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

[Steel Company]

Tyber stands at a respectful distance while being as close to the exit as he can, his back as close to a wall as possible. His bare, freshly shaven face moving slightly as his eyes dart around the room, looking for unseen dangers. Try as he might, he cannot hide his discomfort at being with in the chapel, a subtle reminder to those of Blackthrone that Tyber had stood outside the temple during the service for Thorvald.

[Commissar Molotov]

As the gathered Battle-Brothers assemble - the absence of Akkad painfully evident - Solastion begins.

 

In his hands the Sanguinary Priest holds his bolt pistol, that blessed symbol of the Astartes' might. With swift, practised motions he ejects the weapon's magazine, holstering the pistol. It takes him moments to begin flicking individual rounds into his palm. He presses a round into each of your hands, like an Ecclesiarchal Priest administering sacred wafers to their congregation.

 

"Each of us is like these bolter rounds," the Crimson Knight begins. "Individually deadly, capable of wreaking great devastation upon our foes. But together, we are much more. Together, we are mightier. Together, we can overcome any opposition. The call of the Deathwatch has summoned us from across the galaxy, from different Chapters. Our differences make us stronger, an alloyed blade stronger than its constituent parts."

 

Solastion brings the round to his lips, briefly, before addressing you all once again.

 

"We are not Swordhand, or Blackthorn. We must stand united against the oncoming swarm, for the people of Syndalla, for the Deathwatch, and for our fallen Brothers."

[Steel Company]

As Solastion held up the Bolt pistol, before he knew it Tyber had subconsciously gripped the hilts of his arming sword and chain sword, while lowered his stance ready to leap towards Solastion to draw and strike in a fluid motion. Part of his mind screaming at him; proof that places of worship have always been and forever will be nothing but traps for the Dragons.

 

When the priest of the blood, ejected the mag and cleared the chamber, Tyber’s left eyebrow twitched slightly in a moment of disbelief, again he found himself inherently distrustful of what was going on, but it was his words that calmed Tyber, relaxing his stance and releasing his grip.

 

“Each of us is like these bolter rounds, individually deadly, capable of wreaking great devastation upon our foes. But together, we are much more. Together, we are mightier. Together, we can overcome any opposition. The call of the Deathwatch has summoned us from across the galaxy, from different Chapters. Our differences make us stronger, an alloyed blade stronger than its constituent parts.”

 

For a moment Tyber felt ashamed of himself, for failing to trust Solastion to not betray him and attempt to execute him in this place. It also spoke volumes to himself, how little trust he seemed to have in the rest of the squad, it made him feel alone, well and truly alone. And it made him wonder how many of his new brothers saw him give into his own prejudices on places like this; he would make a mental note to apologise later to Solastion for this and attempt to foster better trust between himself and the Crimson Knight.

Edited March 12, 2019 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

It was evening and Akkad stood watch over the North Rampart, the Fallows lay below the mighty walls of Beregar, silent, without lights.  Candles fluttered in the breeze at ground level as the last of the refugees were brought inside the city.  His hands lay palm down, flat upon the ancient stoneworks, fingertips rubbing, feeling the resilience against his gautlets.  The walls would stand.  The 303rd would stand, he would stand.

 

He looked to left and right, no-one accompanied his lonely vigil.  He missed Badab and his closest of the brethren in orbit, the huge Marine, who anchored him to this brotherhood of shadow and steel, but he tossed the notion aside with a flick of his eyebrow, the noble blood effusing through him in mannerism.  The city had bowed before him and he had prayed with them, he became stony faced, knowing how many had died.  It had been necessary.  He drew the dataslate to him with a sigh, from where it sat to his right hand.  He tapped a few runes and updated the report he would give to Sabaan for Solation's attention.

 

Four heavy bolters had been rusted to the point they had no traverse, unacceptable.  One cannon in the redoubt had failed to load, from insufficient maintenance, unacceptable.  Some of the men - not his, Throne be praised - had even set up a still for brewing harsh Amasec in one of the gun pits!  He battered his hand down in a mimicry of how he had buffeted the commander of the wall section.  Only a bruise, but enough.  By the time he had checked again, he was satisfied.

 

More supplies had been bought for the hungry mouths from the Fallows, the...cull...had improved food stocks by 15% Haas had reported and now the stockpiles of arms had been reduced - which was good in a way, rifles were not going unused.  Speaking of Haas...

 

The Colonel approached and stood beside him silent, sharing the witness.  Akkad's helm was off, his countenance thoughtful in the night air.

"Are we ready Pieter?"

"I believe so my Lord."  He reached out and dropped a light hand onto his shoulder.  It felt like he was back with the Legion again, so natural, so normal.  Before his opposition to...well.  Wounded pride perhaps - maybe he had been wrong?  He watched the gates close for the night and wondered about that for a second.  He grunted, maybe Huron had changed his mind, a commander so brilliant, could be forgiven eccentricities here and there.

 

His face soured as he replayed it all in his mind.  Commodus.  Always it came back to that bastard and his cold imperious tone.  A Badabian blue-blood through and through.  He abandoned his reverie as the gates finally slammed shut, donning his helm.

 

+Black Knight 6 to Hydra, fire-mission.  One round, incendiary on co-ordinates Rho, Sigma and Phi, drop 100 and fire for effect.+  Thudding stirred the night, followed by screaming as the incoming shells slammed down into the shanty towns and villages, granting the dead a worthy pyre and the Tyranids no biomass to fuel their living war-engines.  Haas looked at him with a query pushing at his lips.

"Why did we ask them to dig the trench sir?"  The black helm glanced at him, not unkindly.

+A firebreak Pieter and a ditch.  It will stop the fires burning the grasses or the walls and slow the enemy down.  Go and get some rest, we meet with General Wrex tomorrow.+  Haas nodded and turned, shepherding a few stray civilians away from the walls and leaving the Astral Claw alone, the lenses of his helm burning with reflected light.

 

Yes, he nodded.  Sometimes we have to be strong...alone.

 

MR.

[Noctus Cornix]

Within the Chapel of the Xenocide, the gathered brethren stood together. Even now, united in cause, the two kill-teams stood apart. Guillermo stood with his brothers of SwordHand, Mariana unsheathed with its tip rested against the marble floor, his palms resting atop it in ceremonial representation of SwordHand's cognomen. 

 

But they weren't united... were they. With the half-helmet still covering his nose and mouth, it was impossible for any to see the small, mirthless smile playing on his lips. No, this was not unity. Blackthorn remained ever-dedicated to the planet of Syndalla. Much of Swordhand, however, remained only dedicated to the burning fury of vengeance. He could hardly blame his kindred for, he more than most, burned with that same rage. Guillermo was not new to the Long Watch, nor we he foreign to the xenos-breed. He was a Hunter of Aliens, burning with a cruel hatred for the filth Kine race Greenskins and the Tyrannice breeds that has deprived him of his closest brothers. Without even considering it, his grip on Mariana has tightened, the barest flicker of witch-lightning arcing along the blade. 

 

Were he to be wholly honest with himself, he felt no different from his blood-brother, Ghent. He pitied the people of Syndalla and lamented the inevitable suffering that would come to them... but the truth was that he would gladly let them burn just to ensure that the Xenos-breed were slaughtered down to the last pathetic bio-brood. It bubbled in his throat, a mixed cocktail of truest hatred and bitterness welling in his mouth more than any acid that the betcher's gland might have given him. Sons of Dorn were incapable of spitting the acid his kin were... but the raw pain of his synthetic throat was enough to offer some cold comfort. 

 

More than anything, Guillermo desired only to kill the Tyranids. It was a talent of his. He had waged war many times with their kind, a Veteran of several gruesome and costly campaigns that had seen the annihilation of the xenos-splinters. He was more familiar with them than most of his kindred. It was an expertise that the Codicier had to pass on to his kin... Yet the burden of guilt and his own selfish rage had blinded him from that purpose. 

 

The bolt round now placed in his palm had reminded him of that fact. He peered down, thumbing the round slowly between his fingers, examining it with cold-blue eyes as he listened to Solastion speak. He was right. They were individually born for this purpose, but kinship was truly the greatest gift the Emperor had given the Astartes. It burned in their very souls for brotherhood, a yearning loss that Guillermo had known all too well and had hated himself for it. He needed brothers. They all did. His comrades had been few, and so he mourned their passing far more than he should. He feared to be wrong. He feared to die with his duty undone. And, most of all, he feared the ancestry that had been left in his blood for thousands of years...

 

Slowly, his palm curled around the bolt, clutching it to the silver Aquila emblazoned upon his breastplate. 

 

Now, Guillermo moved with a fluid confidence that had been absent since the failed mission several months ago. He stepped out from his brothers to stand beside Solastion and rammed the tip of Mariana into the marble floor at their feet so that the first few inches hand buried into the floor with a flicker of psychic fire burning at his touch. 

 

"He is right, brothers."

 

With Mariana buried in the ground, Guillermo slipped his hand free from the Force Sword and reached up to his jaw. With a small click, the piece came free and he slowly pulled off the last vestige of his helmet, revealing his full face to his brother Astartes of Blackthorn and  bared the scaring and bionic reconstruction of his throat for all to see. 

 

"My brothers, We are as One. Through us is the blood of the Emperor and his Sons. We are the inheritors of the Master of Mankind's immutable vision for humanity, and the shield of his Imperium.... More than that.. More than just blood, we are bound by the loss of brothers and the pain that comes with it. I will not demand this of you, but I will entreat to each, my brothers of Swordhand and Blackthorn. The Xenos-breed come and we cannot kill it alone. Together we can bleed the beast dry.

 

Let us stand as One upon the earth of Syndalla and bleed as we must beneath the pouring rain that will come with this Xenos storm. Then, once we have bled the Bio-abominations to the marrow, we reach out into the void itself and rip out its heart. 

 

Brother Solastion is right. We must stand against the oncoming storm. And we shall be the Bulwark against the flood. I know, my brothers of Swordhand, the burning fury we hold in our hearts to kill the behemoth that comes, but we much conserve our hatred... Bide it, for now. Solastion has lead Blackthorn through their mission up until now. We must trust him and stand as a united brotherhood."

 

 

OOC:

 

Attempted Charm Test on Blackthorn and Swordhand 

Roll 1d100 = 2 vs 45 +20 (+15 for MK IV Power Armour, +5 for No Helmet) 6 DoS

 

Edited March 13, 2019 by Noctus Cornix

[Slips]

"While I do appreciate your confidence in me, Brother-Librarian, I am no Tyrant. So, if anyone objects or has another among us that they deem a more suitable candidate, then speak now or forever hold your silence on the matter." He said raising at eyebrow at those gathered to see if any would object.

He didn't miss brother Tybers...bizarre reaction when he began his sermon, however. Hopefully nothing problematic, but curious indeed...

 

 "No?" Unless someone actually objects, then I'll edit.

 

"So be it, then, Brothers. You do me a great honor to place your faith in me in such a manner especially those of Swordhand." he said half-bowing to the marines.

"Now, the mortals below probably do not realize the reality of our situation and nor should they - it is not for them to concern themselves with - but, we must still present a united front for the purposes of morale. As such, I propose we change our squad designation."

 

"For my part I put forward: Squad Shatterblade."

Edited March 14, 2019 by Slips

[Commissar Molotov]

PLACEHOLDER

 

Day 18

 

Dawn rises on the eighteenth day of the mission to Syndalla.

 

Fires smoulder in the twisted wreckage of the shanty towns to the city's north; pillars of dark smoke rise into the sky, casting a heavy pall against the overcast and cloudy skies. The news that reaches you is not much brighter.

 

News reaches the Xenocide that the Astral Claw has spent the past day scouring the Fallows, directing able-bodied civilians into the city itself and establishing a militia units. Reports indicate severe overcrowding in several city districts, violence and sporadic rioting and makeshift refugee camps being hurriedly established and overseen by the Magistratum enforcers.

 

 

Imperial Navy Cruiser 'King of Kings'

Orbiting Syndalla

 

Yeng and Greysight

The King of Kings hangs in orbit of Syndalla, flanked by the two Firestorm Frigates, Thricebound and Saint Orestes. Each of them bears the characteristic jutting prow of the Imperial Navy, a blade-like statement of intent as they carve their way through the void. The King of Kings itself, a Lunar-Class Cruiser, bristles with a dizzying array of weaponry from weapons batteries to lance arrays. It is a strength that will be needed in the coming war, in many ways one of the linchpins of the Imperial defense.

 

Once aboard, you are swiftly brought to the cruiser's strategium: a vast chamber, filled with armsmen and naval officers that part before you and bow their heads in respect to the mighty Adeptus Astartes. There is a purposeful energy in the room, an energy that is almost palpable. A raised dais dominates the centre; upon it you see a hololithic table-plotter showing Syndalla and the various vessels orbiting it. Around the table, several Naval officers have gathered, speaking in hushed tones.

 

Fleet-Captain Locke stands above them all, her presence radiating calm, measured authority. Tall and lean, wearing the stiff-necked collar of the Naval Battlefleet, her greying hair is pulled tightly back, giving her face an austere quality. Her half-bow as you approach is measured and precise as everything else you have seen with her. Her eyes take in the armoured forms of Greysight and Yeng.

 

“I am honoured by your presence,” she says, formally.

 

 

Rogue Trader Cruiser 'Glory Be to Him-on-Earth'

Orbiting Syndalla

 

Montesa and Ghent

Aboard Desiato's light cruiser the two of you - the three of you, with the Rogue Trader - proceed down the processional colonnade, a series of armoured shutters opened wide to reveal the curvature of Syndalla. You see the dark form of the Xenocide hanging heavily; were it not for blinking lights, it would be hard to distinguish it from the void around it.

 

On the other side, you see a series of portraits and paintings in elegant frames. If you were refined enough to have a developed sense of aesthetics you might perhaps consider that the effect is refined rather than gaudy.

 

Captain Desiato wears a crimson coat that billows around him as he walks, taking in the sights. His face seems young, though you can perhaps discern the subtle marks of rejuvenat treatments at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair is long, tied back with a ribbon. He wears a silver breastplate that seems more ceremonial than functional, though you can never be too certain with the Rogue Traders.

 

"How can I be of service?" Desiato asks.

 

Metallican District

Beregar City, Syndalla

 

Sabaan and Teralil:

The Metallican District takes the form of a city-within-a-city, a walled enclave as far distant from Syndalla as the Forgeworld from which it takes its name. All of Syndalla know that the servants of the Machine-God keep to themselves in the main, tightly controlling entrance and exit from the district. As a result, it had suffered least from the Cult's infiltration and infestation. The two of you find yourselves at a heavy wrought-iron gateway emblazoned with the iconography of the Cult Mechanicus.

 

The way, it seems, is shut.

 

 

 

Syndallan PDF Levy Training Fields

Beregar City, Syndalla

 

Akkad:

The Levy Fields stretch out before you. It was not hard to find them, but where you might have expected formations stretched out for review, an ostentatious display of strength or power, you find them sparse. There are PDF troopers moving about, 8-wheelers transporting supplies or units of men around the city, but all are purposeful and busy.

 

You move through the rockcrete parade-square, removing your helm and tucking it under your arm. Wrex is nowhere to be seen. It takes a moment for you to pause for breath, for your green eyes, like chips of cool emerald, to fix upon a low-ranking officer whose uniform marks him as a Lieutenant.

 

"The General summoned me."

 

The Lieutenant, at a loss for words, points hurriedly towards the defensive line, where soldiers are digging entrenchments. And yet no sign of the General. It takes a minute for you to proceed across the fields towards the soldiers, your heavy footfalls beating a drum tattoo of approaching menace. And then you see it.

 

The General is amongst the soldiers, almost indistinguishable from them. He does not wear his cap or jacket; his sleeves are rolled up exposing faded military tattoos that have little significance to you. His frame is lean and stringy, with none of the paunch you have detected in other leaders of this world. In his hands he holds a shovel and he is bent over, digging. The soldiers around him laugh and joke and he responds in kind.

 

Seeing you for the first time, he hands the shovel to one of the other soldiers before wiping his hands his hands on a cloth and accepting a hand up, out of the entrenchments. An aide moves forward, proffering his uniform jacket which he shrugs on, still unbuttoned.

 

"Here at last," he says. His face is still red from exertion, steam curling from his breath. "There's value in the men seeing me working alongside them, not hiding in the Grand Estates. Not sitting unwilling to suffer alongside them."

 

Wrex moves forward towards a pre-fabricated rockcrete building erected at the outskirts of the fields. He does not look back to see if you are following.

 

Commercia District

Beregar City, Syndalla

 

Tyber and Atratus

After your experiences with the Chimera on the fateful night of the uprising, it is surely a plesant experience to encounter the venerable Rhino once more. This one is emblazoned in the corn-yellow of the Magistratum Enforcer, those charged with upholding the Governor's law.

 

Marshal Thrace, the leader of the Enforcers, swiftly impresses upon you her efficiency and swiftness. She leads you on a tour of the guild-houses of the Commercia District that have been repurposed as makeshift refugee camps for those brought into the city from the Fallows.

 

"The Fallows originally housed off-world workers, or those that couldn't afford passage off," she says. As the Rhino moves, you see scenes of poverty and need; queues for water and food, sporadic violence and Enforcers stepping in with shock-maul and suppression shield to maintain order. "With the uprising, we'd kept these people out of the City until now. The city's infrastructure is still damaged. Coping with them, maintaining order, will be a challenge now."

 

The Rhino eventually comes to a halt outside a hab-block. Marshal Thrace approaches another carapace-armoured Enforcer, clutching a thin-looking man in ragged clothes.

 

"We caught him stealing bread from the Munitorum supplies," the Enforcer says, his downturned mouth already proclaiming a sentence.

 

"Please, sirs! My children are starving!" The man plaintively cries. His eyes, already panicked, open wider when he beholds the two of you. He twists his body and seems to reach out to you even as his mind struggles to comprehend what is happening to him.

 

Thrace turns to you. "What say you, My Lords? What should we do with him?"

 

 

Templum District

Beregar City, Syndalla

 

Solastion and Vârvost

The Templum of Beregar, the site of Blackthorn's first descent to Syndalla. In the grey light of morning, it seems grander and larger than you remember, the skilled artifice of the Ecclesiarchy effective as ever in inspiring the faithful to worship. At the front of the Templum you see a flatbed truck with a crane surmounted upon it, and a heavy wooden box being lowered to the ground. A low-ranking preacher moves forward with a pry-bar in his hands; a few deft twists and the box-lid clatters to the ground to reveal a marble statue - the Angel of Syndalla.

 

Beside you, Vârvost chuckles with the sound of a blade being drawn across a whetstone. "I'm not sure they've got the likeness."

 

The defensive positions and emplacements around the church remain from that fateful night, though the PDF forces have quit them to be replaced by the frateris militia, the armies of the faithful that swell around preachers in times of strife. They eye you with exultation and adoration as you approach. Seeing you, raised voices begin to cry out as a throng forms, seemingly desperate to be in the presence of - to touch, even - their saviour.

Edited March 14, 2019 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad follows the General without saying anything.

 

MR.

 

EDIT: Follow on from GM post above.

Edited March 14, 2019 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

Late day 17 Xeoncide:

 

 Tyber found himself standing outside Solastion’s chambers, in a rare moment of being out of his armour, meaning the idea to show that this was a symbolic of him not trying to hide behind anything. He knew this was going to be an uncomfortable talk. Knocking twice on the door, he spoke “Brother Solastion, do you have a moment?”

 

He waited for a few moments, before turning to walk away just as the door opened, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he headed inside. As the hatch closed behind him, he spoke “At the very least, I owe you an apology for my behavior in the chapel. At the most I would also owe you an explanation along with it.”

 

Tyber crossed his arms across his chest, leaning against a bare wall, looking around the room, trying to avoid eye contact as he continued to speak; “I am sorry, for not trusting you enough to not shoot at me. I know where that mistrust comes from, and I had no reason to assume that you would do such.”

 

Pushing himself off the wall, he turned to leave, placing a hand just above the door control, he paused to add; “Do us both a favor, and do not send me to speak with the Ecclesiarchy. My chapter has had a… difficult relationship with places of worship.” Leaving it at that, he pressed his palm against the door control leaving the room to gear himself up for the decent down to the planet.

 

Day 18 Syndalla:

 

As the Yellow Rhino came to a hault in front of himself and Atartus, Tyber found himself balling his fists at the sight of mortals with a Rhino, even an older Mk Ic. I can see why they retried that model, the front glacis looks like it would trap shells easily between those raised sections… he mused to himself.

 

Once they were onboard, again he found himself sitting beside the side hatch, listening to the engine, it had a different sound that the Mk. II chassis that he was used too, placing an armoured glove against the hull, he found that the vibration was different too, it told him that they were going faster than normal for the amount of load it had on board, closing his eyes he just enjoyed the sound and feel of this chassis. He could hear the mortal speaking at him, but he honestly found himself caring little for what she was saying, he felt at home in this armoured hull.

 

When the APC came to a halt, with a rocking motion forward and back, he opened his eyes under his helm, his time in a privet space was interrupted as he filed out of the rhino, to see troops in armour holding a skinny mortal up, his hands starching out towards him, sighing to himself he entered the rhino and pulled out the survival pack. Walking back over to the mortal he tossed it at the man’s feet as he spoke over the external vox; +You are no use to us dead or imprisoned at the moment. There is a very serious threat headed this way and we will need everyone that can hold a weapon to help us hold this world. If you survive, you can work something out with the magistrate then.+

Edited March 14, 2019 by Steel Company

[Morovir]

Teralil's immediate response was to offer a blurt of binaric contrition, and to record the updated information for later use. He listened to the Iron Hand's impassioned speech, and gave an approving nod upon its cessation. He understood the value of endurance.

 

DAY 18

 

The two Techmarines stood before the gateway. Neck arched upwards at the Icon Mechanicus, Teralil gestured at the gate.

 

++You have prior experience in dealings with the Metallicans. Logic dictates that you take the lead.++

Edited March 23, 2019 by Morovir

[Noctus Cornix]

It was always difficult to keep apace with humans... and even harder in these rare moments not to notice how truly different the two were. 

 

Though they might be wrought from the same genetic root back to ancient Terra, there was as few similarities between the Captain Rogue Trader Desiato and the two Astartes that walked behind him, as there might have been between the good captain and a Eldari xenos. The bond of physical likeness was such a shallow tie. It was an excercise of rare politeness for the two Space Marines to walk apace with the Captain, their enormous bulk and increased stature leading them to have a much longer gate. They would have passed up the Rogue Trader long ago, were they not bound to follow behind. Curious how even the most basic of trivial tasks become a trial of patience when humans were involved. 

 

Guillermo kept in unison with his blood-kin Ghent. Despite their differences, they were each a son of Rogal Dorn and his stoic gene-line. Frankly, neither of them likely wanted to be here, but it was a rare thing indeed for child of the VII to vocally complain, stubborn orphans that they were. With his MK IV helm reattached, the Codicier peered over towards his brother, the Corvus beaked helm betraying any of Ghent's thoughts from the Librarian's sight. 

 

His most basic thought was to communicate telepathically, but he stilled himself from that, his helm issuing a minute 'click' as he tapped into their private vox-channel. 

 

++To think this the home of void-born. It appears more an art gallery to me.++ 

 

He remarked to his blood-kin. Though no longer a crusading Chapter, the Crimson Fists had spent much of their glorious history among the stars. Though they called Rynn's World their home now, much of the Chapter's honour and tradition was still steeped in ancient memories of sailing the black seas. The Invaders, however, seemed to be a mirror opposite to his own. Recent casaways from their ruined world, they knew now only the world in the wake of Ogry's desolation.

 

Will that too be the fate of Rynn's World one day?

 

"How can I be of service?"

 

It came as a surprise to Guillermo that such a question would even be asked. Rogue Traders had always been one of lacking decorum, but were their minds so central upon their own needs that this captain could not even realize what they were here for? 

 

"Rogue Trader. You are aware of what comes towards Syndalla, yes? The Tyranid Xenos bio-ship makes its way towards this star cluster. It will devour this planet and many more if it is not destroyed here. The Death Watch intend to fulfill our oaths and see the scourge annihilated... To that end, we seek what resources we can. We require- ... Rather, we request the assistance of whatever able-bodied men and women you have at your disposal in meeting the enemy, as well as understanding the full capabilities of your magnificent vessel to know what it can accomplish in the coming battle."

[Commissar Molotov]

Montesa and Ghent:

 

Desiato inclines his head in a gesture of agreement.

 

"She served the Imperial Navy for millennia until she was crippled in battle and returned to Port Tynax to be broken apart. Such an ignominious end did not sit well with me. It took a king's ransom to prise her from the Navy, and to convince the Mechanicus to outfit her. But she has the heart of a hunter still; she can stalk through nebulae and cut through asteroid fields. She has served me well."

 

It is easy for you to detect the pride he has for his vessel.

 

"I think we are all aware of what comes towards Syndalla, Codicier. Pragmatism suggests that should Syndalla fall, it will not be the last world to do so. That in itself gives me enough motivation to participate in the defense. Am I to take it you are newly-arrived in-system?" He eyes the Xenocide out of the armoured shutters. "I didn't see you previously in the defense council. Your brothers Akkad and Tyber, however, made themselves known to me. From my thankfully limited experiences of the Astartes, it appears to me that you do not count charm and diplomacy amongst your Emperor-given arsenal."

 

Akkad:

 

Entering a command centre of some sort, with strategic maps of Beregar City and its defenses, you see the General gesture for the PDF troopers manning it to leave. Once they have, he turns to you.

 

"Brother Akkad. I am pleased that we finally meet at last. Over the last weeks you have commandeered my men with no thought as to consulting me. No consideration of other strategies or concerns. I accept that the Cultist uprising threw us off-balance, that you arrived to find us reeling and scrambling to hold the city. But please do not make the mistake of thinking us bumbling fools."

[Dosjetka]

The Invader's attention, which had been thus far squarely focussed on the void-view the colonnade offered, switched to the paintings on the opposite side after the Codicier's comment. Rodrik's reply came just a brief moment later.

 

++ I am sure the xeno-morphs will take great pleasure in educating themselves in the art of painting whilst they devour this ship and the planet below. ++

 

* * *

 

Ghent doffed his helmet, keeping it cradled in the crook of his arm, and let loose a snort of laughter at the Rogue Trader's words.

 

"Given that the Adeptus Astartes consists of hundreds if not thousands of Chapters, each made up of many hundreds of Space Marines, such a blanket statement is fundamentally flawed. While I prefer diplomacy with a boltgun in my armoured fists, my brother here has his way with words and I'm sure you will find him most charming whenever diplomacy will be required."

 

A mirthless smile spread across his features.

 

"Now, tell us: what can we expect of this void-ship, along with its crew and commander, in the upcoming war?"

Edited March 15, 2019 by Chaplain Dosjetka

[Mazer Rackham]

"Brother Akkad. I am pleased that we finally meet at last. Over the last weeks you have commandeered my men with no thought as to consulting me. No consideration of other strategies or concerns. I accept that the Cultist uprising threw us off-balance, that you arrived to find us reeling and scrambling to hold the city. But please do not make the mistake of thinking us bumbling fools." 

 

A  thousand things roll through his mind in the heartbeats the General takes to speak.  He moves no muscle, nor does he even blink as Wrex speaks, but as with all officers and those with rank, a loose posture of attention was assumed and he stared stonily exactly one inch above and to the right of the General's head.  The General spoke fairly, he decided, weighing things for and against the man.  That he had spoken to him in private showed he had an understanding and that he needed no inflation of his ego to discipline people in front of others.  And yet.

 

His behaviour around his men was laudable.  Akkad knew well the power of example.  Had he not dug trenches with mortals?  Had he not sharpened stakes beside them, shared in their guarded humour?  And yet.

 

Allowance had been made, for a chaotic situation in which the city and the world had been burning and yet...

 

Akkad locked eyes with the man finally, realising what he was and the true root of his concern.  The defence of the world, certainly.  The worries about facing a ravening horde of murderous beasts with only flesh and fire, certainly.  The very real possibility of having his command undermined and usurped from under him - stolen - perhaps the word the General would have used: Absolutely.  It resonated with Daon, who let the silence drag out into a few moments.  He turned, stepping over to the maps, his fingers running over them, the balances in his heart still being weighed.

 

Wrex had offered no thanks for the destruction of a cult he should never had allowed in the first place.  If everyone had been as competent as he claimed this would never have happened. He had spoken to Akkad as an equal and of late he had been treated with he deference Marines deserved, the way of the Legion?  His finger froze whilst tracing a defensive embankment.  He knew that voice, cold and commanding.  His hand brushed against the Inquisitorial Rosette.  Feeling it there, his mind cleared.  He was being petty and a mote foolish.  He would not have rolled out the welcome wagon for the Invader.  Why should Wrex roll it out for him?  He clenched his fist, creaked the metal together and dismissed the thoughts, the scales slammed down heavily and he turned smoothly, the moments of silence had been long.  Part of him felt guilty for his uncharitable thoughts, but another deeper part clawed in the dark, pleased at making the bastard wait for it.

 

To refute or argue any of the General's claims would be an admission.  He would accede nothing.

 

"Then advise me General.  Where in your opinion will be the weakest part of the defences, where will be the crucible of battle?"

 

MR.

Edited March 15, 2019 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

Montesa and Ghent

 

"It is an old adage that when you carry a bolter, all problems look like target practise." The Rogue Trader's smile in return is warm, and perhaps even playful. "But you find yourselves in situations that cannot be solved by force and strength-at-arms alone now. The defense of Syndalla has a human element that you run the risk of overlooking. The soldiers and farmers of this world are not simply grist to be fed through the mill and spat out at the enemy. Each of them has hopes and dreams, fears and loved ones. Or to phrase it in the way of the warrior: stealth and guile are sometimes as necessary and as effective as a frontal assault."

 

The Captain pauses to turn back to you.

 

"It is said that you Astartes are incapable of feeling fear. That may or may not be true. But I'm well aware that you may distrust my motives or my... commitment to the fight here. Believe me when I say that here is where I must be, and that the alien beasts must be beaten back. I will lend what aid I can in that regard, on my own terms. "

[Noctus Cornix]

To his surprise, Guillermo found an almost immediate fondness for the Captain.

 

The Long Watch saw little interaction with humans outside of mind-wiped servants and those destined for destruction. Those of the Inquisition were a stoic and introvertive sort, so the past several years had given Guillermo little opportunity to actual speak to a human as he did now. Although he remembered little of his past life save for trace fragments, he somehow felt a welling sense of admiration that lurked within his forgotten lineage as among the Chapter's naval lineage. To spend a fortune to ensure such a fine vessel was allowed to continue her service despite having been deemed unfit for service, that took a madman's dedication, a colonial planet's value in wealth. Though he could barely remember her face, Guillermo somehow knew that his Mother would have approved of this man.

 

Clicking at the pressurized seals of his helmet, Guillermo followed the lead of his brother, unlocking his helm fully from his face and hooking it underneath his arm. Despite being over a hundred years in age, the Astartes likely appeared just as youthful as the Captain, save for the obvious patchwork of scarring that covered his chin and what remained of his throat. Although his helm had been freed from his head, there was still a metallic grind to his voice that he would never be free of. 

 

With his ancient helm held under the crook of his left arm, Guillermo raised his right and placed the crimson-painted fist to lightly beat upon the silver Aquila emblazoned upon his breastplate. 

 

"If what you say is true, then the Emperor's Angels would be honoured to have you at our side, Captain Desiato... I will be frank. While you were here at Syndalla with our brothers of Blackthorn, my kin and I were taking the fight to the Hive ship itself. Our awareness of the situation on the planet is mostly comprised of data-feeds and reports from our brothers. You speak of overlooking something amidst the population. What then can you tell us, Captain?"

 

As he asked, Guillermo parsed his mind in two, using this opportunity while the Rogue Trader spoke to idly probe at the flow of the immaterium around him, sensing for any Psychic presence amidst the ship that should not be there.

 

 

OOC:

Attempted Psyniscience Test 

Roll 1d100 = 48 vs 64  (1DoS)

Edited March 15, 2019 by Noctus Cornix

[Commissar Molotov]

Montesa and Ghent:

 

GM: There is the slightest prickle at the edge of your other-senses, a sense that something unusual is afoot here.

 

"I'm no expert on this world, particularly," Desiato says, "and in its own way it is not that remarkable. But the life of a starship Captain and trader requires the use of wits and guile as often as it does a sword and pistol. Everyone has heard tell of your power and prowess, or seen it with their own eyes. You might even manage to make the Tyranids feel something close to fear. But the men - the ordinary men - around you must be supported and protected. Talking to them, persuading them, rather than ordering them and expecting unquestioning obedience. I imagine it's not something you will be used to."

 

Akkad:

 

The General's eyes narrow slightly, as though searching for a slight in your words - a slight he cannot find.

 

"The difficulty lies in finding where we are strong. The city is still recovering from the Cultist insurrection. Our walls are proof for now, although it will be easy enough for the enemy to cut off our access to the spaceport. Pull back only to the city and we prolong our survival, but we leave countless thousands to suffer in the outlying territories and fields."

 

Tyber and Atratus:

 

The Marshal's face is hidden by her carapace helm and mirrored visor, but you see her lips twitch at your decision.

 

"Merciful to be sure, my lord. But if word gets around that the Angels of Death are condoning theft, it will prove increasingly hard to maintain supplies and rationing."

 

She gestures to the Rhino.

 

"Should we continue our tour?"

[Mazer Rackham]

"The difficulty lies in finding where we are strong. The city is still recovering from the Cultist insurrection. Our walls are proof for now, although it will be easy enough for the enemy to cut off our access to the spaceport. Pull back only to the city and we prolong our survival, but we leave countless thousands to suffer in the outlying territories and fields."

 

Akkad followed the General's fingers as they dabbed into small settlements and holdings.  He appraised each one.

Akkad will use Tactics: Defence Doctrine to do this.

Int: 41+(10) = 51

D100: 005.  Pass, 4 DoS.

 

"We must sacrifice them.  As much as I would not give these vermin a drop of honest human sweat, let alone blood."  He sighed, placed his helm on a table and wandered back to the General's side at the maps.  He tapped the outlying towns, one-by-one.

 

"We must consider Bastion Defence.  Our weakness is we cannot be everywhere," he paused, letting his thoughts carry forward unguarded, a gesture perhaps of atonement, of appeasement for the authority of the human stood beside him. "So our strength must be exerted in zones we can control."

 

"Because the Tyranids will be everywhere.  We need to bleed them as much as possible.  We use the farms and villages as strongholds, diverting the main attacks and pulling resources from them as long as they can hold out.  If necessary, in the early stages we could supply them by air-drop."  He met the eyes of the commander a shrug and a tone indicating that it was merely a suggestion.

 

"But the Spaceport."  Akkad tapped the bulky chunk of coloured ground on the map several times to indicate his dislike of it being in such a position, he sighed, slowly, the entirety of his lungs emptying in almost a low whistle. "That cannot fall, yet we cannot drip-feed our forces in to reinforce it."  He wandered away and tapped the top of his helm.  Of course, whatever he came up with could all be for nothing.  Solastion and the others may have better ideas - like Greysight with his shield of fire.  He turned around again, his pacing stirring the dust in the command bunker.

 

"I will be honest General.  I do not think we can win, even though I shall fight as though we will."  He held up a hand to stall any protest against defeatism. "I do think we can buy time, perhaps to evacuate, perhaps for a telling blow against the monstrosity that wanders near - but the only commodity that buys time General, as you know, are lives."

 

"So where do we spend them?" He said, although this was to the room.

 

MR.

Edited March 15, 2019 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

Once they were back in the Rhino, Tyber removes his helm, a very stern expression on his face as he looks towards the Marshal, his tone cool and hard as he speaks; “Marshal, I am going to be blunt. The foe we are going to be facing will come at us with such numbers that a blind man could throw a rock in a random direction and hit fifty of them. Right now we will need every mortal that can hold a weapon, any weapon, to try and hold this world for as long as we can. Nowhere did I tell him that I condone thievery, nor did I say he would get away without punishment. I did say that he would have to work something out with the magistrate if he lives.”

 

Tyber takes a moment to see if his words sunk in before he shifts his bulk on the bench, “What I gave him, should be enough to keep at least three pairs of hands able to both hold and use a weapon when the battle comes, besides one emergency pack is not going to make a difference if we are all dead when the battle is over.”

 

Finally crossing his arms and leaning back against the hull, Tyber finished his lecture with, “If you do not like what we have to say on something, then best not to ask us for a verdict, when you do not know what it will be.”

 

Closing his eyes to retreat back into his head, he could help adding to himself; Grandfather, I am starting to sound like Solastion with giving lectures….

[A.T.]

Tyber seemed in little mood to speak but then there was no purpose to it, the Marshals words were of disorder amongst the soon to die and not of the planets defense. The transports onboard cogitator suggested the planet had adequate supplies in the short term. But when the skies burned the true risk of famine would begin and armed survivors could become a fresh threat to what remained.

 

But Tybers assessment seemed sound, the world must first survive the xenos. "Shelter will be limited once the xenos fleet arrives. The planetary records indicate sufficient food and basic equipment to supply the civilians in this sector as conscripted forces" Directing his gaze to the Marshal, "the length of your rationing is... optimistic. This world must repel the xenos no matter the cost."

[Noctus Cornix]

The Codicier's eyes slowly narrowed as the pinpricks slowly needled at the back of his mind. Something was not right. 

 

Still, he listened intently to what the Captain had to say. From his judgment, Desiato was speaking with honesty.  He was right. They were unused to extensive dealings with the common people of the Imperium. Such was not their responsibility to care for the matters of sheep. Let the Ecclesiarchy tend to the Emperor's Flock. His brothers and he were the tamed wolves to keep the flock safe, not to herd them... And yet, still there was wisdom. He listened intently, nodding slowly as he peered to the Captain. 

 

"What cargo do you carry aboard your vessel, Captain? I imagine you have not returned to Imperial Space empty-handed."

[Slips]

 

"I'm not sure they've got the likeness."

 

 

 

++Certainly wont live up to what our Primogenitors can produce; but an attempt will have been made, I suppose.++ He replied derisively as he just strode through the crowd of mortals paying no heed to the throng that had formed around them, their grasping hands, even in their hundreds, not even being able to slow down his armored stride.

 

He disliked the Ecclesiarchy - odd, some might say, for someone with the title of Priest - because it went against the historical records found in the Blood Angels archives that spoke of the Emperors Imperial Truth. But, he could see its use in uniting the weak minded mortals now that the Emperor was no longer there to personally lead humanity.

 

Oh well, we do what we must in humanity's name...

 

As the Marines made their way up the Templum stairs, the already large crowd continued to swell as word spread and more and more heads turned to gaze upon the Angels-in-Sable-and-Argent. Reaching the top of the stairs, and placing him dramatically behind the yet-to-be-unveiled statue that would go up halfway up on a plinth that has since lost the statue that rested there due to all the fighting the Templum has seen prior-to and since the Marines had made planetfall, he sighed over comms ++Alright, lets see what we can do to make the most of this...++ before depressing the genecoded release studs and doffing the upper half of his helmet; he decided to keep the lower half for the vox unit that the osmotic gill had integrated in its.

 

++Preacher, I would have a word with the one who is in charge of the Templum, time is of the essence.++ He asked the man as he finished removing the crate from around the rest of the statue.

[Commissar Molotov]

Montesa and Ghent

 

"I had previously operated among the Howling Stars, though I had hoped the Expanse might offer greater opportunity. That was before the Tyranids came." The Captain shrugs. "One might hope that Syndalla will be a generous world once it survives the onslaught. There is substantial mineral wealth on some of the system's other worlds."

 

The processional ends at two double doors, inlaid with dark, rich wood and brass fittings. The doors open inward automatically upon your approach, revealing a large table laid out with cutlery and china plates.

 

"Would you care for food?" The Captain asks.

 

Tyber and Atratus

The Marshal nods in response to the words of Tyber and Atratus.

 

"When you pass through the streets, everyone is watching. You are the Emperor's judgment made manifest, and the people look to you to see what you do. Your words carry weight."

 

 

Solastion and Vârvost

 

"Of course, my lord!" The preacher seems to swell visibly at the opportunity to talk to you, immediately rushing within the Templum. It takes a moment before you see a higher-ranking preacher or bishop in voluminous robes.

 

"My lord! We are honoured to have you here once more!"

 

 

Akkad

 

The General nods, accepting some of your words.

 

"We have four regiments, all told - though with the additional hands you have recruited, we can outfit a fifth. The soldiers you have led these last few weeks could be used to stiffen them and add some mettle. It will take a significant investment to man the walls alone. I have two armoured companies and two artillery companies at my disposal that could be used to lend support or to conduct assaults against the Tyranids."

[Mazer Rackham]

"We have four regiments, all told - though with the additional hands you have recruited, we can outfit a fifth. The soldiers you have led these last few weeks could be used to stiffen them and add some mettle. It will take a significant investment to man the walls alone. I have two armoured companies and two artillery companies at my disposal that could be used to lend support or to conduct assaults against the Tyranids." 

 

He absorbed this, chin cupped in a hand, nodding.

"I agree, the 303rd would speed their training and induction to our task, as would the inclusion of Tybers' armoured units.  I am loathe to recommend any spoiler assaults against the Xenos.  Anyone going out there will be cut off in minutes and will be hard-pressed to fight clear.  I would maybe suggest," he broke off, underpinning the last word with a hint of emphasis, given the General's previous discomfiture, "the armoured units are moved throughout the city, acting as quick-response forces armed with as many ordnance and flamer units as possible."  His hand continued to cup his chin.

 

"We must break their assaults up and consider air cover."  He turned, face slightly more at ease with the human now they were digging into tactics.  "What are our stocks of mines, sentry turrets and flak guns?"  He pointed to the North gatehouse.

 

"The bastions there are close and will form a great head of killing power.  We could leave that free of mines and deploy them along the more vulnerable walls, perhaps allowing sally parties of sentinels from the gates."  His thick finger traced the walls themselves, whole sections bereft of covering guns. "I have mapped out a few spots of maximum range for one of our batteries at least to make support easier to call in.  I will disseminate this to your officers of course."

 

He continued to ponder, drawing all the ideas together for his Deathwatch brethren.

 

MR.

[Steel Company]

"When you pass through the streets, everyone is watching. You are the Emperor's judgment made manifest, and the people look to you to see what you do. Your words carry weight." She said, her helm pulled free finally in the confines of the Rhino.

 

Tyber chuckled a little as he spoke, “I am a weapon, forged for the conquest of the stars. I am not meant to uphold the laws of the Imperium.”

 

Leaning back with his head tilting up to face the roof, a smile played on the corners of his mouth, as he continued; “Truly I am a son of the First Legion, a descended of the Six Hosts… If you need an Astartes to uphold the Emperor’s Laws, then I suggest you seek out a son of the 13^th, they are a sticklers for their rules after all.”

 

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the marshal wrinkle her brow and nose a bit as she said to him, “That may be, but the hand that swings the sword is dispensing justice. And if the Xenos are as bad as some say, death may just be a mercy in and of itself."

 

Again, he started to chuckle, before countering with; “Marshal, by your own words, would you ask your shock maul about a sentence before dispensing it? As I am the Emperor’s sword, a weapon, nothing more, nothing less…” his smile and laughter died off quickly, “I was not kidding however, we are going to need anyone and everyone, young and old alike to hold this world. Having mortals locked up right now will do nothing but provide the Xenos an easy source of bio-matter that will be unable to fight back. For the duration of this conflict, I would advise to suspend all incarcerations and stay all executions until we have either put down the threat or we are all dead anyways. In the end however, you are the arbiter of justice here, I am not. You can either take my advice or not, be aware that both will likely have consequences… I only ask that you weigh the wrong, right and correct choices.”

 

With that he closes his eyes, awaiting the next stop.

 

OOC:

 

I added in the Marshal's words from below to make one post, rather than one update and a follow up post.

Edited March 18, 2019 by Steel Company