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

[Noctus Cornix]

"By this vow, I do swear... So long as I draw breath, I will ensure that your final kin will not be scourged into anonymity. "

 

 

 

For a time, no words passed between the two warriors of black and silver armour, the new arrive taking a moment to slowly take in the moment. In truth, he surprised by the great restraint the Star Phantoms had shown, for he knew other Chapters, even though of his own blood lineage to Dorn, who would have shown far less kindness. 

 

His eyes scanned quietly over Akkad's face and the surface of his armour, noting the simple lack of any abrasions or superficial damage. The simple fact that he even still had his armour at all was a surprise in and of itself. The Codex Astartes was vast treatise on every facet of war and, while it offered little time to the uncouth subject, some pages had been dedicated to doctrines on the most efficient means of detaining and interrogating a prison. By his calculations, the Star Phantoms had adhered to almost none of those standardized procedures. 

 

That did not mean that he had been left unspoiled, however. With his second sight, Guillermo reached out and sensed the flickering light of the Badabian's soul-fire. He was far from any kind of expert on the subject, but he could slowly make out the metaphysical tears in the warrior's soul. 

 

So they had interrogated him, a retrained probing that had left the Astartes scarred, but not broken. 

 

Good. A broken blade was of little use to the Emperor. 

 

"Daon Akkad."   == Daon Akkad... ==

 

He spoke the warrior's name, both allowed and in the tongue of silent speech. 

 

He waited, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently watched for the warrior's slow recognition. He would wait as long as it needed, only until the Badabian's eyes would raise to meet his. 

 

"Do you know me, brother?"

[Mazer Rackham]

He stood in the water, the banks of the river Tygaris lapping around his knees as the bodies floated past.  The river, like the twin moons were red.  He could smell the offal of war, guts and desperation, horror and despair of a people crying out for salvation that didn't come.

 

It was better than nothingness.  Better by far beyond the choking dark.

 

The wind stirred the trees, sighing in mournful witness.

 

He remembered a metal deck...mist.  The Aquila.  Thunder sounded footsteps, announcing something powerful, something dangerous.

 

==Daon Akkad==

 

He turned, to find a man in a blue robe, his hands red with crimson slick, silhouetted by a bright light, which cast his face into shadow.  He wore a strange hood made of thoughts and hidden fears, his voice ravaged and edged with metallic twang.

 

A holy man?

 

He reached out with his gauntlets in supplication to the strange seer, and making contact with his reddened hands and knew.

 

"Montesa..." he gasped, "how are you here at the River of the Dead?"

 

MR.

[Noctus Cornix]

For a moment, he did not understand the question. Here sat his brother, a warrior adorned in the full regalia of Astartes warplate, and nary a scratch to his body. 

 

It took only clutch of heartbeats before he looked deeper, letting his soul slowly flow into Akkad's welcoming and broken mind. It was then that things became clear. Akkad, in ever since of the word, had snapped. The trials had put great strain upon his mind, but they did little more than heap further upon the already shattering psyche of the Warrior who was coming to grips with the nature of his own legacy's damnation and the annihilation of all he knew. 

 

He tried as best he could not to think less of the warrior for such a thing... Were Rynn's World to be so utterly destroyed as Badab... Perhaps he might be the same. 

 

Even so, it was his sworn oath to judge this warrior a blade still worthy to stand in the Emperor's name. He would see his duty done. 

 

== Daon Akkad ==

 

The seer in cerulean robes spoke again, though his lips did not move. With the gore-slicked hand, he placed a hand upon the warrior's head as a priest would in blessing a pilgrim. His eyes moved with slow curiosity over the river of bodies, the grasping stillness of decomposing flesh that choked and blackened the water they now stood in. It was the river of those that died in a world far away from here. 

 

== You know me, brother. Now, I will ask you this. Do you know yourself? ==

[Mazer Rackham]

== You know me, brother.  Now, I will ask you this.  Do you know yourself? ==

 

The holy man anointed him with his bloodied fist, the contact and words electric.  As he made contact the river stilled to silence, the rushing water and screams of those meeting a violent end stopped.

 

He could smell weapon oils, armour lapping powder and the sense of stained relics and ancient, musty vellum.  He lay his hand on the shoulder of the one who brought peace, whose eyes glowed softly with power.  He could see the quicksilver-shod arm and knowledge, dreadful knowledge returned once more to his barren mind, although this time devoid of laughter or defiance. Sluicing the word Brother around in his mind, he focussed, feeling the staunch shoulder of his comrade, his anchor in the maelstrom of despair.  He did know the man - beyond just his name.  A great hero, and had they not fought together?

 

"I am Daon Akkad.  The last Lion of Badab," he relayed the last with a small lift of pride.  A wounded Lion must still be defiant - for that is when he is most dangerous!

He could hear Rovik Blake speak from where he floated in the river.

 

Emboldened, Daon drew himself up to full height.  "What do you require of me, My Sage?"

 

MR.

[Noctus Cornix]

He forced back the smile that yearned to play upon his scarred lips, but the look of pride and fire surged behind the Codicier's eyes. 

 

Here was a man he could call brother. Here was a warrior who had taken the same oaths and sworn to the Long Watch. He embraced the Astral Claw, forearm to forearm in the traditional greeting of their kind. 

 

Now he spoke again, this time with slightly tinny pitch of his artificial vocal cords.

 

"I require but one last answer from you, my brother, one question that will set you to the path of absolution or damnation..."

 

This time he spoke but one sentence, letting his voice and second speech carry with the meteoric weight of a hammer blow.

 

== "Who do you serve?" ==

[Mazer Rackham]

== Who do you serve? ==

 

The words hung in his mind, draped in sapphire blue and scarlet stain.

 

He could see a banner, a clenched crimson gauntlet upon it, standing in the hall of a mighty king, doors tall and wrought in the gilt bones of a thousand , with the Master slaying a dragon.  A golden throne, a Liege on a distant world.  Beside the banner hung the cloth he knew and loved, no less noble, adorned with black and gold thread, with a weight of millennia-dust rendering it just a shroud, a thin imitation of it's former glory.  Yet still it stood there, in that great hall.

 

The thought was warm, inspiring.

 

In his mind's eye he conceived another palace of Terran marble and chill alabaster, where men in silver-shod boots marched to a different throne.  It was choked with thorns, thick like weeds, and upon it sat a golem of ambition, leering helm judgemental.  A Tyrant, who in the end devastated his world, betrayed those who joined a just cause, perverted by hubris.  There was no defiance here, as the trees blackened and split, as the soil was soured by the salt of shame and defeat.

 

It was just a bitter end.

 

Daon looked down, at arms locked in a warrior grip of kinship, and the words came more from recognition and greeting, almost with a smile.

 

"There is only the Emperor..." he struggled for the rest, but knew the Sage would understand.

 

MR.

[Noctus Cornix]

It was only then that Montesa smiled, as true an expression could ever been. 

 

"Good.. Now prove it."

[Commissar Molotov]

Meggdon Prime

Core Dalthan Sub

 

You do not see Inquisitor Grist or his staff during your travel through the warp; if you leave the chambers assigned to you then you see very few other beings at all. The scattered crew members you encounter avoid your gaze and hurry to tend to their duties.

 

For your part, the newly reconstituted Kill-Team Blackthorn uses its time to train, the members gaining a familiarity with one another and with Tyber’s nascent command style. You are also able to consult the Inquisitorial records on your destination.

 

Meggdon Prime. Tithe grade exactus maxima. A bloated world of caustic deserts, ravaged by millennia of unmitigated industry. The few bodies of water that remain - it would be charitable in the extreme to call them seas - blackened by chemical waste and effluvia. A populace, estimated in the absence of any reliable Imperial census data to number 800 billion, trapped within towering hive cities that claw at the underbelly of the clouds as though trying to escape the benighted world.

 

Meggdon sits nestled near the centre of the Dalthus Sector on the juncture of several major trade routes, feeding hungrily like a spider growing fat in the centre of its web. As you exit from the warp you see that the planet is surrounded by hundreds of vessels jostling together like swine at a feeding-trough. Ident-tags mark them out as a dizzying array of transports, freighters and Imperial Navy warships. Grist’s vessel slips between them like an assassin’s blade sliding unnoticed between the ribs.

 

All the intelligence you have reviewed indicates that the Desiato House occupies several levels of a sub-spire in one of Meggdon’s tertiary hives - modest indeed by the standards of some amongst the hive nobility, but still a palace of unimaginable riches for those innumerable masses cursed to live forever beneath a steel sky.

 

GM: By this time it is prudent to assume that the Deathwatch will have prepared a plan to assault Desiato’s holdings. Travelling to the sub-spire via Spearcast would be trivially easy, and the household can hardly be expected to put up much resistance against the might of the Astartes.

 

 

 

The Baltarian Abyss

Taurelian Expanse, Outer Dalthus Sector

 

It has been several days since you left Watch-Station Azurea and entered the darkness and peril of the Taurelian Expanse. In that time, the Xenocide has been buffeted and battered by violent warp-tides. Several times, sirens have resounded through the strike cruiser’s corridors as the vessel’s Navigator ordered translation into real-space in order to maintain your heading.

 

Now, finally, you have arrived at the Baltarian Abyss, the last gravesite of the Sunder Dynasty.

 

At Voidmaster Rubio’s request, the Kill-Team assembles on the Xenocide’s bridge. Here, through oculus screens and three-dimensional cartographic hololiths, you can see the expanse of space before you.

 

At first it looks almost like a glittering cloud, scattered across the void. You see lumpen, misshapen asteroids and astral debris, moving like a sluggish whirlpool. As the auspex images resolve, you can make out the cruciform shapes of Imperial-pattern vessels, their blasted frames desiccated and corroded by centuries of unprotected exposure to hard vacuum and solar radiation. Those of you versed in void-warfare can identify the twisted remains of assault vessels, ordnance and other detritus.

 

Amidst the chaotic mass of broken vessels and blackened hulks, the scope of the scene before you gives you some comprehension of the scale of the engagement that must have happened here.

 

“Your orders?” Rubio asks.

Edited March 18, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Petragor]

An assault craft floating by, looking almost as if it was still in flight were it not for the lack of engine signature and the broken wings.

A Torpedo, Melta judging by the casing, spinning silently past wrecks it may once have been fired at.

Hundreds of macro-rounds, embedded in broken hulks or small asteroids, the misses flung far away into the void by now.

A true starship graveyard. A disheartening sight for a naval enthusiast, but still preferable to an undamaged, hostile vessel, or even an enemy fleet. Although, the field of debris would be an ideal hiding place for vessels in silent running, blending in with the other unpowered ships. Caution would be wise.

As Rubio asks for orders, Chaka considers waiting for Vorkys to answer, as he is the chosen leader of Swordhand, but decides to go ahead and give some advice for his leader to consider, and looks to Vorkys as he speaks.

"Brother-Sergeant, I would recommend an immediate active scan for any vessels in silent running, before beginning to run silent ourselves. That debris field would be an ideal place for an ambush..."

[Lysimachus]

 

 

As the Xenocide accelerated, shuddering, out towards Azurea's Mandeville Point, Titus held his breath for a moment. In many ways, whatever challenges they might encounter when they arrived in the Baltarian Abyss, this was still the most dangerous part of Swordhand's time together.

 

It was a matter of simple perspective. However mighty a vessel appeared when viewed from a shuttle or docking bay, when you sailed it out into the endless void between the stars you suddenly realized how tiny and insignificant it truly was. Even the grandest battleships, the Crusade-era flagships of the Legionnes Astartes, were meaningless specks in comparison to that all-consuming blackness. And that was before one considered the warp itself. Realspace, however empty and lifeless, was a quiet haven by comparison. The Immaterium was riven by currents and riptides of pure power, tidal waves that could crush the strongest ship like it was nothing. Like taking a fishing jolla out into the Great Ocean in the middle of the worst storm the black old gods of Tuphon could send.

 

Astartes, in Titus' experience, took no pleasure in travelling the warp. Not that they feared it, any more than they feared any death. But for all their physical prowess and mental fortitude, once within that hellish realm he and his brethren were as much useless passengers as any mortal, totally reliant on the protection of the Geller Field and the skill of the Navigator.

 

We are too used to being in control of our own destinies for it to sit well when matters are taken out of our hands.

 

The only way to endure this sense of futility was to throw oneself into something, to keep the mind focussed and busy. Titus resolved to explore the Xenocide and see what diversions it could offer.

 

*****

 

Titus watched as the game played out. It had been a difficult journey and after training had been completed, there was little else to do. Chaka had just captured Vorkys' Templar with a boldly executed strike down his left flank. The Lion appeared to hold a commanding position. In a few more moves, he would be able to threaten Kol's Emperor... assuming that the newly appointed Watch-Sergeant did not have some deeper stragtegy already set in motion. In truth, it seemed he often did.

 

The Stormbringer had played numerous games with the Reviler during transit between Orkoid stronghold systems in the Delvis Rifts. The Astartes' formidable mental speed meant that a game could often be played in minutes rather than hours. Though Titus had not Kol's aptitude for it, he had nevertheless snatched victory in a handful of their matches.

 

Titus found the concept of the game, certainly that of the traditional variant played by his Deathwatch brethren, difficult to understand. Some form of Regicide could be found on nearly any human world across the galaxy and, shockingly, even among some Xeno species. On Tuphon it was called Tuhota and the goal was simple, the total annihilation of your enemy, every one of their pieces wiped from the board. Having your Emperor, or Jaerl, still in play provided many benefits, but its loss did not mean the battle was over. A clever player might even give up his Jaerl deliberately, in order to bait a trap from which his opposition could not escape. This felt much more logical to Titus, for what right-thinking chief would not give his own life if that was the price required to ensure survival for the tribe and extinction for its rivals?

 

He shrugged mentally. In all honesty, whether Tuhota or Regicide or some other derivative, his Chapter had little time for it. War bound by rules? War constrained by some code of conduct that allowed some actions and forbade others? A foolish notion. In war, victory was everything. In war, you did whatever was necessary to win.

 

However, perhaps the true value of the game was not in its specific tactical application, but more broadly, in the further insights it gave him into the thinking and attitudes of his squadmates. Understanding how another Marine planned, whether they favoured attack or defence, how they adapted to problems, these were all vital pieces of information if one was to fight beside them effectively and efficiently. Presumably the interaction was also intended to strengthen the bonds of respect and even friendship, although the Stormbringer had to admit that in this aspect he was certainly no Suurmestari. He knew he must try to learn.

 

Chaka glanced up from the board at him as Kol paused, ruminating over his next move. The Lion seemed at ease. Perhaps he did have the upper hand in this match after all? Titus offered him a thin smile and a quiet suggestion.

 

"Play the winner?"

 

*****

 

The Baltarian Abyss was awe-inspiring in its devastation. Titus was not especially experienced in void war, but he could still imagine the sheer carnage of the battle that had taken place here. He listened carefully as Chaka made a good suggestion, who knew what enemies might wait within the vast debris field? Caution would be wise. A wide augur sweep might also pick up any power or communications signatures that would suggest if any part of the Abyss was permanently inhabited.

 

If no signals were detectable, then perhaps they should logically begin by scanning for the largest of the wrecks. The larger the wreck, the larger the vessel it must have come from. The larger the vessel, the more likely it was to have been a capital ship, where answers were more likely to be found?

[Komrk]

Staring out at the floating graveyard of a mortal house's ambition, Vorkys was reminded of the scene that greeted the Revilers and their brother Astartes from the Imperial Fists and Fire Lords over Krandor III. The Alpha Legion had seized the orbital defenses along with those on Krandor III's moon and had turned the local Imperial Navy response into slag. The drifting hulks hung in the void like grim reminders of all those who had died. The detritus of battle appeared as a fine mist from a distance, the scattered void craft and bits of ship blending into the background of stars and darkness. 

 

"Your orders?" Captain Rubio asked breaking him from his thoughts. The Celestial Lion chimed in with his advice and Vorkys took it willingly acknowledging Brother Embe's wealth of experience with void warfare. He nodded towards the Lion in acknowledgement before speaking.

 

"Conduct an active sweep for vessels running silent among the wreckage. Following that, you will move us into the debris field. Make sure to pay close attention to energy spikes and sudden changes in relative speed." 

 

Captain Rubio acknowledged him before quickly barking his orders to the crew of the ship. The Captain ran a tight ship which Vorkys appreciated deeply as they wandered into the unknown. He began staring through the oculus screens at the wreckage once again and simply waited for the reports to be called back to Captain Rubio. The whirring and humming of the cogitators filled the bridge along with the chatter of the mortal crew passing orders and information among themselves. 

 

"Any of you want to take a bet on what we're gonna find," he asked of the squad with half of a chuckle.

[Petragor]

"Any of you want to take a bet on what we're gonna find," the Brother Sergeant asked. Chaka was never much for unnecessary bets, but he had a feeling the stakes would not be high here.

 

"If I had to guess, Dark Eldar. They are just the sort to stay within a place of death such as this. Of course, I hope we find no resistance at all, a naval engagement could result in losing hundreds of serfs to depressurization or fires, but if there are foes of the Emperor to be found out here, we shall smite them without hesitation."

Chaka begins to look more closely at the dead battlefield through the bridge's viewports. Could any of those slim formations of debris be concealing a xenos ship? If they did, the Xenocide may have a rough time defending against the inevitable surprise attack. If there is anything you can take for granted in the void, it would be that everything not of the Imperium seeks to destroy you, whether it be Xenos, celestial phenomena or the emptiness itself. A scary thought to some, but more like a challenge to Chaka. Although he would feel significantly more confident were he on a proper escorted battlebarge... Chaka begins clutching his arm with the Serenkai's silhouette painted onto it. He would live to see her again, in his heart he knew this to be certain.

[Deadass]

+++PLACEHOLDER+++

• A flashback to / summary of Boros' actions during transit.
• Roll for Armour History - Unknown Provenance: Rolled a 3 - For the remainder of the mission, Boros counts as having +5 STR (for a total of 75).
• Arriving at the Abyss, some of the Revenant's pessimism shows. "What we will find? Dead hulks. Carrion in the void. Nothing to fight, I wager."
• He addresses Kol. "As we move in, perhaps we should review what we know of the battle, Watch-Sergeant? Identify the capital vessels and scour them first?"

+++END PLACEHOLDER+++

Edited March 19, 2021 by AHorriblePerson

[apologist]

The corridors below decks were familiar; as were a number of the crew. Yeng greeted each he had met before with a deep bow. Some reciprocated, others saluted, stiff and uncertain. The ratings were the most informal. Some looked up from their work, their oil-slicked faces split with beaming grins. Some waved to the Marine. The Apothecary-Gentle was a regular, if not familiar, sight here.

 

Gatebreakers made a habit of mingling with their crews. Amongst the Gnostics of the Gatebreaker, the saying went: 'The weathervane stands on the temple. The temple stands on the rock, and the rock stands upon the clay and sand. Which, then, is most important?' The truth was rather less high-minded. With a depleted Chapter spread across a vast area, it was common for Gatebreakers to serve alone for long periods – particualrly the Eremites, who might not see another Space Marine for years, even decades. Training their armsmen and learning the habits of their crew was a necessity. Some Gatebreakers found it an irksome chore; others something of a pleasure. 

 

The summoning chime saw him turn about and begin to clamber back up through the decks; up from the grime into the light.

 

Approaching the bridge, he dusted himself down, then entrered. The others were already gathered, and Yeng caught Vorkys' words,

"Conduct an active sweep for vessels running silent among the wreckage. Following that, you will move us into the debris field. Make sure to pay close attention to energy spikes and sudden changes in relative speed." 

 

Yeng strode up to the group, greeting them. His earlier meditations made him think of a common Gatebreaker tactic. Turning side-on to the screens, he said,

"Branches wave; wind is chill. Does tree move, or air move?" Seeing Shipmaster Rubio's expression, he continued, "Active searching for hidden enemy will alert them: give them initiative. Depowering; running silent. This turns us from prey to rival predator. We drift in to target, appearing as nothing more than wreck."

Edited March 19, 2021 by apologist

[Commissar Molotov]

GM: It stands to reason Kol would receive guidance from Embe and Yeng at the same time. Both of them are experienced in void warfare. Who does the Reviler listen to?

[Lysimachus]

Good points, equally valid. Stealth was, in his opinion, always the wisest option but they also needed all the information they could gain. Titus spoke softly to Kol.

 

"Perhaps a compromise of sorts, Watch-Sergeant? We could coast in as the Gentle suggests, but maintain passive scanning as we do? We cannot go in blindly."

 

A thought struck him as he was speaking and he nodded respectfully to Achillion.

 

"Brother-Codicier, are you... or for that matter," he turned to Shipmaster Rubio, "our Navigator or Astropath... able to detect anything that we should be aware of?"

[apologist]

"Perhaps a compromise of sorts, Watch-Sergeant? We could coast in as the Gentle suggests, but maintain passive scanning as we do? We cannot go in blindly."

 

Yeng nodded at Titus' words.

 

"Exceptional is the horse that can follow two paths at once – but Titus speak with wisdom. Xenocide is more capable craft than that I know – pirates lying in wait may choose to slink away from a fully-shielded, fully-armed craft," Pausing for a moment, he twisted his mouth wryly, then rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully. "I like my way; but my way is that of Gatebreakers; not of Deathwatch. Embe's advice is strong. Xenocide is more capable craft than those I am used to – and pirates lying in wait may choose to slink away from craft like her. Broadcasting our signal is a way to ensure they make their move."

 

He shrugged. "Is virtue in compromise; also in leadership. You choose thread; we will weave your cloth." He looked to the Watch-sergeant, jutting his jaw forward.

Edited March 19, 2021 by apologist

[Steel Company]

<<Blackthorn>>

 

The drop was coming up, he could feel it in his bones and he wondered if this drop would be as exciting as the first one he had done with Blackthorn. Tyber found himself in the hanger, before him the idle from of the Spearcast, he removed his helm and placed it on the ground with both hands before placing a hand on the nose of the craft and placing his forehead against the nose as he spoke to it, “It seems that our friends are slowing being replaced and I wonder how many squads you have seen come and go.”

 

He paused before asking it, “Every time I have ridden with in you, you have protected my squad and I ask you again to deliver us into the heart of the enemy and retrieve us just as safely.”

 

He knew no answer would come from the craft, yet he still patted the nose one last time before retrieving his helm and heading for the boarding ramp.

Edited March 19, 2021 by Steel Company

[Komrk]

“You choose thread; we will weave your cloth.” The Apothecary’s words and stare hung onto Vorkys as he thought. The Gatebreaker’s counsel was just as good as the Lion’s. A choice needed to be made quickly and decisively.

 

“Proceed with active scanning. Anyone interested will have already picked us up translating from the warp. It’s better to know what we’re walking into rather than bumping into it blind.”

[adesro18]

"Brother Sargent", Atreus says, "It may be prudent to scan for heat signatures. I agree with my brothers, we need to maintain the element of surprise if there is a foe here but we cannot go blindly forth. A sudden temperature shift could indicate the activation of an engine or weapon system, with out the need for an active auspex scan alerting the foes to our exact location." He paused and studied the map of the ship graveyard before him. "Although this only is an extension of my knowledge on the blessed machines of mankind, foul Xenos trickery could mask such things."

Atreus had done much battle against the ork menace and the tyranid. Orks were not subtle creatures, they did not trick and evade in such manners as to confound the Astartes, Tyranids were simply ravening beasts. A cold intiligence, predictable but vicious. Atreus considered the implications of an Eldar vessel lying in wait and if the machine spirits of an imperial vessel could identify a heat signature, if they produced one that is. The workings of Eldar ships was not something he was overtly aware of.

[Petragor]

Swordhand

 

Chaka pondered Yengs first statement. He wasn't the only Astartes here with experience in Void Operations. Still, Chaka felt that his advice was still a correct course, and voiced his opinion as such.

"While Silent running would perhaps be a safer course of action, I would like to point out that our mission here is to investigate. If there are foes lying in wait here, their presence could be an important clue we need to know about. If we continuously perform Active Augury as we move through the field, I am confident the Xenocide's sensors will detect any enemies before they are within weapons range. Once we know the face of our hypothetical enemy, we will be able to determine what the best course of action would be."

Keeping Yeng's statement of compromise in mind as well, Chaka looks once again to the Brother-Sergeant.

"Regardless, I trust your judgement in this matter Brother Vorkys. Where you command us, I shall follow."

[A.T.]

^<Blackthorn>

Atratus reviewed the approach to the hive, dozens of paths extended from the Desiato holdings splintering into a thousand more. Every face known to the family committed to memory and every vantage point assessed, but woefully inadequate to contain the area without the local pdf. A house as wealthy as Desiato would have allies amongst any sent to watch them and so it would be prudent to watch the watchers, the path of escape.

 

Such was the task for the inquisition and those it commanded, the deathwatch were to assault the compound and so many astartes against so small a target seemed a show of force intended to goad any others into revealing their part, or was it the astartes themselves that the inquisitor thought to judge here.

 

Not one to pray to the Emperor for deliverance, Atratus never the less hoped that this task would reveal a less nebulous advarasy rather than more unanswered questions.

[ashlander47]

<Blackthorn>

 

Time aboard the Inquisitor's vessel became an even more abstract concept than it already was. Ceaseless training, planning, theory and practical, drilling and mock engagements, and reviews of the intelligence provided by the Inquisition were conducted endlessly. The effort of a thousand campaigns of mortal men was poured into what appeared to be by all accounts a blunt show of force and what a particular argi-worlder 2^nd Company Sergeant might've called 'theatre with live ammunition'.

 

The scrawl of data was never ending and his bottomless memory was never sated. With each mouthful his hungry mouth gorged itself on the structure of the Meggdon Hive, the sub-pier and the specific levels that Desiato perched on like a canker. Though the assignment felt like solving the problem of a lack of light by tossing a phosphex grenade into a darkened room, that was no excuse for dereliction. He would learn and commit to memory the structural weak and strong points, the places of egress and ingress, the places where traffic will pinch and the plazas where space is open and deadly. Levels above and below, even beyond what the craven would-be Rogue Trader's House claimed, would find a home within his recall, for Mankind is at its most inventive -- and most wretched and indeed perhaps above all most wretched -- when inundated with an overwhelming desire to survive. Anything could happen, and thus everything was put to memory. Every scrap. Every detail. The inflow of information was overwhelming and it kept the Consecrator uncharacteristically quiet; perhaps to the relief of the rest of Blackthorn.

 

Even his spectres avoided him in this state. The full capacity of his ability to store and recall information was assigned to this task, and the pre-mission actions taken aboard the Scrutator became fodder for muscle memory and rote reflex action. Scenarios ran in his mind concurrently. Chief among them were the unlikely or perhaps by virtue of their statistical impossibility, the most likely. Would there be Aeldari witches counted among the house guards? He consorted with that foul race openly; what else could be said for what he conducts in the shadows? What about lingering xenobreed Genestealers? The Hive Fleet was broken yet like a malignant cancer that particular scourge exists in all cracks; a lingering rot can be sourced by both xenos perfidy or foul heresy. Would the sub-spire be detonated on top of them? If Desiato suspected he may be caught he may have arranged a contingency of such magnitude. What if? What about? Maybe? Perhaps?

 

The time to strike was nigh. Thoughts like clouds gathered at the horizon of his mind. Thunder began to roll.

 

Edited March 24, 2021 by ashlander47

[Necronaut]

<Blackthorn>

 

Helgrim was deep in prayer when the Inquisitor's ship shuddered and returned to real-space from the Warp. Training and planning for the offensive had gone well with the members of Blackthorn, and he was pleased that every brother, including the new-bloods, had contributed to the planning of the assault. His blood boiled at the thought of such heresy being permitted to take root within Imperial borders and his twin hearts pumped venomous, liquid hate through his veins as he rose and made for their transport craft.

 

As he entered the hangar, he was surprised to see Tyber with his forehead pressed against the brutish nose of Spearcast in what looked to be an act of prayer before quickly donning his helm again and embarking up the entrance ramp.

 

This is an interesting development...

 

He voxed Tyber once he was nearly to their transport, +Brother Tyber, I have something with which I wish to speak of before we make planetfall. Something which I have put off for too long as I wrestled with its implications during our journey here.+

[Steel Company]

<Blackthorn>

 

Tyber tilted his helm towards the Chaplain as he spoke, +Speak your mind brother+