To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Lysimachus]

With gear stowed, the Kill-Team responds to Achard's request that you attend him on the Dagger Thrust's bridge.

 

The chamber is standard for a Sword class, a large, curving space with sweeping armaplas windows that look down over the hull towards the sharp prow. More than a dozen crewmen man various stations, and hololithic displays show both internal systems and scans extending several thousands metres around the hull. However, the bridge lacks the countless gothic decorative features so common to the architecture of Imperial vessels. Careful observers might notice the negative spaces where such iconography seems to have been removed, but it is unclear if this was done as part of an act of mutiny, or simply because of a need for the raw materials they held.

 

Achard sits in a raised command chair, overlooking his officers. Several cables snake from the arm of the throne to an electro-graft port on the Captain's temple. When the squad arrives he does not rise, but he does offer a respectful nod.

 

"My Lords, I hope you found the quarters provided acceptable." He smiles thinly. "Unfortunately, the Dagger is not a large vessel."

 

Then he gestures to the panorama of space seen from the viewports.

 

"We have gotten underway and will reach the Mandeville Point at the edge of the asteroid field in a matter of hours. My Navigator has instructions to take us south to the Arotil Salient. If the winds of the Empyrean are with us, that will take two or three days… But the Salient covers a very large area of realspace, more than a dozen star systems, most with orbital bodies, asteroid and dust fields that could hide a hundred bases. If you have any suggestions on how to narrow down your target, I would be happy to hear them?"

 

***

[Beren]

The nature of their quarters is of little concern to Svelk. The more he sees of the ship and its crew, the more he approves. It's fit to purpose, a ship for survivors, and hunters.

 

In response to Achard's query, Svelk steps forward so that he faces both the mortal captain and Kai. 

 

"The station was described as a toll station, a trading post. That means ships arriving, ships leaving. There'll be more of them than a station, and they'll find it harder to keep hidden. Find them, follow them, or just take them for ourselves, and we'll find the station."

[Mazer Rackham]

Why mention the quarters?

 

The palettes were all an Astartes needed, and Orphiel wasn't unduly concerned about luxury after living in a hole carved out of an asteroid.  On the Crag, akin to other floating homes, his bench was a rock, his table was a shelf carved out of the hard granite face in the oubliette decorated with candles.  Privations were the Iron Gods' way by need.

 

He studied the difference between the Captain's manner and behaviour.  The steepled fingers, the thin smile - so thin in fact, for a moment, Orphiel thought the man's lips disappeared.

 

Ah.

 

His hackles are raised at our imposition.  He is forced to acknowledge a superior on his own bridge.  He is in charge - but we are in control.  The laugh at this petty display nearly seized his shoulders and betrayed him.  He marshalled his thoughts, hiding it behind the mask.

 

He didn't move from the loose demi-circle as his squadmate had.

 

+It is as Brother Svelk says, Shipmaster,+ Orphiel graced the honorific with a nod matching Archard's greeting, +but perhaps your experience can guide our hand?+

[Lysimachus]

The big Captain, who had until a moment before seemed to be becoming more and more irritated by your deliberations, suddenly nods in a rather smug fashion, confident in his specialised knowledge and appreciative that you have finally shown enough wisdom yourselves to appeal to it. The arrogance of mortals with a modicum of authority. He gestures to one of the hololiths and it changes immediately to show a cartograph of the Sectors and systems around the Arotil Salient.

 

"I do have one or two thoughts. The ships of the Merchant Fleet don't usually have Navigators aboard. Far too few of them to steer every ship in the galaxy. So the Fleet has to manage without by following the 'stable' trade routes through the Empyrean."

 

As Achard speaks, a series of wide lines of light appear from system to system, loosely curving around the edges of the Salient.

 

"But there is an alternative route that cuts across… here," he points, and a thinner, jagged and sometimes broken line appears on the stellar map, cutting directly across. "It's narrow and twisted, and damn dangerous… but it can be done. There are short stretches, though, where the warp is totally impassable. Places where they have to drop out, cross sub-light to the next Mandeville point and jump again. It can take a week or more to cover that realspace journey, but it still saves time overall. Time is money for the Chartist Captains, so there are always a few willing to take the risks. Plus a few hauling less than legal cargo and trying to avoid inspections." Achard pauses. "If I were setting up a place to demand a toll out there in the wilds, that's where I'd do it." He shrugs in a way that seems intended to appear self-deprecating. "Still not an easy thing to find, but much less impossible than it would otherwise be."

 

***

[Beren]

Svelk's head makes a small half-term towards Orphiel  he speaks, then cocks sideways back to the captain as the mortal outlines, in great depth and detail, the potential locations of their query.

 

"Your insight is impressive Captain... but why hold your tongue until we asked it of you?"

 

This was the sort of information Svelk would have opened with, not held back. How long would the man have remained silent had Orphiel not prodded him? Why? 

[Lysimachus]

Achard's smile is faintly sardonic, but not to the point of any overt disrespect. Even the thrill of power of being back on the bridge of his own ship would not make him so careless. He looks directly at Svelk.

 

"I am not in command here, my Lord. A wise servant, a servant placed under new masters who are… unknown to him… learns not to speak until he is ordered to do so." He pauses carefully. "But if you are in agreement with my… humble suggestion, I will have my Navigator make best speed towards the largest of the sub-warp sections of the Salient route? As I mentioned, it will likely take several days for us to arrive there?"

 

***

 

Assuming you are all in agreement, as Captain Achard has said, the next few days will be spent travelling. There is little else to be done, so you likely spend your time training with and trying to learn more about your squadmates, whether that is in conversation or through the organized chaos of combat practice. The lasguns you requested will have been delivered by the time you return to the hold. Perhaps this is also an opportunity to reflect on Ghoran's previous words about bonding as a unit? You might also think about your team's mission or your personal goals, and how you will accomplish either.

 

I'll leave you to decide how you want to do any training sessions. If you prefer to just do it narratively, that's cool. If you want to roll some dice, pick 3 different stats or skills you want to show off to the others and make tests against them, then use the results (successful or otherwise!) to create some fluff. Alternatively, if you want to write up a shooting contest or sparring match against a squadmate - knife work perhaps? - both characters roll 3 unmodified BS or WS tests and total up any DoS (+1 each) and DoF (-1 each), highest total wins the match!

NB. Such sparring will be to first touch, or first blood at worst, so won't cause any actual in-game Wounds… just bragging rights, obviously!

 

 

***

[Mazer Rackham]

Satisfied with the small training area, Orphiel moved to his small cell and laid down his equipment bar his sword and dagger.  He folded back the cowl, drawing it over the smooth Maximus helm, allowing it to fold about his nape.  He laid a hand on the pommel of Zachariah's sword and stepped towards Svelk, gesturing at the Marine's own weapon with his free hand.

 

+A practice turn of the blade, Brother?+

[Beren]

Svelk had been pondering Achard's words. The Astartes had been pondering on Achard's words. His experience was... restricted, to very particular fields. He had always been aware of that. Never use what you don't need. Always use what you do need. The idea that one would be required to hold their tongue, or withhold resources, was foreign to him. Was this how things operated when a chain of command was established.

 

If such things were symptomatic of an organisation's size, Svelk was glad that he had not awaited the Imperium's return.

 

+A practice turn of the blade, brother?+

 

It was Orphiel who had spoken. The cowled one, with the armour he did not recognise and the blade that had some strange significance. Conflicted emotions warred within Svelk at the request. Bladework practiced against one another would accustom them to one another's fighting styles. It would help them fight together in the long run. Yet...

 

He turns and takes a step towards Orphiel with sudden speed.

 

+There are two I would call brother. Neither of them are here.+

 

He was for a moment, then lets the silence rest. Then, with his free hand, he unsheathes his combat knife, holding it in a reverse grip.

 

+Still, it would not be unwelcome.+

 

---

Flashback time.

 

Svelk found Khoris standing at the edge of the wreckage bordering their current hideout. Against the blackened, tangled spars of what had once been a habitation section, the other Astartes stood on the edge of the void. He was looking at what he was always looking at. Below. Past the shipyard turned graveyard, to the vast orb that rose towards them. Once, it had been green, and blue. Even strains of violet in places. The more pious of voiders that once manned and lived within the shipyards had called it paradise, but none had ever been to the surface. Svelk knew that Khoris had. It had been something far more important than a dream to him. Now, in the stead of the vibrant colours it had once bore, there was darkness. Plains fused to glass. Fires still burning, three years later.

 

+Annechan had a point when he says to stay within. All it takes is for a chance sweep of the structure for them to get lucky.+

 

+Annechan can go to hell.+ Khoris responds as firmly as he always does.in this matter. Not that any of them are prone silence. Svelk steps up next to him, their boots mag-locked to the deck. For a moment he stares away, into the abyss. He drinks it all in, the emptiness. He sees the detritus of the ring-yards drifting, drifting imperceivably further into the darkness. The void would swallow everything in the end.

 

Then he turns his gaze again, this time towards one of the ring-yard fragments that is almost out of sight beyond the dead world's horizon. A star has just detached from the structure. It moves steadily, steadily away.

 

+Another one gone.+

 

Khoris nods at the observation.

 

+Yes. They've given up. Finally realised the mistake they made. Annechan's victory. Nothing more than logistics.+ Khoris turns to face Svelk now.  +You plan on leaving too, then?"

 

Svelk inclines his helm in assent. +Do you think he knows?+

 

Khoris laughs in response. +Of course he knows! He knows that for me, my world is dead. He may seek to build on what broken remnants remain in the sky-+ Khoris gestures at Svelk's armour as he speaks. Building on broken remnants seems to be something that Annecahan is proficient at. The state of their armour can attest to this. They are equally battered, broken open and welded back together again more times than either of them can count, using whatever they could make available.  +-but to me, nothing is more important than that.+  Here he sweeps his arm towards the world below. Vengeance. Khoris speaks of vengeance. No duty is more important to him than this, and Svelk thinks that his brother would follow their foes into the the void's furthest reaches to make them pay, reaches where only dead stars spun if the old tales spoke true. +-and you? You were always a killer, Svelk, and little more. It was what was needed then, but I do not think that Annechan would see either of us shackled to the duties of a distant throne.+

 

+No, I would not.+

 

Annechan has come up behind them. Where their armour has been rebuilt from constant near encounters with death, his has been... enhanced. On one hand he bears a bastardised approximation of an Apothecary's gauntlet, on the other a more industrial set of tools. The face of his helm juts out like a muzzle, welded plates harbouring the scavenged sensor circuits clustered within.

 

+Even if that is the fate I would choose for myself.+ Annechan was the oldest of them, the only one to truly grasp the Chapter's legacy. He clambered up alongside them, meeting their gazes. +The Imperium will return to this world. If you do not wish to be here when it does, you should be swift. Their nearest warp vessel departs in a matter of cycles. Leap the void, and you will be able to be aboard it when it does.+

 

Svelk cocks his head. +I think I have one last favour I would ask.+

 

---

 

He watches as Annechan pries back the last of the plating the covers his sundered pauldron. The chapters icon, the orb surrounded by the ring of iron thorns, is marred by the since-sealed crack that runs through it. Svelk pays little attention to this. Instead he watches as Annechan inscribes each of their names into the metal. Annechan do the same for his own, and for Khoris, but in different runes. Hold-Cant for Svelk, Soil-Tongue for Khoris, and High Gothic for himself. 

 

A vengeful bastard, a cold-hearted killer, and a duty-bound veteran clinging to the past. They ought to have hated one another. Their ire towards one another often runs deep. Their trust of one another runs deeper.

 

The blood they spilled to the void together binds stronger than temperament ever could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Another secret spilled, the moderate rebuke slid around Orphiel amid the air that carried it.

 

Svelk chose the underhand grip for his combat knife, another interesting choice.  This was not just a chance to gauge himself against a blade veteran, but also a test of Zachariah's heirloom.  He must get to know it, the way it leaned, pulled and weighed.  He must re-consecrate it to his purpose.

 

He drew the sword slowly, a lion baring teeth, feeling and hearing the slip of steel against the velvet choke of the scabbard neck.  He put a little reach over the Assault Marine, but the combat knife equivalent Svelk clutched was a short-sword by the measure of any armourer.

 

+Your pardon, of course,+ Orphiel demurred, tipping the blade so the light cut across Svelk's helm, as the small cant of his head suggested a moment of inattention.

 

He struck in the same instant.

Half-action: Feint

WS 46 (no modifiers)

D100: 24 Pass, 2 DoS

 

If Svelk does not beat the Feint:

Half: Action Standard Attack

WS 46 (no modifiers)

D100: 006 Pass, Plus 4 DoS.

Location 60: Body.

Orphiel elects to roll no damage.

 

If Svelk beats the Feint:

Half Action: Half Move/Manoeuvre 4m circling to opposite side of Svelk's blade.

(Narratively forcing him to cut across himself, but no mechanical effect) 

[Beren]

 

Opposed Feint WS Test:

WS 45

D100: 40 pass, no DoS

 

 

Orphiel lashed only a second after speaking. He laid out no rules, gave out no warning. Svelk jerked his head away as he glimpsed the blade coming in from one angle, only for it to swing in at another and tap lightly against his breastplate, the blow's strength held back. A note of wry amusement was stifled in the voidborn's mind as he hurled himself back at his opponent, axe-rake sweeping towards Orphiel in an overhead strike, followed moments later by the knife lunging up from underneath.

 

 

All Out Attack:

 

Axe-Rake-

WS: 65 (+20 from all out attack)

D100: 05, 6 DoS

 

Knife-

WS: 45 (no modifiers)

D100: 76, 3 DoF

 

[Black Cohort]

Decimus watched the two astartes duel, if one could call such sparing with no rules a duel.  While neither was out to harm to other, it was far separated from the ritualized bouts of the imperial nobility.  Other than the varied weapons, it looked like descriptions he had heard of the Feast of Blades where victory was the only goal.  It far more realistically resembled combat.

 

 

 

It reminded him of one of the earliest memories he retained, from his choosing, when the chosen hunters had to travel across half a continent to reach a dueling pit.  He had started with a primitive flint blade, handed to him.  Hundreds had started the quest and nearly five score hunters had entered those pits.  By that time, he had a simple spear and several throwing darts, others had entered with stone mauls, fighting claws made of alpha predator's teeth and even more exotic choices based on what they could salvage.  A dozen had been taken to the fortress monastery afterwards.   He had later learned that it had been considered an above average number of initiates.

[Necronaut]

After stowing his bolter and the bulkhead shears in his cell, Vesalius picked up two lasguns and sidled up next to Decimus to watch Orphiel and Svelk spar. He watched in silence for a time, admiring the dastardly swordplay of Orphiel matched against the brutal efficiency of Svelk. He turned to Decimus, smirked under his helmet, and mirroring their earlier interaction, thrust one of the lasguns into the devastator's crossed arms.

 

+Would you care to join me for a bit of firing practice, Decimus?+

Edited May 17, 2021 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The cudgel came in high in response, with the knife swooping in to disembowel.

 

Svelk was fighting in combat response to the threat, and Orphiel took the angelic blade in both hands to stop the otherwise vicious blow to the head.  He would weather the gut strike as the Emperor willed.

 

Reaction: Parry

WS 46 +10 (Balanced) = 56

D100: 39 Pass (Axe Rake blocked)

 

The combat knife slashed past his abdominal plate, possibly thrown off by the rebuff of the attack from above - even though strong, there was force in it; the discipline was apparent.  Whatever Orphiel had believed before was amended, and he was grateful for it.

 

As he stepped and wheeled, he noticed Vasalius and Decimus equip themselves.  He couldn't spot Kai or the Librarian yet.

 

+A fine move,+ he offered, approval in his stance.  He brought his blade to guard position, letting Svelk lead the dance a moment, to test how well Zachariah's sword balanced in close defence. 

 

Full Action: Defensive Stance (+1 Reaction - Parry/Dodge)

[Black Cohort]

"Only if you care to lose Apothecary."
 
Decimus took the lasgun, rapidly assessing it in his mind as he turned to target a bulkhead at the far end of the hold.
 
Lucius Pattern
single or burst fire
60 shot capacitor
no overcharge option
 
His shots seemed almost pulsed, alternating single and burst fire each shot every 6 seconds.  Each was deliberately aimed.

 

48 BS +20 Aiming

 

rolls

29

10

6

60

 

 

every shot had at least one hit on target.  The rapid pace caused the second burst to partially scatter off to the right.

 

"A surprisingly accurate weapon, pulls a bit to right in burst mode though."

[Beren]

With the brief pause in combat, Svelk laughs.

 

+You fight the same way you speak.+

 

Any momentum either one of them might have had been broken, and Orphiel now had his sword ready. Breaking his guard with bladework would be difficult...

 

The axe in his plows forwards. This time, instead of stopping, his entire body follows the blows as he hurls himself at Orphiel.

 

 

 

Half-action attack:

Axe-Rake-  25 (-20 for defensive stance)

1d100: 81 (5 DoF)

 

Half-action Knockdown (opposed strength check):

Strength- 66

1d100: 72 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

+You fight the same way you speak.+

 

Zachariah's blade thwarted the axe-rake, the flanged tip more than enough to make Svelk's strike alter at the shoulder, but the blade was not as much a concern as the Marine himself, hurled like a weapon behind it.

 

His mass lunged forwards, and the brute onslaught was a shoulder-barge to send Orphiel flying along with brazen laughter.

 

Orphiel leaned forward, into the buffet.

 

Strength: 66 (No mods)

D100: 66 Pass Plus 2 DoS (Unnat Str x 2)

I can't link to Roll A Die, or I would.   

 

As Svelk crashed unceremoniously to the deck in his gambit, Orphiel retired smartly.

Full Action: Disengage.

 

A flash of the blade in the light announced his salute to the fallen Assault Marine, before the weapon buried once more in the scabbard.  He carefully approached Svelk and held his hand out to assist the warrior to stand, the silence a better reply than anything he could offer.

[Beren]

Svelk glares at the outstretched hand, irritation seething through him. He lets it seethe, and go no further. He takes the outstretched gauntlet and hauls himself to his feet, before glancing over to where the Devastator and Apothecary practiced their markmanship. Then he turns back to Orphiel.

 

"At the armoury, you acted as if you had chosen your sword for a reason that was more than mere pragmatism. As if you recognised it. It is of some significance to you?"

[Mazer Rackham]

"At the armoury, you acted as if you had chosen your sword for a reason that was more than mere pragmatism. As if you recognised it. It is of some significance to you?"

 

Only the truth would do after the bout.  Well, mostly truth.

 

He hoped that as the anger bled from the assault marine, some small bridge could be formed.  Ghoran had a point, and a wise man once said that no man was an island.  A wiser man claimed that it was possible, as long as the man was an archipelago.

 

+I recognised it, yes, but it is not mine.  It belonged to a...disgraced warrior.  He served the Iron Gods until my arrival, loyal only to himself,+ he looked Svelk in the eye, hoped he was understood, the look passing through the azure crystal lenses of the Maximus helm.  +I hope to repurpose it.+

 

He broke contact to regard the axe-rake, letting a smile come.  +Your blade and style are unorthodox, yet practical.  Where did you learn the technique?+

Edited May 18, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Vesalius raised the lasgun to his shoulder and took aim at the bulkhead adjacent to where Decimus had fired. However, he had difficulty adjusting to the lack of weight of the lasgun as opposed to his trusty bolter, and he clumsily fired across the hall, most of his shots flying wide of his intended target, save for the first couple.

 

+Infernal contraption! How in the blazes do Guard forces defend any Imperial holdings with these?!+

 

Full aim + SAB

Target 78 = 48 (WS ) + 20 (aim) + 10 (SAB)

Semi-auto Burst: 1d100 69

 

Full aim + single shot

Target 68 = 48 (WS ) + 20 (aim) + 0 (single shot)

Single shot: 1d100 89

 

Full aim + single shot

Target 68 = 48 (WS ) + 20 (aim) + 0 (single shot)

Single shot: 1d100 41

 

Full aim + SAB

Target 78 = 48 (WS ) + 20 (aim) + 10 (SAB)

Semi-auto Burst: 1d100 97

 

[Black Cohort]

Decimus carefully takes the lasgun from the Apothecary before he hurts someone with it accidentally.

 

"Sadly many guardsmen would kill for such a weapon.  The Lords of the Imperium have squandered the legacy the Emperor left for them, too many are so concerned with their own power that they will let entire worlds burn if it advances their personal station.  Without Astartes to bleed and die for them, the Imperium would have fallen long ago.  And we haven't even gotten to the Inquisition yet."

[Necronaut]

Vesalius nodded ruefully as the lasgun was taken from him. He paused for a moment considering his words carefully, and replied, +A craftsman should not blame the tools provided to him. Your groupings were excellent, as expected. My time spent in plumbing the mysteries of the medical arts have caused me to neglect my weapons training, perhaps. I am, as mortals might say, "rusty."+

 

The apothecary stared down the length of their ad hoc firing range, as if lost in thought for a few moments. The devastator had just spoken more words in one stretch than Vesalius had heretofore believed him capable. He turned back to Decimus and then said, +It is the nature of man to corrupt that which he touches, that which he strives to hold dear. Were it also not for Astartes, the Imperium might not be in its current state of decrepitude, nor old Terra endeavouring to turn away the flensing knife. We are lost sons to the Imperium and its legacy, and they shall take no more from us. Now, return that firearm, that I might atone for my laxity. A chirurgeon must be a master of his implements.+

 

He held out his hand for the lasgun to begin his penitent firing drills.

Edited May 18, 2021 by Necronaut

[Beren]

He killed the previous owner? Well, that would explain Ghoran's remark. Orphiel still hadn't grown any less... slippery, with his words. Still, Svelk would not puch him on that for now.

 

Svelk looks down at his weapon, twisting it round to re-examine it.

 

+Necessity. Chainswords need power, and frequent maintenance. Not as good at forcing airlocks open or hooking onto the hull to stop you falling into the void. There weren't many duellists where I came from. Just dead voiders and living ones.+

[Mazer Rackham]

Everything fell into place.  No wasted words, no wasted weight.  The dangerous, practical necessity of living where life or death was measured in binary response of act or die.  The axe rake was not dissimilar to the Space Wolves' preference for axes, on their icy mountains and treacherous, Fenrisian slopes.  His cousins, ensconced in their asteroid, would find common ground with this warrior.

 

And of course, he was right - knives never ran out of ammunition.

 

It also explained Svelk's anger at Achard's withholding information.  Voidfarers despised the unknown, because it would kill them.

 

+I think I understand,+ he nodded at the Assault Marine.  +Thank you for the bout, it helped me to learn the blade.+  And you, he didn't add.  He wondered if he should warn Svelk his body language was a telegraph to a trained observer, but held his tongue - they weren't close enough for that.

 

He straightened up, surveying the uncontrolled photonic-carnage the Apothecary had wrought.  +Shall we try the lasguns, and see if we can do better than Vesalius?+

 

It would bring him closer to Decimus, whose half-heard comment about the Inquisition had not escaped his notice.  Thankfully, his instincts prevented any great show of attention.  An interrogator never showed interest in anything of import.

[Black Cohort]

Decimus returned the lasgun to the apothecary.

 

"perhaps take a few paces closer to the target.  To reduce the risk of stray shots affecting our quarters."

 

He paused to consider the apothecary's response.

 

"There is some truth to what you say, but how often is the Imperium on the offensive.  Even the Astartes chapters, technically independent from the authority of the lords of the imperium are mostly forced to fight defensive battles protecting a smaller and smaller portion of the galaxy."

[Necronaut]

Vesalius nodded, walking a few paces closer to the opposing bulkhead. He took aim and fired off three volleys of las-fire in measured bursts, each solidly and accurately impacting their target down range.

 

 

TN 70 = 40 (BS) + 20 (full aim) + 10 (SAB)

Semi-auto Burst: 1d100 27

 

Semi-auto Burst: 1d100 56

 

Semi-auto Burst: 1d100 55

 

 

+You are right, these do pull to the right when fired on burst mode.+

 

Vesalius turned the weapon over in his hands, inspecting it from barrel to stock. He measured his words before responding to Decimus, +The Crusades are an eon in the past, Decimus, and the legions were shattered to prevent another Heresy event. Great powers typically prey upon weak, easy targets when they are like the Imperium we have left behind.+

 

He continued, adopting a more clinical tone, +The Imperium is a blighted, cancerous beast, riddled with tumors, thanks to the works of small-minded bureaucrats. The question we must ask ourselves now, regarding our new master is this: is Talek Varn another tumor gobbling up its host, or is he the chirurgeon's scalpel carving away diseased flesh to preserve some portion of the corpus?+

Edited May 18, 2021 by Necronaut