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

[Steel Company]

With some slight foot work, Tyber managed to avoid the various improvised weapons of the mob of xenos loving scum while his ears picked up the telltale sounds of feet running away in the rain, splashing through puddles. Giving a wolfish grin under his helm, an idea poped into his head, with a quick blink clicking he made sure the external vox was still transmitting at a good out-put level before he spoke, while bringing his arming sword in for a decapitating strike;

 ++Hear me you Xenos mutts and mules, you will not fell me here, I have already killed larger ones of your kind in single combat, and now I will kill you all as well.++

 

OOC:

Free action:

Skill use Intimidate: TN ?? (Base STR 48 +20 from PA +/- Horde’s resistance?)

Intimidate Horde #5: 1d100 25 Pass with ?? DoS

 

Full Action: Melee:

 

TN: 39 (WS49-20 two weapons+10 Ambidextrous)

Arming sword attack against horde #5: 1d100 5 Pass with 3 DoS = 3 hits

All damage dealt at 1d10+15 Pen 3, this should overwhelm their defenses.

 

chain sword attack vs horde #5: 1d100 47 no hits

 

Arming sword swift attack against Horde #5: 1d100 15 Pass with 2 DoS = 2 hits

All damage dealt at 1d10+15 Pen 3, this should overwhelm their defenses

 

Total Mag damage: 5

 

Cursing to himself for actually missing some of these things with his chainsword, only to have it dig into some of the fallen rabble, adding their fluids to the already slick road way.

[A.T.]

The heretics loss of apatite for battle surprised Atratus, for all their failings they had seemed steadfastly dedicated unto death in worship of their xenos lords.

 

Unbound of the need to defend himself against their collection of blades and mining implements the Raptor made short work of the stragglers cutting down most as they turned to flee past him. He thought for a moment to come to Tybers aid but his brothers vox call made it clear that such was neither desired nor required.

 

 

Charge horde 1

D100 = 65 vs 63+10 (charge) +20 (horde) = hit with 2 extra DoS (2 hits)

Wrathful descent = 6 magnitude damage  (proven to be a very effective ability)

Hit 1 = 7 +lots

Hit 2 = 6 +lots

 

8 total magnitude damage, horde wiped out

[Mazer Rackham]

ROUND 5 Actions:

 

As he flicked the body off his blade, Akkad noticed the cowards fleeing.

+Die!+ He savagely hisses over the vox as he hefts Cadence across his body.

 

Akkad targets the Mag 6 Horde just below Varvost.

Free Action: Sheath Knife
Full Action: FAB
BS: 52 +10 (Range) + 20 (FAB) = 82
D100 Roll: 004 oh yes! 6 DoS
Damage at Pen 5, 1D10(2D10, Tearing) + 12 (Damage) + 2 (Mighty Shot)
Hit 1: 23
Hit 2: 19
Hit 3: 24 (RF Confirmed) +3 = 27
Hit 4: 23
Hit 5: 22
Hit 6: 23
Explosive Auto-Hit = D10: 9
Unrelenting Devastation: D5 = 3
Total Damage: 146. Mag Dam: 10

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

Round 6 Begins

 

Tyber:

5 Magnitude Damage against Horde 5 (6 remaining)

 

Atratus:

8 Magnitude Damage against Horde 1 (0 remaining)

 

Akkad:

10 Magnitude Damage against Horde 4 (0 remaining)

 

Varvost:

Charge against Horde 5

AG54 to activate Wings of Angels: 67 (FAIL)

WS62 (+10 Charge): 33 (3 DoS) 

2 Magnitude Damage against Horde 5 (4 remaining)

 

Greysight:

Semi-Auto Burst against Horde 5

BS40(+10 SAB, +10 Range, +10 Bolter Mastery): 18 (5 DoS) 

Fate Point spent to add an additional degree of success (for 4 hits) 

4 Hits = 0 Magnitude remaining.

 

 

 

COMBAT ENDS 

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad's lips were thin as hice set into a tight grimace.  He hauled himself upright, the piles of mutilated corpses from shrapnel and tank treads yielded him up, pulling on the crew adders on the side of the Medusa.  he locked his heavy bolter off and flexed his right leg.  His enhanced biology had already stopped the bleeding and closed the wounds, but they did need to be looked at, cramp wa beginning to make it's aching claws felt.

+My Apothecary, I am wounded albeit lightly, if you could attend me I would be grateful.+  He began to follow on in the wake of the Chimera as he considered the battle.  The team had fought well, again.  He chuckled at Tyber's defiance, though it was not in mockery, but pleasure.  He admired the handiwork of both the Storm Son and the Raptor, his precision a stark contrast to Varvost's almost graceful butchery.  Sabaan's driving!

 

His frown returned as he considered the defenders.  It had been reasonable for them to intervene when they did, after all, what fool would stand up against a barrage of 3 Medusae?  Their fire discipline had been good as well.  Perhaps the defenders of this planet were not so worthless.

 

If they could be saved.

 

MR.

[Slips]

As the final dregs of Xeno-Hybrids were cut down, their green-tinged red blood beginning to pool and flow, Solastion finally let go of the readying stud of the Multilaser finally letting the weapon spin down, the heat distortion emanating from the barrels now visible, he popped the turrets hatch and climbed out.

 

Turning to face Akkad as he voxed him, Solastion responded in the affirmative and started making his way towards him; his Chainsword and bolt pistol readied for this was still an active warzone.

 

Looking down at his diagnostics cogitator on his wrist as he closed the distance he spoke back to the marine +Straighten your leg out and try not to move, this should take all that long, the damage is mostly superficial but who knows what might be in the blood of the xenos.+

 

Medicae 75: 1d100 28 for 4 DoS healing 8 Wounds with an additional enhanced healing: 1d5 3 for a total of 11 wounds. Sadly I cant give you MORE wounds than your total maximum :p

 

+All done, Brother. Do remember that we have magnetic locks integrated into our boots the next time you decide to ride upon a vehicle.+ He said with a sly chuckle.

Edited January 6, 2019 by Slips

[Steel Company]

Tyber activated his chainsword to clear the stuck meat out of the unit before placing it back where to he stowed it before using some of the clothing these cultist covered themselves with for wiping their fluids from his arming sword.

 

 I want to face something tougher than these things, I want something to test my skills against. He thought to himself, during the process of cleaning his weapons for storage. It was a subtle sound that drew his attention, moaning really, coming from one of these things he had not outright killed with his swings.

 

He moved to stand over it, looking down at it, while it tried to pull it’s insides, back inside. Tilting his helm to the right, Tyber placed his left boot on the creature’s skull, a look almost human in it’s yellow eyes, almost as if it were pleading with him. ++ You will die soon, tell me what I want to know and I will make it quick.++ he said over the external vox.

 

“No, it wasss not to end thisss way!” it hissed back at him.

 

++Suffer not the alien, the mutant or the traitor to live.++ Tyber said as he begun to slowly push his boot down through the creature’s head. It didn’t take too long for the slow cracking to become a popping sound as bone and tissue gave way to unyielding ceramite.

[Commissar Molotov]

The plaza outside of the barracks is littered with the corpses of the cultists; broken and mangled bodies displaying the evidence of the might and fury of the Astartes. It had taken you mere minute to scythe through the cultist ranks, their numbers offering precious little against your skill. One of the siege guns is a blackened and charred wreck, flames hungrily licking at the metalwork. The other two, though damaged, are serviceable enough that the PDF forces will be able to reclaim them and put them into use against the cultist hordes. 

 

(The Kill-Team gains +1 Cohesion for completing the objective, up to a new total of 5 Cohesion.) 

 

++Interrogator, we have eliminated the enemy forces assaulting the Barracks. PDF positions are secure.++ Vaidan's clipped tones sound over the vox-link. 

 

++Acknowledged,++ Ryken replies swiftly, ++You have done well, Blackthorn. I have been co-ordinating with Captain Haltreme in order to secure our hold over the city; these PDF forces will aid us greatly. I have also been informed that Lord Vortis has been able to convince the nobility to release their household forces, which cannot come a moment too soon. Now you must locate and eliminate the Broodlord creature in order to weaken its hold over the cult.++

 

++We were able to uncover evidence that the cult is operating through sewage tunnels under the city,++ the Novamarine continues. ++They could be anywhere. The Astropath-child was only able to give us riddles; nothing solid. How do you propose we narrow the search?++

 

You hear now the voice of Captain Haltreme, the PDF officer who had overseen the defense of the central Templum. 

 

++My Lords, we believe the cult to be operating out of the Fabrica District. We have been able to make some successes with the forces at our control, and they are retreating in that direction. The slum-shanties of the Fallows are all ablaze, torn apart by block-to-block fighting. The Adeptus Mechanicus have secured the Metallican borders. Fabrica seems the logical option.++

 

By this time, you have tactical overlays and strategic dispositions overlaid on your helm-visors. You see what a task this is; Fabrica is home to all manner of factorie, grain refineries, abattoirs, warehouses, granaries and processing plants. 

 

++Fabrica is too large a district for us to search. Once we begin, the cultists will simply melt away into the shadows. Our opportunity will be lost, and the city will fall before we can behead the cult.++ The Novamarine's frustration seems to seep into the conversation. ++We must narrow down our field, so that we can strike specifically. Report to us if you find any further leads.++

 

With that, the Novamarine cuts the link. By this time, all of you have convened in the shadow of your venerable transport. The Chimera stood up well to the combat, its paint slightly blistered from the siege gun's fireball, but otherwise none the worse for wear. It seems hard to think you have been on Syndalla for less than eight standard hours; your armour shows the evidence of combat against the genestealer-breed and their tainted human followers. 

 

++We must determine our next course of action.++ Vaidan says to you all. 

[Mazer Rackham]

+All done, Brother. Do remember that we have magnetic locks integrated into our boots the next time you decide to ride upon a vehicle.+

 

His face lightened with surprise, not at the skill displayed, which would have been obvious, but the improvement in what mortals referred to as bedside manner - did this industrious and intense apothecary just make a joke?  Suddenly, just as Tyber had become his Ahu and Vaidan, the Lugal, Solastion brought forth another title from the sands of Symetra.  He could not speak it, as he must not speak such a way in front of those not Kin - his brotherhood with Tyber demanded such respect - but he could think of the Crimson Knight in such a way.

 

Iazu. One who is learned of the water and oil that give life.  Perhaps a small token of camaraderie would not violate the Kinship.

 

+True, My Healer, but in order to defeat the enemy, we must be prepared to throw everything at them?+ The words came through a smile and he gently thumped the apothecary's shoulder.  He turned, pulled a small thumb sized fleck of broken metal from the Medusa behind them to save for later, a few motes here and there to remember the only battle he had ever fought entirely lying down.  He nodded to Varvost, who was customarily picking gobbets of filth out of the teeth of his chainaxe, a respectful appreciation of his own unique skill.  An arm saluted the Raptor and Greysight both.  Sabaan received a quick Insignium Mechanicum.

 

He stopped in the shadow of the colossal Marine with two swords, he said nothing, for words were insufficient.  He banged his arm across his chest in a resounding clatter of warrior applause before attending Vaidan.

 

....

 

++We must determine our next course of action.++

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Tyber listened to the cheering of the mortals in the fortress, taking a moment to face them as he banged his right hand against his chest plate loudly in a salute to them, mimicking something that he had seen during his youth on his home world.

 

Newly a squire, with the first stage of the implantation process done, Tyber sat in the stands of the dueling cages, beside Adavan whom was dressed only in a simple linen robe, his massive hands wrapped left over right, his left fingers just under his nose, chin resting on his thumbs, elbows on his knees. His eyes locked on the duel going on below.

 

Tyber was unsure of what had happened to cause this event, but he watched as Adavan had demanded as two brothers fought unarmoured with arming swords and shields, on one side the Lord Executioner Cadius Rax, Paladin Captian of the Legion. On the other side, a full Brother, youthful in appearance, it was over quickly, the youthful brother charged Cadius, whom turned outside his swing then delivered a brutal efficient strike to the base of the neck, severing the other’s spine, killing him before he even hit the floor. Turning to Adavan, Tyber asked; “Master, what was the point of this?”

 

“A paladin’s duity, they are champions. They are the ones to face the toughest of opponents, settle matters of honour and inspire others. In the course of their duty, sometimes they have their hands forced and must slay a brother that has fallen off of his path and refused to return to it.” Relaxing from his position Adavan looked at Tyber with a smile before he continued, “Perhaps one day you could stand where Cadius does, but understand it is not an easy path to walk.”

 

Tyber was drawn back to the present as he heard another clang of a gauntlet against a chest plate, turning he saw his brother by choice and returned the gesture to him.

 

…

 

Going into the sewers is not something that I truly wish he thought himself as he was back in the Chimera, undoing the clasps of his tabard, letting it slip free from him, before neatly folding it on one of the bench seats. He placed his left hand on the garment while he whispered softly “It is not the time to drag you through the filth of mortals and xenos, I will return to wearer you with pride soon.”

 

He tilted his head high to look at the rain through his lenses, he felt ready to face the beast.

Edited January 7, 2019 by Steel Company

[Xin Ceithan]

++ We must determine our next course of  action++

The Watch Sergeant`s voice came over vox.  Sabaan nodded, more an involuntary muscle memory than a conscious movement.  The Techmarine then began to move among the Killteam,  ignoring the meshwork of Fabrica schematics for now. Methodically, he circled the members of Blackthorn, assessing the state of their warplate and their weapons. He removed a piece of shrapnel from the lubrication of a knee joint here, fused a minor tear on a ceramite plating there. Nothing too serious. The Machine spirits of their gear were in good humour. The Iron Hand canted rites of praise and blessing in binharic as he worked. Something not quite like relief registered on his mind as he tended to the wargear of Tyber , then Akkad. None of their gear had been overly damaged to their somewhat involuntary rapid deployment from the 2-12.  Good.  Sabaan applied a moderate extra 1.257 units of  blessed oils in the Rite of Cleansing and Refurbishing of their respective plates nevertheless. Astartes wargear was notoriously fickle and the true test of their merits was still to come.

Expanding on this notion, he blessed the Astral Claws heavy bolter twice as he performed after battle rites on their armaments.   Just in case.

 

He allowed himself a moment /// >5.23 Seconds>/// of reflection  as he tended to the more  delicate spirits of the Apothecary' s Trade on Solastion`s armour.

For a moment, he held the Angel`s gaze. ++We have gotten them this far.++ Sabaan acknowledged over a private channel in memory of their first exchange on the shuttle to the Voice of Thunder. ++ Let´s see this through ++

 

Sabaan turned away quickly, not waiting for a reply, unwilling to trace the emotion stirring in him. Calming himself by calling up references of the Creed, he noticed that the current Calculus was still open ended as a faint moan from behind him reached his consciousness. This engagement was not over yet.  And the Chimera also needed tending still. The Techmarine made his way through the mass of bodies, using his bionic senses to single out the cult members still exhibiting signs of life. He located an agriculture torch  among the wreckage and unceremoniously  broke it out of the stiff grip of it`s former owner. It was a clunky device originally intended to burn away underwood or unwanted undergrowth on the fields of Syndalla. It made a poor weapon against a shielded  opponent and even less so against the armoured hull of even a lowly Infantry fighting vehicle such as the 2-12. The Techmarine ripped off the shoddy, make shift protection the cultists had added in their feeble attempt to weaponize the torch, scratched their profane markings from the body of the torch. He reignited the torch, canting the Rites of Restoration through penance and labour in the face of the Omnissiah. It had been violated and would not be salvaged. But it could end it's existence by serving in the purpose intended by the Great Maker in the end.

Igniting the torch, he scoured the remains of the heretics from the hull and motive systems of the Chimera, canting the Hymns of Sterilisation and Blessings of Abhorence .

The 2-12 would not have to suffer the presence of the debased organic remains of it`s enemies any longer.

Edited January 17, 2019 by Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad stood listening to the rain pummelling down on his armour - the steady sound providing a soothing relief from the screeds of information from vox and noospheric interface, his Lyman's Ear picking and filtering the subtle white noise, taking him back to rain on the pergolas in the grounds of the Tower of Hanging Gardens.  It smelled so fresh he recalled, so green, the water droplets glittering like diamonds in the dawn.

 

He opened his eyes again, realising that Syndalla would not smell so fresh.  The crushed and mangled corpses, torn apart by Bolter fire and the super-heated stink of bone carved up by chainswords hung over the world, the city of Beregar at least like a shroud of death.  Vultures cawed and choked places like this.  Corpse-haunted wastelands so total, only the Astartes could bring them.  He cast his gaze to the ramparts of the PDF base where the troopers waited, small cheers and whistles breaking out from pockets of men and women huddled against the cruelty of the alien spoor.  He bit down his disgust, blunting his rage.  At the mention of the Fabrica district his first counsel would have been to destroy with the armageddon of a thousand shells from the siege guns, but that would have made it impossible to search.

 

He recalled the words of the Astropath from his memory, eidetic as all Marines were.

+My Sergeant, does this Fabrica District have a...+ he searched for the word, now allowing the disgust to return to his voice, +reclamation centre?  Some Hives I have been to regurgitated their dead...for...recycling.+  Anyone who looked at him could well imagine the scowl on his face under his metal and ceramite mask.  If he had not been helmed, he would have spat onto the ground.  The loathing of the idea saturated his words.

 

Mercifully, he thought, Badabian culture was above such a thing.  If Tarrik-Kimon, his brother from the Manis Warriors, who venerated their dead, had even heard him speak of it, there may have been a blade drawn.  He looked at Vaidan, thoughts cleaning as he listened again to the rain.

 

MR.

[Slips]

As the information started to come in from all the various feeds once they reported an all clear, all Solastion cared to do in this moment was to take off his helmet and bask in the rain; which he did.

 

Looking upwards into the slightly acidic and polluted rain as it fell upon his, for an Astartes, singularly unblemished face, he could feel the rain collecting and dripping down his face and even with his eyes closed could tell that there was some visible steam coming off of him as the water cooled him.

 

While he had a penchant for honorable combat - one where the enemy fought to their dying breath; in this instance he was more than content to just mow down the hybrid abominations that, up to a few moments ago, still drew breath.

 

He reflected back to the combats he remembered the most fondly - hundreds if not thousands across innumerable worlds and truly, they were all unique. This was no exception. He had never really fought insurgencies before, Chapter Command usually found them too risky to allow Sanguinary Priests to participate in the opening waves of the conflict due to their duties being oh-so-vital to the Chapter and, now, he could definitely see why that was the case.

 

Still, new experiences were few and far between in the life of never ending combat for a space marine so this was a nice change.

 

As he thought back to his homeworld, the demi-centennial Chapter Tournaments, the wars he fought, the brothers he lost, the rain cascading down his exposed face, for a split moment in time, he knew true calm.

 

++We must determine our next course of action.++

 

But, as reality is wont to do, it came crashing down and yanked him back to the here-and-now.

 

Only In Death Does Duty End. And he was far from dead.

[Nineswords]

THE HAIN WERE dead, the explosive force of the cluster mines rigged to the stairwell, had just been enough to outright kill or incapacitate the Greenskins. Saraluzekh breathed a small sigh of relief, before returning to his fallen brother. 

 

The stubber round had pierced Khoisal through the right eye piece, before reducing his head to pulp. Saraluzekh did not have the time nor the means to extract Khoisal’s geneseed. 

 

Such a waste. 

 

Holding his boltgun with one hand whilst scanning his immediate surroundings, with the other hand, Saraluzekh deftly caressed the contours of Khoisal’s battered armour, before he found what he was looking for. Even without his gauntlet’s internal sensors, Saraluzekh could feel the knot of hair was warm to the touch. Grasping the hair gently, he then maglocked the bronze tube to a near identical lock of hair beneath his torso. 

 

Rummaging for another moment, Saraluzekh relieved Khoisal of the last of his ammunition.

 

A blurt of static interrupted the Storm Son’s scavenging. He paused and cocked his head as if the gesture would somehow alleviate the interference generated no doubt by the Hain’s crude technologies. A cold, metallic rasp issued instructions over a secure vox channel. 

 

‘-nicus Phalanx designator Beta-Rho-Zero-Eight-Five. All remaining Storm Sons will converge on the following coordinates ex-loading into your tactical helm displays. Projections of current force dispositions conclude the Ork threat will overwhelm us in the next seventy six minutes, accounting for ammunition expenditure and estimated mortality rates. Extraction to the Ark fleet begins imm-‘ 

 

Saraluzekh muted the channel. He had already reached the same conclusion as his estranged allies, and the situation was bleak indeed. 

 

A whole ordu exterminated in a single action. 

 

How the servants of the Machine-God had grossly miscalculated the Hain’s presence on Deluge was a mystery. Unless of course, they had intentionally underreported the Greenskins’ numbers, in order to solicit aid for some unknown purpose, factoring the cost of a half company of Astartes as an acceptable loss in their combat equations. 

 

He curled his lip in distaste. Saraluzekh wouldn’t put it past the Priesthood of Mars. Their callous disregard for human life was noted amongst the Khuu Arga. Observing his helm display once more, only a small handful of his brothers lived, retreating slowly towards the extraction coordinates. 

 

Saraluzekh made a quick calculation. Surrounded by the Hain with three more suldes to find in just over an hour. The odds were against him. 

 

Arming his bolter with a fresh clip, Saraluzekh stalked into the darkness. 

 

+++

Edited January 12, 2019 by Nineswords

[Commissar Molotov]

The Novamarine consults the strategic maps of Beregar before replying to the Astral Claw.

 

++There are no graveyards on Syndalla; the mercantile guilds would not countenance the waste of arable ground. As you say, corpses are reclaimed. Not within Fabrica, though. The Guild Cartels elsewhere in the city would take care of that.++ 

 

++It also doesn't take into account the Astropath's words,++ Varvost keeps his helm on, the dented ceramite gleaming in the firelight of the siege gun. ++She spoke of the screams of the dying, not those already dead.++

[Steel Company]

++ Record Deleted, Ordo Xenos++

Edited January 8, 2019 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

Over open Vox, he addressed the Novamarine.

+Perhaps Interrogator Ryken should check the cellar of the Templum.+  His helmet tilted to one side, the unmoving faceplate gave the notion of a smirk underneath.  +Just in case.+

 

+It would be easier than butchering our way through here.+ He added idly, trying not to look at Varvost.

 

MR.

Edited January 8, 2019 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

+It would be easier than butchering our way through here.+ Came the words of his brother by choice over the vox net, triggering some part of the back of Tyber’s mind to link the words from the Captian at the temple to the words of the Astropath. He smiled under his helmet, while lowering it slightly, as he said in return over the squad vox; +Of course, Akkad you are brilliant.+

 

He hurried over to Akkad, clapping both of his shoulder guards, +We should search the slaughter houses. They are kept cool to keep the meat for transport and packing, they have machinery for packaging and most importantly, the screams of the dying can be heard, the Astropath never said they were human screams.+

 

Giving Akkad’s shoulders another clap before he loaded himself into 2-12, taking up his position standing in the center of the open upper hatch, ready to head out to face the beast this would be a worth test of his skills.

Edited January 8, 2019 by Steel Company

[Slips]

Placeholder; Solastion will think back to the Astropaths divination and bounce possible locations off other squadmates.

[A.T.]

Atratus settled once more on a high perch while the others considered the next move of the squad, not in attempt to distance himself but to clear his mind. They had been fortunate that the astropath was able to give what information she could, but that the search for the xenos hung on such a tenuous thread concerned him. As in the practice room aboard the ship they had been ill prepared to track those who flee from battle to strike from the shadows, a weakness that others would see and exploit.

Edited January 8, 2019 by A.T.

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad weathered the storm of the huge Marine's bonhomie, vaguely perplexed.

 

+I did nothing...+ he protested to the others, but his head canted down and up, hands on hips, thoughtful. +But I second it...if it doesn't pan out at least we will be within the heart of the Fabrica, the search will be easier once we're actually there.+ What Tyber had suggested sounded plausible and more accurate than his own attempts.  He watched the Dragon stomp into 2-12, idly remembering that he should activate his magboots.  If Tyber's good mood continued, he'd need to be locked to the deck to withstand the rough-housing.  Secretly he was more than a little proud of the huge Astartes.  He paid the others the courtesy of awaiting their reply before following.  On a private channel he voxed his friend.

 

+Hope your Oathblade is as sharp as your mind Ahu.+  He refused to mask his pleasure and pride in the young warrior.  He deserved both.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

+Hope your Oathblade is as sharp as your mind Ahu.+

 

+I cannot take credit Ahu, your word of ‘butcher’, are what caused me to connect the words from the Cpatain and the Astropath. As for my Oathblade, I try to maintain it as well as Adavan had when it was his, though it is much easier than I thought it would’ve been, it almost never dulls.+ he couldn’t keep the grin from his face or words, a solid test of his skills were ahead, a chance to see if he was worthy to follow in the likes of Cadius Rax.

[Commissar Molotov]

The Novamarine nods, activating a channel to Ryken once again. 

 

++Interrogator, we have reason to believe the Broodlord is near or within a slaughterhouse or abattoir of some kind.++

 

There are a few moments before the Interrogator responds. 

 

++A slaughterhouse? There are several large abattoir-complexes within the Fabrica district. Although...++ you hear shouted instructions to the PDF troopers around Ryken. ++There is one near the harbour edge that sits on the confluence of several sewage tunnels. It seems a likely target. Make your way towards Fabrica, and I will dispatch PDF forces to support you.++ 

 

+++

 

It takes almost an hour for your Chimera to reach the edges of the Fabrica District. Dismounting your vehicle you reach a truncated building, the entire top floor shorn away and the bottom floor shrouded in sandbags and flakboards. You are greeted with a crisp salute from Captain Haltreme and a nod from Interrogator Ryken. 

 

"My Lords," the Captain says. "It appears there is some substance to your theory. Our scouts have reported that there are guards protecting the abattoir. Discrete, careful not to draw too much attention; but they're there. There is certainly something of some importance to the cult here." 

 

Ryken turns to a map-table showing the local district. 

 

"Draw up your plans, and inform me what support you need. Thanks to your successes, we have PDF troops available to support in the assault. You may wish a direct assault, in an attempt to overwhelm their defenses; alternately, you may consider a stealth infiltration through the sewer tunnels underneath the slaughterhouse itself. Either approach would carry risks, but would offer you benefits." 

[Steel Company]

Tyber looked to his brothers, using the squad level vox setting he spoke his mind, +I would favor a direct armoured assault, if we cannot flatten this place with the artillery we recaptured… Going in through the sewers would limit our mobility heavily, leaving us open to ambush from behind.+

 

Adjusting his footing in the hold, he added, +In the end Sargent, we will do as you command.+

[Commissar Molotov]

[PLACEHOLDER: Any further strategising, etc, you wish to include can be pasted here.]

 

 

+++

 

 

The strategising over, the Kill-Team convenes once more within the armoured hull of Chimera 2-12, the stalwart steed that has carried the warriors of the Deathwatch throughout the events of this tempestuous night. 

 

Each of you feels the twin hearts beating within your chests like tribal drums; a staccato rhythm already anticipating the roar of bolter fire and the death-cries of xenos beasts. The warriors on either side of you are still unfamiliar, the heraldry they bear and their ways of war still strange to you. It is barely three weeks since you were brought together on Watch-Station Azurea. But here and now, the purity of battle lends things a clarity of purpose, a certainty that this is what you were created for. 

 

The Watch-Sergeant leads you in a moment of quiet contemplation. He is no Chaplain, and few words are needed now. Each of you knows what must be done, and the grave consequences should you fail. The lives of every citizen of Syndalla depend upon the eight of you and your actions now. The Broodlord must be killed; its malefic dominance must be eradicated. Only then will the citizenry stand a chance against the disorganised and leaderless cultist forces.

 

- After this moment of contemplation and reaffirmation, each Blackthorn squad member receives +1500 XP. You may spend this now, or bank it. Expenditure should be completed in the OOC thread and then updated on the character sheets as soon as possible.
 

Edited January 12, 2019 by Commissar Molotov