To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Machine God]

"I hope that you shot Von Cearyd through the head for speaking such falsehood?" said Draak.

"If it exists then it is a space hulk, bound to be crawling with Genestealers. We'd need Tactical Dreadnought Armour for that, there's only one suit in the whole of the Iron Gods and you are wearing it, my Tsar!"

[A.T.]

Odysseus tilted his head, "to search openly for such a vessel would lead to presumption of its existence and rivals to its claim, regardless of the truth of things. Yet you bring the question to us and not your remembrancers, such purpose cannot have been born of that fools words alone."

 

Those chosen for the assault on Elysium were clearly not a selected for their subtlety, and the demeanor of the newcomers suggested no change in that approach. Why did Varn bring them news of intrigue and secrets, why did he call upon the hammer for the task of a scalpel?

 

As Draak spoke in turn Odysseus spared him a disapproving glance. Lack of subtlety indeed.

Edited September 8, 2021 by A.T.

[Ancient_Sobek]

Old seafarers tales and desperate ramblings. Zhoteg save me from the greed of pirate lords, S’ynek thought to himself as he watched the recording. This stank of a last ditch effort of a condemned man. Still, Varn had an ego to match ambition, but he was no fool. He wouldn’t have brought this to us if he didn’t have more to go on than the prisoner’s groveling plea.

 

I guess it matters not. A job is a job, he thought as his gaze passed over the others in the room. Plenty of fools to take the fall if fate comes clawing after us.

[Lysimachus]

Varn takes in the questions, accusations and silences with equal calm. Finally he speaks, his voice barely raised but still cutting through the commotion like a powered blade.

 

"You have doubts. I have them too. Von Caeryd is a snivelling, cowardly liar desperate to save his own skin. As such, I do not think he would have had the courage to leave his little kingdom on such a quest, even if the potential rewards were great. His word alone means nothing.

 

But there are indications..." Varn looks at Brother Degier, "...that it could be real."

 

The psyker steps forward and gestures down at the armour he wears. It is a beautiful suit of MkVI plate, precisely engineered and elegantly detailed, the work of a master artificer. His voice is cold, condescending, aware of secret truths beyond the ken of even other Astartes.

 

"My Lord Varn found this armour in the Hall of Antiquities on Mardego IV. We know it had lain there for at least four thousand years, and I know it is much, much older than that. As the prisoner said, according to the legend, Mardego was the last system visited by Vespucci.

 

But there is more than this."

 

Degier pulls a weapon from a holster behind his back and holds it out for you all to see. A plasma pistol of archaic design.

 

"The pistol you retrieved. Truly ancient, Heresy-era or earlier. It is... kin to my armour. Their pasts, their spirits, are entwined. They carry the same aura, the same feeling of long centuries waiting in the blackness, of purpose long unfulfilled. I am convinced they came from the same forge, the same ship. The Pride of Kings is real. It is waiting to be found."

 

The psyker speaks with absolute certainty. Varn frowns. He turns back to the pict viewer and gestures to his tech-adepts. The screen changes from showing Von Caeryd's frozen features to an aged but beautifully painted image of a Battle Barge emerging from the warp. The shape of the vessel shown is familiar to any Astartes, a blunt, brutal, terrifying weapon very similar in design to the Iron Gods' Strike Cruiser Avarice, but several times larger and correspondingly more imposing. (OOC: See the image in the opening post of Ep.2!)

 

"That is the artwork Von Caeryd mentioned. Some of the station serfs found it for me a few hours ago."

 

He frowns again, more deeply.

 

"Perhaps it is nothing. A hoax, a scam built around a myth. But perhaps not. If it is real, you do not need me to explain to you the significance of this treasure to the Iron Gods. We cannot ignore the possibility. The dark spaces between the stars and worlds of Humanity are far more vast than could ever be imagined. Who can know what they might hide? We must find the seller on Viorda Prime, take the location from him and uncover the truth."

 

The tyrant smiles grimly.

 

"But the Viorda System is of the Imperium." He enunciates the last three words, biting them off in flat, cold contempt. "Viorda Prime is a Sub-sector Capital, a world of more than a dozen Hives and countless billions of lives. It is guarded by a large PDF, Arbitrators, orbital defences. It lies on a major warp route junction, meaning that Navy Patrol Groups can often be found passing through. An all-out attack on the system would therefore be… foolhardy. But a small team of specialists can infiltrate those defences and root out our target."

 

Then Varn smiles again.

 

"Of course, as you have noticed, not all of you are… best suited... to such a covert mission. Thankfully, your team will also have a second task in the Viorda system, more mundane but perhaps more real. I suspect it may also be an entirely bloodier one.

 

I have a trading partner, based on Viorda Secundus. The planet is far less important than its sister world, but this particular resident and her fellows have the ability to source certain specialised items that the Iron Gods require. However, our latest shipment from them is late. Very late, with no explanation provided for their tardiness. I require answers. I require those supplies, especially if the tale of the Pride is proved false."

 

He smiles coldly and looks over at Cutlass' squad leader.

 

"And here is where we return to the matter of your payment, Traveller. The name of my one-time business associate is Palatine Agnatha Ferrina. She is both a representative of the Ecclesiarchy itself and has also had numerous dealings in the past with the Ordo Hereticus. If anyone can give you the information you seek, it will be her. In fact, it is her name I would have given you before… but the truth is that she is not without defences. Even an Astartes would struggle to penetrate them alone. I think you will need the help of the Iron Gods to reach her.

 

Some might call such a turn of events, that this key to the Pride's location may be found where we - and you - must already go, a beneficent coincidence." The Lord of the Solios Nebula looks again at Degier. "Others might call it 'fate'."

 

He shrugs.

 

"I do not care which is true. My intent is that half of your team will infiltrate Viorda Prime and find our seller. The other half will travel to Viorda Secundus, both to aid the Traveller in his quest and to find out why my supplies have not arrived and, if necessary, take what we need by force.

 

Captain Achard, the Dagger Thrust and Mister Holger will be placed at your disposal. Achard knows how to get in and out of an Imperial system without drawing too much attention to himself. And Holger will prove very useful once you are planetside on Viorda Prime. But, to be absolutely clear, he is only a tool for you to use. He is no longer there to watch over you." Varn grimaces momentarily in apparent distaste. "In truth, I have never liked the necessity of that particular part of a Remembrancer's duties. However, in my position, it is a necessity, to see how new members to our fraternity react to having a measure of freedom returned to them. I would challenge any man with the same responsibilities as I not to do the same."

 

Varn looks around slowly at each of the Astartes gathered, pausing to look each one in the eye.

 

"You have my trust. You have command. I will leave it in your own hands to decide how to order and divide your forces. Know that I am pleased with all of you. The Armoury aboard the Avarice, while not as large as the Crag's, holds the finest weaponry we can obtain. You will have everything you need to complete the task ahead."

 

***

 

For this mission, you will have 20 Req per Character (or 200 for the entire team). While this is not a great increase per player over Episode I, Varn is now willing to trust you with much more limited and valuable equipment! Therefore you will be considered as Infamy Rating: Respected.

 

NB. I have created (well, copied from Mol's game!) a Spreadsheet for Ep.2 Requisition, I will send all players a link to be editors so you can each fill in your selections.

[Trokair]

The armour, and the plasma pistol, where certainly more concrete proof, but still circumstantial to Brynjars mind. He was no armoursmith or learned in the Martian faith, to fully analise or verify the claims, but a kernel of truth was there, just what truth he did not know. An actual vessel seemed far too unlikely.    

 

They could mistrust the Varn and his fools errant all they want, but go on it they would, he was the Tyrant here, they bound to his will for now.

Edited September 8, 2021 by Trokair

[Commissar Molotov]

The Traveller seethes inwardly; how typical that Varn's moment of apparent generosity should be turned to his benefit.

 

Palatine Agnatha Ferrina. He recognises it as a rank of the Sororitas. That the Sisters of Battle should be trading with the Iron Gods spoke to the degeneracy of this sector.

 

He had what he needed now, but he would need the aid of the Iron Gods to travel further.

 

So be it, then.

Edited September 13, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Beren]

Tarek Varn's words did much to assuage Svelk's earlier ire. Perhaps he had misjudged the Tyrant. These were not his brothers after all, their loyalty could not have been guaranteed before the fact.

 

Slowly, and steadily, he clamps his weapons back onto his armour, pondering the options before him.

 

The Traveller's personal vendetta did not interest him, such matters had always been more Khoris' forte. Reclaiming something lost to the depths intrigued him, but the Outer Dark rarely gave up what it had devoured without a price being paid. The supply run was... blunt and necessary, both things that he fully understood.

Edited September 8, 2021 by Beren

[Necronaut]

So, that was what Varn held over the Traveller. Most intriguing.

 

Vesalius weighed the Tyrant's words against the more concrete proof he and Degier offered. One would not simply leave a battle barge adrift in space, surely. Surely? It just seemed too good to be true: a derelict Astartes capitol ship lost for millennia, now ripe for the taking. Of course they would have to find the accursed hulk, but it did seem within the realm of possibilities.

 

Despite his reservations, he found his curiosity had been piqued. It would be illogical, after all, to not investigate this potential lead. There were preparations to make and an infiltration squad to assemble. The apothecary suspected he had his work cut out for him.

 

He clasped his fist across his chest in salute to Talek Varn and followed the other Astartes out of the ruined audience chamber.

Edited September 12, 2021 by Necronaut

[Ancient_Sobek]

Radago looks to Kai.

 

+It seems we share a common foe. I wouldn’t mind skinning a few zealots if you need the company+
 

Beneath the mechanical hiss of his vox you detect a tone of anger, and perhaps... sadness.

[Black Cohort]

"Perhaps it would be better known as the Folly of Kings, as the risk and reward is great.  It is this kind of trap that has captured so many over the centuries.  But any day is a good day to kill members of the inquisition."

[Machine God]

"I would like to accompany you to talk to the Sororitas too, Traveller. My armour would stick out too much on Viorda Prime."

[Commissar Molotov]

"Logistical matters can be discussed once we are left alone," the Traveller says brusquely, looking at Talek Varn and his Librarian rather than the new Devastator. Edited September 9, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Ancient_Sobek]

Radago makes his way way to the armory to see what equipment they have. He doesn’t expect much, but it’s always prudent to investigate. As he walks he ruminates on the mission. The thought of striking back against the accursed Ecclesiarchy has lit a burning spark he had thought long extinguished deep in his cold heart. He didn’t know if skinning every corpse-worshipper alive would fill the void left by the loss of his brothers... the loss of his home, but it was worth finding out.

 

His mood was choleric as he entered the armory. He cast his eyes around the meager offerings not sure if any of it was better than what he already had. Some of the equipment was battered, some had seen better days, but his years of wandering had removed any feelings of disdain. You used what you could find. 
 

His curiouslty spent he turned to leave. As he a approached the door a menial came up to him, bowing in submission.

 

”My Lord, are you the one called S’ynek?” He asked trying to hide the fear in his eyes.

 

+ I am, why have you seen fit to disturb me + his mechanical growl dripping with irritation.

 

”Please my Lord, forgive this intrusion. Master Varn asked that this be delivered to you. He turned and signaled to his counterpart hovering nearby.

 

The other menial approached quickly kneeling before Radago and lifting a long wooden box toward him. Radago reached out and slid aside the top panel. His breath caught at the sight.

 

”His Most High Lord Varn, Master of the Solius Nebula, sends his regards. He was most pleased with your actions on your last mission. He sends this token as a sign of trust. Continue to serve him and prove your fealty and you will be reunited with its counterpart.”

 

Radago lifted the weapon from the box and admired it as the menials, scrambled away from his menacing presence. The Stygian blades, or one of the pair at least. One of the few relics of his chapter left. It had been a gift, a reward for his service and recognition of his skills among the Vanguard of the first company. The curved power blade was long, with a wicked hook on the end. It’s blade made of some dark metal, it’s surface covered in sinuous swirls that reminded one of oil. The hilt was a dark bronze, covered in serpent motifs. It was like holding a piece of his black soul again.

 

He left the armory and sought a quiet place to give his thanks to blessed Zhoteg for the return of his blade...

[Mazer Rackham]

The fitment of a shot selector was a thing requiring the workings of the Mechanicum.  Argo so rendered to the menials and serfs for the work to be completed, Orphiel waited, standing in an alcove, statuesque.

 

Opposite him, the servitor bolted into the recharging station bared no recognition on a wasted face, gaunt and pitted by ingrained corrosives and spall.  Gurgling fluids pulsed in and out of a tortured neck, sickened with wheals of metal, and the lash of poorly shielded arc-cutters.

 

He watched the assault marine S'ynek leave, pre-occupied with his own blade.  He passed by without noticing Orphiel, but then, the clank and hammer of the armoury was enough to hide the hum of his Maximus plate as well.  About his waist he'd already retrieved Zacahriah's Steel.  A large bump at his hip carried the precious Metal Storm fragmentation rounds.

 

He gave his fellow Renegade the span of thirty paces.  Time to introduce himself.

 

+A turn of the blade, brother?+

[Beren]

Svelk strode into the armoury without pause, a slight nod to Orphiel the only acknowledgment that he was not alone. He navigated banks of esoteric, rare and artisanal weapons without a glance- he was not looking for baubles.

 

Instead he made his way to the arrays of explosives, giving a pair of demo-charges cursory inspections before attaching them to his armur. Not as powerful as a melta-bomb, but more abundant. He had to see about talking to Vesalius. If the Apothecariaan could supply the correct compounds, then perhaps he might be able to augment their stock...

 

+A turn of the blade, brother?+

 

Svelk's head turned as he heard Orphiel speak, recalling his own duel against the sword wielder.

 

This might be interesting to watch.

[Trokair]

Following the general exodus from the former state room Brynjarr noted that the majority of them where heading for the Avarice, and presumable the armoury. While he did not need any replacements for his current gear it was always worth having a look, and having free run of a well stock armoury no doubt enticed the others as well.

 

Standing in front of one weapon laden wall Brynjarr consider one of the flamers hang there, but non where of the compact design that he was used to from back then, and while no doubt handy this made these comparatively  bulky flamers incompatible with his training and shield and would require some time to overcome, maybe another mission.

 

While not needing new weapons per say Brynjarr did take the opportunity to restock his bandolier with grenades, these would do nicely. As he finished this task he spotted in the crate next to the grenades an auxiliary grenade launcher attachment for a bolt gun, and studding it with care it looked like it would be combatable with his Naval Bolter.

 

Summoning a menial Brynjarr asked if there was a firing range where he could try out the AGL attachment.

Edited September 10, 2021 by Trokair

[Machine God]

Draak clapped his bionic hand against his chest and bowed his head to Talen Varn "My Tsar!" Draak also nodded respectfully to the Traveller as he excused himself from the room.

Draak headed to the Armoury to requisition some needed parts for Grendel.

When he arrived at the armoury Draak nodded to the guards and filled out a requisition chit which he gave over to a menial arms-man. Draak moved over to a work bench and lit a censer, disengaging the ammunition supply belt to his heavy bolter Draak laid Grendel down on the bench and lit two more candles. Draak made the sign of the cog with his hands and showed them to the servitors.

Satisfied that Grendel's machine spirit had been properly mollified, Draak field-stripped Grendel to his bare parts, then applied the necessary oils and unguents. Striking the rune of assembly four times Draak waited for the required parts to be found and brought to him, whilst he did so he listened to the voice of the Omnissiah within the room.

"Respected Draak?" the arms-man asked.

Draak slid out of his reverie, "Go on arms-man!"

"His most exalted Lord Talek Varn, has approved your request Respected Draak." The arms-man then moved respectfully to another section of the armoury.

Draak then lit two more votive candles, he then reassembled Grendel.

"With these new baffles you will be lighter Grendel and you will be able to move to the foe" Draak then activated a stud next to the trigger and a loud roaring could be heard from the Chain-Axe head attachment at the end of Grendel's barrel "you also have teeth to feed on the foe that get too close!"

Draak then headed to the ranges by way of the arming cages.

 

(Edit: Typo's.)

Edited September 10, 2021 by Machine God

[Ancient_Sobek]

Radago turns at the sound of a voice, his eyes narrowed in irritation. He cursed himself inwardly for his lapse in awareness.

He saw a robed figure detach itself from the shadows of an alcove and move toward him. He took in the approaching astartes. Young, moves like a gunner, and a competent one at that. Yet the blade on his hip spoke of his proficiency there as well. The robe and it’s decoration stank of the Lion’s sons. They were known to be good with a blade, but better at secrets. He would have to keep an eye on this one...

 

Radago relaxed his features as he addressed the interloper

 

+I have no need to prove myself like some of these whelps” the mechanical sound of his vox giving a clipping sound to his words.

 

+Still it has been to long since I crossed blades with a worthy opponent. The machine lovers we fought were barely worth the trouble.+

 

He slowly drew his blade, his stance was relaxed and he seemed unconcerned.

 

+ Begin+

[Mazer Rackham]

+Begin.+

 

In those three short sentences, and by his languid, almost disdainful stance, Orphiel learned a great deal from S'ynek.

 

In silence, he drew steel steadily.  Not the theatrical, slow threat of polished adamantium, but of mirror-glass smoothness, matching his pace to the draw, advancing on the assaulter.  He would not be lured into a false sense of security by the disarming poise.

 

Sensing darting strikes and rapid reaction, he brought the flanged blade up when just outside of striking measure.

 

With a sudden deflection, he converted the movement of the sword into a lunge, and Orphiel aimed the tip of Zachariah's sword at S'ynek's right knee, the point lashing out with the intent to strike at the flexsteel armour in the gap between the plates.

 

The deadly conversation began.

Edited September 9, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Black Cohort]

"5 credits on Orphiel."

[Trokair]

Returning to the armoury following the trial he handed the AGL to one of the menials for cleaning so that it could go back in storage. It had worked well, and Brynjarr made a mental note to acquire one in time once he had trained wit it further. For now the subtle change in weight and balance of the bolter, and extra bulk and chance to catch on something and the unfamiliar reloading sequence where all small things that could cause unforeseen problems in combat, and a mistake there was all too often the last mistake.  

 

---

 

Two of the new marines had begun a duel, and from the unconcerned looks of the others it was clear that this was a friendly spar and nothing more.

 

"5 credits on Orphiel." Decimus wagered.

 

Not knowing either of the combatants Brynjarr declined with a shake of the head, let others have their fun with bets, he would just watch and learn.

Edited September 10, 2021 by Trokair

[Ancient_Sobek]

Radago twisted as the blade lunged toward his knee. His blade warding the blow away as he spun to face his opponent. Quick as a viper this one, he would have to watch him. 
 

Before the robed figure could recover he launched toward him swinging a cleaving strike at his head. His opponent brought his blade up to stop the attack, but it knocked him back.

 

Radago resumed his casual pose.

 

+A quick one aren’t you... Again+

[Commissar Molotov]

As the sound of steel against steel resounds throughout the training cages, the Traveller keeps to himself, sitting at a bench away from the others.

 

He takes the ragged cloth from around his breastplate, laying it flat on the table and smoothing it with his gauntleted hands. Then he places his bolter upon the cloth, brushing his fingers against the weapon's inscribed name: SPITFIRE. Finally, he removes a small leather roll from his waist, untying it and revealing a variety of small metal implements and tools.

 

He works swiftly and quietly, assessing each component of the bolter's action in turn. Whilst others would seek to raid the Iron Gods' armouries, he had learned through bitter experience that the bolter was all he needed - all he could rely upon in a galaxy of ceaseless war.

 

 

Requisition:

Bolter upgrade to Exceptional (+1 Damage, Reliable Quality)

Motion Predictor Sight (+10 on Semi Auto Burst)

Edited September 13, 2021 by Commissar Molotov

[Mazer Rackham]

+A quick one aren’t you... Again+

 

What could he say to that?  A backhanded compliment, a note of surprise.  Interesting.  Orphiel saved his breath, leading this time with a feint, which S'ynek almost took, provoking a sharp twist from the other, as his blade shimmered in a dark flourish to stop the flanged tip of Zachariah's sword tapping into his abdomen.

 

+Hnh,+ S'ynek grunted, though in amusement or approval, Orphiel couldn't tell.

 

A quick slip of the hooked weapon tried to take him at the wrist, but Orphiel slapped it with his open palm and the curved edge of meteoric iron scraped sparks from the long straight sword.  Both combatants took a step back, the learning curve requiring a reset of poise, but without speaking, Orphiel came again, his sword a question, demanding an answer, and in every parry and riposte, the secrets fell to the ground for the taking.

 

S'ynek lashed out with a vicious kick aimed at Orphiel's groin, a naughty little trick prevented by Orphiel leaning forward, bending his right knee, and the sabaton clanged off in a dull peal.  Using the momentum, the assault marine span, out of reach, and Orphiel's lunge missed his casque by a hair.

 

As S'ynek pivoted low, his arm shot out, seemingly to steady himself - but once en garde, threw something at Orphiel.

 

A desperate parry did nothing but split the slick coming at his faceplate.

 

"Oil..." Orphiel said into his rebreather as it spattered his visor.  He could still hear S'ynek, and the whoosh of displaced air as the curved sword came close.  He snatched his own blade in both hands, a high guard, and felt S'ynek's right arm sliding across his vambrace and elbow, the hook prevented from going into Orphiel's throat still snagged, tugging his cowl free and unsmocking his head.

 

+I concede the bout,+ Orphiel decided, feeling the cool air of the ship stir about his armoured nape.

 

The pressure from the assault marine's arm was removed in an oddly gentle manner for a gutter-fighter, and he heard the warrior step back.  He swiped a finger over his left and right visor lenses, and could see S'ynek had returned to his languid stance.

 

Blades were sheathed, and Orphiel gave a shallow bow with his head.  +I am Orphiel.+

 

+I will remember that.  I am S'ynek,+ he replied, is if it explained everything, before turning away and heading into the darkness to go wherever he chose.

 

Oh I know...and now I know who you really are.

 

Orphiel smiled, pleased.  It was a very interesting conversation.  He remembered a half-heard comment from Decimus, and rummaged in his pouches, finding a small purse containing a handful of Thrones he'd picked up from the raid on Cynarae Dormus and tossed it to the Devastator.

 

+For your faith in me, brother.+

 

Orphiel left the armoury, drawing up his cowl, letting his feet take him through the Avarice, his mind full of fresh secrets upon which to dwell.

 

Post completed, typo's blammed!

Edited September 10, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Upon exiting the armoury Draak headed towards the ranges to test Grendel's improvements.

 

The arming cages were situated between the armoury and the ranges. As Draak was passing he could see and hear Orphiel and Radago sparring in the arming cages. He also espied Decimus and Brynjarr watching the bout, and he thought that he could see Svelk lurking in the shadows.

 

+ I must apologies to Decimus and clear the air, otherwise this situation will fester + thought Draak. 

 

Draak mag-locked Grendel to the top of his backpack and proceeded towards Decimus cautiously. "Brother Brynjarr and Brother Decimus" he said in greeting as he approached.

 

"Brother Decimus, I owe you an apology" said Draak who stopped in front of Decimus, "I was way out of line earlier and your brave and forthright words after my assault were very wise, I am ashamed."

 

Draak knelt down on one knee, using both of his hands he took off his helmet. "I am Draak of, I am Draak of the Iron Gods! Do not be alarmed, I am Astartes not Xenos, although that I have been called and worse!"

 

Draak's skin is light blue, his white hair is kept in a short mohican and his eyeballs glow with an intense white light. Situated on Draak's left brow are three golden Century Service Studs.

 

(Edit: Typo)

Edited May 8, 2022 by Machine God