[DW] Blackthorn/Swordhand: Episode III - The Sundered House

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad drew his Combat Knife and scooped up two unbattered shells.  He chopped them squarely, smoothly and scooped some teeth, claws, some soot from weapon marks and some small fragments of a lasgun.  He stooped and took the Imperial Eagle from the Commissar's headdress.  He stepped closer, head and shoulders above the female naval rating.

 

"Do not move." He advised, although not unkindly.  With a short flick, the monomolecular edge snipped a short lock of hair from the blonde fringe that peaked out from beneath her helmet.  He caught it as it fluttered in the light, something pretty in the charnel house they had made together.  He looked at her for a long time, his emerald lenses a reflection of her own.  Piercing, strong, defiant.  He placed the hair into the makeshift receptacle and put the brass totem away in a pouch.

 

His armour was unblemished, apart from a few scrapes and slaps of wet, dead meat.  He turned away and lifted the head of a Gaunt that bore the marks of furious las-fire and flayed it quickly chopping and threw it to her.  With quaking fingers and not so fast hands now shock was setting in, she caught it clumsily, but gripped it to her chest like it was important - which it was.  On any other day maybe they would have laughed together, on any other day.

 

The Emperor had smiled on her, that was enough.  Vaidan's ear is going to be bent in half...he thought before turning back to the splayed Tyranid warrior genotype.  He doffed his helm, securing it to his belt, with the faint clink of the mag-locking plates as the metal met.  He looked at Varvost with a half-smile.

"Good Kill."   He shared glances with all of them, settling on Vaidan last.

 

"Today, you become Lugal.  Her life is ours - she must now come with us."  His face was not open, not warm or encouraging, but a ferocity of pride burned in his eyes that, were it a laser, would have sliced through plate.  It was terrible with the expectation that they would not let him down, rewarding in good measure from the keen admiration of a veteran, whose armour had been steeped in fields of blood and broken foes - stained with the dust and wind of a thousand battles - followed by a wake of howling ghosts, pleading for mercy that was not shown.

 

Then, taking his knife in his right hand, he plunged it deeply into the skull of the xenos beast at his feet, hewing the bony rigid plate open.  He scooped out a handful of strange, sickly-grey organic matter, which was a large gobbet even for an Astartes and, turning from them lest they see him, strode away into the darkness of the corridor.  He pushed the flesh into his mouth, concentrating.

 

He continued walking, the soft thudding footfall of his sabatons across the deck plate masking his chewing.  Memories that were not his came as he knew they would.  He would know more of these aliens and the Emperor had given him the means.  Follow your gut...he heard Ichoma say.  So long ago - on any other day they would have laughed...

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Seeing Akkad and hearing his words of “She must come with us now.” Tyber walked over to the now dead Commissar, searching her corps for weapons and equipment to hand to their newest charge. Before picking them up, he removed his helm, attaching it to his sword belt. He flashed the girl a smile as he placed the former Commissar’s weapon belt around her, he added “Do try to keep up, small one.”

[Slips]

As he and his squadmates cleared out the rest of the gaunt-strain in short order after the last warrior-strain was slain, Solastion took a quick look around at his brothers trying to regain his bearings.

 

Quickly he regained his sense of self and just where he was among the piles of jumbled limbs, split carapaces and pooling ichor and as he looked around his Apothecarion training started kicking in quickly attempting to asses the state of his Kill-Team:

• Brother Atratus: Superficial damage to armor, vitals nominal; skip.
• Brother Akkad: Undamaged, vitals nominal; skip.
• Brother Greysight: Undamaged, vitals nominal; skip.
• Brother Tyber: Wounded. Source: Physical damage inflicted by gaunt-strain. Larraman's Organ should staunch bleeding. Diagnosis: Medium Priority. Apply sutures to any cuts to ensure proper healing; apply minor armor lock to form temporary cast around any damaged bones.
• Watch-Sergeant Vaidan: Wounded. Source: Tyranid Bio-Weapon. Diagnosis: apply counteractive agents to neutralize any remaining bio-acid and/or parasitic lifeforms. Priority: High.
• Brother Sabaan: Undamaged; vitals nominal; skip.
• Brother Varvost: Wounded. Source: Extreme physical damage inflicted by warrior and gaunt strains. Larraman's Organ should staunch bleeding. Diagnosis: apply sutures as well as synthskin spray to deeper cuts causing an overstraining of the marines biological functions as Larraman's Organ attempts to staunch heavy bleeding. Will perform further diagnosis to determine whether hardlocking armor sections as a cast are required. Priority: High.
• Brother Thorvald: Undamaged; vitals nominal; skip.

As his squad-mates went about their rituals and Vaidan addressed the squad, Solastion barely registered the Sergeant making mention of him as he approached him.

 

"If you would allow me, watch sergeant, I would see to you first before tending to Varvosts more grevious injuries."

Medicae: 1d100 95 hmm; vs Medicae 60 thats a no go.

 

With the amount of time and the tools available to him in this moment, Solastion was not properly equipped to deal with Tyranid bio-acid and parasite-leech burns and wounds. The best he could to was spray down the Watch-Sergeant to neutralize the xenos bio-agents.

"Theres not much I can do, Watch Sergeant. Brother Sabaan, however, will hopefully be able to restore your Power Armour to optimal integrity." and he abruptly stands up and heads to the next patient: the Eradicator.

 

"Acts of heroism and bravery are all well and good, Brother Varvost, but the risk of me having to send the Eradicators your geneseed back increases drastically if you do so unsupported. Be mindful of yourself, Brother, for it would be a shame to lose one such as you before his legend could be recorded in the annals of the Watch-Fortress." he says as goes to work in bringing the most gravely injured of their party back up to fighting form - or as close to as he could in such a short amount of time.

 

FP Reroll: 1d100 75...Yeah FP Rerolling; unless the test is somehow at a +20; 2/4 FPs left.

Medicae: 1d100 48 succeeds vs Medicae 60 (super regretting not having Int 50); Heals Int Bonus (4) x 2 (narthecium) wounds for a total of 8 Wounds restored bringing Varvost up to 13 Wounds + 1d5 for Enhanced Healing Apothecary Ability:

Enhanced Healing: 1d5 3 bringing Varvost up to 16 total Wounds.

 

"This is the best I can do. You're in good enough shape to do as the Angel demands of us and persecute the enemies of the Emperor but do not over-strain yourself until you've had proper recovery time." and, just as with the Watch-Sergeant, he is off to see the next: Brother Tyber.

 

"It seems, Brother Tyber, that you've gotten out of your encounter with the Warrior-Strain much better than Varvost has. Now, do attempt not to move too much..."

Medicae: 1d100 63 vs Medicae 60 WHY!?

 

But the time constraints, unwittingly placed upon him, made his work difficult as he did what he could to work fast. Tybers wounds were cleaned at the very least but he would have to apply more effective treatment at a further point in time.

 

Sighing to himself at his inability to properly tend to the entirety of his kill-team at this point, its at that moment that he remembered the damage he himself had taken while battling his was to Varvost.

 

Medicae: 1d100 28 :| I'll take it I guess. Healing self for 8 wounds + Enhanced Healing: 1d5 3 for a total of 11 wounds bringing Solastion back up to 23/23 from 12/23.

 

It was almost second nature to him at this point to work upon himself and seeing his wounds tended to. After all, his most studied subject was his own body.

 

He finally turned back to the Watch-Sergeant and gave him sign that he had done all he could and was ready to proceed.

Edited July 14, 2018 by Slips

[Nineswords]

IT WAS PAINFULLY quiet. One moment, the clacking and screeching of the tyranid swarm verged on deafening, the next, nothing. It was as if destroying the warrior brood had severed some psychic link, causing the remaining lesser species to lose all coordination and revert to base instinct. They were easy prey for the kill-team, and the dying shrieks of the creatures dissolved into an eerie silence that hung over the Voice of Thunder’s dorsal spine.

The boarding invasion was denied.

Greysight could not relax. Bolter braced, performing a cursory sweep of any remnants of the horde, he quickly stalked past the other brothers of kill-team Blackthorn, who had loosely assembled at the junction of the connecting corridor, ankle deep in the ichor of the lesser tyranid xenoforms.

Slumped next to one of the tyranid warlords was Vârvost, breathing laboriously. Up close, the Eradicator’s shredded and beaten armour began to resemble the body that bore it. He stirred slowly, and Greysight ignored him, walking straight past his brother to inspect the deadweight of the tyranid warrior breed.

It was huge. Nearly twice as tall as a battle brother and ten times its mass, the monstrosity was repulsive in every aspect - there was an unnatural-ness about the thing that defied even the most rudimentary laws of the material universe. Curling his lip in disgust behind his helmet, and gripping a jutting spur of bone with his free hand, Greysight bodily turned the thing over to see the grievous wound that Vârvost had so expertly carved into its hardened carapace. Blood, ichor and other nameless fluids gurgled out of its mass, revealing the vulnerable organs that Greysight had targeted to kill the other creatures.

Defying all probability and verging on the miraculous, the beast lived, though its capacity for combat was long extinguished. Now, it only functioned only to survive the next few moments as its life essence was sustained by the faint pulsing of sac-like membranes that hardened carapace had evolved to protect.

The dorsal spine corridor roared with the thunderous discharge of two rounds fired in quick succession. There were no shrieks or wailing. For all its horror, a faint wheezing was all Greysight could hear as death finally took the remaining warlord.

It was almost comical.

A scorched and dented hand suddenly reached out and clasped Greysight’s gauntlet, and the Storm Son slowly heaved the Eradicator from the floor.

How many? Vârvost battle-signed, leaning heavily on the Storm Son.

Greysight raised three fingers.

Good, signed Vârvost. Greysight was sure the Eradicator was smiling behind his ebon helmet.

They turned and regarded the others. Thorvald, Akkad and Sabaan, like Greysight appeared unscathed. Akkad had taken to searching for trophies amongst the chaos, gingerly scavenging his way through the foul ichor of the now-dead swarm in search of whatever was left of the naval armsmen.

The others were a ruin. The Imperium’s finest battle armour had been reduced to scrap by the tyranid onslaught. Blisters, dents and gouges marred their onyx and quicksilver livery. Greysight could only recognise Atratus and Tyber by the chapter symbols on their shoulder pauldrons, and the Giant stood guard over the sole survivor of the naval detachment.

Behind Tyber stood the apothecary, Solastion, attending Vaidan. The sergeant’s armour was a pitted husk, fused in parts where the tyranid warlord’s deadly artillery had tried to dissolve Vaidan alive. Of more concern were the numerous deep gashes across his body where he had weathered the storm of scythes to save the remaining armsmen. His armour was awash with congealed blood. In the amber light, it appeared black on black.

Vaidan addressed the kill-team, his voice hoarse from the exertion. There was work to be done, but at that moment, in the cold darkness of the spinal corridors, amongst the mire of expired flesh, it was painfully quiet.

Edited July 14, 2018 by Nineswords

[A.T.]

Atratus reloaded his rifle and took up position, scanning the surrounding bulwarks for any organisms that might seek to bypass this location in adjacent crawlspaces. Tactics would need to be adjusted for future waves to now allow the smaller creatures to amass into so great a number at one point, lest attrition take greater toll.

 

He considered for a moment the decision to save the armsman. Duty to the Imperium in its own way, those chapters that had forgot the purpose of the astartes creation to protect humanity were lost, though he questioned the pragmatism of taking time to honour her such... he caught himself, forgetting the frailties that he himself had once possessed before becoming astartes. Encouragement to stand and fight again, effort perhaps not wasted in this moment of quiet.

[Xin Ceithan]

By the time they emerged from the intersection, the remaining xenos were dead or dying. The boarding vector had been successfully closed. For now.

The first thing Sabaan noticed as he crunched his way towards the kill team was the distinctive lack of covering fire positions. Apparently, further hostile contact was not deemed a high priority. Watch-Sergeant Vaidan was giving praise to the Emperor and attempting to channel their recent experience to further the bonding between the Astartes under his command. Another speech, then. Truly a descendant of the avenging son. Nycax noticed his ocular cluster switch through several wavelength bands at the unconscious attempt to roll his organic eye. Tyber and Akkad scavenged the bioforms for trophies. Then they began baptizing the single surviving human, which apparently had survived by first abandoning it' duty and then the actions of the Watch Sergeant. The female was visibly shaking. Interaction with unaugmented humans was not Sabaan's optimal field of experience. He was not sure if having the blood of an alien beast that had just attempted to kill her smeared on her face by a power armoured giant was going to improve her functionality. At least Atratus and the Storm Son had the sense to dispatch the remaining semi-active warrior forms around them. The Eradictor was a broken mess. Greysight was helping him up. The scene could have been featured on a painted tableaux in their honour. Victory at the Dorsal Spine. Sabaan could just now see it replacing the acid washed memorabilia along the corridor.

>>They are having... a moment.<<

The unthought pulsed through his mind . Sabaan had no idea what " a moment" was. It invoked unpleasant associations of the infectious, squishy, fleshy kind. Something Solastion should lock away in a counterseptic stasis containment vessel until it could be properly disposed of.

He called up the squad diagnostic data his sensorium had collected in the meantime to take his mind away from it. Most damage was superficial. There. The Eradictor's armour was most heavily damaged and thus was ranked last. At any rate, the Apothecary was already supporting him. Sheathing his blade, Sabaan crossed over to the Watch Sergeant. He kicked in a xenos chest cavity on the way. His bolt pistol was still firmly in his left as he began the rituals of cleansing and purefication. It almost succeeded in phasing out the emotional nonsense around him. Almost. Then Astral Claw spoke...

 

"Today, you become Lugal.  Her life is ours - she must now come with us."

 

Sabaan froze. For a moment he concentrated on nothing but the angonized squeal of his Armour and the soothing hiss as his tools burned away the crusted remains of acid damaged ceramite.

Why would, should they take the human along? By the Primarch, the Omnissiah and the Emperor - what folly was this! The Iron Hand was no stranger to concept of bond taking. On Medusa, humans fought for the opportunity to serve the Clan Companies with the determination and wickedness bred into them by their desolate home. On occasion, even outsiders had been given the blessing of Iron in acknowledgment of their impressive actions. But this female? She had survived by abandoning her post and then, mostly by the sheer happenstance of the Watch Sergeant protecting her.

An astounding amount of luck surely, but that did not qualify the investment of time and resources required in performing the blessing of Iron. Surely, they could probably just request an existing servitor if it were truly needed. More pressingly, there were operational factors to be considered...

Sabaan opened a vox channel.

+Watch Sergeant.+ He returned to mending the damaged warplate. Even if he was facing Vaidan directly, he still directed the broadcast at the entire squad.

+ I advise against this action. Bringing an unaugmented human on our mission is going to lower our operational performance considerably. Actually....+

Even from his short time among his brethren, he could already project resistance to his Calculus. The others were clearly emotionally involved. He predicted a reasonably high bias on their efficiency estimation regarding the female. There would be arguments. The squad could not be allowed to be divided on such a minor occurrence. This could not be allowed to continue. The mission had to come first. Outcome was all.

He moved around Vaidan and into a better position. He turned his faceplate towards the still shivering human. Calmly' he raised his bolt pistol. His respirator rasped as he spoke out aloud.

"Human. Based on your observed performance here and our projected mission parameters, your chances of survival if you accompany us are negligible. My brothers are already emotionally involved in your wellbeing. Your unavoidable demise at a later point is going to lower their effectiveness reciprocally to the length of your existence among them until the point of your termination. A termination most likely by a xenos force in excess of what you have faced here and involving a great deal of physical and emotional trauma." He aimed the bolt pistol at the middle of the bloody imperial eagle on her forehead.

"Do you wish for the Emperor's peace? Now, peacefully, in the presence of his chosen warriors and not by the Claw of some vile xenos beast? Now, before your weakness at a later time will hinder them doing the Emperor's work and thus bring shame and damnation to you for all eternity?"

[Mazer Rackham]

"Do you wish for the Emperor's peace? Now, peacefully, in the presence of his chosen warriors and not by the Claw of some vile xenos beast? Now, before your weakness at a later time will hinder them doing the Emperor's work and thus bring shame and damnation to you for all eternity?" 

 

And I talk too much? A sour note crept into his mind, slithering it's way through the alien memories.  Tentacles of foreign instinct compelled him to listen.  He could almost hear his thoughts more clearly as the xenological matter was analysed, broken down.  He concentrated:

 

GM: Akkad will attempt to recall memories from the creature, specifically about Syndalla, if the hive have dropped a clearing/invasion force, how many bioforms, etc.

 

He gazed further into the darkness, the corridor stretching on forever...the sound of a million chittering things lurking just beyond the sense of sight and hearing...

 

MR.

 

Edited to accommodate Mol's superlative post below.

Edited July 15, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

Seeing Sabaan aim the bolt pistol at the human, Tyber moved with the best speed he could muster while Sabaan spoke in his more mechanical then flesh way,
"Do you wish for the Emperor's peace? Now, peacefully, in the presence of his chosen warriors and not by the Claw of some vile xenos beast? Now, before your weakness at a later time will hinder them doing the Emperor's work and thus bring shame and damnation to you for all eternity?"

 

Placing his left hand over the barrel of the pistol, in such a way that any round would be discharged into his silver gauntlet, his blue-grey eyes staring furiously into the lenses of Sabaan’s helm, he spoke: “Brother Sabaan, neither you or I know what she did or did not do, we were not in this hall to see what happened. We were in the lower hall, dealing with our own set of bio-forms. From what I have heard about the 10^th legion, being quick to determine judgment on half information is not something they are known for.” He takes a breath, preparing himself for the pain he knew could be coming at any moment, “I do not know how closely the 10^th legion has worked with humans, we of the First Legion's 9^th Armoured Assault Chapter learned long ago, that if one wants to know what is going on with the Imperialis Militia, one needs a human. Mortals are not likely to tell us the whole truth, until it is too late, as evidenced by our ‘friendly’ Interrogator, who has us here to seek out a possible Gene Steeler infestation, not what we are facing now.”

 

 Taking a moment to let those words sink in, while collecting his own, he continues with “If we want the know the truth of what is going on below, we will need a trust worth human to talk with the Sergeants of the Imerialis Militia force down there, the officers will only tell us what they think we want to hear, until it is too late for us to do anything about it. So if you are going to shoot, you will have to shoot me first, but know this, I will not stand idly by and let you murder her for being human.” As he spoke those last words, his right hand drifted to the grip of his arming sword.

 

Thinking on his speech to Sabaan, Tyber recalled that he should send Viadan a copy of the data his armour had recorded from the battle in the lower hall, a feature he had discovered in part of the command and control features built into the armour, it recorded everything once the combat systems had been engaged so that actions could be sent up the chain of command for review. Later he reminded himself, he had more pressing things to deal with, the feel of the bolt pistol reminding him of the greater needs of the moment.

Edited July 14, 2018 by Steel Company

[Xin Ceithan]

Sabaan stood unfazed among the confusion. His aim did not waver. Over the squad channel he voxed

++You want to save this miserable human, don't you? So leave her here, to do her duty on this ship. Force her to come along and she will die. This would be quicker. Much less painful to her. And to you. ++

[Dosjetka]

+ Placeholder

 

Please don't escalate the situation further until I've found the time to post later on tonight! Thanks! +

[Commissar Molotov]

For the sake of completion and clarity, here are the end-of-battle stats: 

 

STATUS:

 

Healing: 'A character is consider Lightly Damaged if he has taken Damage equal to or less than twice his Toughness Bonus.' 

 

Vârvost has suffered 14 wounds (Less than 18, Lightly Damaged): 8+3 wounds restores him to 21/24 (the remaining three wounds counting as 'treated damage')

Vaidan has suffered 16 wounds (Less than 18, Lightly Damaged)

Atratus has suffered 3 wounds (Less than 18, Lightly Damaged)

Tyber has suffered 9 wounds (Less than 18, Lightly Damaged)

Solastion has suffered 9 wounds (Less than 18, Lightly Damaged): 8+3 wounds restores him to 23/23

 

Slips: You need to roll healing for Atratus, and if you can invoke your personal demeanour effectively, it would give you a free fate point to heal one of the Kill-Team further, perhaps? 

 

VÂRVOST | WOUNDS 21/21(24) | FATE 2

DAON AKKAD | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 2 |

KHYBER VAIDAN | WOUNDS 4/20 | FATE 2

ATRATUS | WOUNDS 20/23 | FATE 3 |

TYBER | WOUNDS 10/19 | FATE 5 |

GREYSIGHT | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 4

NYCAX SABAAN | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3

SOLASTION ALBIKUS | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3

THORVALD HAMMERHAND WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 3

 

COHESION: 5

The errata v1.1 (page 9) says that fate points must be spent for the express purpose of recovering cohesion in order to count. The Kill-Team has completed the objective of holding the Dorsal Spine (+1) and roleplayed the bonds of brotherhood well (+1). 

 

The rulebook does not say that Cohesion is restored in each combat, and the errata goes on to say that Cohesion can rise above the starting value to represent the squad working well. It is a value that the squad - and in particular, the Sergeant - need to manage carefully to get the most out of it. 

 

 

+++++

 

AKKAD:

As you bite down, you feel firm resistance, before the meat yields with a disatisfying squelch. The ichor of the Tyranid bioform floods your mouth, and as you chew you feel something stirring within you, something powerful and nauseating. The preomnor, the organ known by some within the Astartes as the Remembrancer, begins to stir to life. 

Please roll an Intelligence, Willpower, Perception and Strength test. The Strength test should not include the bonus for Power Armour.

Edited July 15, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

+++++

AKKAD:

As you bite down, you feel firm resistance, before the meat yields with a disatisfying squelch. The ichor of the Tyranid bioform floods your mouth, and as you chew you feel something stirring within you, something powerful and nauseating. The preomnor, the organ known by some within the Astartes as the Remembrancer, begins to stir to life. 

Please roll an Intelligence, Willpower, Perception and Strength test. The Strength test should not include the bonus for Power Armour.

 

 

Strength (Natural - non PA) Target 45

D100 Roll: 08

Intelligence (No bonus) Target 41

D100 Roll: 23

Perception (No Bonus) Target 50

D100 Roll: 36

Willpower 42 +3 (Chapter Trapping) Target 45

D100 Roll: 98! (My willpower has jammed! This nicely fits the themed narrative I have already written, so bonus!)

 

MR.

Edited July 15, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

It is an old adage that if you stare too long into the abyss, the abyss stares back. A pre-Imperial adage that has reverberated through Human history, a warning that has been tragically unheeded. Perhaps the greatest curse humanity faces is its curiosity, its drive to conquer the unknown. It has brought Humanity the Imperium of Mankind, the dominance of the galaxy - and yet the promise of more has ensured the dissatisfied hearts of men have ever yearned for more. 

 

The sound is the first sense-memory; the crack of birthing sacs being torn open, merging with the staccato roar of bolter-fire. The growl of shadowy creatures beyond sight, fused with the snarl of Lufgt Huron's terminator warplate, the whine of servo-motors and the smell of ozone enough to set ones teeth on edge. The memory of the chisel in your hands as you ritually deface the thorn-wreath, as you bring the hammer down for one more -

 

It takes focus to navigate such an overwhelming experience - this is no Ork or Eldar to be consumed, but the merest, smallest part of the so-called Great Devourer. What does a single hair or blood vessel know of the greater whole?  What does the droplet know of the greater ocean? And this is an ocean, a wave of a trillion trillion bodies working in unison. It would be the easiest thing to allow yourself to be washed away, forever.

 

You clench your fists - all four of them - and push your tongue against teeth that, you think upon reflection, seem oddly sharp. You growl to yourself, a wet bass sound - and remind yourself that you are in control - that this is no different from idiot children daring one another to stare into the purple scar in the sky in defiance of the preachers. The strong are strongest alone. The strong are strongest alone. The strong are strongest alone. 

 

When you open your eyes, it feels as though hours have passed since the battle to hold the dorsal spine. You hear others talking, repairing their arms and equipment. You feel almost limited - a laughable concept, considering the strength and capabilities of your transhuman physiology. You remember the rumours that in the wake of the devastation of Macragge that Librarians had attempted to commune with the hive fleets - that the effort had driven some of the greatest psykers in the Astartes mad with the effort. You understand entirely how such a thing could happen. And yet, you know - you know, somehow, that the two pulsing, quivering creatures dueling the Voice of Thunder are vanguard vessels, forward scouts and hunters presaging the arrival of a greater threat. A threat that will arrive soon.

 

Akkad takes 4 Insanity Points - the void stared back. 

Edited July 15, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

He looked down at his hands, now only two of them - thankfully.  He felt the presence of something darker, hungrier than he had ever known hiding just beyond the reach of the fingertip of man, dwelling somewhere out there in the abyss between the Swordpoint stars.  Fangs sharper than blades.  Thunder louder than the mightiest of guns.

 

Concentrate.

 

He could feel the claws raking across his soul pull away, reluctantly as if they desired to enflesh themselves in him in all manner of ways.  The experience was harrowing and his body, following the process of the mind prepared for combat, his secondary heart spiked, preparing all muscles and bodily genebred hardware for assault.  He fought it down, practiced rotes helping him, grasping onto purchase.  He did not realise his eyes had been closed, when he opened them, all he could see were steel walls, cold hard metal, cooked, burned flesh and the sweat of human fear.  His muscles unlocked.  Somehow, suddenly the Maelstrom had been brought into the world in which he now lived...

 

The consternation behind him had knifed into the travel of his subconscious.

 

The Strong are Strongest Alone.  And yet...

 

Akkad spat out the last gobbet of flesh, to bounce and land in amongst a pile of giblets.  He donned his helm and turned back to the squad.  The helmet was impassive, matched by the stern face behind it.  He opened a channel to the Iron Hand.

 

Sabaan (Xin) and GM/CM Only:

+Brother, your calculus is admirable, but you forget one important variable. The Interrogator. The human does not need to fight with us, for she will fail. Humans do - they are not us - your logic is as faultless, ruthless. Rightly. But using her emotions to bond to her us, means she is more likely to report to us any...irregularities. She will also serve as human analogue interface in situations where calculus is against us.+

 

He cocked his head to one side, so he could take in the rest of the brothers.  His gaze rested on Vaidan a second and a Badabian rune flickered, opening a vox channel.

+ We must hurry. + His voice was quiet, but utterly sincere.  He angled his posture to match, to put confidence into his warning.

 

He looked back to the Techmarine, as Tyber staunchly placed his hand in front of the unwavering barrel.

 

"So if you are going to shoot, you will have to shoot me first, but know this, I will not stand idly by and let you murder her for being human.” Akkad could only admire him for his conviction.  In anyone else, at any other time - even back under the service of the Astral Claws, this human would have been slain outright or left to die, by his order by his hand.  Today though, it appeared she was to be a pawn that was not going to be so easily sacrificed.  He admired Sabaan's logic as well.  That Ruthless Calculus.  They were both right, they were both wrong.  Vaidan appeared to be formulating something to intervene with, making motions for everyone to calm down.

 

Akkad had said his piece and it had cost him a lot to do so after his brush with the alien menace, drawing on reserves he rarely had called upon in the past just to hold on.  Burning, sightless eyes scouring his soul, estimating him not as worth, but potential - the potential for something greater, but not the greatness of honour, not command, not loyalty or the Emperor, but in a primordial sense, one of many, his cells not even knowing they were now strewn across a million other bodies, blood running in a million veins...then coldness broke into the reverie once more.

 

++You want to save this miserable human, don't you? So leave her here, to do her duty on this ship. Force her to come along and she will die. This would be quicker. Much less painful to her. And to you. ++ 

 

He checked his teeth with a hesitant tongue and finding nothing amiss - he would not admit it, maybe not even to himself - his vitals stabilised in what he could only describe as relief.  The Strong are Strongest Alone.  And yet...

 

The tension drew out like a tight wire pulled from a spool of tripline.  One false step and this would explode.  He kept silent.  This was Vaidan's opportunity.  His right arm was hidden from Sabaan and Tyber both.  His hand slipped to his bolt pistol in case that opportunity was missed.  The human slowly turned her head and looked up at him.  There was accusation there, that he had started something maybe she wouldn't see finished.

 

It was not the first time he had seen it.  It would not be the last - to save Humanity, Human lives must be spent, sacrificed.  Suddenly a thought - that he hoped was his own began to crawl and slither around his mind.  She had been exposed to them too...

 

His fingers dallied on the butt of Sonnet.

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

Vârvost stands apart from the group; he looks over his shoulder at the confrontation between the others, at the Iron Hand's drawn bolt pistol and at Tyber interposing himself between Sabaan and the armsmen. To talk of the Legions, to pretend that the glories of a previous age persisted, seemed foolishness. It brought to mind those fallen to the Rage, those whose grip on reality faded. He had seen those who became so deluded they thought they were Sanguinius himself, fighting through the Siege of Terra and even battling the arch-traitor himself. Even Sabaan and Thorvald - they were not Legionnaires. They were ten thousand years away from those days, and from those dreams. 

 

He shrugs, turning away from the group, as though scanning for the next threat. As he does, he swings his chain-axe in quick flicks, dislodging Tyranid gore and detritus from the weapon's teeth. Satisfied, he sheaths his weapons, drawing instead his combat knife. He kneels, digging the tip into the soft armour at his knee. He wrestles momentarily before something dislodges, and he pulls a broken tooth from the joint. There was never much in the way of artistry in Vârvost's warplate, and the gouges and runnels from the horde and its leader-beast seem to have only further added to the Eradicator's fearsome exterior. 

 

He looks at it for a moment, studying the dim light as it glints off of it, before throwing it to the Storm Son. 

[Nineswords]

GREYSIGHT NEATLY CAUGHT the tooth thrown to him by the Eradicator and inspected it. The black fang was serrated and viciously sharp, and a glossy sheen coated the pointed end. It was Vârvost’s congealed blood, a worthy token to cement their bond. Greysight nodded his thanks.

Behind him, the brothers of Blackthorn squabbled over the fate of the surviving armsman. Tyber had insisted on taking her along with them. Sabaan to no one’s surprise offered the Emperor’s Peace or to leave her behind. Vaidan had said nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greysight noticed Akkad, who had presumably finished his hunt for trophies. Helmless, the Astral Claw stood, chewing.

That could only mean one thing.

Greysight watched Akkad in rapt fascination as he digested the tyranid's foul flesh. The Emperor, in his grand scheme to create the perfect warrior to conquer the stars, designed an organ that not only drew sustenance from eating organic matter, but also memories. Soon, if it had not already done so, nerve clusters in Akkad’s stomach by way of the omophagea would send new signals to his brain stem. The Astral Claw would experience for a few moments, what it would be like to be the thing he had just consumed.

After seeing the tyranid swarm lose coordination after their leaders were killed in succession, Greysight surmised that they were somehow linked collectively, and decided he would not have partaken in Akkad’s feast. Some species were just too repulsive and too dangerous, even for tactical insight. The stormseers of Nakaris had always exercised moderation and delineating clear boundaries. Watching Akkad stand there masticating the sickly flesh, Greysight felt the Astral Claw had crossed a line that led to dark places.

Greysight turned to Vârvost who stood a few feet away, looking at the Akkad intently whilst the others remained oblivious in the background. Greysight knew that the Eradicator would be of the same mind as he.

Akkad would need to be watched.

Edited July 18, 2018 by Nineswords

[Xin Ceithan]

Nycax Sabaan stood among the commotion he had unleashed and for the first time since taking the Oath and joining the ranks of the Deathwatch he realized how truly and utterly alone he was.

 

He had been separated from the interlink of his clave , of his Clan before. He had fought the enemies of mankind on his own across the regolith plains of the Fetanis Trojans after his voidcraft had been damaged and cast adrift. Three months on a sunless rock. Three months spent killing orkoid raiders in a world that knew no sound save for his own breathing.

 

He had walked the in the company of strangers before. Among the red sands of Holy Mars, he had learned at the feet of ancient priests of the Omnissiah. Eldritch beings who had spent centuries pursuing arcane secrets and as separate from him as he was from baseline humanity.

 

He had fallen to what could only mean his death, his Armour broken and his skin on fire, surrounded by dying xenoforms and the Simulus echoes of shattered Ancients in his mind.

 

And yet he had never felt as lost and out of place as in this moment.

 

Surrounded by those who called him Brother and clad in black armour, so close to those of the his kin. So close and yet so much unlike them. He felt lost. Out of place. Alone. It was an emotional response as unnecessary as it was unwelcome. He hated himself for still being open such a liability. And he was smoldering that his so called brothers were forcing him to confront it. And most of all, he was furious at himself that his projections were so off the mark.

 

The whole point had been to expose the emotional instability resulting from the presence of the mortal. That had been accomplished. He had been expecting arguments. Time was of the essence. So he had aimed to accelerate that by stating the mortal's projected performance and exposing the naval trooper as a liability.

The mortal had actually performed in the upper limits of his projections. She was frozen in place, eyes locked on his bolt pistol. Sabaan had calculated a substantial probability of her breaking down, collapsing or running away. This had not happened. Yet. The Voice of Thunder had been chosen well. Even if Sabaan was still calculating the extent of her being shell shocked figured into the mortal's current state. Irrelevant.The net result still stood unchanged. Satisfactory for a human. Insufficient for an extended Astartes operation.

 

The Iron Hand however had grossly misjudged the length his Brothers were willing to go to protect a unremarkable human they had just stumbled upon. He had misjudged their willingness to physically oppose another Astartes. His projections were ... in need of improvement. An Iron Hand did not make mistakes. This was unacceptable.

Nycax turned his head slowly and regarded each of his Brothers in turn. Orange targeting runes bracketed them. Potential hostile, the runes blinked angrily. Grossly lacking in rational processing, they should have been displayed beneath.

 

Tyber. Sabaan would have to grossly expand the level of his recklessness in future projections. The Assault Marine had probably no idea of the amount of overwrite protocols he had forced Sabaan to execute. His Armour seemed still a bit... disappointed that he had reigned in the Close Proximity Defense Routines. The Servo-Arm twitched in nooscopic empathy.

 

The bolt pistol remained trained on the human. The silver gauntlet remained in place. He felt the hot anger of his Medusan soul rise. It was... insulting. The damned fury of his Vurgaan ancestors. In an attempt to clear his head, Sabaan calculated the angle at which the mass reactive shell would detonate inside the armoured glove in a way that would send enough fragments of bone and ceramite outwards on a trajectory that would still terminate the mortal... If Tyber really believed otherwise...

Pride had been the sin of the Iron Hands in ages past and the Clans of Medusa were not free of it even after millennia of cybernetic improvement. It burned in his chest. The urge to prove the superiority of the Iron Creed. Prove the fragility of their beliefs. Of their Flesh. Their hubris. If Sabaan had truly wanted the mortal dead...

The Dragon had interposed his extremity in front of his weapon. Reckless. Needless bravado. He fought the urge to teach him a lesson. Maybe the hotheaded Assault Marine would be more open to the Blessing of Iron once he was forced to perceive the superiority of a cybernetic replacement, ..well, ...first hand?

 

He turned his head. His Auto-Senses tracked another target. Another frustration.

 

The Astral Claw. Taking in strays. Determined to drag a mortal along with them. He played his targeting rune over his armor in search of potential weak spots. Maybe Akkad would like to carve the name of the naval trooper on a bionic cardiac valve? Would he recall her name with every pulsing beat? How utterly romantic. A lesson he felt the Ancients would approve.

 

Their words filtered through his audio feed. There was talk of usefulness and the human being able to perform where they could not. Nycax had not felt the paleolithic urge to shake his head dismissively as strongly as he had in the last weeks. The female was a naval trooper. Assumptions about her performance in planetside operations were questionable. As were considerations of her being able to add reconnaissance capabilities. Or investigative skills p. Or liaise with the local population. Neither they nor the human would have time to expand her expertise. The odds of her failing at a crucial moment were staggering. The potential benefits did not outweigh the projected downgrade of mission success estimations. Yet his ...Brothers...failed to see the obvious . Their ancient moniker stated their mission objective in no uncertain way. They were a Kill Team. There objective was extermination. If the creators of the Chamber Militant had deemed mortals sufficient to the task the structure of the Deathwatch would have accommodated But they had not. From what little he had been allowed to to delve into it's history, the very existence of the Chamber stemmed from a crisis that mortals had been unable to The mortal had no place among them by ancient tradition. And was not break with ritual to break with the Omnissiah, with the Emperor? . .

 

And this talk of the Legions... what use was this talk of those failed relics of the past? Was he not of the line of Ferrus Manus? But he was not of the "Iron Tenth". He was an Iron Hand. The Xth Legion had been shattered upon the anvil of Istvaan. They had been reforged and cast aside the imperfections that had driven their Gene-Sire over the millennia. No longer would be they ruled by the fury of the Gorgon. By reckless emotions. By incomplete Calculus...

 

>>And you are a true Descendant of the Gorgon<<

Suddenly, realization dawned. It had some resemblance to triggering a hypno-conditioned auto response cache. Something rose from somewhere in his memory banks. Sabaan took in the situation around him with the clarity of a multi node Simulus inload. This was the folly of the Gorgon. He had rushed ahead of his Brothers. Driven by impulse, by emotion. Incomplete. Headstrong. Impatient. The raw fury of the forge. The arrogance of Thennos. The weakness of the Flesh.

>>This is why I was chosen<< Sabaan stood motionless, caught in the Singularity. >>To assess and overcome my own weakness by confronting the imperfections of others. We are broken but we are reborn. From our failings, we rise and are stronger for it.<<

Edited July 17, 2018 by Xin Ceithan

[Steel Company]

OOC:

 

To better go with the flow with Dos' post, moving this one down.

Edited July 16, 2018 by Steel Company

[Dosjetka]

First Tyber and Akkad had honoured the female soldier. It was a little too much but the human did deserve some recognition.

 

Then Sabaan, rather unsurprisingly, made his disapproval of having a unaugmented human accompany them.

 

And now his bolt pistol was aimed squarely at her head.

 

Khyber glanced sideways, checking where the others stood both physically and with regards to the unfolding drama.

 

Akkad had walked off, and then returned. The Claw's body language betrayed his thoughts: he was visibly troubled by whatever he had done or seen during those scant few seconds.

 

The others either stood and watched or occupied themselves in their own way, present but their minds focussed on something other than the scene that was playing out in the centre of the group. It was obvious they were loathe to take sides in this... disagreement.

 

Most frustratingly his post-battle words seemed to have had no effect on the members of his unit. Conversation and charisma were two of the Novamarine's main tools. Not being able to rely on them was uncommon, uncomfortable, unexpected.

 

Vaidan grunted in annoyance before opening a vox channel to his squad.

 

"Greysight, Varvôst, Atratus, Tyber, Akkad, Thorvald. Perform a standard Messorem-pattern sweep of the combat zone and secure the area. Vox me once your zone is clean. You have three minutes."

 

Almost immediately Khyber uploaded a plan of the area and divided it into six zones, assigning each one to a different Space Marine. As he resumed his orders the Novamarine did his best to keep his tone even. It was challenging.

 

"Solastion, continue doing what you can to heal our physical wounds."

 

"Sabaan, my chest plate has been damaged and I require your assistance to soothe my armour's spirit and repair what we can before our next combat operation."

 

He turned to the face the mortal and switched to the exterior speakers.

 

"Trooper. Your place is not amongst us. You have seen enough of hell and its abominations for now. Once we are done here, we shall accompany you back to the ship's commander and he shall decide what lies ahead for you."

 

The praise she had received had been excessive but the response of some had been even more so and had to be addressed. As he moved towards where the Techmarine stood, he tuned his vox onto Sabaan's private frequency. His body echoed the anger buzzing in his mind.

 

"Brother. You are indeed correct about the soldier having no place amongst us. However there was no need for such dramatics. I request that you refrain from such methods in the future. There is no need to add more fuel to the fire under any circumstance."

 

He stopped an arm's length away from the Medusan scion and doffed his helmet, mag-locking it to his thigh. His face was impassive but his green eyes burned brightly.

 

"Now, let us see what we can do to repair this armour."

[Steel Company]

Watching the bolt pistol be lowered Tyber mentally relaxed from the tension, doing so, it finally hit him. He had just openly challenged Sabaan, from what he knew those of the 10^th were not vindictive by nature but they were not the like to forget slights either, this left his mind wondering what this action would cost him later. He gave the girl a look over his right shoulder, seeing that she was looking at Akkad, he thought to himself; “I hope you are going to be worth the trouble.”

 

"Greysight, Varvôst, Atratus, Tyber, Akkad, Thorvald. Perform a full sweep of the combat zone and secure the area. Vox me once your zone is clean. You have three minutes."

 

He took a deep breath while patrolling his area, look around the hall for anything, aside from the bits of xenos that were ever where, it felt very alien to him, statues, banners and relics were placed or strewn about, it was a far cry from the ships of the Dragons of Caliban, they kept their ships more of a warship and less a place worship. As he moved about the carnage of the battle, he found himself standing in front of a statue of man or Astartes in Power armor of an unknown make with a Power sword pointed blade first into the dais a large shield mounted to a vambrace. He reached out to touch it, for out of everything in this hall; it was the only item to not be covered in the carnage. Touching it, he closed his eyes for a moment to process everything that had happened to him in such a short time, whispering so quietly “Grandfather, I seek guidance, once again. Have I made the right choice?”

 

 

“Enter”

Pushing the large, heavy wooden door open, Tyber saw Master Voltarn, seated at a large dark stone desk, dressed in a simple grey linen surcoat, half a dozen pages lined the back wall. He remarked to himself that not long ago, he had stood where they did, a simple page, old enough to join the Dragons, not old enough to be a squire. Looking up from the stacks of data slates with piercing ice blue eyes, Voltarn studied Tyber’s movements, his scarred features apprising the youth.

 

“I have a problem, Brother Tyber. The Second Company took extensive losses on HSC-296, enough so that I do not have enough squires to fast track to full brother, while keeping our other companies at optimal strength.” He spoke, while leaning back against the chair where he sat, “I also lack a willing brother to become a lieutenant with the Second Company; it is seen as cursed right now by many Brothers.”

 

Tyber felt pride swell in his chest, he was about to speak about how honored he would be to take the position, however the words fell to ash in his moth as Voltarn continued, “You are not up for the position, you do not have a Crux. Despite your actions, the Adamantium Scales do not extend their invitation and it is too soon to host a Grand Melee.” He pushes a pair of data slates towards Tyber.

 

Voltarn watches as he picks them up, the first is a request from the Deathwatch for a Brother for a term of service and the other contains approval for entry into the Paladin Core.  Voltarn was reading Tyber to see what way he would lean, entry into the Paladin Core was almost as hard to come by as entry into the First Company. Entry into the Paladin Core was only offered to those that showed the potential to be an excellent dualist, a position that had been held by the likes of Alajos and Corswain so long ago. The catch was walking down the path of the Paladin would bar him from entry into the command track.

 

“There is great honor and glory to be obtained as a Paladin, as you know, you would be responsible for the safety of a Claw Captain or any officer of the Legion. On top of being expected to end the leaders of forces that your charge would be facing.” Spoke Voltarn as he brought his fingers together in a peak like fashion, again, studding the youth in front of him. He could see that Tyber was torn, putting his right hand out flat Voltarn continued, “Service with the Deathwatch could lead to you obtaining a Crux and allowing you to obtain entry into the command track. As I said, the Iron Scales are without anyone to take up a mantle of lieutenant at the moment and it will be sometime before they are ready to take to the field again. The choice is yours; you have till morning to figure out where your path will go. You are dismissed.”

 

Tyber left the office, wandering the halls of Arce Bellator until he found himself standing in the hall of honor, where the armour worn by heroes of the Legion stood, lining the wall, leading to two statues; one of the Emperor the other of the Lion. Reaching to touch the one of the Emperor, he whispered “Grandfather, I seek guidance, I do not know what I should do.” Closing his eyes, he saw himself, standing in a dark hall, broken xenos around him, armored in sable and quicksilver, standing with brothers with heraldry he did not know.

 

 

 

Taking a deep breath in through his unarmored nose, the smell of charred flesh brought him back to reality, steeping closer to put his forehead against the statue, he whispered “Thank you Grandfather for your wisdom.”

 

Placing his helm back upon his armour he sent a signal to his squad leader, indicating that all was clear, along with the combat logs of the lower hall. This path was proving to be trying, he would learn his lessons here, use them to push himself closer to the Crux that he seeks, as he reminded himself silently: All are subservient to the Legion, the Legion is subservient the Emperor and only the Emperor.

Edited July 16, 2018 by Steel Company

[Slips]

Trying to play into Solastions Stoic demeanor as much as possible but, we'll see how it turns out.

 

We're wasting time... Solastion thought as he stood impassively as he watched the drama unfold before him. He understood that all chapters had different cultures and norms but the Mortal being so-honored felt undeserved. He came from a Feudal world where chivalry was very much the cultural norm and, as far as he could tell, nothing she did had earned her the praise she had received; neither had she done anything to earn the Iron Hands ire, however.

 

There was a time where, due to the fact that the armsman was a woman, he would have gone to her aid as the Codes demanded him to do so but, ever since his transformation coupled with multiple mortal lifetimes worth of service to his chapter, he had since outgrown such trivialities. A long exhale hiss from his helmets respirator grill being the only indication of his feelings on the matter.

 

So, he concerned himself not with the proceedings between the Astral Claw and Iron Hand; though the sudden potential for violence brought to bear by the Iron Hand made him speak up. "Brother Sabaan, I would remind you that granting the Emperor's Peace is the honor-bound duty of the Apothecarion to carry out." he mentioned in a grave but monotone voice as he went about his work, not even taking the time to spare a sideways glance at the two as he walked past them and the armsman.

 

As they bickered, he noted some damage on Atratus that he had previously missed and, chiding himself for missing it, made his way over to the Raptor.

"Brother Atratus, it would seem I have overlooked the damage you have taken. My apologies."

Medicae: 1d100 27 Success; 8 Wounds healed + Enhanced Healing: 1d5 2 healing him to full since he's only taken 3 wounds worth of damage.

"There we are, Brother. Now, if you will excuse me..." and he went back to the Watch Sergeant, standing off to his side as he continued to watch the proceedings.

 

As Vaidan addressed him, Solastion wasted no time replying "Done, sir; I stand at the ready."

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: As per Slips' prior post and his post in the OOC thread, Atratus has healed to full health and Vaidan has healed to 14/20 wounds.

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad signalled his sector was clear with over a minute to go.  Enough time to try and find his brother-in-all-but-blood.  He could hear him up ahead, asking for guidance.

 

"Thank you Grandfather for your wisdom.”

 

The big Marine was at prayer.  So occupied, he didn't hear Akkad, even though the latter made no attempt at stealth.  The armour he bore would not countenance such a thing.  It had to sleep if he wanted to lurk.  The Lion inside refused to meet anything quietly.  He leaned against a marble-clad steel buttress, folding his arms and let the bigger warrior finish and put his helmet on.

 

"You're in the right place at least for reflection Ahu." There was a smile under the helmet and then the older warrior pushed himself upright and came to stand beneath the statue, gazing up, his voice still hushed, reverent.  He continued, softly, not wanting to spoil the calm that had settled over them, nor to usurp or embarrass the other.

 

"There are three choices Tyber.  The wrong one...the right one...and then, the correct one.  The wrong one is good for no-one.  The correct one is good for others and is usually what they expect - such as keeping quiet whilst your Lord spits on his Oaths, but you keep silent because it is what is expected of a loyal son.  Then the right one, which hurts you now, but is good for you later."  He sighed.

 

"If it means anything, I agreed with you over the mortal, I tried to convince Sabaan of the same thing, privately."  He said it with a wistful air, somehow sharing the fact that he had forgotten he was not a Sergeant in his own Chapter, just another one of the Sable-clad Soldiers.  He gently cuffed his vambrace from Tyber's pauldron, although he had to reach up to do it - the ancient sign of approval from one warrior to another at a deed well done.

 

He anchors me - this one.  The Strong are Strongest Alone.  And yet...

 

"Come, the Lugal will be wondering what the hell we are doing."  They walked to the designated rendezvous point together.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Tyber was surprised to turn and see Akkad standing so relaxed nearby; he felt his cheeks under his helm flush with a touch of embarrassment, putting his mind at easy, he doffed his helm again, looking down and sideways, as they walked, slowly , back to the other.

 

“I..” he paused, “When I was offered a choice by my Chapter Master to either take entry into the path of the…” again he paused looking for something that would be an analog in a more codex compliant chapter, “Champion or to take service with the Deathwatch, I sought guidance then. That guidance set me on this path, yet I am left questioning myself if it was the right path for me to take. Between Varvost being the beast that he is and our Sargent that seems dismissive of what I am capable of, it is trying.” He rolled his helm to face him, “I find myself not wanting to alienate those around me, yet I seem to, either through my actions or my inexperience. I will not be a burden to the squad; we are all equals here, are we not?”

 

He looked up with a smile on his features, “Still I must thank you Ahu, for trusting me during the engagement in the lower hall. Though one question if you will, that word you used with the girl, Lugal, what does it mean?”

[Xin Ceithan]

"Sabaan, my chest plate has been damaged and I require your assistance to soothe my armour's spirit and repair what we can before our next combat operation."

 

Apparently he had stopped the restoration protocols during his moment of clarity. That was..surprising. Sabaan refocused on the situation at hand. He pushed the observation he had just experienced into a lower strata of his consciousness banks. At the same time he began extrapolation of suitable penance protocols. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his bolt pistol. ++ Compliance++

As Vaidan dismissed the Naval Trooper, he returned to his repairs. Objective achieved. Outcome is all.