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

[Mazer Rackham]

I'll just do the actions here so it's in line with the Round.

 

Akkad's vision swam to the surface of consciousness.

 

"NO!"

 

He woke inside his helmet.  With the xenos titan looming above him, he knew there was no choice, but move or die.

++Attack Pattern Alpha: Bolter Assault!++ his words slurred, through blood and spit as he dragged himself to his knees and fumbled at his waist for a Krak grenade.

 

Then he was upright.

 

I lost the post, so re-rolled everything.

 

Akkad will drop into Chapter Solo Mode 'Eyes of Fate' for free.

He will spend Fate to recover from Stunning.

(Chapter Solo Mode: Eyes of Fate Roll: 3 - No refunds!)

 

Akkad will spend Fate to recover D10 Wounds - D10: 6.

(Chapter Solo Mode: Eyes of Fate Roll: 10 - Fate Point is refunded)

Wounds increased to 13.

 

Akkad will attempt to enter Squad Mode as a free action.

Cohesion Test: 4 (Pass)  Akkad enters Squad Mode.

He spends 3 Cohesion for Bolter Assault

 

Akkad makes a charge move towards the Digestion pool, but away from the Mawloc, keeping it at 36m.

Akkad tosses a Krak Grenade.

BS 52+30 (Massive) = 82

D100: 044 PASS plus 3 DoS.

Location: Body

Damage 3D10+4+2 (Mighty Shot) At (Pen 6) = 21 (-TB 12, - Armour 10 (4) = 7 Damage

 

++My Savant, perhaps the augurs on Spearcast can find the Mutagen Canister?++

He looked up at the beast, still rearing, a monstrous maggot in the flesh of a planet, a rotten apple.

 

Come on, come on, get me on target again, my friend, as you have done so well before...

 

Out of range for the flamer, preferring to keep distance, he drew Sonnet with his free hand.

 

Akkad uses Full Action Semi-Auto Burst (Bolt Pistol)

BS 52 +30 (Massive) = 82

D100: 53 PASS plus 2 DoS = 2 Hits.

Location 1: Body

Damage: 1D10 (2D10 Tearing) +9 (Damage) + 2 (Mighty Shot) At (Pen 4) = 15 (-TB 12, - Armour 10 (6) = 0 Damage

Location 2: Body

Damage: 1D10 (2D10 Tearing) +9 (Damage) + 2 (Mighty Shot) At (Pen 4) = 14 (-TB 12, - Armour 10 (6) = 0 Damage

 

As part of the SAB, Akkad makes a half-move 5m (4 AG bonus +1 Hulking)  towards the Digestion pool and increasing the distance between himself and the beast to 41m

 

Akkad prepared himself.

 

Akkad will Dodge +10 (He's trained) any reflex strike/attacks.

 

MR.

Edited May 11, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Xin Ceithan]

 

In the works of remembrancers and wordsmiths an encounter such as this would often be described as akin to a martial performance of acrobatics or a that the opponents were locked in a "dance of death".

 

Sabaan was blissfully unaware of such euphemisms as he threw himself at the controls of the gunship. The Stormraven veered right, crashing into some of the smaller xenoforms who were still rushing in around them with bone crunching force. The Iron Hand cursed, adjusting as the gunship broke through a curtain of viscera.

Spearcast seemed to approve. It's machine spirit was a vengeful thing. The purity of it's hate was inspiring in it's single-mindedness.

The Techmarine recited the litanies of destruction as he allowed the machine spirit to take direct control of the bow mounted guns, focussing it's wrath on the gargantuan beats upfront for the moment as he received Akkad's request.

Outside, the xenos were despoiling the works of the Great Maker, literally dissolving the world around them. The press of bodies made thermal auguries all but useless. The magnetospheric network of Ley lines were recoiling, unraveling. By his own projections, they might as well be digging through the mass of bodies with their own hands. Sabaan shuddered and gave a silent thanks to the shell of adamantium and plassteel that separated him from the organic grossness around him.

 

Might as well give the Sensorium another try before it comes this...

 

 

 

OOC: Switching the bow guns over to auto fire (power of the Machine Spirit), Sabaan attempts to locate the canister via Spearcast's Sensorium

Edited May 12, 2020 by Xin Ceithan

[Morovir]

<<INSERT PLACEHOLDER FOR EPIC REPAIR MONTAGE>>

[Commissar Molotov]

ROUND 2 CONTINUES

 

Akkad:

Invokes Bolter Assault

Inflicts 7 Wounds on Mawloc

 

>>>BOLTER ASSAULT: GREYSIGHT

BS55+30 (SIZE): 17 (HIT)

1D10+9 Damage (Hellfire Ammunition): 5 (14)

Mawloc has TB12 and Armour 10 (Ignored by Hellfire): 2 Damage Inflicted.

 

 

>>>BOLTER ASSAULT: YENG

BS40+30 (SIZE): 23 (HIT)

1D10+9 Damage (Pen 4): 9 (18)

Mawloc has TB12 and Armour 10 (Reduced to 6): 0 Damage Inflicted.

 

AKKAD, CONTINUED:

Semi-auto burst does 0 damage 

 

GHENT:

Assault cannon strikes the Mawloc six times: 10+7+13+23+16 = 69 Wounds inflicted.

 

At Akkad's slurred command, Yeng and Greysight open fire from the open mouth of the gunship, bolter-fire battering against the horrendous creature's serpentine form. Even the mutagenic acids of Greysight's hellfire ammunition seem to leave little telling damage. 

 

Suddenly, there is another burst of fire from Spearcast's assault cannons, the fusilade of high-velocity ammunition perhaps the closest thing to rain on this benighted world. But it is a rain of death. 

 

Wreathed in bilious green fog, the creature rears again, its jaws distending wider and wider. Suddenly - perhaps almost too late - you see green flame coruscating between its mandibles. Viscous bio-plasma jets from its mouth, and some among you might find yourselves reminded of the dragons of legend. 

 

MAWLOC:

Bio-plasma attack against Spearcast and Akkad:

3D10+10 (Pen 9): 20 (30) against Spearcast's front armour of 37 (Reduced to 28): 2 Damage sustained

Akkad attempts to Dodge: AG45(+10) - 7 (PASS)

 

GREYSIGHT:

Greysight exits Squad Mode

 

Semi Auto Burst against Mawloc (Hellfire Ammunition):

BS55+10(SAB)+10(Bolter Mastery)+30(Size): 92 (HIT, 2 DoS) 

Hit 1: 1D10+9(+1, Bolter Mastery): 9(RF, +3) = 22 Damage (Reduced to 10 by TB12)

Hit 2: 1D10+9(+1, Bolter Mastery): 8 = 18 Damage (Reduced to 6 by TB12)

= 16 Wounds inflicted

 

SABAAN:

Spearcast's Machine Spirit fires the twin heavy bolters at the Mawloc: 

BS50 +20 (Twin-Linked), -20 (Vehicle-Mounted), +30 (Size), +20 (Full Auto Burst): 26 (HIT, 7 DoS) 

Hits are resolved at 1D10+12 (Pen 5) against TB12 and Armour 10 (5)

Hit 1: 9 (21) = 4 Wounds

Hit 2: 9 (21) = 4 Wounds

Hit 3: 6 (18) = 1 Wound

Hit 4: 8 (20) = 3 Wounds

Hit 5: 10(RF+8) (30) = 13 Wounds

Hit 6: 3 (15) = 0 Wounds

4+4+1+3+13 -= 25 Wounds inflicted.

 

YENG: 

Full Action: Semi-Auto Burst

BS40(+10 SAB) (+30, SIZE): 6 (7 DoS) 

Bolter Drill provides +1 to fire rate (3 rather than 2) - 3 Hits

Hits are resolved at 1D10+9, Pen 4 against TB12 and Armour 10(6)

 

Hit 1: 9 (18) - 0 Wounds

Hit 2: 8 (17) - 0 Wounds

Hit 3: 4 (13) - 0 Wounds

 

Mawloc loses 1 armour due to the acid of the Digestion Pool: Now Armour 9 

 

ROUND 2 ENDS

 

AKKAD | AG4 + 10 (14) | WOUNDS 13/22 | FATE 1/5

GHENT | AG6+2(+1) (9) | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 2/2

MAWLOC | AG4 + 5 (9) | 119 WOUNDS SUSTAINED

GREYSIGHT | AG4+5 (9) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 5/5

SABAAN | AG4+3 (7) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3

YENG | AG4 + 1 (5) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3

[Commissar Molotov]

With a wounded shriek, the Tyranid creature coils its serpentine body behind itself, its limbs scrabbling as it burrows into the dead earth. There is no sign of it any more - simply the tunnel mouth left behind. 

 

Almost immediately, you see creatures breaking off from the teeming mass throwing itself into the digestion pool. Creatures that seem to have regained some measure of awareness, sluggishly awakening to the threat around them. 

 

Finally, Akkad can see the canister - perching perilously on the edge of the tunnel the serpentine creature left. It spins lazily on its central axis, slowy... inevitably...

 

Before rolling in. 

 

You hear a clatter of metal... and a thunk. 

 

 

GM:

 

Working on a very basic map... stand by...

Edited May 12, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Nineswords]

THE BEAST WAS HIDEOUS. The thing that Greysight fought in the forgotten crypts of Beregar was a cunning, malicious predator: stealth and hyper-evolved strength made it a formidable foe. This was horror of an entirely different magnitude. The two creatures couldn’t be anymore divergent in their bearing and mannerism, and yet impossibly, derived from the same genetic strand. If the crypt beast evoked a hill felid, then the thing rearing up at Spearcast was a cobrid, impossibly scaled to a size that defied natural order. A gargantuan, segmented body slithered along Vinov’s tortured earth; claws and appendages attempted to grapple the astartes’ transport, trying to find purchase before it drew Spearcast into its fanged maw.

 

A cobrid was perhaps the wrong analogy, Greysight reflected. It was more like the devil insects that made its home in the fecund jungles of Catachan. Or, a mantis predator that scoured the southern plains on Nakaris during the hot season in billion strong swarms.

 

The thought came unbidden, even as the Storm Son fired round after round of deadly mutagenic acid at the beast’s segmented limbs, denying it its prey. It was hard work. Even maglocked to the steel decking of Spearcast, Greysight’s aim was spoiled by Sabaan’s attempts to evade the beast's assault.

 

If anything else, the brothers of the Deathwatch had drawn its attention, and the creature ignored the Astral Claw and the bio-weapon.

 

Spearcast veered, before turning the full force of its twin bolsters upon the beast, driving it back.

 

Out the corner of his helm lens, Greysight sees acrid vapour coalesce around the beast’s gaping maw. ‘Bank hard Sabaan! Now before it spits!’

 

Sabaan wrenches at the flyer's control, and gravitational force threatens to overwhelm transhuman physiology. Greysight feels like his gut is being pulverised by a force hammer.

 

And with that, the beast was gone, burrowing deep into earth devoid of all life.

 

Greysight glances at Yeng. ‘Cobrid, then.’

Edited May 12, 2020 by Nineswords

[Commissar Molotov]

 

D: Daon Akkad

G: Greysight

R: Rodrik Ghent

S: Sabaan

Y: Yeng

 

Squares are, as usual, 5 metres.

Edited May 12, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

The beast slithered away, an ungracious spasm of chitin and limbs ending with bladed claws.  The blasted loam of the tortured world collapsed around it, and with it the glint of light on plastek and metal.  The canister.

 

It tumbled slowly, pitching upright and slipping down the hole, a counter-biotic lozenge slinking into a digestive gullet.  Akkad smirked under his helm, felt the ache of bruised bones and battered flesh.  It was only fair perhaps, that since he'd taken a bite from a Tyranid, they return the favour.

 

+Do I taste that bad, beast?+ he half-chuckled as the tides of living meat around him began to slow, and instinct trained on a hundred battlefields told him he was being noticed.  He had to get that canister.

 

++It is sometimes said, that he who hunts alone, goes hungry,++ the voice was smooth, the hint of introspection and undercurrent welcome.

++Then come and Hunt with me, Son of Nakaris, this beast is a big meal.++

 

Akkad ran forward, holstering Sonnet with a practised snap and toted his flamer meaningfully, menacing the swarm around him, keeping an eye on the hole, just in case the meal wanted dessert on the menu as well...

 

Akkad makes a Run Move to the elde of the hole and kneels, watching.  He will peer in to try and gauge the depth.

Per Test: 60 + 10 (Senses) + 10 (Armour) = 80

D100: 070 PASS plus 1 DoS

 

Akkad stared over the edge, stealing a quick look into the abyss, hoping it wasn't staring back as he awaited the Huntsman.

 

MR.

Edited May 12, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: To uncomplicate things slightly, I will have Sabaan spend a Fate Point to increase his initiative.

 

ROUND 2

Akkad:

Run move to hole; perception test to see the interior:

 

Standing at the edge of the creature's tunnel, your auto-senses allow you to pierce the gloom and see the dull glint of the metallic canister. The tunnel goes straight down perhaps five metres, before sloping somewhat gently away, following the path that the creature itself has taken to escape the Emperor's Wrath.  

 

Sabaan:

Tactical Manoeuvre - Full. Spearcast moves forward 60m.

 

Ghent:

Half Action: Delay

 

The Iron Hand brings the Stormraven closer to the exposed Astral Claw. From the elevated position, those in Spearcast can see the Tyranid swarm beginning to fill the gap torn by the gunship's heavy weaponry. 

 

Mawloc "The Shroudmistress of Vinov":

Toughness Test: 

Mawloc regenerates 15 Wounds - now at 104 Wounds Sustained

 

Greysight:

Greysight activates Burst of Speed solo mode, increasing AG bonus by 2 to 7. (4 + 1[Armour] + 2[burst of Speed]) 

Greysight performs a 42m run action including a jump to the ground: AG43: 53 (FAIL) 

Fate Point re-roll: 8 (PASS) - 12 metres jumped. 

 

Yeng:

Yeng enters Overwatch against the hole, firing a Semi Auto Burst if any Tyranids enter or exit. (Full Action)

Yeng spends two Fate Points to gain +2 Cohesion points.

 

ROUND 2 ENDS

 

AKKAD | AG4 + 10 (14) | WOUNDS 13/22[/size] | FATE 1/5

SABAAN | AG4+10 (14) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 2/3

GHENT | AG6+2(+1) (9) | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 2/2

MAWLOC | AG4 + 5 (9) | 104 WOUNDS SUSTAINED

GREYSIGHT | AG4+5 (9) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 4/5

YENG | AG4 + 1 (5) | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 1/3

 

Cohesion: 3

 

[Commissar Molotov]

ROUND 3 BEGINS

 

Mawloc: 

Charge action against Spearcast: 

WS38(+10 for Charging), +20 (Size: Enormous): 18 (HIT) 

 

Sabaan attempts to Dodge: AG43(+35 Manoeuvrability) (-20 Size) = 58TN: 66 (FAIL)  

 

Mawloc does 1D10+23 (Pen 5) against armour 37 (reduced to 32):  9 (32) = 0 Damage 

Mawloc does a Bio-plasma attack against Spearcast: 3D10+10 (Pen 9) against armour 37 (reduced to 28): 10,5,3 = 18 (28) = 0 Damage

 

 

The momentary peace is shattered as the Mawloc-creature erupts from a fountain of dead earth, like some sea creature spearing its prey from beneath. Its bladed limbs splay outward as its sinuous body uncoils, springing it toward the Stormraven hanging in mid-air. 

 

The Stormraven cannot move in time, leaving the craft no choice but to weather the foul creature's assault... and weather it Spearcast does. Those of you within the Stormraven can hear gouges being scratched into the hull, can see coruscating green plasma-flame licking at the viewports - but it is to little effect. If this is the greatest threat the Hive Fleet can muster to stop you, surely defending Syndalla will be easy. Inside the Stormraven's cockpit, beneath his power armoured helm, you might be forgiven for thinking that even the Iron Hand is smiling. 

[Xin Ceithan]

The beast had chosen the perfect moment for it's ambush.

Diving towards the lone Devastator at full speed, it was loyally committed to the sacred laws of momentum and the mobile force as the xenos broke through the sea of acidic fog and teeming bioforms below it. Proximity runes flared red as Sabaan reacted... >>too late!<< ...and attempted to evade the leaping monstrosity, diving, rolling. Vector thrust jets kicked in, attempting to push the Stormraven sideways, to delay, to deny the inevitable.

 

The Omnissiah did not look kindly on the Techmarine 's attempts to break His divine rulings on how several tons of metal ought to behave while He allowed it passage through the heavens. For a moment, the triumphant shriek of the xenos megaform eclipsed the roar the gunship's engines. It's impact had the force of macrocannon.

 

The thing latched onto the black hull and it's limbs and teeth sought a way inside, hacking, slicing, searching for a weak spot to bring down this prey. Finding none, the beast raged on. Sickly flames singed as it vented it's rage. The pitch of it's shrieking changed as triumph gave way to frustration.

 

Spearcast endured.

 

The Omnissiah might not be tolerant to attempts to defy the divine laws of momentum but the Great Maker was obviously not going to suffer an extragalactic organic deviation even a moment of delusional superiority over His creation.

Sabaan registered an unfamiliar surge of euphoric cerebral hormone injections as what remained of his face attempted a smile. Even the voices at the edge of his consciousness seemed to approve, for once.

>>It is flesh. We are sacred metal. No other outcome was acceptable .<<

The Iron Hand nodded inwardly and gave binharic praise to the Omnissiah.

Spearcast's Machine spirit was likewise smug. It was also increasingly irritated by the xenos blasphemy clinging to it's hull. It was a notion Sabaan understood all too well.

 

Outside the canopy, the thing was still raging. For a moment, it's alien eyes locked with

Sabaan's optical receiver array. There was the irritatingly organic urge to say something vengeful, something defiant. He ignored it. Locking the targeting bracket, Spearcast's machine Spirit replied, changing to an affirmatively continuous droning. He thumbed down the trigger...

Edited May 17, 2020 by Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad drops down the hole.

AG test not to lose his footing - AG 45 

D100: 16.

 

If Akkad is close enough he will make Half Action: Half Move (5m) and Half Action: Pick up Object (Canister)

 

MR.

Edited May 18, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Commissar Molotov]

Sabaan:

Firing a Bloodstrike Missile at the Mawloc: 

BS51(+30 Size, +10 Short Range): 65 (HIT) 

Mawloc attempts to Dodge: AG40: 87 (FAIL)

Bloodstrike Missile does 4D10+6 (Pen 14) Explosive damage: 3,5,10(RF:9),3: 30(+6) 

Mawloc has Armour 8 (reduced to 0) and TB12: 24 Wounds sustained

 

Machine Spirit fires a Bloodstrike Missile at the Mawloc: 

BS50(+30 Size, +10 Short Range): 41 (HIT) 

Bloodstrike Missile does 4D10+6 (Pen 14) Explosive damage: 10(RF:8),8,8,3: 37(+6)

Mawloc has Armour 8 (reduced to 0) and TB12: 31 Wounds sustained

 

55 Wounds total inflicted: Mawloc is at 159 Wounds sustained

 

Ghent:

Ghent fires Twin-Linked Assault Cannon against the Mawloc: 

BS48(+20 FAB, +20 Twin-Linked, +30 Massive): 70 (HIT, 3DoS) 

Hits are resolved at 3D10+6 (Pen 6) against TB12 and Armour 8(2):

 

Hit 1: 7,5,8: 20(+6): 12 Wounds sustained

Hit 2: 7,6,6: 19(+6): 5 Wounds sustained

Hit 3: 8,6,7:  21(+6) 13 Wounds sustained

Hit 4: 2,2,1:  5(+6): 0 Wounds sustained

 

12+5+13 = 30 Wounds sustained

 

Mawloc is at 160 Wounds sustained (+29 Critical Damage) 

Mawloc dies.

 

The Invader and the Iron Hand bring death to the Xenos, a pair of Bloodstrike missiles launching with a thick white cloud of accelerant and near-instantly detonating against the snake-creature with a scarlet-flecked plume of smoke that roils over the armaglas canopies of the gunship. The noise of the explosions is enough to drown out the roar of the twin-linked assault cannons shredding what remains of the creature and sending it falling back to the ground with a heavy thud.

 

COMBAT ENDS

Edited May 17, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Nineswords]

WATER SURROUNDED him. The harsh sun of Nakaris leached all the colour from the world, casting the sea in a blue so deep, it was almost black. Like ink. Looking up from the boat, Cloud squinted his eyes and followed the coastline and endless grassland that blurred into mountains; the ink wash and brush flourish of a floating world, rendered onto the finest parchment. Hunting seawyrm was a rare joy, a privilege granted by the taskmasters of Sunsitai, after two months spent aiding the militarum on Golgatha.

Weeks of slaughter to quell the Secessionists sat poorly with Cloud's brothers: the hain were more worthy opponents, and not their own species. An Ordu would have quelled the planet in days, but the Shah-Khan in his wisdom, had not considered Golgotha a priority. In the end, four bonds of novitiates shepherded by Bora Khan was deemed more than enough. And it was.
Seawyrm was worthy prey, like the hain.

The thought evaporated. There was no breeze, but there was a sun; its rays scorching a world almost devoid of atmosphere, illuminating a living ocean of claws and chitin. Behind him, the great beast erupts from the soil, like seawyrm making a desperate snatch for coast raptor.

Spearcast banks, missiles streaking out, detonating in a boom of shattered bone. Twin-linked assault cannons swivel, a succession of bursts tearing into the fleshy mounds, pulverising organs beneath.

A worthy kill.

Greysight turns towards the Astral Claw, but he has vanished, into the darkness.

Edited May 18, 2020 by Nineswords

[Mazer Rackham]

Dropping into the pit, he sloshed forward as his boots sank into the mire.

His helm instantly translated it into Low Gothic.

[Armour 84% compromised.  Depth of Caustic Material 0.53 metric.  Composition of material: Effluent]

So, he was knee deep in Asurru.

 

Like that ever changed.

 

Akkad gripped the canister and pulled it from the slimy mud.  It was intact.  He stowed both it and the flamer about his lower back and waist and began the laborious process of slamming his feet and hands into the rocky escarpment ground into the earth by the monstrous maggot.  As he neared the top, grunting and swearing with effort, the Storm Son turned, his Sulde blowing in the wind from offshore.  There was something noble about the way he was standing that made Akkad feel shabby.  Not really his fault, he was caked in muck and his warplate was growling at him for the punishment meted out on it.

 

++Here,++ he said the the warrior, ++you do the honours.  I keep dropping it.++  He traded the canister for another, reverently taking the tube of Badabian soil back from the Storm Son.

 

He grinned under his helmet.  If that mutagen worked, there was going to be a lot more Asurru pouring out of that giant beast up above.

 

MR.

Edited May 18, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Nineswords]

GREYSIGHT CLASPS THE canister in an armoured gauntlet, checking the outer casing for any accidental damage. The dents are superficial, and the mutagen within remains inert. 'I must place my faith in the magos, Akkad. Let us see what our cousins can achieve through the martial application of Imperial science.'
 
The Astral Claw backs away, shaking off the worst of the excrement caked to him. When this is all over, their armour will require much care to sterilise the spoor of the Great Devourer.
 
With little ceremony, Greysight arms the detonation mechanism. Wrapping both hands around the canister's top, he begins to spin, slowly at first, letting his momentum determine the natural rhythm and cadence. Within heartbeats, the space marine becomes a blur, before hurling the primed poison canister towards the Devourer's digestive sump. If the mutagen landed in the broiling cauldron, there is no sign.
 
'Sabaan, extraction required in ten. Over.'
 
A non-verbal click reverberates in Greysight's helm, acknowledging the request. 
 
'I think it worked,' remarks Akkad.
 
'How can you be sure?' asks Greysight, turning to face him.
 
The Astral Claw barks out a laugh. 'Because, brother, we've got more asurru coming our way.'
 
Beyond the lip of the pool, the previously docile lesser creatures turn to face them, like a large shoal of razorfin encountering a dead aduu.
 
'Extraction required in five, then.'

Edited May 19, 2020 by Nineswords

[Commissar Molotov]

The cylinder arcs through the air, disappearing into the bubbling mire before sinking without a trace.

 

Although you expected no immediate response, you cannot help but be mildly disappointed when nothing appears to happen.

 

Then - moments later - a gaseous expulsion bubbles up from the pool where the cylinder was cast into it, followed a moment later by a second, larger explosion of gas and acidic liquid. The ground starts to shake and the feeder-tubes tremble with thrashing, peristaltic spasms.

 

Great gobbets of digestive acid are cast in every direction, leaving the ground - and your armour - pitted and smoking.

 

The Tyranid swarm thronging the shores of the digestion pool - so devoid of individual thought - seem to come to life. For a moment you can almost see the greater consciousness of the hive mind devoting more of its attention to this digestion pool. Creatures so intent on hurling themselves to their death now whirl around, looking for their enemy.

 

It is then that Spearcast descends, the gouges on its armour fresh and gleaming the silver of bare ceramite, its many weapons firing as its front ramp yawns open, allowing Akkad and Greysight to run and leap for safety. Yeng stands in the open troop compartment, his Mark III armour growling angrily as he snaps bolter fire at those snapping at the heels of the Astral Claw and the Storm Son.

 

And then it is over. The Stormraven's engines flare to life and the Deathwatch have escaped, their deeds done.

 

+++

 

The armoured bunker that held Interrogator Ryken and Magos Erlan is empty, stripped of life just as the rest of the world. The Deathwatch sweep through the facility with practised ease, weapons following your eyes. There is nothing, until-

 

A glint of golden metal, left on the table where you last saw it.

 

The rosette of Inquisitrix Lythea.

 

+++

 

As your armoured boots set foot upon Spearcast's boarding ramp, you pause and take one last look at the world of Vinov. It is hard to believe that mere weeks ago, the wastes were full of life. How quickly and completely the Great Devourer has violated the world, and will do so to Syndalla if it continues on its path.

 

Hopefully Ryken's toxin lives up to the Interrogator's claims.

[Commissar Molotov]

DAY 34

Deathwatch Strike Cruiser 'Xenocide'

In orbit of Syndalla

 

It has been three days since the body of Brother Thorvald was delivered to the Xenocide, since the Demi-Squad sent to Vinov undertook the audacious assault on the digestion pool and delivered the gene-toxin straight into the maw of the hive ship itself.

 

Less than an hour after Solastion's Demi-Squad reached Beregar City, the charges fixed to the dam detonated, sending a torrential deluge through the Valshari Valley and submerging hundreds of miles of farmland beneath water. Orbital scan show that several of the main routes to the city have been successfully cut off, denying the swarming Tyranids on the planet easy access to the civilians sheltering inside.

 

In those three days, the Deathwatch have not been idle; some of you have bolstered the defences of Beregar or lead PDF purge-squads into the surrounding countryside.

 

Now is the time to take stock of your progress and to prepare for the next stage of your campaign.

 

GM: Feel free to explain what your character has been doing for the last three days. Also any questions you want answered, and if there are any characters you want at the briefing, let me know so I can make arrangements.

Edited May 18, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: Written by Slips and Noctus Cornix, with some light editing from me...

 

As Solastion finished making Brother Thorvald as comfortable as he could within the Apothecarium aboard the Xenocide, he double checked to make sure the Medicae Servitors were properly set up to preparing the Fenrisian for reanimation by providing the required treatments to rebuild the body mass lost during his time away from the Kill-Team, then checked again, and again, and again to make sure. Satisfied that he had done all he could to the best of his ability, he finally shifted his thoughts back to more pressing matters: chiefly, the state of Syndalla and the hive fleet but, possibly more important, who Rhykken actually was. That he had, yet again, evaded being taken into their custody was vexing bordering on the frustrating. It would only be a matter of time before they found him again, though and the Kill-Team had quite the number of accomplished hunters...

 

There were more than just physical ways to track someone down, though; Solastion reflected that the Librarian of Swordhand was all the more conspicuous in his absence now given the current state of affairs. It was time he took a more... active... role. Solastion pinged the ship's locator systems to try and find his target. In the matter of a few double-heartbeats, the ship systems informed him that Montessa was in the ship's Stasis Morgue.

 

Curious, thought Solastion as he began making his way into the stasis vaults.

 

+++

 

The Codicier stood silently in the darkness, a hand resting upon one of the sarcophagi. As Solastion drew closer, it became apparent that Montesa had been secluded within the sub-zero sanctity of the morgue for some time. A thin coat of frost had settled upon the black and silver surface of his power armour, and he scarcely seemed to respond to the Sanguinary Priest's presence.

 

++So this is where you've been, Brother-Librarian?++

 

The most minor crack permeated the air as Montesa shifted his body to move and regard his new guest. Guillermo's helmet was at his belt, or rather half of his helmet as it had been split with the sloped grill of his MK IV helm still covering his mouth, nose, and cheeks. Those crystal blue eyes started back at his cousin. No, brother.

 

==Ah... Brother Solastion.==

 

No words escaped the Codicier, the words engraving themselves slowly in the Crimson Knight's thoughts. A small look of surprise glanced across Guillermo's face for a moment before he dipped his head in respectful apology. A fog of air pushed from the six, slanted slits of his mouth-grill as he exhaled a deep breath before speaking.

 

++Forgive me... I am not used to having visitors in these dwellings.++

 

The comment was small, but spoke volumes. It was clear that the Librarian had found himself more often in the company of the dead, rather than the living. Those blue eyes blinked, frost falling from his eyelids while the Codicier removed his hand from the sarcophagus of his former comrades and turned fully to face the Crimson Knight.

 

++ I served for many years as attendant scribe to the Hallowed Sepulcher of my Chapter, transcribing and maintaining the memories of our venerable ancestors, the ones who still yet live bound within their sarcophagi. It is tradition that none may disturb the rest of our venerable ancestors save for in times of dire war. Thus, it falls to us to commune with our ancestors through our silent speech so as to ensure their slumber goes unmolested. This can often take many weeks, even months at a time. ++ The Librarian's tone implied he was explaining the answer to a question, one that had not been asked.

 

++And what, pray tell, were you hoping to learn of our current situation by communing with the honored-interred? The world that we orbit below us has mere weeks if not days left before it is rendered a lifeless rock floating in the void if we were all to stand by and do nothing.++ Solastion let the implication of what he said hang in the air for a breath before continuing. ++I, as a Sang-... as an Apothecary am uniquely aware of having to tend with the wounded, the dead and the dying it is, after all, my primary purpose outside of making sure our geneline is passed on to the next generation; but, above all that, is my duty to my Chapter and, more importantly, to the Emperor. For Astartes like us, only in death does duty end and I have to ponder, Brother Montessa, as you meditate here, among those caught in the twilight of stasis entombment, have you been upholding your oaths and performing the duties you swore to execute in the name of Him on Terra?++ he challenged the Librarian, though his tone and posture remained stoic and calm but with a hardness behind it all.

 

Guillermo looked the Sanguinary priest in the eye as his honour was put into question. To his credit, the Codicier did not act as though he were offended by the accusation. Instead, he simply offered a weathered glance and curt nod.

 

++You are correct, Brother Apothecary, to doubt me and my resolve. All logic and the creed of our blessed charge as the wards of Him on Terra would agree with this; that I am a coward who has shirked from his duty to the Long Watch and shames his Chapter in this failure. I will not refute these claims, for they are true. Fear holds no sway over me, but I remain fastened in my self-isolation...++

 

A pause hung over the Codicier for a moment, pausing as he raised a gauntleted hand and quietly glanced over the intricate engravings that decorated the forearm bracer. Even beneath the black coating of armour, Montesa's armour was truly a marvel of ancient artistry.

 

++Do you know why I have this armour?.++ he asked, not exactly expecting a response, but gave a small pause before continuing. ++In my Chapter, we maintain the the heritage of our lineage and family name. It is believed that we walk with the spirit of our ancestors walk with us into battle and we can chart the future deeds of our aspirants from the legends of their blood-kin who walked before. This armour dates back before the founding of our Chapter. It stood at the walls of the Palace at the elegy of our golden epoch. It was worn by my ancestor then, the first of the Montesa family to become a son of Dorn before ever the Naval House Montesa pledged eternal service to the Crimson Fists. For 10,000 years, this suit has been passed down to my ancestors, some of whom have been heralded as Heros and Saints of the Chapter's sacrosanct.++

 

Another pause, this time somewhat involuntarily as he remembered the hanging sarcophagi in that dark chamber, muttering silent pleads for the forgiveness of long-dead brothers.

 

++The truth is that my ancestors were failures. Heroes they might have been, but their sins far outweighed the glory that my Chapter chooses to remember. The one who bore this armour before I, my venerable ancestor, was the last of his brothers after his own arrogance saw his company slaughtered and him the sole survivor. From the wounds he sustained in that war, he was interned into the sarcophagi of our Hallowed Sepulcher. There he has rested for 3,000 years, silently calling out to the brothers he failed.... In my family, we have an ancient saying: Quod Sumus Hoc Eritis. Such as we are, you shall be. I know that this will likely not make sense to you, brother Solastion, but I am fated to repeat the shame of my ancestors. I was already helpless to assist my brothers who I lost upon the Hive Ship... I... look to them in hopes that I might find the strength to not repeat my family's fated tragedy.++

 

++I know much of Ancestry and Lineage, Brother Montessa for all who are of the IXth Legions Geneline all consume the blood of the Primarch, in one way or another, during our ascension and, due to such a method, we always gain glimpses into those that came before via our Omophagea among other rituals we perform; thus do our forebears always remain with us. But, no, Brother Librarian, you are not a Coward for such weaknesses are expunged from us upon our Ascension. Neither are you fearful for such an emotion is no longer a something we can feel. Nay, Brother, you are caught within the vile grip of Mourning - Sadness and Loss - nothing to be a shamed of normally but, in your case you have let it overcome you; something which I have never seen before from a son of Dorn. Tell me, then, Brother Montessa, in who's footsteps do you intend to follow? You say you're fated to repeat the failures of the past, and yet, within your geneline's ancestry lie some of the greatest Space Marines to have fought for the Imperium. Would you let your familial ties weigh you down in such a way that you would dishonor your Genesire who overcame much, much more during our Imperiums darkest time? Your kind are noteworthy in their stoicism, sense of duty and resolve. So stand up, proud and tall do not let the sacrifice of those who fell be in vain and do not let those who yet count on you for counsel and support down. Especially when you are uniquely gifted to be monumental in the destruction of our enemy.++

 

Solastion lay a hand on the Librarians shoulder.

 

The Codicier did not answer at first. He weighed the Apothecary's words in his mind, eyes tracing slowly along the outline of the room for a time as he listened to the murmuring whispers in the air. These whispers did not reach Solastion's ears, bleeding into the air through the blind reaching of the silent dying.

 

 

It was just as it had been then, standing amidst the procession of hanging coffins as sleeping legends quietly slumbered in agony and the ever-present wish to simply die.

 

 

I can't... I cannot see.... Brother, I can't feel my legs... Cal..

 

The words of his ancestor were still ingrained in the meat of his consciousness, haunting him even now with its pitiful desperation. An ancient legend among a Chapter of avenging angels, and all he could do is call out for a brother he lost three thousand years before. It was not enough. It had never been enough.

 

Without a word, Guillermo reached a hand for the pommel of his force blade. Mariana's leather grip was a familiar companion to his touch, bringing forth memories of its own as he recalled the moment the blade had been gifted to him with the departing divination of his master.

 

Die if you must, son of dorn, but not with your spirit broken.

 

++Then let my fate be cast to the dice of Fortune's whim..++ Guillermo said as his head raised, eyes lifting up once more to meet the Crimson Knight's gaze. ++And may He on Terra guide our hand with His avenging wrath... I will stand with you once more, brother.. while I still have the legs to do so.++

Edited May 27, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Commissar Molotov]

The Strategium of the Xenocide is a large round chamber, dominated by a hololithic projector in its centre. A full Company of the Deathwatch could fit in this room; with only the twelve of you assembled, the room seems noticeably vacant - and the task ahead of you seems impossibly vast. For the brethren of Swordhand, this room holds many memories of the failed assault on the Hive Ship; of the fallen who lost their lives and the long struggle to recover afterward.

 

At an unspoken signal, Shipmaster Rubio keys in coordinates on the projector’s datapad. The flickering image widens to display the entirety of the Syndallan system, the rune-icons and scrolling annotations allowing you all to follow your progress on this campaign.

 

You see the wrecks of the system defense vessels that first greeted Blackthorn when you arrived in the system aboard the Voice of Thunder.

 

You see the planet of Vinov, now reduced to a lifeless husk; the very marrow sucked from its bones.

 

You see Syndalla, coloured icons indicating known locations of Tyranid infestation and the disposition of PDF levy forces. Around it, the rag-tag Imperial fleet - the King of Kings and its pair of attendant escort frigates; the newly-arrived Adamant; Captain Desiato’s vessel, the Glory Be; the various mishmashed System Defense Vessels that still survive, bloated and slow as they are; and the Xenocide itself.

 

You see the Hive Ship itself, a dotted line showing projected trajectories as it moves inexorably closer and closer towards your current position.

 

Each of you stand around the projector.

 

Solastion Albikus stands at the fore, thrust into a position of command that he never asked for. In this moment he is every inch the so-called ‘Angel of Syndalla’ venerated by the common soldiery. There is more than a touch of his Primarch about the Sanguinary Priest; the fanciful might almost imagine the wings of Sanguinius wrapping themselves around him, fortifying him. He has earnt the respect of his brethren, and leads by example.

 

Akkad stands beside him, armour still sporting acid burns from the digestion pool on Vinov. The panoply of his Chapter is worn ; the Astral Claw has not troubled the armourial serfs to restore and repaint the lion’s head - if the other assembled Brothers noticed, none have spoken. His green eyes are narrowed in thought as he scrutinises the hololith.

 

Atratus seems to wear the shadows of the chamber like a mantle around his shoulders. Standing apart from the group seems to come naturally to him. The youth of his pale countenance belies his unwavering dedication to his duty; the predatory look in the Raptor’s eyes speaks to his unerring accuracy.

 

Greysight, son of Nakaris, quietly observes the hololithic display as if it is a game of Regicide, a puzzle to be unlocked with an optimal solution that simply needs to be discerned. He touches the sulde affixed to his armour unconsciously, as though channelling the strength of his brethren to guide him through this storm.

 

Sabaan and Teralil stand together, the Techmarines both united by their adherence to the Martian credo of the Omnissiah, and yet so distinct; the Iron Hand’s multiple bionic enhancements gleam in the light, whilst the Obsidian Glaive’s armour is comparatively unadorned save for a shining lightning bolt upon his gauntlet. A servo-arm reaches over the shoulder of each; they seem to move with an intelligence of their own, like long-necked birds inclining towards one another.

 

Tyber, the Dragon, stands taller and broader than his fellows. As he eyes the hive ship, the ambition on his face is plain to see; whatever happens next, the brothers assembled here will be tested like never before. The giant marine seems eager to rise to the challenge.

 

Vârvost’s armoured gauntlets alternately clench into fists and unclench; actuators in his power armoured gloves snarl with the same repressed fury the Eradicator displays at not having his chain-axe to hand.

 

Vorr seems to radiate hatred from his very bones as he sees the hive ship where his brethren died, where Swordhand failed. His face is like a thundercloud threatening a deluge as he envisions bringing destruction to the xenos.

 

Ghent’s arms are folded over his breastplate; the white star of the Invaders gleams brightly in contrast to the dull shard of Eldar wraithbone hanging from his armour. His impatience to eradicate the xenos threat is more than evident.

 

Yeng’s weather-beaten face, by contrast, reveals concern and perhaps even doubt. The stasis canisters at his waist make the source of his worry clear - after all, he must safeguard the precious genetic legacy of the Astartes - the very future you are all fighting for.

 

The last brother standing around the hololith projector is perhaps the least expected, the least familiar. The Codicier, Montesa. All of you have felt his absence keenly, have been aware of his unbalanced humours. All of you have borne the unspoken weight of the traumas visited upon him on the hive ship. Now, at last, you witness a resurgent Montesa; whether the mission on Vinov and the successful recovery of Thorvald have revitalised him or there is some other cause is impossible to say, but the very air around him seems to prickle with repressed energy, an electric crackle that you can taste in the air.

 

Shipmaster Rubio points at the hive ship. "Since leaving Vinov, its course has been erratic. It would seem that Interrogator Ryken's toxin has had some effect."

 

"Whoever Ryken is," this from Adrielle Haldane, the Interrogator of the Ordo Xenos discovered by Solastion. "The Conclave will need to hear of this once we return." She wears the rosette of her mistress recovered from Vinov around her neck.

 

"The hive ship itself has shown a marked decrease in speed," Fleet-Captain Locke acknowledges with a nod that is customarily terse. "We have also seen that the organisms defending the ship have been sluggish and far less aggressive."

[A.T.]

The question of Rykens identity had troubled Atratus since the discovery of Interrogator Haldane and her words. The Raptor had spent what time he could piecing together every question asked by the false interrogator during the journey here and every movement upon reaching the surface, seeking out any who might have seen or spoken to him during that time to build a web of his activities and the gaps between.

 

As the hive ship closed his focus shifted towards the defense of the city itself and key locations where a command or override given with the codes Ryken might possess could threaten the defenses at a critical time to provide a breach or beach head for the attackers either from above or those already compromised within the city. Despite the effectiveness of the toxin there could be no more chances taken with his intentions.

[Steel Company]

Tyber rested his palms on the pommel of his arming sword, tilting it down and out. Much as he had done the last time Blackthorn had stood in a room such as this, what had come to feel as so long ago now, though this time he had neglected to put his tabard on. Looking down slightly he frowned as he looked at the armour that still was not his.

 

Thinking on his fight with the genestealers, the last time he had eyes on Ryken, looking to the new Interrogator he felt his skin crawl in his armour as his eyes fell on the symbol of the inquisition on this one. Forcing his eyes to the display he mused out loud, “If we could send salvos of torpedoes to herd them to make it easier to land a boarding torpedo it would save the Spearcast an extended time over target while he kill this beast.”

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad nods, a slight smile placed on his lips as he locked eyes first with Tyber and then with Greysight.

 

"They do not think as beasts..." Akkad let his voice trail off, gaze retreating inward, "but perhaps we could modify that suggestion, Ahu.  We could use the missiles as cover for our true intent - the Goopa fish likes to swim in a shoal."

 

MR.

[Commissar Molotov]

“It is a straightforward plan, but a good one,” Locke says, pointing at the hololith to illustrate her words. “Our fleet will close, blast a hole in the escort screen and attempt to hold off the swarm for as long as possible. As you assault, we will be able to screen you with Fury interceptors.” As the Fleet-Captain speaks you see icons representing the Imperial vessels moving into combat, projected casualties on both sides scrolling and blinking. 

 

“Deployment by boarding torpedo will offer you the chance to strike quickly and unobtrusively,” Shipmaster Rubio says, his confidence predicated on his years of loyal service to the Deathwatch, and his experiences of seeing the Astartes wage war.  “It is possible that the swarm will not know your intentions until it is too late.” 

[Nineswords]

+++

 

THREE DAYS AGO

 

HE HAD GONE to see Thorvald, of course. The moment Greysight received word the Wolf was recovering aboard the Xenocide, he had marched straight to the ship’s apothecarion. Or would have, but for the stringent quarantine protocols enacted by the ship’s crew. 

 

Upon their disembarkation from Spearcast, expertly guided back from Vinov by Sabaan, Greysight and the others were ritually cleansed in the sealed hanger: gangs of lobotomised servitors sluiced the warriors’ battered power armour with high pressure hoses, laced with counterseptics keyed to the latest revisions of the tyranid genome. The Deathwatch had learned through bitter experience that even stray spoors were dangerous if left to fester. 

 

With their armour and equipment left to the serfs, the astartes bathed in silence. Every brother had accumulated new scars and contusions to add to the constellation of their war wounds; but the burden of the mind was another thing entirely. Syndalla dulled their vitality, and the spark of brotherhood was conspicuously subdued. Vinov had turned out to be a fool’s errand; the anti-climatic poisoning of the digestion pool was tainted by proof of Ryken’s deceit. 

 

He wasn’t surprised. Greysight turned from his brothers. They had earned his respect - different methods and means of warmaking; alloyed into something far greater. And yet. Ryken’s treachery had cost them all in ways yet to unfold. Greysight had perceived Ryken’s duplicity: not for what he was, but what he wasn’t. There would be a reckoning to be had with the estranged interrogator, or whatever he was. 

 

Pulling on simple black garb, Greysight headed towards the apothecarion, padding through the access corridors of Xenocide barefoot. More than once, he had startled a serf or a member of the bridge crew, only to ignore their hasty prostrations. 

 

Entering through a bulkhead, the apothecarion was a typical example of imperial medicine, with one key difference: everything was scaled a third larger than an ordinary man, for the sterile medical suite was designed to administer the astartes and no other. Beyond the infirmary diagnostic consoles and operating tables to one side of the chamber, was an array of large medicae tanks wrapped by reinforced glass, filled to the brim with amniotic fluid. A pale phantom was suspended in the nearest tank.

 

Thorvald. 

 

Greysight placed a scarred hand on the glass. Where the Wolf evoked the icy peaks of his birthworld, the Storm Son’s complexion was altogether much darker, tempered by the eternal fires of Sunsitai and its sea of grassland.  Peering at his injured kin, Greysight remained silent, not entirely sure what to say. 

 

‘He will live to fight again, though the chemical therapy may have to be run again to tease him out of his coma,’ remarked Solastion. 

 

Greysight turned to face the apothecary. Even out of his armour, Solastion Alkibus was an impressive sight. Truly, Beregar’s artisans had sculpted an excellent facsimile of the Angel of Syndalla for their holy sites. The real thing also possessed a statuesque, alabaster quality; the very epitome of the Angelis Mortis. Greysight ruefully thought of himself as a graven image rendered in stone: rough hewn, and most likely discarded in favour of something more refined. ‘Where did you find him?’

 

‘The interrogator, Haldane. He was discovered over a week ago and they held vigil over him until we arrived.’

 

Greysight nodded. ‘We must find Ryken.’

 

‘I heard about your outburst,’ said the Sanguinary Priest. ‘Yeng likes to talk in the early hours,’ he added. 

 

‘The Wolf would’ve smelled his taint,’ quipped Greysight, scowling. 

 

Alkibus raised his hands in mild supplication. ‘I understand your resentment, brother. For what it’s worth, Atratus had his doubts too.’

 

‘You misunderstand. I don’t seek Ryken out to avenge some perceived slight, or enact petty revenge. His manipulations will be felt again before this is all over. I am convinced the Crimson Fist has been compromised by his unseen hand. Be wary, Solastion. A greater evil may lurk in the shadow of the Great Devourer.’ 

 

The Crimson Knight was silent for a moment. ‘There is some kernel of truth in there, Nakarene. The interrogator has informed me there is to be a briefing in the next thirty-six hours.’

 

Greysight pointed at Thorvald. ‘Will the Wolf join us?’

 

Alkibus pursed his lips in thought. The Angel’s casual expression belied the apothecary's extraordinary feat of statistical acuity, calculating the odds of Thorvald’s recovery. ‘Unlikely.’

 

Greysight offered a splayed palm towards his war-brother. ‘Keep me informed if his condition changes for better. Or worse.’

 

Solastion reached out and clasped Greysight’s wrist, in the pre-Terran way. ‘As you wish. Where are you going?’

 

The Storm Son flashed his teeth in a rictus grin. ‘Planetside. A hunter’s instinct calls.’

 

 

+++

Edited May 22, 2020 by Nineswords