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

[Mazer Rackham]

His humours had been out of balance of late, but the big Marine had helped somewhat, his thoughts and ideas - the stoic stiffness of the Iron Hand too.  The Iazu had begun to blossom into the role of leader and had cared for the Sergeant and now wanted them all present at the war council.  He did not know how he could help there, he just wanted off the damn rock, more than enough weeks had passed and the training had gone well, he admitted, but he was ready to go.  He caught himself in his melancholy and touched the golden rosette at his waist.  That same feeling came back to him, of duty, honour, sacrifice.  His brows had knotted in more frowns than when they should have been open, his jaw clenched and lips tight when they should have been fighting a smile.

 

Enlil-Su would have mocked him for it, but he was dead, long gone, blown open and left for the crows.  He sighed, fought the tendrils of black that still fidgeted at the corners of his mind and pulled himself straight as he ministered to Cadence.  The rhythm of putting her back together after a good clean was...pleasing.

 

He hardly noticed the mortal enter and bid them all come hence.  He had noticed the Ahu bat his not insubstantial fist against the doorframe.  Frustration.  The way the big warrior rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, he was restless, possibly to be away from there as well.  It was always the same with the young Astartes, they were forged into a sword for the endless crusade, told that the darkness of horrors undreamed ate at the edges of Humanity, chewed away at its heart, devoured it's soul.  Then they were told that the Imperium was huge and countless stars and lives fell to the enemy every hour.

 

When a human was told that, they stared and prayed.  When a young Marine heard it, not for the first time, but every time - the training and hymnals with him even when he slept, he loaded his bolter and generally asked "where next?"  A wintry smile did force itself up at that.  As an older Marine he knew better, that not everything could be saved, everywhere.  That's why the Astral Claws built rings of defence around the Maelstrom.  They didn't have to defend or fight everywhere.  Just the gates of hell.  He locked Cadence to his backpack and followed Tyber out, blink-clicking his private Vox rune.

+If you are bored Ahu, we can always spar together?  I have a Krak grenade left.+  He forced more humour than he felt - it was expected. +Do  not worry, a foeman worthy of you shall appear soon.  As will our Brother, the Wolf.  The Blood Priest swore to recover his Geneseed.  Maybe this is the call?+  He shrugged, pauldrons and plating clattering characteristically as they marched down the halls.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Before he knew it, he was laughing at Akkad’s words, smiling under his helm he responded to his brother by choice, +I think I will pass on that Ahu. I am more irritated at being summoned by a mortal… I am beginning to understand why my chapter stays to the outer reaches of the Imperium; these mortals have forgotten their place in the Imperium. They are meant to be to us, what a bolt round is to a bolt gun, ammunition to be expended as needed. They should not dare to command us+ his tone was sharp and dark towards the end.

 

Taking a lighter tone, he continued with; +Still let us hear out the Governor has to say, but I will bet you a trophy from the next worthy kill, that he will demand that we save his hide.+ giving Akkad a playful thump on the pauldron before continuing on down the hall.

[Slips]

In the hours, days, then weeks proceeding the death of the Broodlord, the vast majority of Solastions time was occupied with treating the wounded; his primary concern ever being the Watch-Sergeant. Working to heal all the wounds he could while the Novamarine was under Sus-An coma, his thoughts always strayed back to Thorvald and the final resting place of his body. It bothered him to no end that he was, as of yet, unable to uphold his primary oath: that of the Apothecary.

 

Still, its not like he had all that much time to entertain the thought. For the most part he was doing his primary duty: seeing to the health of his Kill-Team but, additionally, he was also essentially the Primus Medicae for all the Loyalist forces on the planet which ate up even more of his time as he did what he could to keep the mortal troops in fighting shape for the Genestealer Cultists, being what they are, were rarely at a numbers disadvantage. 

 

With the first Broodlord-free week coming to a close and the number of cultists starting to finally dwindle, the Crimson Knight felt that he could finally delegate some of the more mundane tasks to the medicae auxiliaries that he had access to and actually take stock of the whole situation as the de-facto Watch-Sergeant and coordinate efforts to purge the remaining xeno-hybrids with the rest of the Human Forces.

 

Once it was clear that the cult numbers were now dwindling to manageable levels and he could once again delegate, Solastion set about aiding in the shoring up of defenses for the loyalist held territories - Genestealer cults being what they were, it would've been dangerously unwise to discount them at any stage - in anticipation of more suicidal guerrilla actions.

 

It was at the end of this week, when Solastion and his Squadmates were gathered in their strategium, preparing to go about their tasks, that a Mortal Serf bearing word that their presence was requested by the current planetary governor. Seeing Tybers reaction struck Solastion as odd but he let it slide. Nodding to the mortal and dismissing him with a wave of his hand, he turned to the assembled Astartes.

 

"Lets go see what the mortal has to say, why don't we?" he said with a sigh and made to leave the room.

Edited February 16, 2019 by Slips

[Xin Ceithan]

Simulus inload....restored....

 

Like many Mechanicus enclaves, Metallica District was an enclave to itself, a city within a city. The Uprising had only outwardly increased the separation, both physically and mentally. The ancient disciples of the Omnissiah had survived secluded way in the face of runaway technomythical monsters amd rampant mutants on the wastelands of Mars long before the coming of the Emperor and his Imperium of Man.

Siege mentality might not been invented in the forges of the Red Planet but it was deeply embedded into the ways of his followers. Day to Day business continued much as usual inside the conclave. Servitor slaved gun emplacement on the walls had simply gone to more pro active search and destroy patterns and lethal force was used as a basic deterrent across all  access pathways into the conclave as opposed to being reduced to an unfortunate accident that befell the occasional visitor.

The duty of Metallica was to the Omnissiah first and ensuring the continuous flow of the motive force from the fussionic effigies at the heart of it`s generatorum temples, rooted deep within the city`s bedrock.  Skittari secured the major Temples. Servitor kill claves  roamed the streets. No unaugmented human had set foot inside the enclave since the Uprising.  Of course, few had done so even before the current state of affairs. At ground level,  the atmosphere between the forgefanes was a thick toxic mélange that burned lung and skin tissue on contact. Excess radiation over vast stretches of the enclave would kill a human in minutes. Metallica District had been uninviting before . Now, it was positively hostile to everything organic.

 

It had taken Nycax Sabann 63 hours, 13 minutes and 23 Seconds to gain physical entry and access to a Techpriest representing the ruling Synod of Metallica. He had spent three hours alone in front of a bunkered down Bridge Gatehouse in front of a minor access portal the size of a Dreadnaught walker under the suspicious vigil of twinbarrelled las, melta and flame emplacements, exchanging binharic rites of praise to Omnissiah and  the Lords of Metallica and invocations of aid and alliance. He had sent and received code strings of proof and counterproofing older than the settlement of Syndalla itself. Then he had endured rites of cleansing from both biological and noospheric scrap code.

Being a Techmarine helped. He had endured things and sworn oaths along his Aspirancy on Mars that made his recent entry to the Deathwatch seem like the juveline fealty bragging among the scum of some underhive gang. Also, he was an Iron Hand. There were things at work here that were indeed older than the presence of humans on this world. Blessings were exchanges. Code was rerouted. At last, four Skittari escorted him into the Enclave and to a sanctum chamber on the outer ring of one the major forges.

Sabaan tried not to be offended. Four Skitarrii!

>> If we were Garrsak, we would have killed them just to make a point.<<

He gave an inward shrug. His martian mentor had taught him the value of being "polite”. And they were probably in need of those cyborged soldiers soon. No need to waste anything on such a trivial thing as Pride.

Also, the Sanctum had a soothing effect on Sabaan. Inside the oval shaped dome, the blessed symbols of the Cog lined floor, walls and ceiling. They were inlaid in precious metals. Between them,   rare earths and gemstones simulated the flow of the Motive Force between the different runes resembling the work of the Great Maker. The Techmarine noted how the flow of the shapes mimicked the outlay of the capital city and stretched out from there to more outlaying settlements. It was a not so subtle reminder that Metallica saw itself as at the center of things on Syndalla. Such hubris aside, Sabaan found the symmetry of the chamber relaxing. The air smelled of ozone, sacred oils and frequent rad cleansing. He allowed himself a moment of luxury by being away from the press and odours of baseline humanity and especially the vile deviation of the xenos and their deviant worshippers.  There was a fracture of serenity here. It was good to experience the purity of the Omnissiah.

It was also good to remember not to trust in the Mechanicus. His boltgun was up across his chest, ready as ever.

 

To his front, a thing that would once been a human floated in center of the chamber, born aloft by sacred gravitonic  transcendence. Flowing red robes hid what might remain of it`s baseline form. A triple string of horizontally pulsing red lights observed him from beneath the hood. Two Cyber Cherubs flanked the Magos, rhythmically clicking praises of the gifts of elemental force as well as psalms of warding in accordance with the background radiation. Their faces, Sabaan noted in passing, were sculpted to resemble the ancient Saints of Geegyr and Chuurie.

The Iron Hand once canted the rituals of blessings and greeting.

 

++ I am Nycax Sabaan. Techmarine of the Iron Hands. I stand here representing the ancient vows of Medusa and Mars and represent the Ordo Militant of the Inquisition of Him on Earth, the Embodiment of the Omnissiah and protector of the great Work. In this, I  seek the advise and  support of the Enclave of Metallica in the defense of this world.++

 

He allowed for a dramatic pause. Had he been capable to do so, he might a shown the ghost of a smile.

 

++You are not going to like it++                

Edited March 14, 2019 by Xin Ceithan

[A.T.]

It has been less than eight hours since Atratus had returned from his most recent hunt, and seeing the understanding between his brothers the Raptor faintly regretted the need of the killteam to have divided its efforts over the past weeks.

 

A strike of the fist, bad news or irritation over the slow progress of the campaign? That it was only annoyance at being summoned surprised Atratus, perhaps the governor had been frivolous in his absence, though Tybers response concerned him more. Holding his tongue out of respect of seniority Atratus gathered his equipment to attend the briefing. All here were to die for the Emperor, mortal and astartes, the place of all was only to hold back the night for for a moment longer that the Imperium itself might live on.

[Commissar Molotov]

The Governor's Manse still bears the scars of the purestrains' attack: you walk across wooden floors gouged with claw-marks and pass floral wallpaper spattered with faded arcs of dried blood. Even the elite of Syndallan society in their walled estates have been unable to escape the depredations of the xenos. Over the last few weeks the PDF Levy forces - given the opportunity to regroup and reorganise - have held the Manse. Shattered windows are now nailed over with flakboard and play host to sandbagged weapon emplacements. Finally, the Grand Estates seem like a holdfast worthy of standing up to the enemy. As you proceed through the corridors, following behind Hadros's tapping cane, PDF Guardsmen salute you with a healthy mixture of fear and respect in their eyes.

 

As you draw closer to a pair of double doors, the enhanced senses of your Lyman's Ears can easily discern the sounds of several voices shouting. The two Guardsmen stationed outside look nervous in the extreme at your arrival, standing straighter and clutching their lasrifles tightly whilst passing surreptitious looks between one another. Hadros, for his part, seems embarrassed as he turns to you.

 

"I must apologise, my lords," he stammers, as the arguing voices increase in pitch. "I was told the Defense Council was in recess until your arrival. I must apologise for the situation, but it seems that they have decided to convene without your presence."

 

As you move forward, the doors open before you and you find yourselves once more in the Grand Ballroom - though many of the pretenses towards artifice have gone; banners torn down to make way for strategic maps that plaster the walls. Armed guards stand in each corner of the room. Occupying the centre is an iron table that has been dragged in, with a hololithic projector displaying Syndalla and the meagre fleet orbiting it. Around the table are an eclectic mixture of men and women in all manners of dress, from planetary dignitaries to military officers. You identify Naval and PDF Levy officers, along with the flamboyant dress of a Rogue Trader entourage. Servitors and tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, as well as various other functionaries, flit about the shadows of the room.

 

Two of those assembled - a woman in the uniform of the Imperial Navy and a bald man in a uniform reminiscent of the Astra Militarum - are leaning over the table pointing and shouting at each other.

 

As all eyes fall upon your arrival, the room goes quiet, though hushed conversation does linger. The tension, however, remains - and it is palpable. Those within the room nod respectfully or offer murmured greetings as Lord Vortis - now Governor Vortis - rises and walks to greet you.

 

"My lord, I am grateful you could come," he addresses Solastion, as the head of the formation. "Things have not been progressing well."

 

GM: Solastion:

Over the last fifteen days, the Syndallan PDF Levy has managed to reform, led by General Demetrys Wrex, and Beregar City is broadly secure. He is the bald man arguing at the table, with Captain Sevora Locke, of the Imperial Navy cruiser King of Kings, which has arrived at Syndalla with the attendant frigates Thricebound and Saint Orestes to lend a hand. You also at the edges of the room see Captain Desiato, a Rogue Trader whose vessel Glory Be arrived seven days ago for his own inscrutable reasons.

 

The defense council has had limited success - the level to which the Deathwatch has engaged with their politicking has waxed and waned over the weeks, and Governor Vortis has seemed wearier and wearier as it has progressed. This is an increasingly familiar - and tiresome - scene.

 

Interrogator Ryken has not been seen for several days, and all attempts to contact him have failed.

 

"The best estimates of the Imperial Navy and the Adeptus Mechanicus have put Tyranid forces at ten days away from our system's edge. We have made very little headway towards preparing our world's defence, and as you have see, none of the others whom I have called upon to aid us are willing to cooperate with one another. They argue and bicker like mongrels fighting over scraps, all while the beast gathers at our door." He pauses for a moment, looking every inch the exhausted older man that he is. "I have little stomach for games at a time when my people need action. If we work together, we could be victorious. However, until these commanders agree to cooperate instead of trying to decide which of them will be in charge, this world is doomed!"

 

As the Governor speaks to you, you notice that the arguers have turned back to their own entourages, murmuring to themselves.

 

If you pass a PERCEPTION test whilst in the vicinity of Governor Vortis:

You will recognise the lingering scent of Obscura around the Governor - a potent and addictive narcotic, often smoked to provoke a state of euphoria and relaxation. The Governor seems anxious and unsettled in the extreme.

Edited February 19, 2019 by Commissar Molotov

[Slips]

Awareness: 1d100 56 vs Awareness 70 for 1 DoS

 

As the governor spoke to him about the situation, Solastion placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder ++Do not worry Governor, we shall yet succeed. Do take care of yourself, however, for Syndalla needs lucid and composed leadership if it is to overcome this ordeal.++

 

Stepping forward he doffed his helmet as he stopped a good fifteen feet from the hololithic table and spoke again. "General Wrex and Captain Locke, step forward." he stated gravely "Tell me, why is it that two career military officers in service to the Imperium, who have sworn to defend its worlds and expand its borders are unable to come together in defense of Syndalla? Why is it that your petty squabbles are now an issue the Deathwatch has to resolve so that we can move forward and get the job done?" he asks, making a point of casually resting his hand on the pommel of his chainsword - which was nearly as long as the shorter of the pair was tall.

Edited February 19, 2019 by Slips

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad appraised the Rogue Trader's entourage.  His attention stolen by the wayward and gaudy figures, his mind turned to when he plied the stars with House Orduul.

Vortis Perception Test: 50 + 10 (Awareness) + 10 (Senses) +10 (Armour) = 80

D100 Roll: 94 (LOL)

 

Akkad frowned under his helm at the words of the Governor and doffed his helmet, that the humans could see his obvious disquiet at their bickering, maybe especially so in the presence of the Astartes.  His gaze spilled out into the room in a chill burst, his green eyes like chips of emeralds in snow as he sought the most flamboyant of the knot of privateers, or the one who carried the most authority, to whom others subtly deferred...

 

Perception: 80

D100: 12 Pass!

 

MR.

[Xin Ceithan]

After two weeks spent in the company of the Mechanicus or preparing the defences of Syndalla, walking into in a room full of unaugmented humans triggered a by now common unease. Sabaan addressed it by performing a more conscious scanning and target evaluation as he entered the room, resting his attention on each orange bracketed potential hostile a bit longer than strictly necessary.

>> At least they have started the talking early and spared wasting it on us.<<

He registered elevated rates of perspiration, ventilation and cardial actitivity. One did not have to have an Astartes transhuman senses to notice the tension in the room. He filtered other information away but made note of several individuals in various stages of intoxication. The Governor was among them.

Nycax felt the echo over a frown tugging the fleshgrafted remains of his face. It was a lamentable sign of weakness that these mortals disrupted their abilities in this way and carried an increase risk that they would not be able to cope with the mental strain of the coming conflict.

 

>> Of course, if you had to spent all this time babbling among these meatbags, you might want to be in a more sedated state of mind, too<<

 

Sabaan acknowledged the thought detritus by releasing a pneumatic grunt.

Gratefully, the Apothecary stepped forward and disrupted the squabbling mortals.

 

r ++Do not worry Governor, we shall yet succeed. Do take care of yourself, however, for Syndalla needs lucid and composed leadership if it is to overcome this ordeal.++

 

>>Diplomatic. There are members of the Comissariat who would have them shot to make an example. Most of the Iron Council would have shot them just for being annoying when we made planetfall. <<

 

As the Sanguinary Priest addressed the assembled mortals, Sabaan moved towards the part of the room occupied by the representatives of the Adeptus Mechanicus. There was no way the armored bulk of an Astartes could simply “drift” among the crowd. The Techmarine made no attempt to be subtle at any rate. Menials and lower officers scrambled out of the way.

 

The Iron Hand took a momentary respite as the scent of contraseptics, sacred oils and incense offered an amount of olfactory shielding from the exretions of baseline humanity.

Almost subconsciously, he attempted to access the noospheric stream around him but found most but the outerwards prayer patterns too heacily encrypted

 

A nearby Adept shot him a cursory glance. Sabaan squawked the binharic equivalent of “Carry on” and made sure to implant it within proper coding of praise and recognition to his random testing of operational noospheric warding. He didn`t believe the Adept bought it for any temporal fraction.

 

Solastion was addressing the mortals:

 

Tell me, why is it that two career military officers in service to the Imperium, who have sworn to defend its worlds and expand its borders are unable to come together in defense of Syndalla? Why is it that your petty squabbles are now an issue the Deathwatch has to resolve so that we can move forward and get the job done?"

 

The Iron Hand exhaled.

 

“There is no reasonable chance to deny the xenorganic swarms access to your biological mass in it`s entirety in the timeframe projected. In this regard, I must also inform you that if you are attempting to deny the xenos access to your world`s oxygen suppllies, your current methods are also ineffective., “ Sabaan added to Solastion`s address, matter of factly.

“But there is time enough to have your biological mass rendered into a form more suitably to the defence of this planet if you cannot serve the Imperium in your current capacity. "

 

 

 

OOC

[\spoiler] PER 35 http://orokos.com/roll/704802#. -pass

Security or Tech Use – 78 fail, I guess since there is no way to add the Elektrograft http://orokos.com/roll/704909#

Edited February 20, 2019 by Xin Ceithan

[Commissar Molotov]

Akkad:

 

You recognise the Rogue Trader, Captain Desiato. He and his cruiser, the Glory Be to Him-on-Earth, arrived at Syndalla seven days ago. He wears a long crimson coat and a silvered breastplate showing the coat-of-arms of his Dynasty. His eyes are hooded, his dark hair tied back. He draws on a lho-stick, seemingly disinterested in the goings-on. He sits on the outskirts of the group, distancing himself from the arguing pair.

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad adopts a slight swagger as he paces towards Captain Desiato, jaw squarely set and allowing boredom to infest his glances.  He stops, draws himself to full height, his helmet under his arm as he leaves his brothers, the stern words of the Iron Hand resonating in his mind.

 

"My Captain." He starts quietly with a small courtly bow, "May the winds of fortune favour you, the shoals of riches never end."  He greeted the Captain in the manner taught to him by Melindra, mistress of the House Orduul.  He affected an odd insouciance to his manner as his glance swept the room, briefly resting on Tyber he fired a quick wink, but the younger Marine could not help but catch the subtle grinding of teeth at the territorial posturing on display.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Tyber separates off from the group of Astartes to stalk around the outside of the room, if one were to be able to read auras, his would be a dark and foreboding red, his every steep measured yet menacing. His thoughts were not much better, Children, they argue like children. This is why mortals cannot be trusted to rule themselves. His eyes were locked on the representatives of the PDF and the Fleet that were squabbling over whom had dominance in the coming fight.

 

Ten days, that is nine days to burn the fields and mine them to try and slow down the advance. If only we had containers of the Life Eater virus that we could launch into the hive fleet that is coming… his inner voice continued, while his face maintained a look of disgust at these mortals. It was when the one with the silvered chest plate flew into his view that Tyber found himself taken aback, this mortal was too relaxed, and perhaps he knew something that he was not sharing with the others.

 

Tyber caught Akkad’s territorial display, making his way over to stand just behind Akkad, his hands flexing open and closed, his entire body felt ready to extend violence to the mortals in the room. These mortals were showing how weak they were, how unfit they were to lead. It was this one that Akkad was conversing with they seemed to draw Tyber’s current ire, he was not Imperial Navy, Mechanicum or PDF, he could not be counted on not to run at the first sign of trouble. He wanted to speak, but he kept himself in check, Akkad had this under control, but perhaps some additional physical might close by could be useful, should this mortal prove unwilling to give answers.

[Commissar Molotov]

Akkad:

 

Captain Desiato straightens in his chair as he is approached by an armoured Space Marine. It perhaps should not escape your attention that eyes in this council are following you as you separate yourself from the rest of the Kill-Team and cross the ballroom. 

 

When the Space Marine bows, the Captain raises a curious eyebrow. He also does not miss the exchange of looks between the Astral Claw and the Dragon of Caliban, or of their pantomiming and posturing.   

 

"Brother Akkad, is it?" He maintains the appearance of ignorance, whilst perhaps he is anything but. His eyes flash over your pauldrons. "I have encountered your kin before, on the cusp of the Maelstrom. The PDF levy units within the city have spoken of your courage and bravery; your willingness to fight alongside them." 

[Commissar Molotov]

Solastion:

 

The Naval Captain, Locke, stiffens as she is ordered to account by the Apothecary.

 

"My Lord." She salutes. "The General here believes that he should command the orbital defense of the world against the Tyranids. This despite knowing nothing of void-strategy or anything beyond the mud and blood of the battlefield."

 

Wrex, for his part, seems like a wild animal. You see a vein in his temple pulsing as he snarls at the Captain.

 

"This is our world, and most of those vessels there are Levy ships, under the control of the PDF." He gestures at the hololithic. You see the arrowhead formation of the Naval squadron, the King of Kings supported by the knifelike shapes of its frigate escorts; the half-dozen scattered system defense vessels like those that you first saw cored from the bridge of the Voice of Thunder. You see also the Glory Be, the Rogue Trader cruiser as aloof and distant as its owner. You also make out the orbital defense platforms ringing the planet. "We have fought - in the mud - against these four-armed bastards and I won't be ordered about by you."

 

"If you had done your jobs properly," the Captain retorts, her voice cold and clearly accustomed to ordering subordinates, "this backwater world wouldn't need defending. The wider Imperium is here now, and I suggest you let us get on with the task." She looks to you, clearly expecting the Astartes to side with her.

Edited February 19, 2019 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad absorbed everything playing out in front of him - Solastion the Mediator, Tyber the Bruiser.  He denied his face the smile at the theatre of it all, the tableau was perfect - if he could just prickle Varvost into something blunt...Solastion would be the one they turned to...He answered the Rogue Trader after a slight sigh.  He replied in a tone the equal to the one given to him.

 

"You honour me.  It was nothing," he shrugged with just the right Noble twitch, "they performed beyond my expectations however."  His voice dropped the pretence. "They are good soldiers, worthy of assistance." The meaning lay under the words like a shark stalking a smaller fish.

 

"But tell me My Captain, what have your eyes told you of this...situation...from the deck of the Glory Be?"

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

"I wonder though, Brother Akkad, how fair a situation it truly is for these soldiers. Can you say you fight alongside them when you stand three heads taller, carved from ceramite in the image of He-on-Earth Himself? That you risk as much as they when you are clad in the finest armour and with the greatest weapons the Imperium can muster? With the blood of the Primarchs flowing through your veins? Are you truly one of the people when you are made of so much more? One might understand the position of General Wrex, there. That outsiders can never truly risk as much as those who belong to this world. What do you think? Or you?"

 

The latter is directed to Tyber. "Little point standing menacingly like a bodyguard when your Brother could crush my skull between his hands himself."

Edited February 19, 2019 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

+He does not need my assistance, nor am I his bodyguard. I was wondering what you are hiding from those here or if you can be trusted not to run at the first sign of trouble.+ spoke Tyber, his words dark, +Though I will grant that you are correct, outsiders can never risk as much as those that are locals. But even outsiders can risk more than those that flee when everything is stacked against them.+

 

Every muscle in Tyber’s body was calling out to him to rip this mortal’s spine out through his chest; he dared to speak to him in such a way, it needed to be put into its proper place. It was a quick and subtle motion on Akkad’s part that stalled Tyber’s movements, an opening and shutting of his left hand.

[Slips]

"Silence." he says tersely. Intentionally waiting an uncomfortable amount of time to let the two squirm beneath his gaze, he then continued.

 

"First, General, you forget yourself. Synadalla belongs to the Emperor and to the Imperium. Second, Captain, have you ever had to deal with a planetwide genestealer infestation before?" He asked rhetorically.

 

"But this is all besides the point. Our immediate concern is making the best use of the manpower we have at hand and not bringing about our downfall due to pride. So, put your petty grievances aside and work together or I will find officers who will. I've not persecuted centuries of war in the Emperors name to be made a nursemaid to children. Have I made myself abundantly clear?"

 

Before the mortals even have a chance to nod their heads, he continues."Now, General, Captain, you have my undivided attention: what is your plan of action to see to it that Syndalla doesnt become a lifeless rock suspended in the void?" 

[Commissar Molotov]

Akkad and Tyber:

 

"We all have our secrets," Captain Desiato nods, considering the Dragon's words - and apparently heedless of the threat, "wouldn't you agree, Brother Akkad?" There is a buzzing weight to his words, as though some news of great import rests beneath them.

 

The Captain stands, straightening his tunic and adjusting the cuirass around his chest. 

 

"I lend my aid here because it makes sense for me to do so. If the Tyranid forces cannot be stopped, Syndalla will not be the last world they devour. Consider me a pragmatist, then - or one lucky enough to control his own destiny."

 

Desiato nods in salute to the two of you - but his tone is not a mocking one; rather, you have the sense of one regicide player acknowledging another. 

 

"I must attend to other matters. I am sure we will speak again."

 

 

+++

 

Solastion:

 

Locke and Wrex halt immediately, somewhat cowed by the Sanguinary Priest's anger. 

 

The General of the PDF Levy speaks first. "We create a bulwark around the planet, a ring of steel to ensure that the aliens are destroyed before they set foot on the planet. Commander Orran of the Flotilla can coordinate the vessels to ensure maximum planetary coverage, along with the Imperial Navy forces and Captain Desiato's ship."

 

 

The Naval Captain shakes her head, curtly. "I propose we dispatch a force to the edge of the system, to harry the Tyranids as they enter. They will be spread out, allowing us to strike at them before their numbers concentrate to the point where they can overwhelm us."

 

"Those ships would be vulnerable, without support. To say nothing of the fact that it leaves the planet weaker when the Tyranids attack." Wrex replies. 

 

"Your approach is all-or-nothing," Locke counters. "You gamble that our forces are enough to stop the concentrated host of the Hive Fleet."

 

"And yours?" The General says. "You go joust with these nightmare-ships at the edges of the system. If you are destroyed, you have stolen our best defenders and left the rest to die."

Edited February 20, 2019 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

The nod was accepted and returned.  He had been prepared to speak again, but it was best this way, besides a reply was not required.

 

He was no great participant in Regicide, he understood it of course, an upbringing in a Noble House followed by long hours of self-reflection whilst training for the Astral Claws led a mind and nature towards the bloodless expression of tactical discipline, but again he was no great proponent. Quietly he turned to the big Marine, all posturing gone, a small smile on his face and a hint of mischief around the eyes.

 

"He's hiding something Ahu.  More than he says - watch that one." His face became more open for his friend. "You spoke rightly and well."

Desiato had parried capably, but Akkad had seen the flinch, more than that, the prejudice and piety that dripped from the man, from his ship, from his position.  Captain somehow seemed inappropriate, Ecclesiarch perhaps was closer and there was something more there.  Well used weapons and covert body armour spoke of a willingness to impose his will with a velvet glove.  A worthy opponent in any Regicide game and yet, the deciding factor in the exchange had been Tyber's blunt spear thrust to the chest, punching in past the feints and double-speak.  When threatened by multiple approaches, a player would defend his most important piece.

 

"The Monarch Retreats behind the Bastion."  He spoke again, but it was almost to himself.  He tapped Tyber's arm appreciatively and stepped forward into the conversation.  He slipped his helm from where he held it at his waist.  The light from the hololithic display crazed off his silver and sable patchwork warplate, lending a strange fey quality to his bulk and stern face, but he had not changed posture for that alone.

 

The Rosette, now revealed, glimmered in brilliance, the ruby eye fierce in the amber-gold skull of Him on Terra.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

Tyber watched the captain leave with a swagger that seemed to him undeserved, as Akkad spoke “The Monarch Retreats behind the Bastion.”, while getting his helm back on.

 

 

 

Those words seemed to take Tyber’s mind back to his youth in the Glass Bay, sitting on the deck looking out over the water with his father during one of the rare rainy days in that bay.

 

The two of them sat with a game board of Regicide between them, as usual Tyber was feeling outmaneuvered and retried his Emperor into a bastion defense to try and give him a chance to collect his thoughts, sure that this was the right move for the moment he took his right hand off of the piece.

 

His father smiled at him, but began to laugh a deep belly laugh as he patted Tyber on the shoulder he spoke softly; “A good defense my son, but pulling into a bastion is a sign that you have lost.”

 

Tyber’s brow furrowed, as he looked at the board he saw it, his shoulders slumped a little as he looked up to his father, he sought confirmation of his understanding in his words; “I gave up control of the board for a moment’s safety?”

 

His father nodded, as he spoke “A bastion is strong, but it can be circumvented, surrounded and defeated all without risk to my pieces. You have nowhere else to go, exit the bastion and claim victory on my next turn. Don’t exit the bastion, and I claim victory now.

 

His father turned from the game, placing his hands palm down with his arms outstretched behind him on the deck of their home, looking out over the rolling waves of the Glass Bay, days like this were rare in the bay, too rare he reminded himself, looking back over his left shoulder at Tyber, he gave him a sad smile as he said “It will not be long now my boy, you are old enough now that the Dragons will come and claim you. They told us after you were born that you stood a good chance at joining them, they reaffirmed that every year when they came. It is days like this, that are special to me as when you go, it will likely be the last time I will see you… When you go on to do great things for the Emperor of Man, never forget the love your mother and I both have for you, okay? We are both very proud of you Tyber.”

 

 

 

Tyber felt something run down his cheek under his helm at that memory, one of his last of his father, activating the privet channel to Akkad, he spoke freely to him +The Bastion is a sign that he knew he lost, he gave up control of the board for a moment of safety…. It was something my father had taught me, when we would play Regicide.+

 

Tyber was quite for a moment or two before he continued, +I do not know who he was, but he was playing a dangerous game with us… I do not like or trust that mortal.+

Edited February 20, 2019 by Steel Company

[Xin Ceithan]

++There is of, of course, a third Option.++

Sabaan remarked over the closed vox.

++ Our primary mission objectives have been achieved. We now face a full invasion of a Xenos Tyranis fleet swarm. We are insufficiently equipped to counter a full invasion. Chances of this world being able to defend successfully itself from a full invasion are very low. Again our contribution to the defence operation are limited in scope. Given that the system`s main contribution to the sector is it`s agricultural production and export, scorched earth tactics might slow the xenos but are in the end as detrimental to this world`s strategic value as the invasion itself.

With the presence of a Rogue trade vessel, we have a transport that could potentially return us to the Watch Station or at least an Imperial holding outside the xenos advance psychic screening. We should at least consider the possibility of a temporal strategic retreat to rearm and resupply. +++

He paused and waited for two breaths over the respirator. He could already prognosticate the arguments of the other Astartes. There would be a string of sentimental musings on things like “Valour”, “Glory” and, of course,… “Honour”.

 

He almost smiled at the recollection of the words from the Sergeant of the Scout Clave. >>That Bastard>> He let in another breath.

++ I do not like retreating in the face of the enemy. But our objectives are clear. Our Oaths” he put an added emphasis on the word, hoping to use the convoluted concepts of Honour and Duty to a more pragmatically use here- “are to the Deathwatch and the Imperium as a whole. Not to these fools. As the Watch Captain has pointed out before our departure, the ressources of the Deathwatch are limited. Throwing our existence away in a in all likelihood doomed defence might be considered a waste of valuable ressources. Outcome is all. ++

[Slips]

Seeing as he had his helmet off, Solastion simply turned slightly to the techpriest and signed Pragmatic // Option // Possibility // Distasteful  in battle cant so that their communications could remain private for he seriously doubted any of the mortals assembled were versed in it. 

 

Oh but to have a Son of Dorn...he thought ruefully.

 

"General: Best estimates you have for a protracted campaign? Captain: Best estimates for how much damage we will be able to deal versus our estimated losses in a hit and run campaign against the encroaching hive. Additionally, what is the status on any astropathic communications?"

 

"Brothers, if you would join me." he said aloud and over the squads comms.

[Mazer Rackham]

He didn't reply to the thin thread of emotion that betrayed the big Marine.  His eyes met the lenses so much like his own and understanding passed between them.  Suddenly he felt so very old at the mention of parents.  It was another lifetime ago - several.  And yet...

 

"The wisdom of fathers is the strength of their sons." He said quietly to the huge warrior, turning his attention back to the table as the Iron Hand proclaimed death for everyone involved.  He hid a smirk, enjoying the brutal pragmatism.

 

The Iazu spoke over the squad comms, asking the General and the Captain his questions.  Before any of them spoke, Akkad coughed politely.

 

"My Healer, there is a fourth option.  The people of this world have earned the right to live and although it grieves me to cede even one world to these alien bastards, the wider Imperium is all that matters.  These creatures want food to fuel their crimes of existence.  Give me the wounded, the insane, the foolish and I will stay here to buy you time.  Evacuate anyone else who can walk and pull a trigger." 

 

"There was a battle once at a place called Duniash Kirkuk, a small moon in the borders of the Maelstrom.  A legion of men faced a billion Orks." He Fixed Wrex with a stare. "Strafed by fighta-bommaz and Rokkit Gunz, the beleaguered men fought on desperately, holding the line, praying for relief.  In the end, a small flotilla of Navy," he looked at Locke pointedly, "and Privateers," here he pinned his gaze on the Rogue Trader, "took as many of them off as they could."

 

"They returned the next year, the Astral Claws with them.  We cast down the Orkish temples, smashed their foul icons and burned their heretical works.  Today Duniash Kirkuk is a staging post for every raid into the Maelstrom.  Today we lose here, tomorrow we win everywhere else."

 

His face was grave, his tone careful.  This was no plea - it was an option and merely that, but Sabaan was right.  With the army or the Navy or both. Syndalla was going to become a thundering mass of chewing, biting chitinous monsters.

 

 

As if they were so different to the monsters in this room.

 

MR.

Edited February 20, 2019 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

Tyber took a moment to center himself, before adding his voice to the options after placing his helm on the dais; “Do any of the fleet assets have Cyclonic Torpedoes or Life Eater virus on board? If so, could strike craft be configured to take such munitions into an ambush position then deliver them to the main hive ships, while we evacuate the population?” his tone was even, lacking any real feeling to it.