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

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad was rooted to the spot - although quite intentionally.  His magboots were at maximum and his frame was armour-locked firmly in position in the cockpit cabin.  He swivelled his head around as best he could.  Syndalla looked very close and was getting closer all the time.  Air friction and Sabaan's attempts at braking had slowd them down to prevent a minor extinction level terminal deceleration and all he could hear was wind buffeting them and the cool, icy cold embrace of the night air.

 

Looking out of the smashed and rent port side cockpit window he could see the city below them - Beregar , a Cathedral sized templum below them, rings of burning torches around it and stabs of flame and bright flashes of las-beams heating the dark.  He took some bearings and tried the Vox.  Intereference plagued it, but he kept going, pressing into the static bursts, pulling the telemetry from Sabaan's calculations floating in the noospheric ether between him, the servitors and the Techmarine, who stared rigidly ahead, growling and armour snarling.  his hand snaked out for a control lever, abandoning the servitors momentarily.  The pitch evened a little.

 

+Akkad to Vaidan, we are approaching Ecclesiaticus building,+ he appended the co-ordinates of the building below, now rapidly coming up in front of them, not knowing where the others had gone, +at airspeed 167 knots, altitude 1200 metres and rapidly falling, angle of descent now becoming shallow, spaceframe compromise now approaching absolute, escape manoeuvres imminent.  You better be clear below.+  He was as cool and calm as standing awaiting rations disbursement.

 

With that he broke off and stared at the signals and data spooling in his retinal display.  He took his bolt pistol and muttering the quick Third Canto of Omnissian Vitue that Cadence received, he prepared himself.  Sabaan was now growling in both Binaric Cant, what invective or damnation Akkad couldn't guess.  He used his speed and strength to start tearing the seats from the cabin.  A suggestion - floated by Nycax himself - had percolated through his "bad ideas" filter.  Quickly he used the restraints and secure-belts to harness three seats together, beding and twisting as much as he could to fix them into place.

 

+Time to go, my Savant!+ He barked to Sabaan, but the Iron Hand did not move.  It was as if he was driving himself into the enemy, the craft his will, his weapon, his purpose.  Only he and the Emperor knew what he was thinking, but Akkad guessed it involved killing as many idiots on the ground below as possible.  Akkad took the bolt pistol and roundly blew the heads off the three servitors, this time, espousing the Fourth Canto - which was faster.  Needs must, after all, he supposed.  He grasped Sabaan, dropped back onto the bench now formed by the ejector seats, pointed back and up at the sky behind them, filled with chunks of metal and debris.  An acceleration couch was tangled in the mess.

 

Faith.

 

No life signs, he would need a closer look he simply did not have time for.  Why hadn't Tyber jumped with her?  Despite himself he had liked her, as well as any mortal he had known at least.  He thought that the Emperor had spared her for a reason, only to have something happen in the twilight of survival.  His jaw clenched in bitter regret.  His attention was stolen by a collision alert and the altitude warning in his head.  His armour locked again and maglocks up and down his body fixed him to the metal behind him.  An angry growl accompanied the huge sable form in his hands, arms and hands clenched, still fighting gravity, fighting the urge to release and not kill the enemies of the Emperor.  Akkad admired him for it - even would have willingly sat in here to the end with him, but Thorvald had fallen, Armsmen had died, Faith was dead.  Captain Dimitar was gone and loyal men and women and a ship as old as his Chapter had been...eaten.  The dirge had been sung.

 

Vengeance.

 

A motive, a cry out in his blood and bones that could not be denied would see this world burn to ashes as so many had, crushed under his very boots.  He needed his brothers to do that.  Brothers like this man of metal and hatred, prepared to risk and throw away all, not in the name of some silly human, but in duty, in revenge, in sacrifice.

 

300 metres.  The shuttle - what remained of it was coming in to land.  Row upon row of houses, estate manors, civic works and habitation blocks were about to become a braking mechanism for a craft that laughed at aerodynamics and inertia.  More information came.  Each seat was rated for escape at 150 knots.  Too fast.  They could carry 115 Kilos each.  Too Heavy.  He paid no heed to the people in those homes - he did not know them and humans must die for Humanity of be saved.  They had to stop the infestation, the swarm here.  Vaidan was wrong if he thought Akkad endangered missions. "We are the mission." He said to his helmet.

 

100 metres...70...40...NOW!

 

He kicked off, hard as he could, ripping the release cords for all three chairs.  Each burned hot and hard and the squealing shriek of burning metal grinding on metal as he and the Iron Hand tore free of the console.  Masonry erupted all around them, a tearing shredding deluge of plaster and ferrocrete boiled in the air, filling the cabin like an avalanche of hateful rock, pummelling what remained of the airframe into mulch, the pliable nature of steel at high speed giving way to stone that refused - even if for an instant - to be moved.

 

At 15 metres, they had left the craft and were in free-fall above a trench of broken stones and pulped furniture.  The thrusters cut out immediately.

+Brace, brace, brace!+ Was all he had time to say.

 

Impact.

 

Strength test: 45 +20 (Power Armour) =65
Roll 1: 65 Pass
Roll 2: 02 Pass ( 6 DoS)
Roll 3: 76 Fail (1 DoS) 

 

MR.

Edited August 11, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Slips]

The surface of Syndalla was now arrayed before him in its entirety.

 

Solastion was, in this very moment, thankful of the maglock capabilities of their power armour for it certainly made it easier to ensure that he would not get separated from Varvost - his only real chance in this moment to make it out of this exitus procedure relatively unscathed.

 

As they glided their way down towards the surface, it was made evident that the world had not fallen...yet - bright lasbeams and muzzleflashes visible to their enhanced senses even from this high up - it was definitely going to be an uphill battle for those loyal to the Imperium.

 

But first, battle must be joined. Hopefully the winds of fate do not scatter us too far from one another...Thought the Crimson Knight. As much as he wished otherwise, even space marines were susceptible to being overrun by massed throngs of feeble opponents - they would kill untold scores each before succumbing but succumb they would - and, as such, regrouping as fast as possible to rebuff the enemy by making them break upon a unified front of Bolter and Blade was of paramount importance.

 

Drawing closer and closer to their destination, their course started to deviate from that of the remainder of the Kill-Team as the Assault Marines engaged their jump packs in an attempt to reduce their descent to less-than-lethal speeds.

 

Agi Tests x3: 3#1d100 70 18 88 vs Agi of 33 for 3 DoF, 1 DoS, 4 DoF

Strength Test x3: 3#1d100 13 62 65 vs STR of 80 (50 + 20 PA + 10 Hist.) for 8 Dos (6+2), 3 DoS (1+2), 3 DoS (1+2)

 

Rolled 2d10 for landing location and got C6

Edited August 13, 2018 by Slips

[Commissar Molotov]

 

GM: For reference, the squares of the grid are approximately 50m wide by about 25m high. The templum is approximately 40m high.

 

INITIATIVE AND STATUS

KILL-TEAM COHESION: 6

 

TYBER (SOLO) | AG43 ((4x2)+10) = 18 | WOUNDS 10/10(19) | FATE 5

SOLASTION ALBIKUS (SOLO) | AG33 ((3x2)+9) = 15 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3

KHYBER VAIDAN (SOLO) | AG39 (3+10) = 13 | WOUNDS 14/14(20) | FATE 2

NYCAX SABAAN (SOLO) | AG43 (4+7) = 11 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3

ATRATUS (SOLO) | AG65 (6+4) = 10 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3

GREYSIGHT (SOLO) | AG43 (4+6) = 10 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 4

DAON AKKAD (SOLO) | AG45 (4+5) = 9 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 2

INTERROGATOR RYKEN | AG37 (3+5) = 8 | WOUNDS 20/20 | FATE 3

VÂRVOST (SOLO) | AG54 (5+2) = 7 | WOUNDS 21/21(24) | FATE 2

 

Those brothers of the Kill-Team lucky enough to leap from the shuttle touch down with varying levels of grace - luckily, all of you are undamaged. 

 

Atratus and Greysight, atop the templum, are afforded the greatest view of the square as the two forces below clash. You have mere moments before the bulk of the shuttle crashes through the roof of the templum, crashing below in the ruins of a hab-block. The shuttlecraft leaves a mighty furrow in the ground, having crushed countless enemies in its fiery descent. 

Akkad and Sabaan, however, have been able to escape the shuttle, smashing down in the midst of the ragged trench torn by the crashed vehicle. Already fires have spread around them, and the enemy are slow to react. You hear the moans and screams of the fallen and dying. 

 

For Tyber and Vaidan, the landing is much smoother. You crash to the ground in the midst of the enemy. 

 

Solastion and Varvost, however, land behind the defender's barricade. PDF troopers in flak armour and carrying lasguns gape at your presence, figures of legend brought to life in front of them. 

 

GM: The Kill-Team will count as having surprised the enemy, and will be able to act first for an entire round without any interference from the enemy.

[Steel Company]

Tyber watched as the buildings fell more into view, adjusting his decent trajectory to place both himself and Vaidan behind the horde of rebels with free reign into the unprotected rear flank. His armor’s cogitators already anticipating his thoughts, seeking out any of the mass of flesh that may be the leader of this host, his left hand sliding down to the fragmentation grenades, while his right grips his arming sword, he takes a moment to bring up the trajectory plotter subroutine that he had discovered in the cargo hold, only this time it also displayed the probable blast radius of the grenade as well.

 

OOC:

Frag Grenade Toss, target Number: 105 (BS45+60 size)

fragmentation gernade toss: 1d100 29

fragmentation gernade damage: 2d10+2 11

11 Damage, explosive Blast 4

 

Total mag damage to horde is 5

 

 

Tyber couldn’t help but grin under his helm, it had been a great toss and the effects were showing as bits of rebels rained down, with an almost ideal stance he moved to engage the horde with his arming sword in his right hand, while his left sought out an unwilling informant, trusting Vaidan to back his action up.

Edited August 15, 2018 by Steel Company

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: Per OOC thread: The hordes of enemy are so huge that they will provide you with a +60 to hit. The three assault marines are also unable to use their jump packs per the rulebook: the turbines must cool after the strain placed on them. More on that later!

[Slips]

As both of the "Angels" made their final approach towards the surface of the planet, Varvost soon engaged his Jump Pack to slow their descent to less-than-lethal speed; for Space Marines that was. 

 

The ground below zooming past them was soon filled with teeming masses of bodies; near the cathedra lasbolts shot out The Planetary Defense Force - or whats left of it. thought Solastion.

 

Glancing down at his helmets HUD, he waited until his accelerometer indicated a safe-enough speed to perform his landing. It took no time for the moment to arrive for a Space Marine Jump Pack was a powerful piece of equipment and he took no time to relinquish his grip upon Varvost.

 

Landing feet first, he quickly went into a roll immediately after impacting the earth; creating a miniature impact crater where his greaves met dirt. However, that was not enough to stop him fully and so he continued rolling for another dozen meters as his speed decreased, crashing into and passing through a hastily constructed barricade as he rolled along.

 

Finally stopping fully, a cloud of debris-dust having been kicked up in-and-around him, Solastion quickly stood up, drawing both weapons and waiting for his suits machine spirit to shake off the effects of their landing and resuming optimal status before walking out of his position.

 

+Brother Varvost, regroup once able.+ he voxed.

 

Taking his first step, his movement was greeted by a singular Lasbolt splashing off of his breastplate harmlessly, he stepped fully now into plain view of the PDF defenders, lowing his bolt pistol as he did so.

 

Turning his helmets vox unit to maximal output, he took this opportunity to speak to the awestruck mortals arrayed before him:

"REJOICE MORTALS FOR YOUR SALVATION IS AT HAND! THE EMPEROR'S ANGELS OF DEATH HAVE COME AND WITH THEM THEY BRING FIRE AND FURY! THE GAZE OF HIM-ON-TERRA IS NOW UPON YOU! PROVE TO HIM THAT YOU ARE TRULY OF HIS IMPERIUM! VANQUISH THE VILE FOE BEFORE YOU! LET THEM PAY FOR EVERY INCH OH HIS SOIL THEY SEEK TO CLAIM! FOR EVERY ONE OF HIS LIVES THEY SEEK TO REAP! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

In this moment, he cared naught for the ruptured eardrums of the mortals that were arrayed mere feet from him when he started his speech for he had xenos to slay.

 

+Do not stray too far from me Brother for our doom is being isolated amongst those teeming masses. We shall regroup with our brothers once able.+

And fires a semi-auto burst into the massive horde of incoming xeno-hybrids with his Bolt Pistol.

 

BS49+60 (max bonus) = 109

Semi-Auto Burst: 1d100 53 vs 109 for 5 DoS for 2 hits; +1 for the explosive damage type.

Damage w/ Tearing: 2#1d10+9 12 12; 12 damage, pen 4 explosive.

Damage w/ Tearing: 2#1d10+9 10 14; 14 damage, pen 4 explosive.

Damage w/ Tearing: 2#1d10+9 10 19; 19 damage, pen 4 explosive + Righteous Fury (auto confirmed because Xenos?)

Righteous Fury: 1d10 4 if it matters.

Edited August 16, 2018 by Slips

[Commissar Molotov]

 

++Acknowledged, brother.++ Vârvost's voice rasps through his helm's speakers, filtered into a grating metallic tone. He raises his bolt pistol and racks the slide, having already selected his metal storm ammunition. 

 

With one step up the barricade, Vârvost unleashes a burst of gunfire into the rebel horde, needle-shards of metal evaporating flesh into crimson mist. 

 

Vârvost fires his bolt pistol as a semi-auto burst (metal storm ammunition): 

BS41 (+60 to hit):  27 (7 degrees of success): 1 additional hit. 

Each hit is Blast (2) and hits twice: 

Hit 1: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 7(+7, -3) = 11 Damage

Hit 2: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 5(+7, -3) = 9 Damage

Hit 3: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 6(+7, -3) = 10 Damage

Hit 4: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 2(+7, -3) = 6 Damage 

Hit 5 (Explosive): 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 9(+7, -3) = 13 Damage

5 Magnitude Damage

 

 

Edited August 15, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Nineswords]

BEREGAR WAS A warzone. If the Indomitable Will's catastrophic fall through Syndalla's atmosphere was any indication, the armageddon of Beregar completed the Deathwatch's descent into hell, and Greysight was nosediving straight towards it.

 

'–ve you, brother. Secure the landing site,' voxed Atratus, his voice distorted by the wind. 

 

The Raptor was tightly gripping Greysight's gauntlet in one arm, and hugging Interrogator Ryken in another, tilting dangerously as they plummeted towards the lead panelled cupola of an Imperial cathedrum. As the roof rushed up to meet them, Atratus suddenly banked, igniting his power-armoured jetpack afterburners to arrest their fall, and Greysight found himself blinking furiously to clear his head as gravity and atmospheric pressure rapidly re-asserted itself.

 

'Let. Go. You cannot save us all,' breathed Greysight through gritted teeth.

 

The Raptor released his grip and Greysight dropped, the sheer mass of his power-armoured form punching cleanly through the cathedrum's ridge, and straight onto the steeply sloping roof above the southern crossing. The Storm Son slid and bounced like boulder in an avalanche, tumbling and ripping up purlins and rust-covered lead panels in his wake, trying to dig his heels into the roof before he overshot the gutter, and plunged to a pointless death one hundred and fifty feet below. Sliding swiftly towards the masonry and rockcrete overhang, a growing pile of dented and torn detritus slightly arrested Greysight's doomed trajectory.

 

But only slightly.

 

The Storm Son rolled onto the overhang, looking up at Syndalla's twilight sky, just in time to see what was left of the Indomitable Will streaking overhead, a hunk of tortured metal and smoke straying dangerously close to his own position, an almighty roar drowning out the cacophony of the battle raging below. The troop shuttle clipped the cathedrum's nave, causing the entire building to shudder, and tipping Greysight over the edge onto the lead guttering, armoured legs dangling over certain death below. Only his transhuman reflexes saved him then, Mark V power armoured fingers clawing into granite blocks, as he hauled himself back onto the ledge. 

 

He breathed slowly. A lucky escape. Greysight stood and began to move carefully along the southern nave to a safer position.

 

It had begun to rain, the rumble of thunder singing its bass notes below the arrhythmic din of Syndalla's sedition. The Indomitable Will ploughed a wide valley of asphalt straight into the bland facade of an habitation block, its death fires spreading amongst Beregar's doomed population, too strong for even the rain to put out. 

 

There was no sign of Akkad or Sabaan.

 

Trusting his brothers to convene towards his position, Greysight began to rapidly assess the battle raging in front of him. A shambolic horde of filthy, dishevelled agricultural workers was relentlessly assaulting the cathedrum, striding over the strewn bodies of the recently deceased. Greysight drank in a tapestry of details with his enhanced sight, processing it instantly.

 

There, a malnourished teenage boy wearing a tattered ochre robe, a twisted smile on his face, carrying a reaping hook used for sheaving grain. It was encrusted in dried blood.

 

There, a figure clad in a high visibility insulated body-glove commonly seen in many agri-processing plants. The figure was armed with an integrated steam cannon, the kind that squeezed super-heated water vapour through a tiny nozzle, perfect for trimming through wheat sheafs to administratum regulation. Perfect for cutting unshielded flesh to the bone.

 

There, another man sat in the cockpit of a tracktion engine that had clearly been modified with ablative armour and plough blades, repurposed as a makeshift frontline battle tank. The man was manipulating the engine's control levers with four, bony, purple-tinged arms.

 

Greysight instinctively curled his lip in disgust. There was a horrifying logic in the efficiency of the tyranid form. However, its revulsion was compounded when the human species had been infected by its DNA.

 

He looked down. Below, the last remnants of Beregar's Imperial resistance were repelling the horde behind an ad-hoc barricade of rockcrete, sandbags and militarum-grade transporters. At their current rate, Greysight surmised the tainted seditionists would overrun the defenders within hours. 

 

A glowing rune in Greysight's helm indicated that Atratus and Ryken had landed, and were setting up position on the cathedrum's crossing. Two more runes flashed, code-designators for Vârvost and Solastion further to the north, no doubt bolstering the Imperial line. Blink-shunting through topographical overlays, the signifiers for the watch-sergeant Vaidan and Tyber intermittently flashed north west of the cathedrum. Of Sabaan and Akkad, there was still no sign, and midrange auspex readings were compromised by interference no doubt generated by the intense heat and radiation leaks of the downed shuttle's primary drives.

 

Turning around to face the highest vantage point of the cathedrum, Greysight began to scramble up the roof towards Atratus.

 

 

++

Edited August 17, 2018 by Nineswords

[A.T.]

With the load on his pack lightened with Greysights's release Atratus pulled up, landing with relative grace upon the rooftop before driving the interrogator down out of the line of fire. For all the fury of their descent the crash would have drawn the eyes of those below as so the Raptors eyes turn towards the nearby buildings seeking sign of snipers and weapon emplacements.

 

The roof would not prove a safe haven, but as he gazed out across the sea of misshapen forms it would seem that they had at least fallen amongst loyalists.

[Mazer Rackham]

I have removed the spoiler for narrative coherence - the killy stuff is still hidden as per IC Thread guide:

 

They were covered in brick dust, plaster residue and scraps and chips of ferrocrete. His arms and torso had suffered great scratches and gouging from the makeshift rocket sled that had pulled Sabaan and he from the crash. Runes flashed in his retinal interface. He silenced them with a burst of irritation. Superficial damage only. He tried to raise the Squad, anyone on the Vox. A carpet of silence interspersed by the snow of static was his answer. Twisted metal struts, broken flimsy, wooden furniture stuck out at manic angles. His external audio relays conveyed the thunder of the battle some metres away.

+Sabaan...my Savant..?+ Silence.

His arms moved on reflex to dust himself down and try and manipulate his body into some position of readiness, but he was pinned. A minor irritation at best as his genehanced musculature, supported by the nerve fibre bundles shed bricks and clumps of 'crete off his limbs and body. He snarled as he tore pieces of a child's toy from Cadence's barrel. He gave her a quick inspection. Intact. He lay still, realising he was on his back. Slowly, he brought himself to a prepared crouch. The rubble slid away gently, although his armour growled in protest at his hesitation.

Suddenly he ducked as the nearby pop of a reserve oxygen cell burst into the night, heated beyond the endurance of the metal to contain it. A fire burned in the wake of the crash and Armageddon had befallen those below their descent, arrested by mere brick and stone. He winced as he saw the furniture was not alone in protruding from the rubble. Arms, ending in claws, split limbs and half buried cracked, warped bodies forced themselves obscenely above the structural carnage. He felt a satisfaction at this, drawing the blood of the foe, not even deigning to press a trigger, their heresy condemning them to a worthy death - the weight of their sin resolved as the Indomitable Will.

His dusty camouflage was perfect he noticed. He matched the detritus around him completely, unnoticed and ignored in the catastrophe and with more pressing concerns the enemy had decided to concentrate on the battle to their front, where Akkad could hear the clash of arms and ricochet of bullets against barricade. He heard the distinctive snap of lasguns and the hard, hollow, bursting crack of specialist ammunition form a Bolter or Bolt Pistol. A reflexive check had him feel for Sonnet. She was there, as always. He glanced up through the billowing dust, spying with only the clarity and accuracy a Marine could, the figures capering about on the vaulted roof of the Cathedral. He could not tell who they were. Thunder boomed close overhead and the torrents came in the wake of the displaced wind and tortured local airspace. No wonder the Vox was being temperamental.

As the rain came, his grey and tan patterned dust began to darken, then finally sluice away. He could feel the grit and grime slide off him, the distinct patter of the splashes against his metal skin, striking his helmet, chest. An old memory surfaced in the dark waters of his thoughts, gone as soon as it had come, of welcoming the refreshing rain on a hot day in Summertide. His thoughts came back to the present as a crumble of masonry sent a few bricks spilling down into the street below.

A quick assessment of the edifice directly to their right proved a theory, that the wall had been weakened sufficiently and was beginning to tilt - the right force in the right place would bring ruin to the enemy formation. The loyalists behind their barricades and he and Sabaan were beyond the main weight of fall. He reached for a Krak grenade, hefting the weight and gauged the distance.

Akkad will use Half Action: Ready Grenade, then Half-Action: Standard Attack: Throw Grenade
BS Test - Target 51 (No modifiers)
Roll: 08 Pass + 4 DoS
Krak Grenade: 3D10 + 4 Pen 6
Damage: 2 + 8 + 10 (RF Confirmed) + 8 + 2 (Mighty Shot applies to all Ranged attacks) = 34.

Location - up behind the building for maximum effect collapse onto the enemy Horde in Grid Ref J5.

 

If that doesn't cause the enemy a headache, nothing would. He grimaced inside his helmet.  This was just the start.  The whole world was about to learn what Astral Claws did to rebellion against the Throne.  Cruelly, an echo pulsed around his mind. Which one do you serve? He heard it in his own voice, but the words came from Commodus. 

 

He shivered, but not from the chill and damp, blades of hatred chasing the treacherous notion away as the world collapsed again.

 

MR.

Edited August 18, 2018 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

Round 1 (Surprise Round)

 

Body parts - human and otherwise - rain back to the ground as Tyber's grenade detonates. Beside him, the Novamarine raises his flamer, promethium gouting hungrily in the darkness. 

 

Tyber's grenade: 5 magnitude damage to the horde. 

 

Vaidan fires his flamer at the horde: 

No BS test: Cultists make an Agility test at AG30: 65 (FAIL) 

Flame weapon hits 5+1D5 times: 5 (10)

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 6(+9) = 15

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 9(+9) = 18

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 1(+9) = 10

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 3(+9) = 12

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 7(+9) = 16

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 10,10,8(+9) = 37

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 10,9(+9) = 28

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 7(+9) = 16

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 3(+9) = 12

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 5(+9) = 14

Cultists take 1D10+9 (Pen 4) against TB3 and Armour 0: 2(+9) = 11

10 Magnitude damage to the horde. 

 

++Regroup at the Templum!++ Vaidan's voice echoes over the vox, washed out with static. Whether any of the Kill-Team register the transmission remains to be seen. 

 

A flash of lightning reveals a hulking brute in the midst of the horde, swollen with lumpen muscle that ripples across its misshapen form. It is a perversion of the human form, a mockery of humanity. It clutches a giant farm-scythe in its multiple arms, alien chitin gleaming in the fires of battle. It, too, gestures towards the cathedral, and at the Imperial defenders within. 

 

 

 

 

Atop the cathedral, the Raptor and Storm Son are able to play their sights over the horde and the buildings surrounding the square, bringing targets of opportunity into view. 

 

 

To the east, Atratus sees the barrels of heavy stubbers jutting from an upstairs window. The muzzle-flash is bright in the darkness as gunfire rakes the Imperial defenses. 

 

To the south-west, Greysight sees not one - but three of the traktion engines, harvester-haulers festooned with improvised armour plating and whirling blades and saws attached to the front. The tracked vehicles move slowly - but relentlessly - toward Imperial lines. Now that the Storm Son is safe atop the roof, he has the ability to act. 

 

To the south, near the shuttle, there is the crump of an explosion as one of the buildings near the wreck detonates, the entire edifice sliding like an avalanche onto the rebels below. 

(29 Magnitude damage to the horde.)

 

 

Magnitude Damage to the Horde: 

5 (Tyber) 

5 (Varvost)

3 (Solastion) 

10 (Vaidan) 

29 (Akkad)

= 52 

 

GM: Slips, to rally the Imperial troopers to your side, you will need to make a challenging (+0) Fellowship test. And write something suitably inspiring! 

Edited August 16, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Slips]

Fellowship +0: 1d100 79 vs Fel 47; thats a fail.

 

The shock of their eardrums bursting and being in awe/fear/whatever of multiple space marines that just crashed into them out of nowhere probably isn't helpful :P

[Commissar Molotov]

Round 2 Begins

 

Declare your actions! 

[Steel Company]

The rain pattered down on his armour, his jump pack causing the rain to turn to steam and hiss into the air, almost as if trying to add more dark clouds to the sky as it rolls into night. Why does it always have to rain at times like these? wondered Tyber as his left hand latched onto the back of some misshapen girl’s head that was in revolt, lifting her by her skull and turning her to face him, while squeezing just enough to cause enough pain that it would not doubt his words, he spoke over the vox at it. +Your battle leader, where is it? Tell me now and I will end you quickly.+

 

The misshapen thing in his grip lifted two clawed hands that were on the same side, pointing to the larger one not even 30m away, for an instant he could see Faith’s eyes in this thing, looking directly through his helm, into him. Just as quickly as it had appeared it vanished yet again, replaced by an almost human look of terror. This new look, enraged Tyber, with a reflexive motion the muscles in his arm and armour flexed, driving his fingers into the things skull, turning it into red ruin.

 

Dropping the carcass to the ground, he took in the distance to the large man-beast, it was nearly the size of himself, a sea of flesh between them, too man for Tyber to just charge through. With a fluid motion he took out one of the Krak grenades that he kept on his belt and took aim at the thing from behind.

Rolling the grenade around in his hand so that it was long ways across his palm, he placed his middle two fingers across the equator of the grenade while his index and pinky finger were spread just a few centimeters apart, his thumb rested on the activation switch.

 

With a crack of blue white lighting illuminating everything in new light, as his auto-sense lenses adjusted to the flair he found his mind taking him back, a long time.

It was one of the few rainy days in the Glass Bay, the elders elected not to send out the fishers, not that the boats couldn’t handle it, rather it was ascension day, the day that the worthy youth were taken from the Glass Bay to Acre Bellator. As tradition would have it, those that were up for selection were to play a game of ovum furem it had always been funny to Tyber, despite the name, it had very little to do with eggs. The ball that they used was tapered on both ends to a rounded point, where the game had come from had been lost to time, as had much of his world since the coming of the Dragons.

 

The rain was beating down on him, his team down by down by but a few points, he had the ball, gripped in his left hand with two fingers around the middle, thumb on the end, he looked over his options, seeing where to throw the ball. He kept feeling the eyes on the giants that were here, on him, he knew of one of them, the one that called himself Arteims, his armor was trimmed with white with a twisting symbol on one of his shoulder guards, Artemis stood with two other giants, one who’s armour was black as night, his hair cut clean from his head, his eyes the most piercing, as if he was searching for any weakness. The last one, bore their helm on their head, his armour was very ornate with golden inlays, two swords hung off of his hips, his arms folded across his chest, as if telegraphing his displeasure at being here. A sudden crack of thunder as a bright light crackled across the clouds, Tyber picked his target and threw the ball, rolling it slightly as he let go, giving it a little spin to improve the chances of it landing in the arms of his fellow player.

 

That was when the thunder came, the roaring boom brought him back to where and when of the present, Tyber angled his throw just slightly upwards and let the grenade fly, giving it a little spin to improve the chances of it landing on the man-beast, knowing that one way or another the challenge had been issued he drew his chain sword to match his arming sword before assuming a defensive stance to await the charge that he knew would come from this thing. +It always rains at times like these…+ he whispered over the vox.

 

OOC:

Half Action: Aim

Half Action Grenade toss

Target BS 65 (45 base, +10 for half aim, +10 for target size)

Grenade toss: 1d100 26 Pass with 3 DoS

Hit location, 62 Body

Krak Grenade damage 3D10+4 Pen 6, Explosive

Grenade damage: 3d10+4 20 (2+10+4)

Righteous Fury

Grenade damage RF: 1d10 10 (10)

Righteous Fury

Grenade damage RF: 1d10 7

Total Damage: 37 Pen 6 Explosive

 

Edited August 18, 2018 by Steel Company

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: The Aberrant beast is approximately 25-30 metres ahead of you, but the way is densely packed with cultists who will have to be hacked through or otherwise pushed aside. You are not likely to reach it this turn. I would say that it is a +10 to hit the Aberrant due to size modifiers. The creature is mostly naked, though you see patches of alien chitin on its form.

[Nineswords]

NESTLED JUST BEHIND the ridge of the cathedrum’s highest point, Greysight began to make sense of the war. More of the xeno-tainted citizens of Beregar poured through side streets and alleyways to add their weight to the frenzied assault, swelling their ranks behind the ominous sound of more tracktion engines rumbling into the cathedrum square. 

 

Through the rain, hulking abhuman abominations, no doubt the seditionist’s perverse leaders, could clearly be seen waving the horde on for a final offensive.

 

The voice of watch-sergeant Vaidan cut across the static haze, ordering the kill-team to regroup at the cathedrum.

 

'To be Unclean, that is the mark of the Xenos,' Vaidan called, the Novamarine’s voice broadcasting over the short-range Imperial communication channels, beginning the Catechism of the Xeno.

 

To their credit, the Imperial line held, acknowledging the unexpected presence of the space marines with a mixture of fear and awe.

 

'To be Impure, that is the mark of the Xenos,' growled Vârvost, his bark at odds with Vaidan’s noble bearing, adding his jagged voice to the litany.

 

'To be Abhorred, that is the mark of the Xenos,' added yet another. A female voice. Its quietness belying its authority and stoic resolve, and it was all that was needed for the rest of the defenders to join in, citing familiar verse taught to all Militarum personnel across the Imperium. 

 

There was a slim chance the defence could hold, if a counter-attack was able to decapitate priority targets at the same time, leaving the horde uncoordinated for the Imperial defenders to mop up. 

 

‘To be Reviled, that is the mark of the Xenos.’ The catechism became a chorus, as the others joined in, both astartes and human alike, drowning out the turmoil of the horde and the relentless rain. 

 

Clutching Thorvald’s corded necklace of teeth and bones, the Storm Son raised his boltgun, aiming at the filth encrusted cockpit of the nearest tracktion engine, which was churning up asphalt and bodies in its slow, inexorable tread towards the cathedrum. 

 

‘To be Hunted, that is the mark of the Xenos,’ Greysight breathed, his own voice a whisper within a rally cry of defiance in the face of impossible odds. 

 

‘To be Purged, that is the fate of the Xenos.’ Greysight thought of the fallen Space Wolf, his mind imagining Thorvald’s sing-song bellow adding to the Imperial resistance. 

 

Stilling his hearts, Greysight depressed the trigger. A single bolt round whistled through the rain at the tracktion engine over one hundred and fifty metres away, vaporising its abhuman driver in a mist of macerated flesh and magenta-hued blood. The engine immediately stalled, momentarily halting the horde’s advance. 

 

To be Cleansed, for that is the fate of all Xenos. 

 

 

+++

 

 

OOC: 

 

Called shot at Cult Driver

+20 Large Target

- 20 Called Shot

+10 Aiming in the previous turn

 

D100 Roll of 35 (pass)

D10 Roll of 9 = 18 dmg, killing the driver outright

Edited August 18, 2018 by Nineswords

[A.T.]

From his vantage point Atratus calls out targets of opportunity across his comms, "heavy weapons east building, armour south west"

 

This horde would have a head, a guiding force. Sweeping his rifle across to the west he sought out any sign of one guarded or withdrawing from battle, the attackers clearly cared nothing for their lives so any who showed otherwise would likely be the master rather than the slave.

 

 

(Half action Awareness, roll 73 vs target 75, Half action Aim on either an command target if spotted or a vehicle driver if not)

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: Steel - to be clear I am not after players taking leeway with rules, but as the GM I am doing so as necessary, particularly with the horde rules. I do need to see any damage you roll. Please also remember that the effects of damage should be determined by me, as there may be factors players aren't aware of!

 

Turn 2 Status and Initiative

Kill-Team Cohesion: 6

Magnitude Damage Inflicted: 52

 

TYBER (SOLO) | AG43 ((4x2)+10) = 18 | WOUNDS 10/10(19) | FATE 5

SOLASTION ALBIKUS (SOLO) | AG33 ((3x2)+9) = 15 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3

KHYBER VAIDAN (SOLO) | AG39 (3+10) = 13 | WOUNDS 14/14(20) | FATE 2

SOUTH-EAST HORDE (LARGER) | AG30 (3+10) = 13

ABERRANT BEAST | AG30 (3+9) = 12

NYCAX SABAAN (SOLO) | AG43 (4+7) = 11 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3

SOUTH-EAST GUARDSMEN | AG30 (3+8) = 11

ATRATUS (SOLO) | AG65 (6+4) = 10 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3

GREYSIGHT (SOLO) | AG43 (4+6) = 10 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 4

TRAKTION ENGINES | AG30 (3+7) = 10

NORTH-EAST HORDE | AG30 (3+7) = 10

DAON AKKAD (SOLO) | AG45 (4+5) = 9 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 2

HEAVY STUBBER TEAM | AG30 (3+6) = 9 

INTERROGATOR RYKEN | AG37 (3+5) = 8 | WOUNDS 20/20 | FATE 3

NORTH-WEST GUARDSMEN | AG30 (3+5) = 8

NORTH-EAST GUARDSMEN | AG30 (3+5) = 8

VÂRVOST (SOLO) | AG54 (5+2) = 7 | WOUNDS 21/21(24) | FATE 2

SOUTH-EAST HORDE | AG30 (3+3) = 6

SOUTH-WEST HORDE (SMALLER) | AG30 (3+3) = 6

NORTH-WEST HORDE | AG30 (3+2) = 5

SOUTH-WEST GUARDSMEN | AG30 (3+1) = 4

 

 

Tyber:  

How does one dodge an attack of which it is not aware? How could one? 

 

Perhaps you felt a small stab of something like pride as the Krak grenade flew on its trajectory through the air, over the horde of misshapen and shambling horrors, towards the Aberrant-beast itself. Such beasts have been faced by Deathwatch-brothers since the legendary Ortan Cassius first faced them at Ghosar Quintus; they have been dispatched before - but they are still worthy targets, and killing one is in itself no small feat. The beast is distracted, facing away from the two brothers of the Deathwatch and instead towards the Templum itself. 

 

This is no graceful, elegant creature. This is not one of the mythical blade-dancers of the Aeldari, supposedly able to slice a bullet in half mid-shot with their monomolecular whips. This is a brute, crude, sluggish, unworthy of existence, or even the extension of the rules of honourable combat. You were too ready for the detonation, for the spray of body parts. 

 

But this is not a beast that fights alone.

 

It does not see the grenade, but many of the cultists around it do. A cry goes up, a wail of dismay. Several of the wretches leap up as though in a game of some kind, knocking the grenade out of the air. It clatters to the floor as the devotees leap upon it, their cries now almost orgiastic as they give up their lives for another, more blessed, member of their cult. Body parts do indeed rain down - but this is hardly the satisfying kill you thought it would be. 

 

The Aberrant-beast turns, now. And it is all too aware of your presence. A light of understanding seems to exist within its rheumy eyes. It, too, has learnt a lesson. 

Edited August 18, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

+++Record deleted+++

Edited August 18, 2018 by Steel Company

[Commissar Molotov]

++Deleted++ Edited August 18, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad snarled under his helm as the rubble fell onto the panicked slaves of the xenoforms below his and Sabaan's position.  The snarl turned into a satisfied sneer as confusion spread amongst the massing group.  That confusion did not last long.  To his left he could hear the gunning of engines as three blasphemies against standard construction trundled into view, pushing the crowd apart like breakers on the shore - albeit more violent - they crushed those that did not step aside, their own.  It was brutally obvious they had so many bodies and cared so little about their hosts that casualties meant nothing.

 

Very well.  We shall merely kill them all.

 

There were some scattered ghosting in the Team Vox and personal range was also still patchy, but there was a definite swell of raised voices in the air, in defiance of the enemies at their gates.  "...That is the fate..." a terrible explosion in the distance stole the words from his ears at least, but he knew the rest.  The wind snatched away the rain like a curtain and for a moment he got a snapshot of the battlefield.  From his rubble strewn vantage point he could see more than hear.  A flamer blossomed, snatching souls away with it's burning brilliance, only serving to paint a silhouette of a huge mass and a load of bloody gobbets sailing into the air - followed by a wailing roar from - something.  The rain closed in again.

 

A suddent jolt from one of the machine drivers caused his head to snap around, sensing danger, but it was merely a well placed shot.  Bolter. Only the Emperor's Fury made a mess like that.  Some kind of hideous combination of Ichor and what Daon could only describe as jam - his mind processed the necessary facial expression as distaste into the notion - spattered all over the glazed cockpit and most of it's fellows.  Some workers clad in Agri-sleeve fatigues tried desperately to get the thing running, but it was apparent they were unsure of how to drive it.

 

He watched them, clawed hands, twin arms sprouting from one shoulder, extra limbs, vestigial tails, claws, fangs.  his superior Dark Sight revealed their heresy.  Some had the eyes of the xenos, some not.  Spittle flecked at slavering maws, mouths too small to accommodate the Genestealer type tongue, lashing at the air.  How had this been missed?  This kind of infestation did not happen overnight - nor even a few months.  They were watching a first, possibly even second generation transmogrification.  The Planetary Rulers had some charges to answer for allowing this.  The established Arbites must have been overwhelmed or bottled-up in their precinct to have allowed this utter degeneracy.  He saw the weakness in them - to become a Space Marine even children demonstrated more strength.

 

"Enough!" He spat, noticing that the crowd had not yet turned on them, his words stolen by the wind.  He had a voice far louder than that available.  The enemy mass must be divided, distracted and destroyed.  By any means necessary.  He moved to a more advantageous position a few metres away, noticing Sabaan for the first time, especially that he had not risen.  He took a stance over him, protecting him and at the top of a dangerous glacis of trip-worthy bricks and stone, the flames around the crash still burning and guttering in the weather, he slid Cadence into position and prepared to adjust his tactics to act as part of the whole.

 

Akkad will attempt to enter Squad Mode as a Free Action.
Cohesion: 6
D10 Roll: 6
Akkad enters Squad Mode.
Akkad takes Half Action: Half Move and moves 5 metres to stand above and behind Sabaan.
Akkad takes Half-Action: Ready Weapon.

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

Solastion:

Your words seem to have little appreciable effect on the guardsmen. You see them around you, huddled behind flakboard, broken gravestones and fallen statuary. They clutch las-weapons in numb fingers, and many wear the injuries of previous days' fighting. Beyond them, you can see the horde of enemies. Gunfire and improvised missiles continue to spatter the makeshift defenses. You remember the Imperial maxim: facta, non verba - If your words cannot inspire these soldiers to action, perhaps your actions can. 

 

Khyber Vaidan

The Aberrant-beast turns, beginning its loping charge towards Tyber. The Novamarine keys his vox-link, gritting his teeth and raising his flamer to loose another black-flecked gout of fire at the beast and the cultists following it. 

 

Khyber fires his flamer at the cultist horde and the Aberrant-beast

No BS required. 

 

The flamer hits the horde 5+D5 times (3, for a total of 8)

Hit 1: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 8 (17 total)

Hit 2: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 4 (13 total)

Hit 3: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 10, 9 (28 total)

Hit 4: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 2 (11 total)

Hit 5: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 9 (18 total)

Hit 6: 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 8 (17 total)

6 Magnitude Damage to the Horde

 

Aberrant-Beast makes an Agility test to avoid being hit: 

AG30: 48 (FAIL) 

Aberrant takes 1D10+9 (Pen 4) Damage: 8 (17) 

The Aberrant takes 17 wounds. 

 

South-East Horde (Larger): 

The horde marches onward, in the shadow of the three traktion engines. Opportunistic shots from autorifles and stub-pistols echo dully in the rain, along with the flaming trails of improvised incendiary weapons. 

 

Aberrant-Beast:

Aberrant-Beast makes an Agility test to avoid catching fire: 

AG30: 68 (FAIL) 

Aberrant sustains 1D10 damage and 1 level of Fatigue: 8 Wounds

Aberrant makes a Willpower test to act normally: Passed

 

Even as flames eat away at its bubbling flesh, the creature is undeterred. There is no consideration for personal safety, not a touch of fear or concern. Perhaps now you understand how alien these creatures are that wear the distorted faces of humanity as a mask.

 

The creature pounds towards you like some reptilian carnosaur, the farm-scythe already swinging in a great arc towards the both of you. 

 

Aberrant beast attacks Tyber: 

WS45 (+20, Berserk Charge): 29, PASS

Farm-Scythe inflicts 2D10+16 Pen 2, Concussive, Unwieldy, with Crushing Blow (+2 Damage) and Brutal Charge (+3 Damage): 7,7(+21) = 35 Damage to the left leg

 

Aberrant beast attacks Vaidan:  

WS45 (+20, Berserk Charge): 39, PASS

Farm-Scythe inflicts 2D10+16 Pen 2, Concussive, Unwieldy, with Crushing Blow (+2 Damage) and Brutal Charge (+3 Damage): 3,2(+21) = 26 Damage to the left leg

 

The blade is low, at your feet, attempting to knock you over unless you dodge. 

 

Vaidan attempts to dodge: AG39 (25: PASS) 

 

 

Nycax Sabaan:

You stumble forward, your senses awash with perception. You hear the crackle of fire and the angry hum of your warplate. Your armour is compromised, having sustained minor damage in your fall to the surface. 

 

What flesh remains within your power armour aches, a dull heat that forces you to clench your teeth. The pain suppressants in your armour attempt to swallow the pain, but they are not enough, not wholly.

 

A look over the shoulder is enough to confirm that the shuttle will never fly again. Targeting reticules outline the metal carcass, detailing the rents and wounds in its punctured hull.

 

You are dimly aware of Akkad, near you, above you. An implosive detonation, the crash of masonry and the screams of the dying. Voices at the edge of your perception - voices of the long-dead, the not-dead. Clearly, connecting with the machine spirits of the shuttle in such an invasive and violatory way was... unwise. 

 

+D5 Insanity Points: 3

Edited August 19, 2018 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

The charge was powerful, sloppy but powerful and fast. The Man-beast raised it’s weapon up and behind it slightly, swinging it in a wide and powerful arc, Tyber could see the cable like muscles in the creatures chest and arms tense as it looked at his left leg just before the start of the swing, telegraphing where the blow would go.

 

OOC:

Dodge test;

Challenging AGI test target number 53 (43 base AGI +10 Dodge skill)

dodge test: 1d100 8 Pass with 4 DoS

 

Sloppy, very sloppy. Thought Tyber as waited for the timing of the blade, it seemed to be coming in so slowly, just before the blade of the scythe connected with his leg he ignited the engines on his jump pack, just enough to help force him back and to kick up mud into the face of the beast. There is no reason to offer honorable combat to this thing.

 

That thought, honorable combat, drew some part of his mind to a teaching from Adavan, he had been just a page at that point, struggling to bring the evening meal to his master. After getting it all on the wooden table, Adavan smiled at the boy his grey eyes welcoming to Tyber, “Sit down Boy.” Came that deep voice of his master. What could Tyber do, but do as bid, taking a seat on a wooden chair meant for someone much, much larger than himself, “Tell me boy, is there such a thing as honorable combat?”

 

Tyber sat for a few moments, contemplating the question, on one hand, when there were fights in the Glass Bay, it was always between the two people that were involved, no-one would interfere, no dirty tricks such as kicking sand in to the other’s face or low blows would be used. On the other hand, wasn’t victory in of its self, honorable? Seeing the look of pondering on his charge’s face, Adavan gave a deep rumbling laugh, before placing his large hand on the boy’s shoulder as he spoke; “With the exception of facing another of our kind, fighting honorably is fighting to lose. Victory is its own reward; victory through any means is acceptable.”

 

Tyber looked at the massive hand on his shoulder, his eyes catching the glint of candle light off of the golden inlays of Adavan’s armor that stood on the armor stand in a corner of his master’s chambers.

 

+Victory is its own reward; victory through any means is acceptable Sargent.+ spoke Tyber over the vox to Vaidan.

Edited August 19, 2018 by Steel Company

[Commissar Molotov]

ROUND 2, CONTINUED

 

Atratus: 

As the crosshairs of your Mk. IX sharpshooter's rifle pan across the crowd, you attempt to discern any guiding force leading the horde. It is a sensible strategy; the green tides of the Orks are studded with various war-leaders constantly struggling for dominance. The Aeldari look towards their Autarchs and Exarchs. The deluded rabble blindly following the dark Gods all genuflect towards demagogues and false prophets. But these cultists do not. They seem to follow their instincts, fervently throwig themselves towards the Imperial gunlines with single-minded glee. If there is a leader of this rebellion, they are not present. They will have to be hunted down separately. 

 

After these cultists are eradicated, of course. 

 

Aim on one of the traktion engines (+10) 

 

Greysight:

Called shot at Cult Driver

+20 Large Target

- 20 Called Shot

+10 Aiming in the previous turn

 

D100 Roll of 35 (pass)

 

D10 Roll of 9 = 18 dmg, killing the driver outright

 

Traktion Engines: 

As the driver of the lead traktion engine's brains detonate, the headless corpse leans forward on the control sticks, sending the lumbering vehicle careering off. The cultists trudging in its shadow are less than prepared, some of them shredded under the engine's spinning harvest-blades. 

 

The other two continue their dependable progress toward the Imperial lines. Lasfire richochets off the armoured plating, having little effect. 

 

North-East Horde: 

Horde charges Tyber and Vaidan:

 

Charge Tyber: 

WS25+10: 9 (PASS) 

The horde engages a Grapple.

The horde executes a 'ready' action, grabbing at Tyber's chainsword. 

 

Charge Vaidan: 

WS25+10: 91 (FAIL) 

 

Preoccupied as you are by the Aberrant-beast, it throws you off-guard as the cultists begin to leap onto you. Vaidan manages to disengage, just - but you feel as much as see the wretches scrabbling for purchase, attempting to stab knives into weak points, reaching in an attempt to rip the chainsword from his grip, all trying to bring the giant down, or at least distract him enough for the brute to have a chance. 

 

Daon Akkad: 

Akkad will attempt to enter Squad Mode as a Free Action.

Cohesion: 6

D10 Roll: 6

Akkad enters Squad Mode.

Akkad takes Half Action: Half Move and moves 5 metres to stand above and behind Sabaan.

Akkad takes Half-Action: Ready Weapon.

 

Heavy Stubber Team: 

Three heavy stubbers fire Full Auto Burst at the Imperial Guardsmen below: 

 

Heavy Stubber 1: 

BS25 +20(FAB) +30 (Size) = 75: 56 (1 DOS) 

Hit 1:  2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 22 (reduced to 17)

Hit 2: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 18 (reduced to 13)

 

Heavy Stubber 2: 

BS25 +20(FAB) +30 (Size) = 75: 2 (7 DOS)

Hit 1: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 14 (reduced to 9)

Ht 2: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 19 (reduced to 14)

Hit 3:  2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 18 (reduced to 13)

Hit 4: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 17 (reduced to 12)

Hit 5:2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 15 (reduced to 10)

Hit 6:2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 23 (reduced to 18) 

Hit 7:2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 18 (reduced to 13)

Hit 8: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 15 (reduced to 10)

 

Heavy Stubber 3: 

BS25 +20(FAB) +30 (Size) = 75: 6 (6 DOS)

Hit 1: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 11 (reduced to 6)

Ht 2: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 18 (reduced to 13)

Hit 3:  2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 18 (reduced to 13) 

Hit 4: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 13 (reduced to 8)

Hit 5: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 12 (reduced to 7)

Hit 6: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 11 (reduced to 6)

Hit 7: 2D10+4 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 4(2): 17 (reduced to 12) 

 

17 magnitude damage to the Imperial Guardsmen

 

North-West Guardsmen / North-East Guardsmen: 

The Guardsmen desperately leap for cover from the punishing heavy stubber fire. The weapons are poor-quality, the gunners firing them poorly-trained and inexperienced, but in this case quantity has a quality of its own. Imperial defenders are falling, and the line is weakening, slowly, inexorably. 

 

Vârvost: 

The Eradicator turns to regard the effects (or lack thereof) of the Sanguinary Priest's attempts to rouse the Guardsmen to fight. A bullet ricochets from his shoulder pauldron, but Vârvost does not flinch. Turning almost reflexively, he brings his pistol up, dispatching a cultist in a crimson gout of blood. 

 

Vârvost fires his bolt pistol as a semi-auto burst (metal storm ammunition): 

BS41 (+60 to hit): 81 (2 degrees of success): 1 additional hit. 

Each hit is Blast (2) and hits twice: 

Hit 1: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 4(+7, -3) = 8 Damage

Hit 2: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 1(+7, -3) = 5 Damage

Hit 3: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 7(+7, -3) = 11 Damage

Hit 4: 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 9(+7, -3) = 13 Damage 

Hit 5 (Explosive): 1D10+7 (Pen 2) against TB3 and Armour 0: 7(+7, -3) = 11 Damage

5 Magnitude Damage

 

[Commissar Molotov]