour.

 

As the dinner with the Captain is to include the Commissar and the Astartes, things are possibly going to be... interesting at the least.

 

How is each Space Marine going to attend? Bursir is going in a Deathwatch Uniform, outside of armor. The others, are, of course, responsible for their own choices in this event.

[Skinrider]

Igorot attends the dinner in full armor, skull-faced helmet on, wearing his combat shield, bolter, bolt pistol and combat knife. He thought he would show deference leaving his power weapon, grenades and melta gun behind. He doesn't eat.

[Slips]

Apollus, too, will attend in full plate, helm mag-locked to his waist and only armed with his Combat Knife and Bolt Pistol. He doesn't eat either but still tries to get to get somewhat acquainted with the Mortals at the table.

[Boudan]

Gallan attends the dinner in Deathwatch attire similar to that of Bursir. He eats. Gallan is openly armed, with a bolt pistol holstered at his side.

[Black Cohort]

Unlike most of his battle-brothers, Irad attends without his armour or weapons, wearing the ceremonial robes of a librarian of the Immortal Guard.  Though only a fool would think that any astartes, particularly a librarian, is ever unarmed.

[Lord Heremes]

Jorek does not attend the dinner. Preferring to focus on the mission, he heads to find their brother dreadnought. To have the honour of being entombed meant he would most likely have great knowledge to share.

[reckoning]

The blackshield attends the dinner, not because he wishes to socialize with humans, but out of respect for the team. In truth, he would rather remain at the firing range. At least he'll have an opportunity to observe the interactions between the others.

 

His attire hasn't changed; the team will be left guessing his expressions during their conversations. Whatever food he eats will be consumed in private before their mission.

[Karack Blackstone]

The dinner is both simple, yet truly ostentatious, as most things in the Imperium are; there's no end to the amount of no spared expense as far as the finery and food are concerned.

 

The company, however, is attempting to be peaceful and quite boisterous as well; the stories from the various attendees are requested, and some are simple, and important. One of the crew's higher ranking persons in attendance, apparently a Bosun, recites a story about how just doing one's duty is worth it in even the deadliest of situations.

 

As the table goes quiet, the next in line to recite a story, is one of the Astartes: in no particular order, please tell a story from your character's background that somehow exemplifies the tenets of the Imperium. Faith, duty, honor, etc., it's all fair game, and it's hopefully going to go well, as there's a great deal of opportunity here, considering the Commissar's story was about how even the most simple and basic of ranked Guardsman can make the entire battle different by either fulfilling or failing in their duty to the rest of Mankind.

 

I wish you all luck; and don't forget, if you're in armor, it's rather easy to notice that there are some concerned yet attempting to be polite stares as far as one's attire is concerned.

[Skinrider]

Igorot seems, by the levity of his voice, to be excited about this prospect. After all, he enjoys telling stories among his brothers.

 

"Let me tell you a story that has been told a hundred times among my brothers and always gets a good laugh."

 

"I cannot tell you where or when this was or what xenos race we fought. Suffice to say that they were bipedal and had a similar family structure as we did. We were waging a large scale war in one of their cities and me and my squad had been set to clearing out a massive governmental building. We have cleared several floors with some difficulty for each section is closed off by a heavy door that's well defended on the inside by infantry. As we come up on the next floor I see a child running away from us, it begins to run away from us screaming. I set my helmets external audio on record and follow her. We have learned the language so we know it screams 'DADDY HELP, OPEN THE DOOR'. I shoot the child, but all of a sudden the heavy doors open and a man steps out. We shoot the man and storm the section. We go to the next section and I replay 'DADDY HELP, OPEN THE DOOR' and again they open the door with a desperate looking man comes out..."

 

Igorot lets out a booming laugh

 

"Again and again I play this message 'DADDY HELP, OPEN THE DOOR' at all the doors and our work takes us a quarter of the time it used to take us! Every time a desperate looking man or woman would come out and open the path for us inside. The building was cleared, the battle was won and their race exterminated"

 

Igorot's voice lowers and he sounds more serious now

 

"But on cold nights, just like the one on that night, I sometimes close my eyes and listen and I can hear the child's voice on the wind..."

 

A desperate shrill alien's voice shouts through Igorot's speaker grill what the crowd assumes to be 'DADDY HELP, OPEN THE DOOR'

 

He laughs and laughs with a thunderous boom and slams his hand on the table

[Slips]

"Good thinking, Brother Igorot. I'll have to remember to use that when I'm next on a Xenocide operation. What better than to utterly crush a xenos' spirit before ending their miserable excuses for lives on top of them making our jobs easier."

 

Apollus then gets pensive as he rests his elbows on the table, knitting his fingers together and leaning his head forward to rest on them.

 

"For my part, it was during the Sabbat Crusades where I, along with my Chapter under command of Warmaster Macaroth. During the Cabal Salient: 765-773 portion of the Crusade, I and a complement of my Brothers found ourselves on the planet Presarius where, through the sheer tenacity of the Mutant foe that we fought against there, were cut off from supply and reinforcement for nine days."

 

"For nine days, we were surrounded on all sides. No ammunition resupply to ensure our onslaught was endless and no Support to call in if and when we found ourselves in need of it. Limited though we were, we held our ground and never faltered once. Wave upon wave of Heretical Mutant scum came at us and each time we rebuked them. It is over the course of these nine days that, due to our ammunition supply being what it is that we made absolutely certain that all our shots counted. By day three, all of us were capable of killing a single mutant with each bolt fired and in some instances, more than one and while they tried to use super-heavies to hasten our demise, we turned them all into smouldering wrecks in short order so precise was the Lascannon and Multi-Melta fire of my Brothers."

 

"Much to our delight, the moronic mutants failed to realise that for each super-heavy we brought low, hundreds of their number were annihilated in the resulting explosions. While this worked for a time, we eventually had to abandon our heavy weapons, their ammunition having been expended the quickest. In light of such disappointment, the Techmarines who were present offered prayer to the Omnissiah they worship and through his guidance and consent, we were given the go-ahead to capture their own vehicles and use them against their teeming masses of malformed abominations."
 

"On and on we went and while a few of our numbers fell, we reaped a terrible toll on them: for every single one of us that fell to their weapons, a thousand or more of their number lay at our feet. On the seventh day, after having commandeered dozens of Baneblade chassis vehicles, we used them to build a perimeter around our entrenched location and, once their ammunition expended, would succtle them with remote detonations once the Mutan Hordes had swarmed the vehicles in some blind, stupid hope that they would find Astartes trapped within."

 

"On the ninth day, support was finally able to reach us. By this point we were nearly all of our ammo was expended and the vast majority of us, I included, were fighting them off with Combat Blade, our Sea-Lances having long since been worn down by the amount of rabble the put down, our Bolters and Bolt Pistols having run dry. Thankfully our Techmarines were truly masterful in their art and thanks to their expertise what little equipment we had left was maintained for as long as physically possible."

 

Looking over to Irad and making eye contact before continuing, "I will also mention that the Librarian who accompanied us, may he rest in the honoured annals of our Chapter's History, went above and beyond what any other Iron Snake who was present was capable of doing. Time and again, his assistance was invaluable. Whether it was projecting a dome of pure force around us to protect us from enemy fire or smiting them in droves with the power of the warp, he never once let us down."

 

"Such was was our Fury, our Determination, Vigor and Righteousness that once the Imperial Army finally broke through and rejoined us that there was little left for them to do. After nine straight days of sleepless combat, we rearmed and pushed ever onwards for we would not rest so long as the planet was yet under our control. With the aid of the mortals, we did just that within the next two days."

 

Leaning back into his chair, his story now over, he finished with: " In my Hundred and Fifty years of service to the Iron Snakes, I can say that, this has been one of the more impactful campaigns of my career."

[Karack Blackstone]

For Jorek, the Brother Dreadnought is of the Imperial Fists Chapter, and is currently meditating when Jorek arrives to visit said Dreadnought.

 

Located in one of the Astartes areas, near the vessel's Forge and Armoury, he is quite large, and oddly, small in some way. He just seems to be taking things in stride for right now.

 

After a few moments, the Dreadnought, oddly positioned, as is befitting of one meditating, slowly turns its torso just enough to see the fellow Astartes joining his presence in his holding chamber. Currently outside of his stasis field storage chamber, he appears to be contemplating the needs of proceeding on the mission, and in what manner, going forward.

 

"Greetings, 'Watch Marine. I am Venerable Brother Ergax of the Death Watch, serving the 'Watch from the Imperial Fists Chapter. What brings you here? You of course may disturb my rest, as I am not slumbering at the moment. I find myself restful during most missions, even when I should be asleep; it is so much easier to be awake, alert and aware, when there's constant threat about the mission."

[Black Cohort]

Irad stands next.  "Only in death does duty end.  We all know this, we all live by it in service to the Emperor.  My Chapter, the Immortal Guard, has always known this.  We have 1,000 names for the 1,000 battle brothers that have passed the tests and earned the right to wear the scared power armour.  When we leave the scouts and take our place among the sworn brothers, we give up our old name and take the name of the last of our brothers who has fallen in the Emperor's service.  It is our way of honouring their service.  It is the duty of each of us to study the history of those who bore our name before back to the start of the chapter."

 

"Each of us strives all the harder to succeed, for to fail is to bring shame on those who have held this name before.  And how could I do so knowing what they have done before me.  How Irad Firstnamed held the doorway to the bridge of the strike cruiser "Hammer of Vengeance" against an eldar boarding party, slaying all who stepped up to challenge him, buying the time for his brothers to fight their way to the bridge with his very lifeblood.  Or Irad Strongarm, who broke the gates of Gemotha with his mighty thunderhammer and led the cleansing of that fortress of filth.  My predecessor, Irad the Mute, who lost half his face while fighting the orks on Menark III and was reduced to using his own jawbone as a weapon, and lived to serve the chapter for another 84 years after that day, a metal mouth to replace the one he lost.  My only hope is that before my end comes I can live up to memory of my ancestors and my replacement will not have spend his life bringing honour back to my name."

 

Irad reaches down and collects his goblet, "To the memory of all our brothers we have lost, may their service never be forgotten."  He drinks deep from his goblet before taking his seat again.

[Lord Heremes]

"Hail honoured brother, I am Jorek Talgor of the Sand Wyverns, healer of man and machine. As much as our squad hopes to not require your aide in the mission ahead I feel it is my duty to know all those whom I may have to work on. It is an honour to meet and serve beside a brother of a first founding chapter."

 

Jorek bowed low before the dreadnaught.

 

"If you acquire assistance with anything, I would be glad to help. These quiet moments before a mission should be used to be as prepared as possible, threats are everywhere and we must be vigilant."

[Boudan]

Gallan absorbed the stories told by his fellow Astartes and knew that a story from his own past would spoil the mood of the dinner.  He stood and spoke:

 

"I have no personal stories to match the valor and cleverness of my brothers here.  In keeping with the spirit of the evening, I would share a tale from my chapter's past."

 

Gallan paused, and hearing no objections, continued.

 

"I offer a remembrance of Brother Antonius, who briefly, but nobly, led his chapter in the latter days of the Lamenters' defense of the Hive World Corillia during the 9th Black Crusade in 537.M38.  The fighting in this war, like all histories of written of the Black Crusades, could fill volumes with stories of heroism and sacrifice by servants of the Emperor.  On Corillia, battlefield attrition from unceasing, intense fighting had forced my chapter's surviving veterans into temporary command positions.  My chapter's histories likened the fields of battle to an endless cauldron of blood and fire, with mountains of corpses piled so high as to obscure the smog-choked sky.  Another chapter of Astartes - the Mortifactors - were commanded to assist the Lamenters in the defense of the planet. That assistance never arrived."

 

Gallan paused, for a moment, then resumed.

 

"Upon learning that the Lamenters chapter were directing the planet's beleaguered defense, the Mortifactors informed Imperial high command that they would lend no aid, owing to our reputation for bad luck.  It goes without saying that such ill tidings were a gutting blow to the Imperium's defensive strategy and the morale of the defenders.  But, in this moment, the sovereignty of Astartes was apparently sacrosanct. Upon learning of the cowardice of the Mortifactors, and their hurried flight from the theater of battle, Antonius prepared his chapter for a final confrontation with the Black Legions of the Enemy.

 

Tens of thousands of devils, demons, fell and corrupted had perished at the hands of my kin, but the Lamenters now numbered less than 200. Antonius knew that the end was inevitable.  But the cluster of hives cities that the Lamenters, the Astra Militarum and Corillia's own defense forces protected were filled to bursting with tens of millions of human beings who could not be abandoned. The Enemy could not be allowed to fill its obscene coffers uncontested.

 

Antonius was an inspiring presence for Corillia's beleaguered defenders in the campaign's final skirmishes and battles.  He never stopped his mad rush to lend aid, direct the order of battle and lead the fight from the front.  It is claimed that he did not rest a moment for nearly two weeks, as improbable as we know that may be.

 

Upon his battle shield, Antonius had inscribed the words "Service, Death, Glory."  Perhaps in so doing, he was in some small way channeling the precognition of his fallen Primarch. Antonius, along with the squad he commanded, were slain in defeating a great champion of the Enemy known to some as a Bloodthirster. His life and death serve as a reminder to my chapter that the duty and glory of the Astartes is not to amass power and horde ancient treasures; it is to fight and die in service to humanity and the Emperor of Mankind."

[Karack Blackstone]

With the stories, one from Bursir being the account, from his perspective, of pushing Abbadon's Thirteenth Black Crusade back into the Eye, thus breaking the Enemy's resolve, and possibly ending Abbadon as a threat entirely, there is then a toast, and a moment to remember all that have fallen before in service to the Emperor.

 

After the evening's events are done, the Astartes are free to go where they will.

 

Considering one is speaking to the Dreadnought on this mission, Jorek, there might be reason for the others to join him; or not, as well. I assume some of you are going to rest, meditate, and what not over the course of the next few days? Things are pretty calm, until about two weeks from your port of departure; then, it's going to get... fun, for me, and interesting, for all of you: the ship is finally exiting the warp into the system where the target world of Enciladus III is located within, and the Eldar are there as well.

 

As for the sensors on the ship, there is the hint that something is not right, on top of the Eldar already being known to be in system; there's signs of a Tyranid invasion closing in, as it can be seen in the distance, a tendril of the massive Hive Fleet bearing down on this side of the sector. There's not much time, apparently, and there's a great many threats about right now.

 

There are clearly Eldar here; they have not seen your entry yet, although they likely saw the warp jump gate that opened when the ship returned to normal space. The ship is going to be searched for, possibly found. There's the very real threat of Eldar Corsairs finding the ship, and then either hailing, or, more likely, attacking, said vessel.

 

As far as the next post goes, please describe your character's reaction(s) to the following, in no particular order or manner:

 

- What preparations, gear, orders, etc. your character is taking to make ready given that the system is clearly occupied, likely hostile, and there's the threat of a Tyranid hive fleet nearby to think about

- Where on the ship you (your character) is, once the ship is notified to make ready to return to real space from the warp

- And, I hope, some sort of personal reflection on the stories that would likely be both calming and somewhat stoic in how they presented themselves; there's no need to rehash the stories, however, if clarification needs to be noted, the specifics of how the stories might have altered the internal thought process of each character, and their impressions of the others, would help.

- Anything that would have occurred otherwise over the course of the journey, and I'm more than willing to take this slowly, as the Kill-Team is likely to need some time to train together, to learn how each of you work, as individuals, and as a team.

[Slips]

As Gallan finishes his story, Apollus locks eyes with him, picks up a goblet and stands. To him he states, "Forgive me if I make a mistake, Brother Lamenter, but I believe the words are 'For Those We Cherish, We Die In Glory!', He toasts as he recites the Warcry of the Lamenters,"Fine words to live and die by, Brother Gallan, and your Revered Brother Antonius and those who stood with him did them proud."

 

And he sits back down to listen to the story of Bursir, nodding in agreement that while the fighting during the 13th was fierce, it was a good fight and the Imperium yet stands though he still mourns the brothers his chapter lost in the fighting.

 

For the others about whom he knows scant little about their chapters, he commits the details to memory for any insight into their culture and how they operate is illumination he did not have before.

 

Once the formal evening is concluded, Apollus heads back to his chambers and, once there, he removes his power armour and performs the rites of maintenance and care upon it and, once done, meditates.

 

Over the course of the next two weeks aboard the ship, apart from interactions with other squad or crew members, he drills himself to maintain his skills as a Sharpshooter and, should any squadmates want to, drill some practice runs together to work on their cohesion and teamwork as a team.

 

When the notification arrives that they've emerged from the warp, apart from noticing the obvious realspace transition, he is broken from his meditative state in his chambers. He finishes what he was doing, dons his Armour, Stalker, Bolt Pistol and Combat Knife, maglocks them to various places on his armour and heads to the bridge for the briefing.

 

+++ <Insert training montage with crowds of flabbergasted mortals watching Astartes at work?> +++

 

Once word arrives of Tyranids and Eldar being present, Apollus perks up:

"Eldar eh? While I have the most experience with their Dark Kin due to my Chapters station in the Reef Stars, Eldar are still Eldar and the differences should be minimal enough to not cause too much concern in the methods employed to slay them. Though, preferably, we'd avoid them for the sake of our mission. I've no want to waste time dealing with these Xenos especially with an Encroaching Tyranid Threat in the sector."

 

"Its a good thing a few of our number brought Hellfire Shells with us."

[reckoning]

A pool of sweat had formed beneath the blackshield on the floor of the sparring cage. He had shed his armor and was naked from the waist up, except for a half mask covering the bottom of his head. He was focused on the task at hand - an unarmed training regimen that served to both hone his skills and clear his thoughts. For nearly six hours he had dueled the two training servitors without pause; for the majority of that time his thoughts had wandered.

 

A dull thud sounded within the room as he threw a right hook into the jaw of the first drone. A sharp clang retorted as his left arm, fully bionic, deflected a sword meant for his back. Though the prosthetic was fully functional and performed exactly as its fleshy twin, he usually favored his natural limb. Still, having two arms, even if one was a bionic replacement with basic functionality, was always better than one in combat.

 

He dodged another attack meant for his head and threw a quick jab against the aggressors abdomen. He found his thoughts once again drifting to other places. The exercise wasn't doing its job. Still locked in unarmed combat with the servitors, he thought on the stories the others had shared at the feast. Each offered insight into their owner's personality and he had committed the tales to memory. Even the witchblood's, though at the time it pained him listening to the psyker's words. For his own part the blackshield had remained quiet, listening and observing from his place at the end of the table. He had been grateful when no one asked him to share his own story.

 

Ashamed of your failures?

 

For a moment he paused, confused by the remark and whether the mindless creature in front of him had asked the question. A sharp pain spread across the length of his chest, the drone's sword taking advantage of his complacency. He ducked underneath the second attack and sent a knee against his opponents stomach, dropping it to the ground.

 

Why not tell the others? 

 

The questions, as they always did, formed within his mind.

 

Tell them how you came to be a blackshield?

 

Another blade found its mark.

 

Tell them about the first kill-team you served with?

 

The clear puddle at his feet was quickly turning a murky pink.

 

Tell them how you lost your brothers?

 

An uncontrollable rage was building within him, the desire to be rid of these thoughts clouding his vision.

 

Tell them how you killed your brothers?

 

With a bellowing roar, the blackshield lashed out with arm and leg, simultaneously deflecting and striking the cybernetic combatants. The first drone was thrown against the far wall of the cage and fell into a heap of broken flesh and metal. The second one had its arms ripped out and skull bashed in until the space marine's knuckles showed through to the bone. Half a dozen new scars were slowly forming across his body, the storied astartes physiology already working to mend the wounds. It was then the blackshield felt the unmistakable signs of reentry into realspace, followed shortly by the notification from the bridge. He looked around to be sure no one had been watching him within the training chamber and then made his way to the exit, leaving the broken servitors where they fell.

 

Arriving at his sparse quarters, the blackshield quickly washed his body and removed the training garments. He strode out from his room fully armored, closing the seals on his helmet as he passed through the door. All of his weaponry was either holstered or mag-locked to his Mk VII plate, save for his combat blade which he idly twirled between his fingers. Moving quickly and with purpose, he made his way to the bridge.

[Skinrider]

Igorot listened to his brother's stories stoically, he knew many fellow Astartes chapters were prone to depression and endlessly contemplated their own mortality. He wasn't exactly bored by it, but Igorot never worried about death, it would come, sure as sunrise, but contemplating it served no purpose. "You kill till you die" Chaplain Teo had told him "if that's too complicated for you perhaps you'd be best put to use as a servitor. Now shut up and get killing!" Chaplain Teo was a man of simple logic.

 

Igorot spent his time training with his kill-team. He had approached brother Gallan to spar with him regularly, Gallan was good and fought like his eternal soul was on the line. Igorot's dirty tricks had caught him off guard a few times, but Gallan now expected them, he was pretty sure he'd even made him smile once when they were sparring when he played 'DADDY HELP, OPEN THE DOOR'. But as they sparred with their helmets on he couldn't say for sure.

 

The shooting practices and squad cohesion drills went very well. Brothers Appolus was a crack shot and the scouts moved like water. Igorot enjoyed seeing their combat styles meld together.

 

He was always fully armored with his helmet on and armed, although he left his melta gun in his chambers. His chapter preferred to wear armor at all times, which included the helmet. 

 

When the ship translated from warp Igorot was on the bridge, he had asked the captain to notify him when they were about to translate. Seeing the multitude of enemies coming from all directions calmed him and made him emotionless, it was the sate his chapter was taught to enter in war. It was the calm of a man who had a purpose, who could kill without hate or remorse, dismember, decapitate and bathe in the blood of his enemies without feeling a single emotion.

[Boudan]

Dueling with Igorot represented something new for Gallan.  Was it exciting in some manner? Entertaining? Gallan wasn't entirely sure why he took the strange marine up on so many of his offers to spar.  Perhaps it was his comrade's clear, even simplistic perspective on his duties and his mortality.  Igorot's easy laughter was practically an unknown trait among any of the sons of Sanguinius - that ancient, deceased Primarch's psychic death still rattled in the DNA of his children nearly 10,000 years later. The Lamenters, as individuals, and certainly as a group, were prone to emotional excess. Speculation that their geneseed was disturbed was not entirely false; the unlucky fortunes of the group were well known; the many virtuous, but ultimately fruitless, last stands by their brethren bred a miasma of rage and angst that might never dissipate.  But the undisturbed days of training surrounded by the hull of a voidship, and being among those who had treated him without disdain, had helped to soothe Gallan's persistent unease.

 

When their Strike Cruiser translated back to realspace, Gallan followed the lead of the other members of the kill-team, and mustered to the bridge.  He had armored and armed, ready to put his newly-recharged skills to work.

 

The news of Eldar meant nothing to Gallan.  He had never seen them or fought their warriors in the flesh.  There were voluminous records, data, pic-capture to study of that ancient race.  Training simulations against AI tuned to mimic the xenos were certainly challenging, but not unbeatable - with the correct approach and forethought.

 

But with news of the Great Devourer... the hatred in Gallan's heart roared to life as unto a phoenix bursting from tired coal.  He knew that fighting any of the tyranid species individually was akin to throwing a bucket of water onto an exploded plasma generator - helpful, but not significant.  His kill-team's mission might recover tools that could be harnessed against the xenos, and all of the enemies of the Imperium.  If the Eldar were present to block their path, he would butcher them.  Perhaps Igorot could broadcast the wailing eldar tongue as well?

[Lord Heremes]

Jorek spent his time in transit training with his new squad in cohesion drills, making sure there movements constantly covered each other's. Unity is strength and to complete this mission the squad must move as one mind and body.

 

When translation hit, Jorek was with his brothers on the bridge, eager to see what awaiting them. Reports of the enemies present have him much to consider. The elder were a fickle race, likely to strike and fade away into there webway. The tyranids were untiring destruction and hunger. From past experience he knew these two enemies could prove very dangerous. Depending on the elders motives, they could be here to help the kill team, or feed us directly to the tyranids in an effort to slow down and distract the hive fleet from other targets. Stealth was now more important then anything else. A single strike team could not hope to take on both these enemies head on and survive. However if they can retrieve the artifacts, then they shall also return with invaluable information on tyranids movements as well.

[Karack Blackstone]

As the vessel is now in real space, the likelihood of detection is vastly increased; the Empryean Mantle, or, cloaking field aboard the vessel is quickly activated.

 

However, the Eldar in system are apparently readying for war, with the encroaching Tyranid forces that were detected nearing the system by the Astartes Strike Cruiser that the Kill-Team is currently standing on. As the passive sensors are brought to bear on the various factions and the situation as the system is apparently nearly under full siege by Tyranid hive fleets, there's the very startling truth that most of the crew is starting to come to terms with: the Eldar may be outmatched here. And, as this world in system is in Eldar hands right now, turning this entire system's resources, consisting of at least one Craftworld, possibly more occupied worlds the equivalent thereof, against the Kill-Team may be ... unwise.

 

How is the party planning on navigating the situation? Do they reveal themselves, or continue on in Stealth profile and do their best to remain unnoticed? As I think it safe to assume that the Kill-Team will elect to proceed with the utmost stealth possible, the vessel will need time to get into position to risk the orbital insertion. Thankfully, there are what appear to be asteroids in a small shower that will hit the planet that the Kill-Team's delivery vessel might be able to slip in with, likely to avoid detection.

 

Since things will soon proceed on the ground, there is the very real need to ready themselves for unknowns; the Tyranids are nearby, the Eldar warhost makes ready, and the Kill-Team is possibly going to light a powderkeg if they get spotted, and this is going to be a very difficult hump and grump to the target area.

 

((Best of luck to you all, you're going to need it.))

 

As far as the drop site is concerned, it's a small forest clearing approximately 5 km from the actual exit point, where the old Mechanicus Forge and Foundry site on the map should be.

 

The plants, once the Astartes are among them, apparently register, for lack of a better term, an alien presence, from the Kill-Team. This will possibly make going hard, let alone the fact that as the Astartes proceed, one of the plants proves to be a real threat; it fires poisoned barbs at the party, not loud, but certainly not harmless.

 

I am going to need everyone to make an initiative roll, that is, 1d10 plus the Agility 10's position; this is simply put, if your Agi is 40-something, it's 4, if it's 50-something, it's 5.

 

This plant does actually miss, on the first volley, however, as Astartes weapons are noisy, this might draw unwanted attention; how is the party going to deal with this threat? I know it's just a plant to some, however, it's not liking the aliens invading its home, and the poisonous barbs it has might actually do some harm, and without any idea of what the poisons might do to an Astartes...

[Skinrider]

Initiative roll (6) +4agi = 10

 

Igorot has a Stalker pattern bolter and stalker rounds, he'll shoot it. Half-action aim, standard attack:

BS: 53, half-action aim +10, Accurate +10, Tac SM bonus +10, Short range +10 (I assume he's less than 100m away)

 

BS 93, rolled 26, 6 DOS

 

Damage: 1d10+9, +2 Tac SM bonus, +2 Mighty Shot, +2d10 Accurate (4+DOS) 

Total: 4d10 (tearing) +13, rolled 8, 5, 6, 1 = 19+13 =

32 dmg

 

(I'm using the DW rules, should I be using OW ones?)