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

[Slips]

"Understood." and Solastion took a kneeling stance much like his other Battle-Brothers, maglocking himself to the deck plating in the central hold, leaving the cockpit to the Techmarine.

 

As Solastion took stock of all the mortals that boarded the shuttle craft with them, the Interrogator especially, and spoke to them, his vox-enhanced voice echoing in the confined space despite the sounds of the Warship dying booming around them, "Were I one of you, donning emergency void-exposure gear would be my first priority...", the sounds of the ships atmosphere rushing against the hull as the hangar bay doors began to open themselves to the hard void beyond; the creak-screech of the landing skids starting to echo throughout the shuttle as they began grinding their way to the aperture.

 

A few moments later, the roar the engines resounded causing Solastion to lurch ever-so-slightly - and not at all to a mortals eyes - as he adjusted himself to the sudden increase in acceleration.

 

All they had to do now was survive re-entry.

 

Finally he thought to himself now that the mission they were sent here for was finally under way.

[Steel Company]

++ Record Deleted, authorization imperator imperils++ Edited August 2, 2018 by Steel Company

[Dosjetka]

Vaidan grinned in return.

 

"I am indeed a scion of Primarch Guilliman but none can best the scions of Lord Dorn when it comes to the punishment of self."

 

He accepted the outstretched hand and stood up. Their short conversation had given the stims time to around his system, dispelling the feeling of weakness and disorientation he had experienced earlier.

 

"I greatly appreciate you tending to me once more, Solastion. The improvement of the state of both my mind and body is considerable."

 

The Apothecary nodded, content that he had done the work expected of him.

 

Within the next few moments Tyber had sent the Astral Claw off to recover the Interrogator. It was an odd choice considering Akkad hadn't been much of a supporter for bringing the Interrogator with them but Tyber had visibly developed and bond with the heavy weapons specialist and trusted him enough to send him alone. It showed that he was more of the emotional sort, though that was emminently clear during the clash between Sabaan and Tyber over the fate of the female mortal.

 

As the others continued their preparations, the Novamarine spent some time analysing Tyber's performance since giving him command of the Kill Team. Overall the Dragon had done decently in his new, temporary role though his inexperience in terms of leadership were clear. Vaidan did not regret giving the Giant a chance to lead his unit but would most likely not do so again in the near-future, circumatances permitting.

 

Sabaan stomping by shook Khyber from his thoughts. The Medusan scion was visibly irritated at the situation.

The warrior-priest knelt in the middle of the cockpit, stretched his arm out to touch the forehead of a hard-wired pilot-servitor.

Seconds went by. No sound other than that of the Voice of Thunder slowly dying around them.

A spark of electric, almost aetheric, blue erupted in the space between the sable armoured hand and the deathly-pale forehead skin. And then another. Soon it seemed like a current was going back and forth between Astartes and slave-husk. The Techmarine was utterly silent with the exception of his deep rythmic filtered breathing.

A scant few moments later, a light hum broke the silence in the cockpit. Small diodes and icons started to flicker and flash on the dashboard. Vibrations could be felt running up and down the shuttle's chassis. The electro-aetherium blue current continued to course between hand and cranium. Vaidan had received some training with regards to machine spirits and the proper activation rites but this was beyond him. Though he knew the scions of Mars, including Sabaan, would abhor such a comparison the scene he was witnessing felt almost sorcerous, other-worldly.

 

Soon the whole dashboard was alight, the sound and vibrations could no longer be ignored. He mag-locked his boots to the deck as soon as the Iron Hand told them to prepare for ignition. At the same moment Akkad entered the shuttle accompanied by the Interrogator... and a dozen of Dimitar's Armsmen. Vaidan scowled, his green eyes blazed with anger. Saving that female soldier had been a mistake. Their mission was clear and required no help from these mortals. They had tried to save them from the Tyranid onslaught but failed. The Novamarine recognised that and felt some degree of shame that so many lives would be spent but their primary mission was to secure the Inquisitrix on Syndalla not save Dimitar and his men from a doom they were no doubt expecting. And yet both Tyber and Akkad seemed determined to herd whichever humans they came across and keep them close like some sort of pack of companion beasts.

 

Vaidan went through his exhale/inhale cycle a few times to calm his nerves and clear his mind from distractions. They had to get off this ship, with or without this extra cargo. That was his priority. Tyber, Akkad, and the mortals would be dealt with later.

 

"I am glad to see you are still amongst the living, Interrogator. Welcome aboard the Inopinatum Exitus. We shall be departing shortly so ensure that you are securely fastned to a seat."

[Xin Ceithan]

A semblance of life returned to the servitors. Hydraulics hissed as their augmented limbs worked over steering mechanisms, adjusted the thrust output. Exhaust vectors down, the Zharkov began to shake as it attempted to lift.

 

Sabaan blink clicked through streams of inloading information. Updating the Dropship to the current bearing and position of Voice of Thunder in relation to their intended destination via the data tethers, the Machine Spirit began cogitating drive burn times, acceleration and deceleration cycles, position of planetary bodies in the system, fuel and oxygen consumption and a million other sub-routine procedure. Some Numbers raced up. Other Numbers sprawled down. The Number were not in their favor.

 

The uplink also gave Sabaan a unique perspective on the state of the void battle occurring around them . Before, the Voice of Thunder's struggle had been revealed to the Kill team only in momentary glimpses of screeching metal, gravity flux and vented atmosphere. Here, the Techmarine was granted a look at the warship's final moments in the crystal clear image of it's own sensorium feeds. The Tyranid void organisms were latched onto it's flanks, ripping, tearing , devouring as the Voice of Thunder spilled it's innards out into the void. It was but moments from it's final demise.

By all rights, it should have succumbed to it's wounds already. Yet still it fought on, hurtling itself forward, each moment brought them a few thousand leagues closer to the target. Each second of defiance increasing the chances of the Killteam to reach the target, to complete the mission. Sabaan felt a grim satisfaction at this display of mechanical defiance over the organic perversity of the Xenos. He canted a final binharic salute to the vessel's machine spirit. The Will of the Omnissiah, of the Primarch, of the Emperor would be done. The Voice of Thunder was buying them time at the rate of it's own existence.

 

But that time was rapidly running out.

 

The craft shook again as his brothers made their way into the hold. The servitors whirred, adjusting. The landing skids were scratching across the deck, sliding, the hull fighting the grasp of the ship's increasingly unstable gravity and the sheer pull of it's venerable mass. The Zharkov trembled again as Akkad rushed in, bringing with him the mortal Interrogator. Smaller bumps added weight, signaling the added mass of the mortal arms men. The added mass made the craft drop again. The machine spirit adjusted. Nycax fought down the urge to comment on this unwelcome disruption of the craft's performance predictions. There was no time for verbal debate here.

The engine pitch increased. Straining, the Zharkov sought to free itself again.

A rune blinked as another mass was added to the calculation. The engines strained again. But no shaking or wobbling betrayed Greysight as he entered the cargohold.

 

++Sabaan, we are out of time, begin engine start up, Varvost, pull the fuel line and get on board. Thorvald get inside the ramp and over watch while everyone gets on board. Once I am on board, close the hatch, I am setting the doors to a ten second delay before opening this hanger to void.+

 

More runes. more bumps. Numbers went up. Warning lights blinked. Sabaan adjusted the timing of his launch window. Tyber was close but not acurrate. Estimated time to lift off was within the frame of two minutes ( plus variables). Time to total hull collapse was within one minute ( again, the variables). Again, Sabaan was to busy to correct it. The Dragon's estimate was close enough. After the events n the Dorsal Spine, Tyber could at least be allowed to die unburdened by the knowledge of such minor flaws...

 

Outside, the docking bay lights flickered, again. This time, however, they did not come on again.

 

50 Seconds to lift. 80 to primary ignition. There were too many protocols to run and even rushing through the emergency rites, the time projected until completion of void readiness and the projected demise of the Voice of Thunder did not come up in their favor. Sabaan snarled. He refused to be beaten in such a way and by such organic an enemy. He send a thought impulse along the Electro graft. The last of support and generatorum lines were dropped. The data tether went dark as another catastrophic failure ran through the Voice of Thunder. The pilot servitor squawked and adjusted the throttle.

 

Once again the Zharkov began to rise. So Slowly. Too slowly. Another snarl. So close...

A thought struck him. A line of runes wavered, shifted, then was replaced by another set of variables. This. The most basic rote of flight, older than even the secrets of Old Night. Everything could achieve lift if invested with enough thrust. He just needed to add enough thrust to clear the deck, enough thrust to escape the pull of the warship's mass...It did not necessarily have to come from the dropship itself...

 

Outside, Varvost had disconnected the fuel line and began dragging it away.

++Brother++

He squeezed the vox message between convincing...forcing...the Zharkov's machine spirit to comply of to his rapidly adjusting alternative launch set up. It was like giving spurs to an already struggling old warhorse.

 

++ Begin a controlled spill here... + Sabaan exloaded a schematic+ and ...here... Drop the fuel line ... there. Leave the spill remaining at this .. rate. Begin Extraction.++

 

The Assault Marine hesitated only for a heartbeat, then dragged the hose around. As projected, the Eradictor did not argue with the prospect of at least taking some of the invading xenos with them. Promethium spilled across the deck. The draft of the thrusters send rippling waves across them. Screeching metal indicated that the boarding swarms were just about to reach the bay.

 

Dropping the line, Varvost turned and ran towards the shuttle. The Zharkov lurched forward, gaining altitude. The Assault Marine closed the distance in a last powerful leap which carried him across and up unto the boarding ramp. There, he turned and stretched out his hand, pulling in Tyber as the last member of the Killteam dropped onto the ramp. Using the momentum, the two Astartes rolled into the voidhull and came up to their feet, maglocks sealing with a clang. The ramp doors were already closing. In the distance screeching metal and splashing sounds announced the final breach of the inner bay entrance. Even over the engine noise, hisses and clicking noises could be heard. The xenos had reached the docking bay.

 

The Zharkov was lumbering towards the outer bay doors like a drunken cage fighter. Still fighting the pull of gravity, it was just clear of the ground now but not yet quite truly airborne. Smaller xenos harrier forms raced towards it, determined to drag their quarry back to the ground. Further in the distance, larger warrior forms barreled their way into the docking bay. Bioorganic armaments began tracking the fleeing shuttlecraft.

 

A rune counter in Sabaan's vision reached zero. Emergency release charges detonated, blasting the bay doors outward. Atmosphere rushed out. Smaller bioforms joined it. Ice began blossoming on the canopy. The Zharkov was dragged forward. A support beam broke from the ceiling and missed the craft by inches. Smaller debris scattered along the hull. A second rune counter terminated. Nycax exloaded it to the Killteam' s autosenses.

 

+ Brace+

 

The amalgam of air drag, venting atmosphere, oxygen / promethium mix, airspeed and conservation of mass was reaching the critical point. Warning runes danced across his vision. The machine spirit of the shuttle craft undertook a last attempt to inform the Iron Hand about the potentially catastrophic consequences that were to be expected from their new and highly irregular flight plan. Sabaan blink clicked it away. Outcome is all. Something heavy thumped against the outer hull. It vanished with a satisfying crunch of breaking bones. The pilot-servitor made minor adjustments.

 

A deep rising bass note rang through their genhanced bones. The Voice of Thunder's enginarium had suffered critical failure.

 

+Ignition+

 

The Zharkov's main thrusters fired. The world around them died in an explosion of light and heat

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: As mentioned in the OOC, you may wish to listen to

as you read on...

 

 

The acceleration of the shuttlecraft pushes you back in your seats, or pulls at the mag-locked seals holding you to the decking. As the force lessens, you can see behind you the death of the Voice of Thunder. The vessel has been twisted, almost torn in two, by the bio-ships' violation. One of the ship-creatures floats lifelessly alongside the Imperial vessel, both subsumed in a cloud of debris and vital fluids. The other suckles hungrily, and you know that the alien hordes will be pushing further and further into the craft, searching for any signs of life. 

 

None of you are strangers to death - in this dark millennium, it is impossible for one to be divorced from it. Each of you stands on the broken and defeated bodies of your foes. And yet, there is something poignant about the death of this craft - of the sacrifices made by its crew to ensure that you might stand to reach Syndalla and defend the Imperium of Man against the depredations of the alien. 

 

 

There is a crackle before a faint vox-link is established. The voice on the other end is washed out with static, punctuated with gunfire. You recognise the voice of Captain Dimitar. 

 

++Fight well. And make our deaths count for something.++

 

And with that, he is gone. 

 

 

 

 

 

The instrumentation shows that it will take an hour to reach Syndalla. You have time to take stock of your first encounter with the Tyranids, and to contemplate both your progress so far and the mission to come.   

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: Please check this link; as part of your progress through the mission, each of you have now accrued 500xp. You may use this 500 and any leftover from your initial 1000xp to purchase any skills you wish. You might consider this reflecting upon what worked or didn't work in combat, meditating on how to improve your self, or anything you can narratively justify.

 

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1qTziaU3Soz1hRpD_rti2vYYBD6Rj4d8lI7jiVLg98ow/edit?usp=sharing

Edited August 1, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

Tyber stood in the middle of the troop bay, one hand each on one of the overhead rails that ran the length of the bay, his boots magnetically locked to the floor, shoulder width apart and his unblinking green lessens taking in the view before him. However his blue/gray eyes under his helm were locked on Graysight, his mind raced with trying to figure out how to broach the subject of him not just leaving his assigned position, but doing so without saying anything. As the craft rocketed forward, harder than he thought it could, an odd thought entered his head, once that he had heard Adavan mention on more than one occasion, often with disgusted tone in his voice; politics.

 

The more he thought on that word, the more he started to feel his innards twisting in a knot. Politics were not something that was meant to be played in the Dragons, or was it he wondered. This though lead him onto the subject of his assignment to the Deathwatch and the options that had been laid out before him, for the newly christened Claw Captain Vasquez of the second company, either option would remove Tyber from his company. For Sergio Vasquez of Arce Bellator and Tyber of the Glass Bay had been inducted at the same time, been pages at the same time, been squires at the same time, been rivals to each other, yet Sergio had managed to obtain not only a Crux via admission to the Adamantium scales, thanks to his mentor, but also been the junior Lieutenant of the Iron Scales during HSC-296, luckily for Sergio he had survived that drop… It was politics that played a role in his rise to Claw Captain, tradition or perhaps politics played out very poorly for the former Claw Captain Jove Rexis, whom was removed from his position due to the massacre that saw barley a third of the Iron Scales still able to serve the Emperor after HSC-296.

 

Politics, it felt like such a dirty concept to him, but he had watched Vaidan use it well, to coax nine bothers from nine different chapters to work together. Appealing to their strength, skill or knowledge where applicable, never admonishing one of them publicly for failing to live up to his expectations nor publically praising one brother above the others either, was this the nature of a command position he wondered.

 

Another jostle of the craft, caused Tyber’s mind to wander in another direction, back to Adavan and how he had been training Tyber, it had seemed like for every hour Tyber had spent practicing with blade and bolt pistol, Sergio had spent half of that, for every hour of non-combat related training it seemed the inverse had been true, perhaps he had been being groomed to be a Paladin Guard, a member of the elite Paladin Core, it would make a degree of sense, rumor had it that Adavan had once been a Paladin-Captain before taking Tyber on as a page then squire. His mind drifted again on the image shown to him during that moment on the Voice of Thunder and in Arce Bellator, all it had shown him, is that he is where he is meant to be, not if chasing entry into the command track was what he should be focusing on.

 

Yet another jostle as the craft heaved upwards then down again, bringing his mind back to the task at hand, the choice to bring attention of what Graysight had done by leaving his post to Vaidan, speak to Graysight privately, do it publicly or just ignore it after all no harm had come from it, if anything it allowed for the sparing of more of the Armsmen. Politics he thought to himself again, his upper lip curling upwards as he did so, he could see why Adavan had disliked the concept so much, nothing good would come from any of the options as far as he could see, mentioning it to Vaidan could raise his stock with Vaidan but cost him standing with the rest of the squad, talking to Graysight privately could cost him stock with Graysight and put the mission at risk later, doing so publicly could cause a rift in the squad, doubly so with Varvost whom seemed to be forming a friendship with Graysight, that left saying nothing. Saying nothing could be seen as endorsement of what he had done and put things at risk later, at the same time it could be seen as a sign of trust, showing that he trusted Graysight to make the best choice at the time. He gave an audible sigh, not enough to be picked up by the vox, but almost, doing nothing seemed like the best course out of all of the bad options.

 

His eyes drifted to the Interrogator, something was off about him, his skin was more pale than what Tyber remembered he also seem to have an otherworldly sensation coming off of him, enough so that Tyber wanted to look somewhere else, at anyone else. He started to look over the armsmen, These could be useful tools later, able to go places we cannot, lest we draw too much suspicion, let us face it, seven to nine foot tall heavily armoured Angels of Death will stand out. He thought to himself as the craft shuttered yet again, drawing him out of his head space.

 

His attention was grabbed by the vox transmission from the mortal captian, drawing his attention to the death of Voice of Thunder, the small bio-forms had been simple to deal with, the larger ones a worth foe, What will we face when we make planet fall? He wondered to himself, this operation was now well outside what they were briefed it would be.

[Mazer Rackham]

++Fight well. And make our deaths count for something.++

 

Maglocked to the deck and a support stanchion, he turned his head slightly as a final detonation burst across the photo-reactive filter that darkened momentarily against the death of the warship, it's plasma drive core exploding and severely damaging the other bioform - from at least what he could make out of such a blasphemy of flesh.  He was still at the loss, brave and noble men had died here in the coldness of space.  His thoughts went back to a time in the Endymion Cluster, a battle against the Dark Eldar across the plains of Hecate III...

 

They sat around the fire, Astral Claws, Mantis Warriors, Lamenters and men and women of the Endymion PDF and Tyrant's Legion both.  Nervous conversations had started and failed.  Akkad turned and looked at the nearest Mantis Warrior - Khoisan.  He had been writing something.  Scribbles at the fireside, Akkad was intrigued.  He spoke to the Oothican in Low Gothic.

"What do you write brother?  A tally of victory?" He was careful not to be derisory, not prying.  The other, smiled at him as their eyes met.

"I am merely remembering my fallen brothers.  It is nothing - an ancient poem." But Akkaad would not be dissuaded.

"May I see?" The Mantis Warrior was hesitant, but then he relented.

"You will not understand it - perhaps I should explain?"  Akkad nodded.  Khoisan began to tell them the origins of the poem and what the words meant, but that the metre and the intonation were the most important.  Castobel, one of the Lamenters listened as they read and spoke together, then began to hum a tune of such punishing sadness and breath-stealing poignancy it was obvious that this chiselled adonis was a son of the great Sanguinius.  It''s musical purity was entirely unique.  The boldness of it grew and Khoisan raised his voice to it.  Enlil-Su, another Astral Claw stood and brought the group together with a mixture of odd gestures and Astartes Battle Sign.

 

12 Astartes form three different chapters brought life to a dead poem, to dead brothers across the gaps of time and the tread of the void.  The humans joined them and they sang the different refrains, learning and adapting as they went.  A better man than I, thought Akkad, would have described the evening as magical.  Their voices never tired and their brotherhood never soured...

 

The words of the first verse burst forth from his lips, Vox off, his own helm reverberated with the lament - although it was in ancient Oothican and none living would understand it, he thought it fitting for the spirits of the crew of the voice.  They would hear it.

 

"R'oh Viay-Roh,

T'homa'a Va H'rey,

R'ho Viay-h'rah

Amu'un Oothichae..."

 

He repeated it as taught and heard again the brothers round the fire.  They too had fallen in defence of the Imperium.

Something somewhere deep at the back of his mind told him they had joined him in song.

 

MR.

[Nineswords]

THE CONVEYOR WAS called Indomitable Will. Mag-locked to the steel decking, Greysight had found this particular detail on a small commemorative plaque riveted onto an overhead storage locker, after wiping away accumulated decades of grime with his thumb. 

 

+++ INDOMITABLE WILL +++

Zharkov-Pattern Astra Militarum Intersystem Transport

Class FP1-3AX

Origin: Accatran Shipyards

Date of Manufacture: 697.502.M41

Thought for the day: 'Words do not win wars. Deeds do.'

 

Fitting.

 

As the ship arced its way towards the planet below, Greysight  briefly wondered how many soldiers the vessel had conveyed to their deaths in service to Terra. With the interrogator and a dozen naval armsmen now secured, the Iron Hand had safely piloted the vessel out into the void, leaving the Voice of Thunder and what was left of Captain Dimitar's crew to their inevitable fate. 

 

Standing by the cockpit, Greysight observed Sabaan, kneeling, mag-locked next to the pilots controls, his mechadentrites expertly manipulating the Indomitable Will's primary control array. Greysight had faith in the Iron Hand's capabilities to guide them to their insertion point without incident. Through an armour-flex window slowly loomed Syndalla, a honey-coloured ball clotted by constellations of clouds. Below the haze, Greysight could make out a diaspora of sparse settlements between lakes and spines of jagged mountain ranges on the northern continents, their lights winkling feebly on the far side of the planetary body. 

 

Looking to the main compartment, Greysight watched Solastion as he tended to the surviving armsmen, inspecting each of them in turn by running an auspex over their void-suits, looking for signs of bio-contamination or radiation poisoning due to exposure. The brothers of kill-team Blackthorn stood around the troop compartment, still as statues, no doubt memorising available tactical information pertinent to the mission and speculating on possible courses of action. 

 

All except Tyber, who stood obviously looking in Greysight's general direction, a gauntleted hand casually resting on his arming sword.

Edited August 1, 2018 by Nineswords

[A.T.]

A rescue mission no more, thought Atratus, no retreat, only forwards to the heart of whatever stirred here.

 

In a moment of silence he reflected on the captains last words. Odd that he should choose them, his duty done unto death.

[Slips]

He busied himself with tending to the mortals.

 

Not the most worthwhile use of my skills but... Solastion thought as he looked around the hold to the other Astartes who did their best to busy themselves in this, a rare occurrence, a quiet moment where they were left to their own thoughts.

 

He did what he could for the injured armsmen but that didn't resolve into much more than applying Astartes-grade sutures, synthskin and bio-decontaminant to their injuries and wounds. For broken arms and legs, there wasn't much he could do for he did not have the necessary materials to make temporary casts even with the on-board emergency medkits. Maybe once they landed and weren't in immediate danger he could have them find objects that would serve as makeshift supports for the limbs.

 

The one thing he had that he dared not use, however, were the Stimulants he had to-hand. Even in a low or diluted dosage the drug he administered with no ill effects to his Battle-Brothers would prove fatal for the mortals. The main reason being the concentration and chemical make-up being such that it takes into account their dual-heart cardiovascular system. Should he give enough of a dosage to affect the mortals then the most likely outcome was to be a heart attack...Not ideal since otherwise it would have kept the weary mortals alert to danger for longer but that was not to be the case.

 

He finished up just as the shuttle was beginning to enter the planets atmosphere and, as the roar of oxygen - now super-heated by friction - being displaced by the hull made itself audible his mind turned to their current situation.

 

That he, his Kill-Team, the Interrogator and even Watch-Command hadn't taken into account the possibility of the infestation having progressed this far was nothing short of disgraceful and that thought made Solastion knit his brow as he retook his maglocked kneeling position within the cargo bay.

 

It certainly complicated things considerably. Their munitions were not unlimited and if a hive tendril - even a fleet - was on its way to this infested planet, then, much as he disliked the thought, their chances of success were diminishing rapidly.

 

But, not all was lost. He had made it through a genestealer infested space hulk that transitioned into the warp unshielded once before and, despite how sour the memory of those days were due to all the brothers he lost, it gave him hope that they would triumph.

 

Breaking himself out of his reveries, he got onto the squads vox channel and asked ++Brother Sabaan, have you any indication to give as to where we'll be making our landing?++

[Commissar Molotov]

All of you will have memorised swathes of information as you deployed for this mission, to say nothing of the data exloaded into the machine-spirits of your armour. You all know that Syndalla is an agri-world, with great swathes of land given to the production of arable grains and livestock. There are few urban areas on-world - it would not do to have perfectly good farming land taken up - aside from the capital city, a swollen conurbation on the southern hemisphere of the world. It is the terminus of many rail-lines and the home of the planet's main spaceport. The last records of the Inquisitrix indicated that she and her followers had been undercover within the city.

 

As you near Syndalla, you see dark clouds around the world - it appears that many of the planet's arable fields are burning. 

Edited August 2, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: When was the last shipment of goods from Syndalla?

 

Thanks in advance.

 

MR

[Commissar Molotov]

You recall the words of Watch-Captain Diocles from your earlier briefing: 

 

"Certain irregularities have brought the planet to the attention of the Inquisition. A rise in the reported rates of children still-born not tallying with the statistics for burials. Reports of riots against the planetary governance. Preachers pronouncing the Emperor's imminent return in a rain of fire and blood. A decline in Imperial tithes. Perhaps each of those on its own is not a cause for concern. The sort of thing that might be resolved by the Adeptus Arbites, or the Astra Militarum. And yet the Inquisitrix's last communication to her agents indicated her belief that the world had fallen under the influence of the xenoform codified as the gene-stealer." 

 

Records show that Syndalla has continued to provide tithes as requested by the Administratum, though quantities and qualities had declined. Reports showed that a variety of excuses had been provided for the deficiencies, and that the tithe-counters' ire had been staved off thus far by an increase in manpower taken for the Astra Militarum.  

Edited August 2, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

 Moving about the interior of their craft, Tyber couldn’t help but feel it was cramped, in large part due to his bulk, having to duck and pass sideways through hatch ways, he found himself standing at a viewing port, looking at the blue and green ball with many dark clouds around it. He had since removed his helm, holding it under his right arm, part of him was eager to see what new bio-forms his foe would unleash. The other part of him, was not looking forward to being dirt side, hunting and fighting shadows, placing his helm down as he draws his bolt pistol, checking the clip, slide and ejection port his mind wanders to the population in open rebellion, so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice the approach of Vaidan.

 

“Do you have a moment Brother Tyber?” asked Vaidan, his helm attached to his thigh, looking Tyber over with his green eyes, his face netural.

Hurriedly securing his bolt pistol, Tyber uses the view port to see Vaidan behind him enough that he could turn without bumping into him with his jump pack. “Of course Sargent, what do you need?” he speaks turning slowly to face Vaidan.

 

Taking a moment to study the young Astartes, Vaidan formulates his question that had been in the back of his mind, since the bridge of the Voice of Thunder, “I do not mean to pry into workings of your Chapter, but you mentioned something that I have thought to be legend these days; A Stormbrid. Have you had much experience with them?”

 

Tyber visibly shifted under Vaidan’s gaze when that question came out, he recalled Master Voltarn walking with him to the Thunderhawk Spear of Might, that would take him to the craft that would be carring him to the Deathwatch. Voltarn in his rough gravily voice had mentioned to him that the Dragons would be seen as unusual for a Chapter, having chosen to retain as much of the First Legion’s armour and fleet pool from the sundering of the Legions, even going so far as to trade newer ships, armour and weapons for older, more trusted equipment with their fellow chapters of the First Legion.

 

Tyber closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped a little while he spoke, “I had not thought I said that out loud. I do have some yes; the Dragons chose to keep much crusade era equipment over newer patterns of equipment. More out of a case of honoring our bonds to the Emperor, rather than a lack of trust in the abilities of the newer equipment…. We also found it took two Thunderhawks to move as many Astartes as one Stormbrid could.”

 

He shifted his weight backwards to lean against the bulkhead, still looking Vaidan over as he spoke, “They are hard to maintain, and cannot move as well as a Thunderhawk, but the Stormbrids we do have, were given to us by the Emperor himself, it does not feel right for us to abandon them for a less efficient craft. Did the Novamarines not inherit much of their fleet and armor assets from the 13^th Legion?”

[Mazer Rackham]

He forced himself back from his reverie.  Let the ghosts lie, Daon, he told himself, wanting something to focus on.  He began thinking upon the words recalled from earlier and ruminating on the clouds of smoke billowing from the plains of wheat and grain, he sighed.

 

Rebellion.

Xenos infestation.

Tithes not being met.

 

It could have been that the workforce was under strength, but that did not explain the previous shortcomings.  It would more likely be a willingness of the planetary authorities to just hand-wave problems away.  Problems that should have - could have - and, elsewhere would have - been dealt with from the first instance.  The planet itself did not aid matters.  Rural communities could be, depending on the level of technology, cut off for a long time from the edifices of power.  It reeked of a weak hand, with a weak will and people too close or self-interested to change that.  Genestealer Cults would have taken advantage of that.  Divide the poor from the wealthy, foment outrage, prey on the dispossessed or the foolish.  Take advantage.  Breed.  Control.

 

He looked around the shuttle.  His earlier brush with Greysight left him ill-disposed to speak to him so soon.  Tyber and Vaidan were in conversation, Akkad did not pry there.  He had seen the Sergeant's eyes ablaze with anger.  There needed to be a conversation had there.  He watched Varvost, indifferent to the Space Wolf's sporting with him.  Solastion was preparing his instruments and seeing to the humans.  Akkad looked over his left shoulder to find the Raptor, watching everything without trying to.  He looked like a hawk that had dropped its dead prey at its feet, head turning this way and that, watching for birds bigger than it was, but not worried.  Just wary.  He had not spoken to the inheritor of Corax much during their sessions, but had appreciated his skill as a marksman several times, the latest example being demonstrated quite capably on the Voice.  He cleared his throat inside his helmet and selected the rune for private channel: Atratus.

 

+What is your appraisal of the situation on Syndalla?+

 

MR.

Edited August 3, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Atratus had not expected the question from one more experienced, but perhaps he felt the same unease as to which the world had been compromised. Regardless of their actions from here out none below could be saved, aside perhaps from the inquisitor. The world would be burned to cleanse the infection, if the xenoforms left anything to burn.

 

Weighing his words before he spoke, "the inaccurate records and sending of military forces from the world suggest a campaign waged from the shadows, but the fires below would seem like acts of defiance. Servants of the xenoforms would not destroy that on which they feed and the damage is too widespread to be the work of the inquisitor alone." Recalling the deception of their training in the hold he points towards a hololithic image of the planet displayed on one of the shuttles panels, "the efforts futile without severing the head but here, closer to the capitol, might draw enough men from their posts to leave cracks through which an attack might slip".

 

"If the inquisitor still lives, and is not already inside the capital, they would likely be seeking such an opportunity."

[Mazer Rackham]

"If the inquisitor still lives, and is not already inside the capital, they would likely be seeking such an opportunity."

 

Akkad nodded sagely, folding his arms and raising  his hand to the chin of helm, tapping a finger thoughtfully.  He leaned closer to the hololith and moved around a little so he and Atratus could stand shoulder to shoulder, the posture more natural to engender confidence.  The perspective was interesting.  As he had expected, the Raptor had cut right into the meat of it.  

 

+I had not thought of the fires as resistance against the Xenoforms, but against the Lordlings of the serfs, in rebellion, uprising.  Interesting...+ His tone was an invitation, the signal of an open mind - as far as Astartes went at least.  His silence lasted a moment as he absorbed the Raptor's words.  He detected a fatalism underlying Atratus' calculated analysis.  He sighed, reflectively and let it cut across the vox.

 

+If it was propagated by the Inquisitrix it must have been a desperate gamble....we are too late perhaps.  Even for a beheading.  Still, that is our mission.+ He stood back upright, briefly placing a hand on the others' shoulder.  His mind returned to the earlier dark undertone as his hand moved away to rest on his hip.

 

+I appreciate your honesty Brother - humour me again if you would - do you believe we are too late?+

 

MR.

[A.T.]

Atratus replies, "the creature has a new head, one beyond easy reach." He motions back in the direction of the Voice of Thunder and the xenos vessel that had survived. "But the resources of a would turned against it may prove adequate if they can be rallied to the task."

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad nodded once more.

 

+I thank you for your counsel Brother.  It was refreshing.+

 

With that he stepped away, leaving Atratus to his thoughts as he moved to the Armsmen, looking them up and down, one by one.  Solastion had done good work.  He could see the light in their eyes that they were feeling relieved to be away from the dead ship, plucked from certain death, mixed with the sadness of the loss of their comrades and a slow realisation that death had not been escaped, merely avoided.  He could hear some of their chatter, low and fevered.  He ignored it.  One way or another they were all going to have to do their bit - right up to whatever end they would meet.  He cast a glance about the cabin.  They all would.

 

One or two of them were sleeping.  Nervous exhaustion had taken them and Akkad knew that sleep was the most precious commodity in a soldiers' life.  He did not wake them.  He chose instead to approach the blond woman, whose face was now better revealed after the crusted blood had flaked off.  He had not missed the fact that her eyes had followed them all in silence.  A strange light flickered in them when she looked at either himself or Tyber.  It could have been hatred.  The one person she refused to look at, who made her turn her head away and inspect the floor, was Sabaan.  No wonder he mused, Sabaan was Iron and force together.  What kind of strange, augmented heart beat in that chest?  Akkad smiled a half-smile.  Perhaps it would have been better described as a Pulmanaric Sanguine Infusion Compressor that fluctuated in his chest.  If at all.  He glanced down, he had not noticed he had come to a stop beside her.  Solastion was to his right.  He nodded deferentially.

 

"What do we call you, mortal?" As with everything Akkad spoke to humans as lesser beings and made no attempt to disguise it.  It was not derision, which made it more palatable, it was simply his belief.  The question over external vox was low.

"Armsman First Class Faith Cassal, Imperial Navy." That was by rote Akkad surmised, but she had attached no deference and this irritated him.  Humans must bow and know their place.  He opened his mouth, about to warn her of the right of things, when she spoke again.

"Do I refer to you as lord, sir, archmagnificency?"  So jaded was he normally that he nearly replied in turn.  Then it sank in.  He straightened, the anger burning, radiating off him like a heat wave of violence - a thunder about to break when suddenly a light chuckle escaped the armsman next to her.  In any other trench, in any other situation, his balled fist may have catapulted forwards and smote them both to ruin, but his lips twitched, once, more.

 

Then he couldn't help it.  He joined in, a hearty, loud, tension-breaking laugh burst from him.  It lasted a fair while.

"Throne, but you have courage Faith Cassal - but there is a fine line," he warned her, finger raised, "Very well.  If push comes to shove you can call me sir."  He pointed at the chainsword.  "Ask him nicely and Tyber may show you how to use that."  Again pointing, at the Bolt Pistol, "I can show you how to use that."  She nodded up at him.  His voice became heavier, darker and altogether sincere.

 

"Be ready, Faith Cassal of the Imperial Navy.  You will need to lead these men.  We have a world to save."  With that he turned away and looked out of the window at Syndalla below.

 

I pray Atratus is right.

 

MR.

[Dosjetka]

+ Placeholder +

 

Vaidan will:

 

- converse with Tyber, about Stormhawks and then about humans; set things straight.

 

- discuss humans with Akkad.

 

- ask the Interrogator a few things (not 100% sure, might drop this from final post).

 

- reflect upon encountering Tyranids again, the aftermath of the Battle of Macragge, the death of the Voice of Thunder, and will be very angry at it all (as a proper Xenos-hating Novamarine would be).

[Commissar Molotov]

As the shuttlecraft finally hits the atmosphere, the whole vessel begins to shudder and shake, despite Sabaan's ministrations. Rather than the silence of the void, you can hear the roar of air screaming past, the percussive banging as jets fire to stabilise the craft and the rattle of fixtures and fittings. It is far from the terror of a drop-pod landing, but it is still a reminder that only the thin hull of the craft lies between you and a fiery death. Careful and subtle alterations lead you on a trajectory towards the capital city of Syndalla, a city known as Beregar. It stands at the centre of a cluster of railways and transit lines, silver tracery threading across the continent doubtless used to transport crops to the planetary spaceport. Again, you can see what appears to be fires in the city itself. 

 

Seemingly mere moments later, there is a shrill beeping from the control panel.

 

Almost immediately, the shuttle banks hard, suddenly and forcefully.

 

Sabaan's voice breaks across the squad vox-net. 

 

++Brace for imp-++

 

The whole world erupts into fire and noise. The craft begins to plummet, spinning wildly. Static washes across your auto-senses as you attempt to piece together what has happened. 

 

++Orbital defense salvo.++ The Iron Hand's voice is terse, not betraying any struggle he might be having at the controls. 

 

This is immediately clear for those of you in the shuttle's hold - or what is left of it. There is a gaping hole in the rear quarter of the craft, a jagged gash that has compromised the hull and allowed the howling wind to punch through. Cargo crates, weaponry and materiel have been sucked out of the craft wholesale - as, you realise, have almost all of the armsmen. 

 

++A near miss.++ It appears the Techmarine also has a gift for understatement. 

 

Over the howling wind, you hear a cry, a voice being stolen away. 

 

"Help! Help, Emperor damn you!" 

 

You see Ryken, the Interrogator. He holds on to the one of the harnesses within the hold - in the other, he is grasping one of the armsmen who is at risk at being sucked out of the hold. You see the strain on the Interrogator's face as he struggles to prevent the death of this soldier. 

 

GM: Okay, so... 

 

Sabaan: You are using Pilot (Flyer) - a skill which you don't have. You can use half your agility (22) to take 10 tests - please let me know your results including degrees of success or failure. This will represent you wrestling to keep your crippled shuttle under control so you can reach the planet. 

 

Everyone else: Who (if any of you) chooses to rescue the Armsman? Whoever does it, roll a strength test...

Edited August 4, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Xin Ceithan]

 

Sabaan had been processing the possibilities to Solastion's question when the threat alert rune came up. The servitors twitched. Too late. The glancing blow from the planetary defense systems shook the craft and ruined the efforts Sabaan had put into becalming the Zharkov's machine spirit since their narrow escape from the Voice of Thunder.

Not only had he tried to rework some of the rites he had to hurry or bypass altogether before and restore the internal procedures to more routine levels of operational routes. He also had to deal with the more existential concerns of the Zharkov. It's machine spirit was a far cry from the bellicose nature of the Astartes craft he was accustomed working with. The landing craft was used to operate under the aegis of larger craft and the guidance of more superior machine spirits. It was intended to perform it's duty under the protection of naval guns or the close proximity of defending fighter craft. At the moment, it lacked even the basic comfort of operating among it's companion crafting among the herd of an orbital landing force and the reassuring chatter of other machine spirits nearby. It was a pack animal lost in the wilderness and as such, Sabaan had paid close attention to it, reassuring, prodding it forward. Calming binharic psalms were sent, prayers of reassurance canted. Nycax frowned at the timid nature of their escape craft but the Omnissiah had created it in such in a manner and he was not about to question the workings of the Machine God under current mission parameters. As such. They Techmarine had only paid cursory attention to the proceedings in the crew area.

 

In a way, it was the lander's skittishness that saved them. It had already been nervous, jinxy and while it was utterly unable to face a planetary defense array on it's own, it had the alertness of an already shaken prey animal and had attempted to break away at the first hint of danger. Narrowly, it had almost managed to evade the first strike aimed at it.

 

Thus, the Killteam had been been not vaporized in an instant. But the lander had been badly maimed by the attack. It shook violently. Even without the limited uplink, Sabaan could feel the hull straining, tearing. Warning light were everywhere. Klaxons were droned out by the thunderstorm of escaping atmosphere.

The machine spirit broke. Battered beyond breaking point, it was unable to cope with two near death experiences in such a short time. Mortally wounded, it simply rolled over and dropped towards the surface, uncontrolled. Spinning, it hurtled downwards, seeking a final relief from it's tortured existence in the flames of failed re-entry.

 

 

 

 

OOC

 

53 http://orokos.com/roll/648853# fail 3 MG

27 http://orokos.com/roll/648854# fail 0 MG

47 http://orokos.com/roll/648855# fail 2 MG

30 http://orokos.com/roll/648856# fail 0 MG

10 http://orokos.com/roll/648857# success! 1 MG

 

35 http://orokos.com/roll/648858# fail 1 MG

56 http://orokos.com/roll/648859# fail 3 MG

76 http://orokos.com/roll/648860# fail 5 MG

9 http://orokos.com/roll/648861#. Success! 2 MG

24 http://orokos.com/roll/648862# fail but close 0 MG

 

Edited August 5, 2018 by Xin Ceithan

[Steel Company]

Watching Vaidan leave him after the stern talking to about the mortals, Tyber was left feeling irritated, could Vaidan not see the value in having extra expendable assists with them he mused. Walking through the craft back to the cargo hold, again he found himself standing by the mortals, looking them over, again the Interrogator leaving him with an uneasy feeling, when the craft gave a massive shutter.

 

Slamming his bulk off of one of the bulkheads, he regained his footing to see a massive gash in the side of the craft where the mortals had been.

 

++A near miss.++ came the voice of Sabaan, it took Tyber a moment before responding with  an amused tone to defuse the situation ++Brother Sabaan, you and I have very different definitions of the phrase ‘a near miss’, we are missing a large portion of the ship as well as our supplies.++

 

It was the call from the Interrogator that drew his attention, seeing him doing everything he could not to drop the female armsmen out of the craft, Tyber moved to provide assistance, when Vaidan placed his left arm in the way, with a privet vox message ++Do not forget Tyber, the interrogator is mission critical, not your pet armsmen.++

Edited August 4, 2018 by Steel Company

[Dosjetka]

+ Placeholder +

 

As Tyber moves to help, Vaidan will stop him and remind him that the Interrogator is key to their mission, not the Armsman. Putting themselves at risk for a Armsman is completely foolish at this stage given their foe.

 

Orders Ryken to let the soldier go.