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

[apologist]

Yeng grinned broadly inside his helm. All the pre-boarding checks had been completed cleanly: the doses of hyperantivirules administered to each warrior in turn to prepare them as well as possible for hostile microbiology. Each had been accompanied by a minor rite; a spattering of the traditional ink/blood mix on a purity seal or visible area of the forearm. It would coagulate and turn from black to green in the presence of such bioweaponry. 

 

The torpedo moved cleanly. There was no buffetting or turbulence in the vacuum of space, and Yeng felt considerably more at home here than in the gunship on the planet. Better than that, Solastion's words had granted him confidence in the chain of command, and he had the sense of a meshing of gears or turning of a mandala. He knew not to dismiss such thoughts, and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he rolled back his eyes. He breathed out slowly through his nostrils, his battered helm venting it noisily.

 

Opening his eyes again, he panned his visor across the combined team. He opened and closed his free hand – not through cramping, but as hyperadrenalin began to course through his veins in preparation for combat.

 

Grinning still, he experienced a rare wash of brotherhood, and – on the spur of the moment – recited the Tale of the Folly of Ning across the vox:

 

"More than twenty centuries ago, I first heard told the Last Words of the Sage Ning, a great Gnostic of the Gatebreakers. He had resigned himself to a final stand, holding the Broken Pot Pass against the Breccian Murderforms. Ordering his men to fall back, his words were thus:

'Blessings be on you, warrriors. Blessings indeed – for though defeat and death rise to meet me, your thread will continue to wind. Blessings, therefore, I wish upon you, that you make your own great marks on the tapestry, and bring honour to your kin, to the Princes, and to the Emperor above all. I save now my breath for war alone.'"

 

"So were recorded the Last Words of the Sage Ning – but the stubborn fool fought so well that he quite neglected to die in the subsequent battle, and lived – in silence – for another thirty-eight years. In the battle ahead, I trust you will all follow his unintended example!"

Edited May 29, 2020 by apologist

[Commissar Molotov]

Deathwatch Strike Cruiser 'Xenocide'

(Solastion)

 

The corridors echo with your armoured footfalls as you make haste to the torpedo decks. Chapter Serfs step aside, averting their gaze deferentially and making the sign of the Aquila.

 

The bay itself is dominated by the boarding torpedo that will hurl you through space and into the Bio Ship. The torpedo itself rests within a cradle, suspended by giant armoured chains inscribed with rites of detestation against the Xenos. Robed adepts work clanking machines around the outskirts of the chamber, preparing to load the torpedo into the firing tubes themselves. As you enter, the chamber's lights fall to deep red as an engagement siren begins to whine. Speakers in the throat of the deck-servitors crackle into monotonous life: "Five minutes... five minutes... five minutes..."

 

You cross a gangplank and enter the torpedo. Inside, the cold metal walls and the crash-couches are lit only by feeble red combat lighting, robbing you of the opportunity to see your brethren clearly.

 

 

+ + +

 

Boarding Torpedo

(Solastion, Akkad, Atratus, Tyber, Sabaan, Varvost, Greysight, Montesa, Ghent, Vorr, Teralil and Yeng)

 

"Fifteen seconds," the modulated voice of one of the Tech-Priests crackles over the vox-link. "Ten... Five... Four... Three... Two..."

 

With the force of what feels like an Ogryn hammering you in the chest, the boarding torpedo screams down its launch tube and accelerates on a crown of fire into the void and away from the safety of the fleet. Your retinal cartographs provide you with an overview of the battle raging outside, but for the most part you are entirely alone. It is, in some respects, as Brother Tyber said - you are in a encased within a coffin.

 

The counters marking the distance to the bio-ship race downwards toward zero as those of you who wish to are able to key through bursts of orders, reports and screams over your vox as the cruisers fully engage the swarm. For what seems an eternity, you wait in the dark while outside, the void is torn apart by the exchange of fire.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

Suddenly a priority transmission overrides your helms, bearing the rune-identifiers of Shipmaster Rubio.

 

++My lords...! Look!++

 

An image appears on your helm-displays, super-imposed. There is no sound, but you make out the now-familiar form of the Tyranid bio-ship. Plasma spurts from huge cannon-limbs, hurled towards the Imperial fleet. It is clear from code-tags that this is a feed direct from the Xenocide's auspex arrays. Static clouds the image momentarily as space itself seems to judder and ripple; great glowing rents appear that speak of the Immaterium and seem to leave you sickened even through your helm’s auto-senses. Interference causes the visual to momentarily freeze and jump apart into blurred image blocks.

 

The sounds of confusion over the vox turn to panic and horror as realisation dawns upon the fleet. The sound of voices and ship’s guns swell in the background.

 

++What in the Emperor’s name..?++

++Pull back! Pull back!++

++Aethetic dissilience… aetheric dissilience…++

 

The skin of reality stretches, then finally punctures as the knife-like prow of an Imperial vessel tears through into existence, trailing crackling tendrils of warpstuff that dissipate in space with the rainbow sheen of oil on water. The ship is monolithic and looming, crested cathedral-esque towers nestling upon its back. Its engines flare as it heaves itself into the material plane like an ocean whale beaching itself upon dry land. Some of you recognise this ship immediately. You saw it once, upon a painting that rendered it with what you now see is startling accuracy.

 

The battleship dwarfs the Imperial vessels that scatter before it: you see one of the frigates escorting the King of Kings cleaved in half by that murderous prow, its shields buckling and flickering before collapsing, the two halves of its hull turned aside as chain reactions burst along its engine housings. The ident-riunes mark it as the Saint Orestes, now just a crippled hulk tumbling in the void.

 

The flanks of this new interloper bristle with countless gunports that even now shudder with rippling barrages, directed at the Tyranid bio-ship. The explosive impacts of macro-weaponry bloom across its scarred hide, visibly making the titanic creature rear backwards to deal with this new threat.

 

Alarms shrill as the torpedo's limited cogitators calculate that the trajectory has been ruined - that this unexpected motion has thrown you from your targeted landing site - before the roar of the torpedo's final-stage engines drowns out all other sound. The torpedo shudders alarmingly around you, slowing as though passing through deep water. You are thrown against your dampner harnesses as the hull rings with the sounds of thousands of tiny impacts. You feel rather than hear the melta-arrays at the torpedo's prow cutting through chitinous armour. Explosive bolts blow, smashing the access ramp down with enough force to push away any final obstructions.

 

Finally, silence.

 

You have arrived.

[Steel Company]

Tyber felt a mix of pride and sadness about being the first through the breach, pride that Solastion felt he was worth of such an ‘honour’, but sadness with knowing that that ‘honour’ often resulted in the death of the one doing it, an end to a warrior now doomed to obscurity, their deeds never to be recorded, never to have a their armour stand in the hall of honour, like Adavan destined to be forgotten.

 

He wondered to himself if Solastion wanted him gone for some unknown reason, pushing the thought to the back of his mind in time with the appearance of the new ship; Tyber grits his teeth together as he sees it, feeling that they are now headed in the wrong direction. That they need to get aboard that ship, there is someone or something important aboard that ship.

 

The rough impact of the boarding torpedo slamming home drew his attention back to the current objective, they needed to finish this fast and get to the Dark Lantern, answers where there, important answers. As the door dropped Tyber rushed forward, drawing his arming sword and chain sword, ready to meet out his wrath against what ever met his advance, he would not die in obscurity.

Edited May 29, 2020 by Steel Company

[Noctus Cornix]

Glory to the Father and to His Sons.

 

And to spirit of Him on Terra.

 

Now and ever.

 

And unto ages of ages.

 

Amen.

 

There was nothing left to do. The time for meditation had come to its end. He had contemplated the the nature of their duty one last time in silence, reaching to the Emperor's Tarots to divine what he may of their future. What awaits us in the bowels of the Beast? It was a simple enough question, but the answers still dwelled in his thoughts, murmuring on their possibilities. 
 
 
++ It is the day of Resurrection, brothers.++
 
Guillermo's voice carried across the vox link, his words reaching only to the remaining members of Kill Team Swordhand. 
 
++Let us be glorious in His splendor for the slaughter too come. Let us remember our brothers and repay these bastards in kind for our grief...++
 
The Codicier's tone was almost kind, gentle even were it not for the lethality he laced in every word. With both hands, he gingerly returned his helm into once piece, sealing the locks and letting the bathing wash of crimson retinal feeds wash across his vision. With a pressurized release of his harness, Codicier Montesa stepped out into the field behind brother Tyber. What greeted him was an immediacy of revulsion and unwelcome memories of his brothers who had fallen in these very halls.
 
Not his brothers, he reminded himself as he turned to look back over the assembled Astartes who moved out from the boarding pod's breach. Their  brothers. They were all kinsmen in their oath to the Long Watch. He was not here alone, nor was he the only one to grieve of their losses..
 
And by the blood of the Throne, the xenos would pay....

 

Psychic Power - Augury

Focus Power Test
Int Test 64 = 64
1d100: 28. Pass, 3 DoS

PR 4
Question = "What awaits us in the bowels of the Beast?"

Edited June 7, 2020 by Noctus Cornix

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad felt the restraints break free as information blurred into long screeds across his visor.  The giant form of Tyber burst forth with a roar and posture that proved the ascendence of the Astartes over normal men, proving in one fluid motion why such warriors were needed.  In front of him, the rest of his stick deployed, fanning out behind the Dragon of Caliban in good order.  Akkad moved the right flank, where he could cover them if they needed to advance, his boots squelching and sticking in the inch deep morass of a material he guessed was saliva.

 

He didn't want to dwell too deeply on it.  He could feel the ridges of cartilage flex slightly beneath his weight as the whaleship contorted and flexed around the Space Marines, a giant living ulcer which wheezed and dripped it's filthy spoor into the Emperor's realm.  It was a body as unlovely within as without, a blasphemy to the eyes and soul.  Chittering claws and sucking noises emanated from myriad tunnels, slick with mucus and glistening ichor.  A small spider-like thing ran near him and he lashed out with a foot, smearing it with a bloody pop.

 

He racked the bolt on Cadence, the fittings and casing smoothed and etched with fine lettering of High Gothic and the abstruse calligraphy of Obstirian, where Teralil had solidified the bond of both machine spirits.  It was a fine weapon of war. and she was hungry.  More so than the beats they sought to slay.  He cued into the command line and activated Solastion's rune.

 

++Your orders, My Healer?++

 

MR.

[A.T.]

The lurching adjustment of the boarding torpedo shook Atratus from his preparations as the signal of the new vessel superinposed itself on his visor over tactical displays and accounts of past tyranid encounters. He did not understand fully the nature of warp transit but the approach of the vessel was as a predator with prey in its sight, as if seeking the smaller imperial vessel as beacon for its grant entrance.

 

If this was Rykens doing his hand might have yet again have impeded their progress, and yet again he felt the pang of regret for not having seen through the earlier deception. Too late now to change matters he recorded the matter for his chapter brothers to action should he not survive and configured his visor for battle, seeing his brothers already intent on the assault with all talk and considerations set aside.

 

Impact, the torpedo had at least found its mark. As junior in rank amongst the squad he waited as each astartes surged forward with practiced precision, uncaring of the honour of first to the breach, only the success of the mission.

[Slips]

++First, Brother Akkad, is to find out where we've ended up and how to get where we're meant to be.++ He said, his chainsword drawn and in a low ready while he scanned the passage they emerged into with his bolt pistol as he exited the boarding torpedo himself.

 

++This complicates matters but only slightly. Worst case, we each have a higher kill tally once we exfiltrate.++

 

++Brothers Sabaan, Teralil, Atratus, Greysight are any of you able to point us in the right direction? The longer we tarry, the stronger the resistance.++ he asked of the two hunters and the two augmented.

[Nineswords]

+++

 

GREYSIGHT SHIFTED HIS shoulders in the restraint cage, rotating his aching muscles as far as he could within the confines of his power armour. The arming serfs on board Xenocide had not been idle, repairing any rents or tears which had compromised the armour's integrity after their decontamination protocols. The brief interlude had also allowed them to re-spray and polish the armour to a near mirror sheen under the strict supervision of Sabaan and Teralil. The Storm Son had watched from the shadows as Ecclesiarch Mendalov from Locke's flagship King of Kings reconsecrated the Deathwatch's armour, shuttled over specifically for the task. The Techmarines' dedication of repair to the Machine God has been a more pragmatic affair.

 

He thought of Mendalov as the torpedo plunged into the void, eating the space between the Xenocide and the Tyranid hive-ship. His duty was done, and theirs was just beginning. 

 

In the pitch-black of the torpedo, Greysight silently observed the others. Even without their Chapter markings, he could perceive them all: the Dragon's eagerness to take the fight to the enemy. The Raptor, inscrutable as ever. The Gate Breaker, musing on some esoteric teaching of his home world. Both the Crimson Knight and the Librarian sat in meditation, and so it went.

 

For Greysight's part, a sense of calm equanimity settled upon him. He trusted in his war-brothers and the Emperor to prosecute this undertaking successfully and deny the Great Devourer it prize.

 

The stillness was an illusion. Greysight barely had time to process Shipmaster Rubio's transmission before the torpedo tore its way into the meaty mass of the bio-ship in a jarring crash. The torpedo was a red smear as combat lights ignited. Tyber was already out his seat before the torpedo ground to a halt, drawing both of his swords in a wide arc, eager for the kill.

 

Faith and the Emperor would see them through the breach.

 

+++

[Morovir]

<<INSERT THE THIRD PLACEHOLDER>>

 

(I promise I will actually get these filled soon)

[apologist]

Yeng stepped through the breach, hot on the heels of Greysight and Tyber. The softness of the floor momentarily wrong-footed him, and his armour servos creaked.

 

"Treacherous footing, cousins," he murmured, panning his boltgun back and forth. The squad's stab-lights pierced the gloom, the sound still thin from the explosively vented atmosphere. The breach the torpedo had torn reminded Yeng of nothing so much as a sucking chest wound. Though the moist, organic walls were already puckering and closing around the puncture, soft but high-pitched whistles indicated gas and vapour were still being voided. He watched in disgust as he realised bipedal creatures – little larger than his hand's span – were lurching towards the small holes, then walking blindly into them, plugging the damage with their pudgy, grotesquely vivid flesh.

 

He had fought void-boarding actions against over a dozen alien species, and had always been able to find some point of reference to the most alien ship – the saharduin's jelly-flooded vessels were like fighting underwater; the bracchin's chaotic jumble like urban fighting. The tyranids were like nothing he had ever seen before; nothing he had suspected could exist. Giant bodied, organic, star-walkers. Mindless. Colossal..

 

The idea was hideous, repellent – and like so much that is repellent, it was perversely haunting. The image of the torpedo as bullet, and the Astartes as mere shrapnel, was disquieting. The sense of isolation, of dislocation and irrelevance hung over him as he stalked forward, boltgun braced against his wedge-faced helm.

 

It was quiet, save for occasional spastic bubbling and hissing. The tiny biped sealing-homunculi continued to troop towards the wounds, the mass of their bodies and wriggling legs forming an obscene wad that reminded the Gatebreaker of digestive villi.

 

The squad's stablights panned over seemingly ulcerous growths and bulbous wads of pulsating meat. The space – such as it was – was meatily packed and filled with heavy, swampy vapour. Chittering screeds shunted atmospheric info into his corebrain: unidentified organic matter, trace sulphur, unidentified organic matter, calcareous organic matter, unidentified organic matter, unidentified organic matter, heightened nitrogen levels. He absorbed the information, letting it flow over him, his face unconsciously contorted into a grimace of disgust.

 

He was gripped with a sudden strange feeling; a withered claustrophobia. His narthecium plugs told him the rest of the squad was experiencing much the same reaction, to judge by the aggro-chemical spikes and slightly heightened breathing patterns. He allowed the treacherous thoughts to play over his mind – he had long ago learned to listen to his intuition when fighting novel xeno-breeds; and the tyranids seemed unusual to the point of madness. Psychics? He wondered. Some sort of passive dampening field that is affecting me? Affecting us?

 

+++

 

He focussed on the practical, calming himself. This space bore only the faintest resemblance to their previous visit, so it was quite clear the squad were hugely off-target. He tried to see if he could identify anything that might indicate an analogue to a familiar biological system – but what was visible was doggedly Other. He could make little sense of the region, though he felt he could identify a number of sphincter-ports that might lead elsewhere. He turned then to his fellows, making his report to Guillermo and the Crimson Knight. 

 

"We have ingress; but this chamber suggests nothing to me. Are any auspex returns or divinations clear on the path?"

Edited June 5, 2020 by apologist

[Dosjetka]

Placeholder.

[Commissar Molotov]

The access ramp smashes down and the combined brethren of Blackthorn and Swordhand charge into the fray, only to find little opposition.

 

There is little in the galaxy as alien as the Tyranid, and as you exit the boarding torpedo you are acutely aware that you are in the belly of the beast. There is no light here, save that which the kill-team brings. Each of you have stab-lights and lumen-arrays on your helms, your weapons or your backpacks. Your auto-senses are capable enough of piercing the blackness, and you know that the swarm-beasts themselves will be able to fight unimpeded by the dark. Yet it only adds to the oppressive, even claustrophobic atmosphere. The air is hot, too; hot enough that you can feel it through your armour. Already the first beads of condensation are forming on the ceramite plates of your armour. The atmosphere is filled with vapour and you know that the very air is filled with microbial threat.

 

You find yourself in a large chamber that resembles some sort of ridged bladder; at each end you see moist red-purple tunnels coiling away. The walls themselves seem to be constantly oozing resinous liquid, gently contracting and expanding as though at the beat of an alien heart.

 

Sabaan/Teralil: Trajectorial analysis of the Boarding Torpedo's flight is easy enough to extrapolate. A successful Intelligence (+20) or Perception (+20) test would enable you to help track how far off-course the torpedo was when it struck the Hive Ship.

 

Akkad: The steady artificial heartbeat-pulse of your auspex will enable you to discern some of where the Deathwatch are. A successful Tracking (+20) test would be able to help you discern the surroundings the Deathwatch have found themselves in.

 

Solastion/Yeng: It is clear that your knowledge of biology and anatomy will be of help here in traversing the giant body you find yourselves in. Successful Medicae (+20, in addition to your other modifiers) Tests will allow you to work out where in the Hive Ship you are.

Edited June 2, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

Akkad accesses Auspex: Tracking Test (Int 41 + 20) = 61

D100: 32 Pass 2 DoS.

 

MR.

[Slips]

Solastion begins scanning the...chamber...they've emerged into with his Diagnostor as the squad begins spreading out a bit and using their own methods to try and discern just where they've ended up.

 

Easy (+20) Medicae Test vs Medicae 90 = Medicae 110 [20 (test) + 10 (medicae +10) + 50 (int) + 20 (narthecium) + 10 (diagnostor)]

D100 Roll = 11 for 9 DoS

Edited June 2, 2020 by Slips

[Xin Ceithan]

 

 

 

[OOC: Sabaan uses Int / Auspex to establish position and directions: Int 51 +20 : Roll: 20 https://orokos.com/roll/811772# Pass - 5 DoS ]

[Commissar Molotov]

If the Synapse Chamber you are searching for is in the beast's thorax, the boarding torpedo has lodged itself in the abdomen - closer to the tail of the bio-ship than the head. The Techmarines' trajectorial analyses are clear enough: the sudden intervention of the mysterious battleship and the disturbance it has called has certainly thrown you off-course. Reaching the Synapse Chamber will require fighting your way "up" the bio-ship's anatomy and slaying whatever attempts to cross your path. The journey itself may, however, afford you the opportunity to weaken the bio-ship and support the battlefleet waging war in the void.

 

The hollow space you find yourselves in, so close to the bio-ship's chitinous carapace, is likely some form of spaced or ablative armour between the vulnerable innards and the void, used to soften impacts; to turn away the killing blow and rob it of power. Having broken through the carapace, Akkad's auspex can lead the way inward toward the main body and away from the danger of the battle raging in the void beyond.

 

You have a few moments to ready yourselves for the long and laborious fight ahead of you. You are all keenly aware that in this alien battlefield, Tyranid creatures could strike from any vector. You are, after all, invaders - and the creature's immune system is sure to attempt to expel you soon.

Edited June 2, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Commissar Molotov]

COHESION

 

In an effort to allow you all the good stuff, I am going to alter the rules for cohesion thusly:

 

Solastion, as the combined Kill-Team leader contributes 4 Cohesion, +1 for Command

 

The rest of the Kill-Team will each contribute half of their Fellowship Bonus:

 

Akkad: Fel 48 (2)

Atratus: Fel 46 (2)

Ghent: Fel 47 (2)

Greysight: Fel 53 (3)

Montesa: Fel 45 (2)

Sabaan: Fel 42 (2)

Teralil: Fel 40 (2)

Tyber: Fel 48 (2)

Varvost: Fel 19 (1)

Vorr: Fel 39 (2)

Yeng: Fel 46 (2)

 

The Kill-Team will therefore start with a Cohesion value of 27.

 

Any Kill-Team member can spend 1 Fate Point to add 1 Cohesion to the squad's Cohesion value.

 

 

[apologist]

[Placeholder]

Yeng consults with Solastion; comparing observations. 

The Gatebreaker suggests that the squad can stick to primary routes: weighing the greater likelihood of guard-beasts against the speed of action. Going secondary routes increases the chances of getting lost or being forced to double-back.

[Commissar Molotov]

You move out, consulting retinal schematics and attempting to strike towards the core of the creature. The tunnels you follow branch into a dizzying array of tunnels, ducts and chimneys going of in all directions. The Gatebreaker's advice seems to bear fruit, however - follow the major vessels and you will be able to track closer to the vital organs. The muzzles of your weaponry follow the quick movements of your eyes as you are forced into narrow and constrictive passageways. Some of you may have fought in Space Hulks, or heard glorious and terrible Chapter Legends of Terminator Squads doing so. How you wish you had the sturdy protection of Tactical Dreadnought Armour now.

 

Periodically you find yourselves approaching sphincter-portals that seem more like airlocks, if you had to find a human analogue: giant ridged bands of muscle and flesh that snap closed with muscular force before sighing open again. The sinewy cords contract and expand as though with inhalation - but not the predictable in-out, in-out of a human pulse - this is a spasmodic and entirely alien in-in-out-out-out-in-out that is hard to follow.

 

You must get through - how you do so is a matter of either agility or wits.

 

GM:

 

Getting through the sphincter-portals requires::

 

A Challenging (+0) Agility Test from each battle-brother. Any PC who fails this test suffers 1D10 Damage (not reduced by armour or Toughness Bonus) as they are caught in the vice-like muscular snare.

 

Those who wish to discern a pattern in the flexing or determine the signs that indicate when a contraction occurs to better time their passage through the tunnels must take a few minutes and pass a Difficult (-20) Intelligence Test. Passing this grants you a +20 bonus to your Agility Test.

 

 

 

 

Kill-Team Cohesion: 27

 

AKKAD | AG45 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 4/4

ATRATUS | AG70 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 3/3

GHENT | AG60 | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 2/2

GREYSIGHT | AG43 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 5/5

MONTESA | AGX49 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 2(+1)/2

SABAAN | AG43 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3

SOLASTION | AG33 | WOUNDS 23/23 | FATE 4/4

TERALIL | AG40 | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 4/4

TYBER | AG48 | WOUNDS 20(+1)/20 | FATE 5/5

VARVOST | AG59 | WOUNDS 24/24 | FATE 3/3

VORR | AG50 | WOUNDS 21/21 | FATE 4(+1)/4

YENG | AG40 | WOUNDS 22/22 | FATE 3/3

 

Edited June 3, 2020 by Commissar Molotov

[Steel Company]

OOC:

 

https://orokos.com/roll/812032'>Difficult (-20) Intelligence Test: 1d100 31 Fail, Target Number was 29

 

Challenging (+0) Agility Test: 1d100 10 pass with 3DoS, Target number was 48

 

Tyber watched the bands of muscles pulsing open and closed at a set timing it seemed, catching movement out of the corner of his eyes by Atratus, losing tracking of the movement of the bands for a moment before taking his chance to pass through.Launching himself forward, with a slight twist to slip through as the gap started to close, turning to look back through the gap to check on the rest of the squad behind him.

Edited June 3, 2020 by Steel Company

[A.T.]

Chokepoints to separate invaders, or perhaps bulkheads intended to seal the ship from damage. In either case it could be reasoned that damaging them without need would draw attention while the killteams forces were divided.

 

Signalling intent towards Varvost and Tyber, Atratus moved up to set overwatch beyond the portals that the more heavily equipped astartes would be clear to navigate them with caution.

 

Agility test 54 (pass with an extra DoS)

[Mazer Rackham]

He could see Tyber pause a moment before chancing the gap, obviously measuring the timing to his sheer size, then the Dragon hopped through.  Atratus was less reticent and was through handily, albeit his flight pack was close to being snagged.

 

Akkad's turn came.  The horrible valve was something he considered worthy of being burned open, but perhaps it would be counter-productive.  Besides, the Iazu had given no such order and Akkad meant to work with the team.  It felt like old times.  If this was as close as he got to being pleased, he'd take it.  He watched the spasms of the orifice, and irregular as they seemed, there were still pulses.  As alien as the abomination was, the universe had rhythm, no creature within or even beyond lacked it.

 

Int Test: 41 (-20) = 21

D100: 020 Pass, no DoS

Ag Test: 45 (+20) = 65

D100: 007. Pass, plus 5 DoS.

 

He stepped through handily, pilot light on the Heavy Flamer hissing fiercely at being denied, in chorus with Cadence growling.  He smiled, it was like wielding an old married couple.

 

MR.

 

EDIT: I did roll against the Difficulty modifier, but forgot to do the calc, so I rerolled everything.

Edited June 3, 2020 by Mazer Rackham

[Xin Ceithan]

Placeholder

 

Distracted by his revulsion at the blasphemy the insides of the bioship represent, Sabaan missteps and gets caught in the choke point.

(Squeezing his fleshy parts will not increase Sabaan's mood)

 

OOC

 

Difficult Int Test: 38 Target 51 -Fail ) https://orokos.com/roll/812092#

Agility Test 90 Fail https://orokos.com/roll/812094# - Sabaan takes Damage 4 https://orokos.com/roll/812095#

[Commissar Molotov]

Varvost attempts to slip through the portal:

AG59: 32 (PASS)

[Commissar Molotov]

 

The Raptor leads the way, overseeing the combined Kill-Team's three Assault Marines as they form a vanguard. Even with the Dragon's ungainly traversal, nearly half the Kill-Team has made it through with little event.

Edited June 4, 2020 by Commissar Molotov