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

[Commissar Molotov]

The expression of strain on the Interrogator's face turns to one of wordless bewilderment - perhaps even fury. 

 

If he is going to reply to you, however, the opportunity is stolen from him. The shuttle shakes furiously as you hear what seems - even to the uninitiated ears of the Astartes gathered in the hold - to be the sound of at least one great turbine engine failing. 

 

You watch in what seems almost exaggerated slow-motion as another chunk of the shuttle's hull shears away, snatched away by the howling gale. 

 

The Interrogator's grip weakens, almost inevitably, until the moment that it slips. 

 

Of all of you, it is Brother Thorvald who launches himself across the hold, grabbing the Interrogator's arm in his massive armoured gauntlet. The sudden whiplash makes Ryken cry out with pain; makes him release the flailing armsman, who falls towards the breach in the hull, towards oblivion... 

Edited August 4, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[A.T.]

Seeing Tyber reaching for the armsman Atratus took grip of Ryken, switching his display readout to orbital insertion settings - altitude, speed, oxygen... his jump pack spooling up to ready he positioned himself between the interrogator and the breach lest more shrapnel enter the compartment.

 

 

Strength check 34 vs target 74 +unnatural strength

If the shuttle appears to be coming in too hot for a human to survive the impact Atratus will stand ready to make a more controlled glide with the interrogator/

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad leaned over and grasped the support stanchion which bolted Faith's acceleration couch into the hull, holding it fast.  He spread his feet, magboots clamping down with all the power he could spare.  He activated armour locks on both his arms.  One holding the couch and Faith in it and the other grasping a main support beam.  If she went - so would he.  His head and body rocked and railed as the ship began to come apart around them.  Under his helm a grimace, infected with humour.

 

I'd rather die like this than be half buried in a wall by a teleport mishap.

 

Even so, he felt it was still a stupid way to die.

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

The shuttle is filled with shrieking alarms, patterning the bulkheads with a deathly red glow. The shouts of the humans are barely audible over the cacophony of sirens and the howling of the wind - to say nothing of the deep groaning beneath your feet at the shuttle struggles under the stresses to its frame. The spirits of your armour show the altitude of the shuttle decreasing at a desperate rate, and you can see the ground blurring beneath you as the shuttle spins. 

 

Thorvald turns, swinging the Interrogator towards his brothers. (GM: Who will catch him?)

[A.T.]

Pulling the interrogator in Atratus took a moment to assess the weight of his companions against the load limits of his pack as he moved towards the breach... though perhaps he was thinking too small.

 

"Brother Tyber, with me" turbines blazed into life as he opened the packs engines to full power and pushed against the spin of the shuttle, warning lights turning from amber to red has his armour strained caught between the two forces and the pack began to glow. None of these things matter to Atratus, each moment a new risk to be assessed between the lives of his ward and his brothers.

 

At these speeds they would hit the ground before the ancient armour failed and Atratus turned from the spinning terrain to take a long hard look at the interrogator. What distance would be required to decelerate to a speed non-fatal to his frame, how many seconds.

[Slips]

Anti-Air fire.

 

Of course there would be anti-air fire. Solastion thought to himself as he sprang into unthinking action as he attempted to yank as many patients as he could back into the safer parts of the shuttles hold. He couldn't save them all - especially when they were already blown out of the vehicle - but he would do his utmost for it was his duty as a Space Marine and Apothecary and the oaths he swore upon being granted the Helix he held onto much more strongly than those of the Deathwatch.

 

As the first shot hit and ripped through the hull - as well as an unfortunate armsman - his helmets lenses auto-corrected for the sudden flash as plasteel, ceramite and adamantium instantly transitioned from solid to vapor; blinding the remaining mortals.

 

Keeping his boots maglocked to the deck, he did what he could to bring those that remained to safety; as relative as that safety was now that theyre shuttle was plummeting to the surface below.

 

 

 

Strength Test to see if Solastion can save any Armsmen; Strength 50 + 20 Armor + 10 History = 80; SB 13

Strength Test: 1d100 71; only a straight success if at +0 Challenging.

Edited August 5, 2018 by Slips
Edits~!

[Steel Company]

“Brother Tyber, with me.”

 

Looking at Atratus, Tyber had an idea of what he intended to do, using the Vox network Tyber spoke up +It is risky Atratus, but I do not see many options. I will take Thorvald and Akkad, can you take two and Varvost take two we might be able to stress out jump packs to let us make it to the ground with alive.+

 

Looking to Akkad and Thorvald to see what they think of a controlled crash, being completely dependent on someone else to try and get them down with only one jump pack.

Edited August 4, 2018 by Steel Company

[Xin Ceithan]

The Omnissiah was lauded as an avatar of infinite understanding, all-encompassing knowledge and faultless logic. Yet in moments like this, Sabaan could not help but wonder if the Machine Deity was also given to a very wicked sense of humor.

On their voyage to Syndala, Nycax had run simulations with the attempt to determine the possibilities of disguising the landing craft's approach as some sort of natural phenomenon like a meteor strike or falling debris from the inner system void Engagements they had already witnessed. He had ultimately discarded them. Convincing the already straining machine spirit to end a journey which had begun by being turned into an oversized bolt shell by forcing it into a faked crash landing had seemed a productive course of endeavor at that point.

 

Now, the Zharkov was madly spiraling downwards, trailing smoke, flames and an ever increasing cloud of debris. Sabaan grimly acknowledged that the performance would convince any potential spectators that they were facing unavoidable, imminent destruction. Be careful what you wish for..

 

The landing craft was doomed and this time there was no way to prevent it. The projected possibility of survival was racing towards a flat zero. Sabaan therefore was concentrating his efforts on increasing the survival rate of the killteam. At present, all Killteam members were still registered active on his clave status rune spread. Thus he ignored the commotion behind him. He had his hands full attempting to regain some sort of control over the Zharkov. At the moment, it was not proceeding very well.

 

Three major factors were weighed against him.

First. He was not an ordained pilot. Sabaan had served with the Chapter fleet. In this capacity, he had prepared void craft for duty and served as interface node between his clave and the machine spirits of boarding craft, dropships and, once, even one of the venerable Assault Rams in the Chapter's arsenal. But he had neither the skill set nor the experience to operate a void craft his own. Especially not under these conditions. And..

Second. He lacked the necessary interface augmentation. As did the Zharkov. Without access to the a dedicated Mind-Machine-Interface, he would not have been able to perform most of the piloting routines anyway. Actually, even access to primary controls would have been limited. These were still occupied by the pilot-servitors after all. Well, most of them , anyway.

Parts of the ventral thermal shielding came apart. An armor plate punched through the canopy.The left hand servitor was decapitated in an instant. Armaplast shrapnelled through the cockpit. The servitor managed to continue functioning for almost another minute. There was not much left to steer left outside anyway.

Third, the Zharkov's main machine spirit was offline. A more poetic soul would have attributed it to some sort of machine cognitive dissonance analogy. No one had ever accused Sabaan of poetry. From the remains of the diagnostic choir, he assumed the initial blast had compromised the main cogitator banks. Thus, he was limited to using the remains of the auxiliary guidance system. His right hand was clamped tightly to the servitor head, enforcing the linkage via his Elektro-Grafts. The vatgrown flesh beneath his augmentic fingers was beginning to bruise. Milky life support fluid was leaking from it's eye sockets.

One engine was dying. The other was not far behind.

.Sabaan was forcing his mind along the uplink. Direct control eluded him. In a way, he was reduced to the noospheric version of shouting from the backseat at a frightened child while the driver was a having a heart attack.

No. Flying the lander was no longer an option. Neither was landing. But he had trust in the Omnissiah. And he was an Iron Hand. He called on the Iron Creed. Flying was an art. But where artistic flair failed, brute force would prevail. He grunted another binaric cant. There was not much lander left. But there might be enough to turn it into an improvised drop pod...

Edited August 5, 2018 by Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad looked up to see Tyber rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms.  The big Marine looked at him, then to another - Akkad did not see who - he was fixed on the big Marine.  He watched the huge warrior gauge the distance to leap and knew without a seconds' hesitation what he was going to do.

 

The wind was blowing in a hurricane, so he had to use the vox on the squad frequency.  He looked down at Faith.

 

He had a different faith in Tyber.

 

+Don't even think it you big idiot,+ shards of debris and dirt battered his armour like rain, he spoke openly, directly to everyone to let them know his decision +Get the Sergeant out and take the mortal - have Faith!+  He tore the woman's acceleration couch from the wall - he knew it would give her the protection from a severe impact - she could survive it perhaps if Tyber flew true.  He tossed her up to the big Marine, who caught her reflexively.

 

Without another word, he turned, magboots keeping him from sliding down the deck or being pitched over.  He had seen shuttles land over a dozen times and had been in them when he been with Melindra.  He would give Sabaan as much help as he could.  He forced his way into the cockpit and tore the pilot's seat from behind the control console, being careful not to disrupt Sabaan or his handiwork with the servitors.  His strong hands took up the slack in the flight stick and collective.

"Now you big metal bastard - fly!"  He said it more to himself than the craft.

 

GM: Akkad will try to assist Sabaan with any further piloting rolls etc Just let me know what you want from me, thanks.

 

MR.

Edited August 4, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

The force of re-entry is catastrophic. As the Techmarine wrestles with the controls of the shuttle - even with the Astral Claw having made his way to the flight deck - it becomes clear that despite the brute force of Imperial engineering, the miracle of flight is eluding the shuttle. 

 

Thorvald throws the Interrogator towards Atratus, who catches him deftly and securely. There is a moment where time seems to slow... and then the decking underneath Thorvald's feet seems to disintegrate. 

 

The Space Wolf holds on to the hull-plating, his frag cannon clattering away and out of the shuttle. He roars in pain and anger as he attempts to haul himself back, as he is buffeted by the force of the wind. 

 

GM: One marine will be able to attempt to pull Thorvald back into the shuttle - the player doing so must pass as many strength tests as you can - that is, pass strength tests until you fail, and let me know how many tests you have passed.

Edited August 4, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Nineswords]

THE WORLD HAD exploded. It violently spun and heaved, a world where there was nothing but fire and the shriek of tortured metal, that had no place in the natural order of things. One moment, the Indomitable Will was secure in its approach toward the capital city of Syndalla. 

 

The next, chaos. 

 

It was as if a maw, like that of a great beast of the deep seas, had suddenly reached out and bit the conveyor cleanly in two, taking its prey down with it. The horror of the armsmen being sucked out was only matched by their disintegration; atmospheric pressure literally tearing the unshielded humans limb from limb, before the extreme temperature ignited their exposed flesh and bone into ash. There was no time to acknowledge the loss. A huge, gaping hole ringed by glowing red hot metal replaced the starboard turbine thrusters, expanding as more debris was sucked out into the fiery void and the shuttle shook itself apart.

 

Over the catastrophic din of the tumbling craft, the thin, reedy voice of the Interrogator could be heard, one arm viced around a seat harness, the other clinging desperately to one of the last surviving armsmen.

 

'Help! Help, Emperor damn you!' he shrieked, willing the astartes into action. Tyber lumbered towards the interrogator, mag-locked onto shredded steel decking.

 

Greysight's local vox network was awash with static, but he could hear sergeant Vaidan ordering Ryken to let go of the armsmen. In the turmoil, Greysight could clearly see the interrogator's face crumple into despair and anger, provoked by facing an impossible choice. Before he could respond, the Indomitable Will hit a thermal eddy, spinning uncontrollably in a downward spiral. A large object, what looked to be an equipment bag, struck Interrogator Ryken as it too was sucked out, and he released his grip on his harness, falling over upright.

 

The armsmen had simply vanished, wordlessly, into oblivion.

 

As Ryken teetered on the edge, the Space Wolf launched himself with trans-human speed towards the stricken Interrogator, gripping his forearm with a violent jerk that would no doubt have pulled Ryken's shoulder out of its socket. But for that, and the interrogator would have met certain death. Heaving with considerable force, Thorvald launched Ryken into the waiting arms of Atratus, who had followed the Space Wolf. The Raptor caught the interrogator neatly in a bear hug, before mag-locking his boots fast onto the steel decking.

 

Thorvald's respite was short-lived. With a violent lurch, the decking that bore the Space Wolf disintegrated, causing him to topple towards the edge of the Indomitable Will. Only his quick thinking had saved him at the last moment, gouging his fingertips into a recess of the shuttle's shredded hull-plating, as the rest of him flapped violently, exposed to the void beyond. 

 

The Storm Son bounded towards the spinning, gaping hole, concentrating on finding purchase of his own, before thrusting an obsidian arm out and gripping Thorvald's gauntlet. The force exerting itself on Greysight was immense, vertigo threatening to overwhelm his astartes physiology and cause him to pass out.

 

'Hold. On,' Greysight ordered through gritted teeth. He looked at Thorvald, who was trying to find purchase on the hull with his other hand. 

 

Almost. The–

 

The world exploded once more. There was no fire this time, only darkness. An all-consuming darkness that had taken the Space Wolf into its eternal embrace.

Edited August 8, 2018 by Nineswords

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad cast a glance over his shoulder as more of the craft disintegrated around them.  He felt a stab of admiration for the Iron Hand, who was literally flying the ship by will alone.  He did not wish to disturb him in these crucial moments, but if they survived this by his art, he had earned a trinket of his own - he smiled under his helm, gone in a heartbeat as a strange feeling erupted among his arms - odd vibrations then suddenly a lightness in his fist - either they had stopped falling or...

 

"Throne!" He said in disbelief at the control column, now wrenched clear away from the main console.  He stood staring at it leaking control fluids all over the place.  He gazed anxiously at it, but none spattered Sabaan.  He threw it out of a hole in the canopy and heard it bounce along the hull a few times, doing a rivet inspection.  He huffed - maybe soon they all would.

 

He turned back into the cabin, to see Greysight lunging for the Space Wolf, who was desperately scrabbling against gravity and wind shear.  He was too far away to help and his voice was stolen by the magnitude of the force pummelling into the remains of the craft.  Any words battered against his helm alone, becoming nought more than primordial despair, dying in his throat as the hull buckled further, as if it was determined to steal more prizes, as if the planet itself had nothing but contempt for human life, to drink it away as water down a sluice.

 

Appropriate mood music.

 

With horrifying slow motion, Greysight began heaving, using all his hidden, bound strength.  His Sulde flapped maddeningly in the turbulent air, the Space Wolf's hand flew from the steel decking, ebony gauntlet sending sparks shredding against the inferior metal plate he sought purchase from, finding none with a wrenching shriek of futile friction.  He could almost feel the whine of servos as the Storm Son did his utmost, lifting from his hips and legs with everything he had, but fate waned from Thorvald and waxed strong against the warrior of Nakaris.  The hull tore, metal flesh flensed away and he watched, agony burning in his veins, his blood scolding acid.

 

He could see everything with breathtaking clarity as the world stopped, as it so often did in moments of desperation.  Chips on Thorvald's armour from where they had battled the Tyranids.  The small dent in the ridge above his left eye where his helm had fallen to the deck in the cargo hold.  Repainted swatches of black and yellow, black and red on his right arm, marking out his previous pack.  Heat burns from his power-plant exhaust.  He could see the darkness below them and the scattered lights of small villages, the burning fields, the swathes of smoke rising into the atmosphere to claim him, an oily kraken from the depths of the Fenris seas, the cabin lit by red-hot heated metal from the punishment meted out upon it.

 

Thorvald's  Wolf Tooth necklace snagged on a jutting spar, held for a fraction of a second, then tore free of the falling Marine.  Greysight's clasp slipped, first from arm, then to wrist and finally, fingertips.  In a sudden collapse and final scream of agonised decking that drowned Akkad's own harsh, guttural wail, he pitched headlong into the night.  Akkad launched, too late, too far.  He knelt on the deck, head cast down, seeing again and again the Space Wolf falling.

 

He spoke to the darkness over open vox and the spirit of the gruff warrior he had called friend.

+Anu, Libbu Ebih. Leku-Su Etlu, Wussuru Sha-Hatti-Su.+  His voice was dark and mournful and a great melancholy settled over him as he knelt upright.  In his mind, he heard the words again - this time in Low Gothic.  Lord of Heavens, my heart is full of sorrow.  Take this Warrior and release him from his Sins.

 

Gathering his calm a moment, he twisted his head, looking for the Crimson Knight, wondering if there was a chance.  He looked to Solastion and prepared a private channel.  It was hard to merely speak - even over vox - the rattle of tortured and twisted metal was eclipsing everything.  Even the sound of his own grief-throttled heartbeats.  The Apothecary slowly shook his head.  Greysight moved and brought his hand up so everyone could see what he clasped.

 

A Wolf-tooth necklace, brutal barbed fangs was held fast in a mighty silver-shod fist.  He took it and wrapped the ends around his belt, securing them.  Akkad nodded in approval.  Then he stood and continued to stare at the gaping wound that had devoured his Brother.  Lost - like tears in rain.

 

MR.

Edited August 6, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Slips]

+He's gone, Akkad...When this is over - or if we're lucky - recovering his Geneseed will be my priority by the Great Angel, I swear it!+ Solastion said, shaking his head in despair.

 

+Brother Sabaan! What is our current altitude? Performing an emergency exitus procedure seems to be our only recourse at this stage!+

[Xin Ceithan]

Have put in a placeholder here

Sabaan will

Attempt to send out schematic and advice regarding potential "safe" exit altitude and area ( regarding Astartes)

Attempt to aim the craft into a directed crash towards an area where Astartes might survive ( no obvious raging inferno, rockcrete underground)

Stay in the craft to stabilize the shuttle once exit altitude is reached long enough for the team to egress

Prepare for emergency egress afterwards

Curse a lot in binharic

[Mazer Rackham]

Vaidan looked across at the yawning gulf that swallowed the Space Wolf and grimaced, his face fixed.  He already had donned his helm and looked around at the squad.  Nycax Sabaan was still hunched over the servitors, his joints creaking as his Iron will battered at the relentless atmosphere, trying to control the shuttle.

+Brother Sabaan - what is the safe altitude for extraction?+  The Novamarine's voice was steady, vox only due to the howling, wind, but he could still hear it on the feeback loop inside his helm as a background buffeting. The Iron Hand was angered by the interruption.  A few more micra and he would be able to steer into the thermals.  He merely pulsed a multi-chronometer to the squad.

 

A series of burning amber runes flashed into the helms of the Kill Team, One was estimated time to impact, the other was altitude.  Both were dwindling rapidly.  They watched seconds of their life tick away.  At another time it would not have mattered to beings who had spent centuries of service in battle, to whom seconds were the length of time it took enemies to die, where battles lasted an hour, then respite and onto another.  Vaidan looked to his brethren and appended runes to each other, trying to work out how many brothers could use three jump packs.  And one human, he reminded himself.  He looked at the woman.

 

Not mission critical.

 

+What is the safe load on the jump-packs?  What altitude?+  Quickfire questions, hoping the Techmarine would understand and respond in kind.  His reply when it came was gruff.

+The machine spirits must be invoked at these altitudes,+ formulae and trajectory telemetry poured into Vaidan's helm.  He passed it via noospheric relay and the adjusted vectors dazzled Tyber, Varvost and Atratus.  Vaidan was distracted but a moment, as Sabaan's voice returned. + but no more than two Astartes can exfiltrate as it will aggrieve the thrust to load capacitance.  3000 metres is optimal.+ And then I will have to tend to those spirits as well.

 

A cold voice triggered a memory of an emergency drop.  Isstvan...when the drop-pod failed and they had to cut their way out...using only...yes.  It could work.

 

+Brother Akkad will assist me.+  His mechanically tinged voice brooked no emotion - and equally no argument.  Besides, Akkad owed him at least that much.  Especially for what could be called Techno-heresy upon the blessed Mars pattern Heavy Bolter he so obsessed over.

 

Vaidan re-calculated and tagged the pairs together, noting with some barely suppressed anger Tyber was clutching the human still.  No matter, the Dragon would have to take the responsibility should his other charge suffer - especially as he planned to be that passenger.  He trusted the Astartes physiology, Tyber's judgement was still under review.  He sent the new pairings to his team.

 

Atratus would deploy with Greysight, Solastion would rely on Varvost and the Sons of Sanguinius could take to wing like their genesire.  And Solastion could keep an eye on the other.  Finally, he and Tyber would cut through the grief and smoke clogged air.  He turned and looked at Akkad and then at Sabaan.

 

He nodded at Atratus, who still clutching Ryken.  +I am relying on you Brother.  Ryken is mission critical.+

 

+Emperor guide you brothers.+  With that, he leapt across the gap in the hull and banged his fist into Tyber's shoulder guard as the runes burned from amber to crimson.  3250 metres and dropping like mercury on Ios. +Time to go.  Blackthorn...Deploy!+

 

And may the Emperor watch over us all.

 

MR.

Edited August 9, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

++I will see you on the ground Ahu, lest I be forced to drag you back to the living!++ called Tyber to Akkad as he passed, looking at the girl he clutched then to Vaidan, under his helm he felt nothing but anger. Sabban had made it clear, only two Astartes could make the trip per jump pack, she would be all of fifty kilograms soaking wet, fifty kilograms too much. Viadan had been clear, she unlike the interrogator was not mission critical. He sighed to himself, whispering as much as the external vox would let him he spoke to her, +Close your eyes small ones, think of happier times.++

 

He watched as she followed the command he had given her, his hearts heavy with what he knew he was about to do. In one quick motion Tyber snapped her neck, killing her before her mind had a chance to process what had just happened, laying her on the deck he spoke softly over the external vox +Et hoc per imperatorem guide tenebrae, nolite timere pro vivis ... Parva unum doleo.+

 

OOC:

Translation for those that do not want to look up the latin: Emperor guide you through this darkness, do not fear for the living...  I am sorry small one.

 

Looking to the counter on his HUD, at just 100m to go, Tyber takes hold of Viadan and moves to the hole in the ship, ready to jump the moment the counter reaches 3000m. Telling himself, that should the Interrogator prove to have been unable to be of actual use to this mission, it would take the rest of the squad to stop him from killing the Interrogator for having wasted the squads members and squad resources for his hide.

[Slips]

+You remind me of our Lamenter cousins, Brother Tyber.+ Solastion stated flatly as he mag-walked over to Varvost. +Mourn her loss after we've accomplished our mission - which is our paramount priority. You did the right thing.+

 

As he got to his Eradicator cousin, he placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke aloud +Upon the Wings of Angels and Fire do we descend to this planet, to bring the light of the Great Angel and the Emperor to those who have lost it, to banish those that have snuffed it from His domain and to reignite it in the hearts of those Loyal to Him-On-Terra.+ and once done, nodded once to him to signal that he was ready.

[Steel Company]

+Mourn her loss after we've accomplished our mission - which is our paramount priority. You did the right thing.+

 

Tyber felt his teeth clench under his helm as the wind whipped around his tabard, there it was again, ‘the right thing’, what was the right thing for the mission, had been the wrong thing for Faith. She had looked as if she were sleeping, at peace, as the craft disintegrated around her. For him, that had felt like the hardest thing he had ever done, it made passing the trials seem easy, killing the Humans of HSC-296 feel easy, fighting the warrior strain feel easy. As the counter reached zero, Tyber simply walked out of the hole, letting gravity do its work. He fired his thrusters for long burns just as Sabban had indicated, this was going to be a long trip down, with him trapped as much in his head as he was fitted into his armour.

 

The engines of the jump pack protested every second with the addition weight of Vaidan, the alarms of the pack sounding clearly breaking his thoughts on the nature of command requiring to prioritize who or what was or was not mission critical, he found it causing his upper lip to curl in disgust again. For the first time, since really entering the Deathwatch he truly found himself questioning if Command was really something he wanted or if he was doing it to try and best Sergio.

Edited August 9, 2018 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad quickly looked out of the cockpit cabin and raised in hand in salute.

 

+Fly well Ahu, see you on the ground.+

 

He ducked back inside, not seeing the final moments of the human.

 

MR.

[A.T.]

The order had been given. Atratus adjusted his posture, astartes in one hand and human in the other seemed the only way in which he might better control his fall. He looked now not for altitude readings but for target zones, trees or swamps to break the fall, a human would not survive a water landing. That thought called another to mind, too late to stray from the given task but he spared a final word for the woman left behind, "the cockpit, eject".

 

With that he leapt after his brothers.

[Xin Ceithan]

-Another placeholder, sadly -

 

Sabaan steers the craft so the team can disembark and get some distance to the wreck to be

Prepare to leave the craft at an altitude where he can survive the crash - ideally by jumping left and bearhugging / locking the ejection seat and using it to get away from the crash.

 

Don't want to railroad our GM here - should the human manage to reach the cockpit ( inside a collapsing centrifuge ) and attempt to use the ejector seat before that, I'd say have Sabaan roll Perception to notice and WS to prevent (he still has the knife in his left) if he notices it - he is pretty busy trying to catch his personal launch window but will probably not allow a non mission critical mortal to take away his best chance of escape... that is unless you rule that is actually SAFER for him to crash with the shuttle! Then by all means, Godspeed!

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: Annoyingly, the internet ate my first attempt at this post, so here goes (again...)

 

As Atratus, Tyber and Varvost launch from the shuttle into the night sky, you are afforded the opportunity to see the city of Beregar below you. Through the rain and darkness, your armour's auto-senses overlay your vision with scrolling runic text, ammunition counters and other icons at the edges of your sight. You blink away extraneous warnings and see, in a single beat of your twin hearts, an Imperial templum below. The building is grand, ornate and typical of so many across the worlds of the Imperium. You see how the graveyards and forecourts have been churned into a killing ground, how makeshift barriers have been erected to defend the church grounds - a barrier of fallen masonry, corpses and wrecked and ruined armoured vehicles. 

 

Targeting brackets single out groups of soldiers defending the church, exchanging weapons fire with a sea of enemies. You see the hail of gunfire, the relentless hacking of melee weapons. War has reached Syndalla - and soon, very soon, as the ground descends, the brethren of the Deathwatch will join that war too.  

 

 

GM: You have been inserted into the box art of Warhammer 40,000 - a massed battle in which the transhuman force of the Astartes can be a decisive factor. 

 

The three assault marines should choose a grid square they are aiming for as they descend on wings of fire and fury - and carrying a lot of weight. Post a spoiler in which you choose a grid square, which should be secret and not the result of conferring. Roll three agility and three strength tests as well and give me success/failure with Degrees of Success/Failure.

 

Xin - Sabaan is also putting the shuttle down somewhere in this square. Please also post a spoiler with your choice of square.

Edited August 10, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

ooc:

 

STR Tests Target Number: 68 (48 base with +20 from Mk. VIII Errant Armour)

STR test: 1d100 43 Pass with 4 DoS

STR Test #2: 1d100 14 Pass with 7 DoS

STR Test #3: 1d100 23 Pass with 6 DoS

 

 

AGI Tests Target Number: 43

AGI Test #1: 1d100 7 Pass with  3 DoS

AGI Test #2: 1d100 7 Pass with 3 DoS

AGI Test #3: 1d100 40 Pass

 

 

Grid location A2

 

 

Seeing the muzzle flashes below, Tyber felt his blood pumping harder, traitors to the Imperium were below, he couldn't wait to cut into them, but first he had to be rid of this weight that clung to him.

 

OOC:

 

Edit: had to adjust my STR numbers, as MR had pointed out I had forgotten the +20 STR from PA. And Unnatural STR adjustments too... Unnatural STR X2 means +2 DoS to any pass.

Edited August 10, 2018 by Steel Company

[A.T.]

Falling quickly and unbalanced at first Atratus quickly compensated. the blood of corax at home in the air.

They had gotten far closer to the city than he had anticipated and now walls of plascrete and spires of adamantine made their landing a treacherous one.

 

The temple itself towered over all other buildings, a vast gilded statue upon its roof. Height and shelter, and woe to those within if they were to prove disloyal.

 

"Brother, secure the landing site", the descent was too fast but by design as the raptor released Greysight with a sudden snap back of his engines, a deafening roar and wave of pressure announcing the arrival of the Emperors chosen.

 

 

E6-7, where ever the temples high balcony/dome is located (preferably something land-able)

 

Atratus will use his solo-mode feats of strength and agility for the final test to maximize his chances of not squashing the interrogator.

 

Strength (vs 74 plus unnatural x2) = 45,16,64

Agility (vs 65) 15,17,1

 

Degrees of success on strength rolls: 3, 6, 3

Degrees of success of agility rolls : 5, 4, 7

(includes the effects of the unnatural characteristics)

 

http://orokos.com/roll/650851

[Xin Ceithan]

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Crash Boom Bang

 

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