To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Black Cohort]

decimus pivots slightly, pauses for a brief moment to ensure he wasn't hitting another member of the kill team, then fires a tight burst into the upper half of the Celestine in her warsuit.  Her wards would not be able to stop all the rounds.

 

The fire can wait, only in death does duty end.

 

BS53 +20 Full Auto +10 Half action aim +30 point blank range +10 hulking target - 10 weather -20 shooting into melee = 93, roll is a 16 so all 6 hit

 

all Pen 5

hit 1, body, 18 damage

hit 2, body, 20 damage

hit 3, arm, 22 damage

hit 4, head, righteous fury, 30 damage

hit 5, arm, 21 damage

hit 6 body, righteous fury, 30 damage

[Lysimachus]

Round 3 Summary Cont:

 

[x] Decimus:

FAB at Theodora. 6 Hits.

Dodge used.

Hit 1 (Body): 18 -AV6(11-Pen5) -TB8 = 4 Wounds.

hit 2 (Body): 20 -AV6(11-Pen5) -TB8 = 6 Wounds.

hit 3 (Arm): 22 -AV4(9-Pen5) -TB8 = 10 Wounds.

hit 4 (Head): 30 -AV4(9-Pen5) -TB8 = 18 Wounds.

hit 5 (Arm) :21 -AV4(9-Pen5) -TB8 = 9 Wounds.

hit 6 (Body): 30 -AV6(11-Pen5) -TB8 = 16 Wounds.

 

SoF(30) saves: 38,09,16,72,22,93. Hits 2, 3 and 5 saved. 21 Wounds and 10+ Critical suffered. Canoness Theodora is defeated!

 

Round 3 ends.

 

+++STRUCTURED TIME ENDS+++

 

 

Even the Emperor himself cannot protect a person from having a heavy bolter shoved against their ribs and fired continuously. Canoness Theodora, readying a massive overhand sword blow intended for the centre of Odysseus' helm, is blasted back from the still-burning Devastator and his companions. The beautiful Paragon Warsuit, shooting sparks from twisted armour plates and torn fibre-bundles, topples back down the Convent steps with a loud crash. In the sudden silence, sacred oils and blood begin to drip into the thin layer of snow.

 

The Traveller quietly orders Odysseus and Decimus to assist the rest of the Kill-Team at the other end of the bridge. No one else is currently nearby.

 

@Traveller: The Canoness is dying. Her face, revealed as you lift the visor of her helm so you can interrogate her more effectively, is pale from blood loss but alert. Undoubtedly her armour, similar to your own in many ways, has dispensed a rush of powerful painkillers and stimulants that are keeping her conscious and cogent. They will not be sufficient to save her, but should leave her capable of answering your questions. Perhaps more talkative too, given the strength of the painkillers.

 

Without any words you display the holographic image of him, the enemy, the destroyer, the root cause of every ill that has befallen you in decades. Theodora looks up in momentary confusion.

 

"Inquisitor Carafa...?" she whispers.

 

"Where can I find him?"

 

Comprehension dawns slowly in her dilated eyes and she smiles cruelly.

 

"Ah, you were there, weren't you…? What was it, forty years ago? The Inquisitor is beyond your feeble desire for vengeance, traitor... Whatever they said about him, he now sits at the Emperor's right hand."

 

He sits at...? Questions flash in your mind.

 

"Carafa is dead? 'They'? What did 'they' say about him?"

 

"Fifteen years past, fool!" she sneers. "Excommunicated and executed by the order of the 'noble' Sacratii Conclave, accused of radicalism and exceeding his Inquisitorial mandate."

 

Theodora grimaces, though whether it is due to physical pain or the thought of this judgement is unclear. Her armour seems to be struggling to compensate any longer for her grievous wounds.

 

"They were wrong," she spits. "Weak-willed imbeciles, unable to do the things that had to be done. Every verdict Lord Carafa handed down was deserved... a righteous sentence... against filthy heretics!"

 

Her vision seems to blur momentarily and her voice weakens. She is fading fast, but her contempt is still clear in her final words.

 

"He was... proven right... about the treachery... of your Chapter, at least. Just... look... at... you..."

 

***

 

Please feel free to add any narrative you wish of finishing off the remnants of the Sororitas at the far end of the bridge (or for the Traveller, I guess any thought/response to Theodora's final words?). Then I will move us on to the morning and the final scene on this world.

[Commissar Molotov]

Placeholder

[Machine God]

Squad Alpha

 

Draak's arms pushed down on the snowy rock, like twin pistons he was pushed whilst his legs pumped into a charge of fury.

 

From his view he could see Decimus and The Traveller obliterate Theodora in a miasma from blade and heavy bolts.

 

Draak's calculus sorted out the threats to the squad. Ithan's plate was damaged and he was beset by two Sisters of Battle, yet the greater threat came from the Rhino's.

 

Draak stowed Grendel by mag-locking him to the top of his backpack, he then charged for the bridge and the Immolator. As he charged the nanites in his blood reacted to the wounds that he'd sustained and some damage was healed.

 

Draak scrabbled up the snowy ruins of the bridge walls, up onto the bridge and past the lead Rhino before he came to a halt halfway along the flank of the Immolator.

 

Contemptuously he threw a Krak Grenade at the back of the Rhino and casually ignored its destruction as he unlocked Grendel and walked to the rear of the Immolator.

 

Draak then unloaded Grendel into the rear of the Immolator. Draak watched as Grendel's teeth put the abused STC to rest in the eyes of the Omnissiah of Mars.

 

Bolter Assault: Free Action: Mag-lock Grendel.

Free Action: Spend 1 FP to heal 3 Wounds.

Half Action: Charge to Immolator and climb bridge.

AGL44 +0 (Ordinary) - 10 (Weather) - 20 (Fatigue): 14. Result: 02, Pass.

Half Action: Throw Krak Grenade at Rhino 1.

BS52 - 20 (Fatigue) + 20 (Enormous) - 10 (Weather) + 10 (Close Range) = 52. Result: 49, Pass. Damage: 3d10+4, Pen 6 Vs AP20 (20 - 6 = 14). 10 + 6 + 5 + 6RF + 4 = 31 - 14 = 17 SI.

 

Free Action: Walk 4m to back of the Immolator.

Full Action: Full Automatic Burst Vs Immolator.

BS52 - 20 (Fatigue) + 20 (Enormous) + 30 (Point Blank Range) + 5 (Traveller's Path) = 87. Result = 42, Pass 4DoS.

Damage:1d10+12, Pen 5 Vs AP20 ( 20 - 15 = 15)

Hit 1: (9, 3) 9 + 12 = 21 - 15 = 6 Damage

Hit 2: (9, 3) 9 + 12 = 21 - 15 = 6 Damage

Hit 3: (6, 3) 6 + 12 = 18 - 15 = 3 Damage

Hit 4: (10 + 4RF, 6) 14 + 12 = 26 - 15 = 11 Damage

Hit 5: (3, 10 + 4RF) 14 + 12 = 26 - 15 = 11 Damage

Total Damage = 37 SI

 

(Edit: typo)

Edited December 30, 2021 by Machine God

[Beren]

Snarling in pain, Svelk swung down with axe-rake, again, and again, and again. Each time she jerked away so that it only glanced off her helm or pauldrons. FInally he swung his knife clutching fist into an uppercut, punching the Sororitas away from him. She staggered for a moment, then collapsed. Apparently the blood loss had finally proven too much for her.

 

He noted, that though he was now an exposed target, there were no bolter shells exploding off his armour. The battlefield was full of broken corpses. Radago, the one with many blades, had lept into furious comabt with the enemy footsoldiers. Across the bridge, other squad members were weaving their way past broken vehicles to approach their end - Svelk let out a sigh as he saw Draak lay wantom waste to yet more seizable vehicles. At least Brynjarr seemed of a closer mind to his own. The armour frame of the fanatic's leader lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs and the Traveller... why was the Traveller showing her a hologram? There was something... different, in his demeanour, the way he held himself, compared to normal. Even more focused if possible.

 

Turning again, Svelk bites back laughter, for he sees Orphiel, whose sly blade so deftly overcame him in that practice bout all those weeks ago, beset by a simalar issue as he was facing a few moments ago.

 

"Need a hand, Orpheil?" 

 

His voice, though dry is laden with amusement. He's still stepping past the Rhino though, weapons drawn, just in case.

[Mazer Rackham]

"Need a hand, Orphiel?"

 

Svelk sparked wry amusement to the surface, and help offered was not to be squandered.  Only the foolish turned it away, but he wasn't going to ask outright.

 

++You have two hands, my friend, and here they will find employment!++

[Machine God]

Squad Alpha

 

Like an ashen faced figure of legend, Draak strode through wreckage and smoke of the two Rhino hulks. Smoke mixed with sleet fell over Eisen as Draak stomped forwards to assist Ithan in his fight. Draak welcomed the application of black to his armour, even though he knew that it would only be temporary.

 

Exiting the carnage Draak smiled. Ithan the mangled Techmarine was still very much alive, he'd despatched the remnants of the Dominion Squad that he had been facing.

 

+Vesalius check your HUD, I think Ithan could do with a spot of help!+ stated Draak +care to assist him with some Battlefield Surgery?+

 

(Edit: Added to narrative)

Edited December 30, 2021 by Machine God

[Necronaut]

It was over, finally. The Seraphim all lay still, and Vesalius stood among their prone bodies breathing hard, only slightly injured himself. Gone was the calm, professional medical officer, replaced now by a bloody-handed slayer. Had been in a different frame of mind, he might have admired the tenacity and skillful swordplay of the Seraphim, but this had been a savage and hateful contest for supremacy, not an honor duel or training bout. The blood of the fallen pooled at his feet: an unwitting offering for the amusement only of the galaxy's cruel, thirsting gods. He knelt beside the last he had slain, her eyes staring madly up into the clouds as snowflakes settled upon her blind irises. He wiped his blade clean upon her tabard, sheathed it, and stared at her for a time before standing again. The narcotic effect of the bloodletting was starting to fade and his higher order faculties were slowly returning to him. He watched himself move, as if in a dream, as he knelt to retrieve Trypanon from where it had fallen. His gauntlets were still dripping with the Sororitas' blood, and some smeared onto the boltgun's jet casing. He secured the boltgun over his shoulder and gazed out at the scene of destruction before him. He had no memory of the din that should have accompanied the vicious fire-fight that had played out below him - once he had begun his dance of death with the Seraphim, he had existed in a world in which the only noises were their shrill cries of anguish and the sound of blood thundering in his ears. Now silence had settled over the convent again, and he gripped the snow dappled parapets with gore-stained gauntlets to steady himself as his inner predator resubmerged itself in its dark waters.

 

The silence, however, was short-lived. Vox chatter roused him further and he once again became aware of the blinking runes signifying the health-states of his squad-mates, each of which took on meaning once again. His duties as a healer had been completely forgotten in the frantic and brutal melee that had taken place atop the convent's battlements. He could see two grey-clad figures, Svelk and Orphiel were their names, across the crevasse finishing off the last of the Sororitas that stood athwart the outer wall. Other names drifted back to him: Draak, Decimus, Radago, Odysseus, Brynjarr, Ithan, the Traveller. Kill-Team Cutlass. There were various burns, lacerations, impact wounds and other assorted traumas to go around, but none were life-threatening, at least not for the time being. He would have his work cut out for him.

 

The Traveller. That name caught his attention. Vesalius looked down to see the Traveller kneeling over the now-prone form of the leader of the Sororitas - Cannoness… that was her title - speaking through blood-flecked lips, and the Traveller was displaying the holographic image of some wizened human. He could just make out snippets of their conversation.

 

Perception Test (Hearing)

Per48 + 10 (Heightened Senses) + 15 (Mark VI Power Armor Auto-senses) + 5 (Traveller): 78

Perception test: 1d100 37

37 - success, 4 DoS

 

The name Carafa drifted up to him. Inquisitor. Deceased. Treachery. Chapter. So that was why the Traveller reived for Talek Varn, perhaps. Though this was no mere quest for revenge - this was something deeper, more sinister by far, especially if the Inquisition were involved. His eyes narrowed, seeing the Traveller's assortment of charms again as if for the first time. All were Ecclesiarchal talismans. The hatred radiating from the man was palpable, even to one not gifted with the witch-sight. He watched and listened for a time, before Draak’s voice crackled over the vox, breaking his concentration, +Vesalius check your HUD, I think Ithan could do with a spot of help! Care to assist him with some Battlefield Surgery?+

 

Vesalius scowled down at the devastator and snapped back, +My duties have not been forgotten, Draak! I am en route to your position, Ithan.+

 

Medicae (First Aid) Tests for injured members of Cutlass

Int52 + 20 (Narthecium) + 10 (Diagnostor Helm) + 10 (Talented: Medicae): 92

Medicae (first aid): 8#1d100 25 18 8 35 40 87 47 71

25, 18, 08, 35, 40, 87, 47, 71

 

Wounds Healed: Int5x2 (Narthecium) + 1d5 (Enhanced Healing)

 

Enhanced Healing: 8#1d5 1 5 2 2 1 3 2 5

1, 5, 2, 2, 1, 3, 2, 5

 

Traveller: 25 - success; heals 10 + 1 = 11 wounds

 

Draak: 18 - success; heals 10 + 5 = 15 wounds

 

Odysseus: 08 - success; heals 10 + 2 = 12 wounds

 

Vesalius: 35 - success; heals 10 + 2 = 12 wounds

 

Radago: 40 - success; heals 10 + 1 = 11 wounds

 

Ithan: 87 - success; heals 10 + 3 = 13 wounds

 

Svelk: 47 - success; heals 10 + 2 = 12 wounds

 

Decimus: 71 - success; heals 10 + 5 = 15 wounds

Edited January 2, 2022 by Necronaut

[Trokair]

With a selfreprimanding sigh Brynjarr begun to incant mantras of remembrance, intending to bring forth clearer memories of the operations of the RH1N0. The memories where old, buried under the weight of the accursed moon as so much of his former life, but they were there to be dredged up with patience and will. The middle of a fight however was not a suitable time. Rising, both out of the driver’s seat and the well of memory, he headed for the side door to rejoin the fight on foot when a glance out of the forwards viewport showed Draak riddling the immolator with lethal holes, and the HUD feed updates from the others showed that the battle was drawing to a swift close.

 

Satisfied that his help was not required after all he returned to the drives cabin for another attempt, a salvaged RH1N0 could be a great asset.

 

Pushing past layers and decades of memory back to the early day, back aboard the fleet in one of the giant training hangers, into RH1N0 ALAPC234 where they had been though the history and sacred operation and maintenance of the honoured vehicles that served alongside them.

 

Entranced he begun operating the controls, Ths sisters had clearly done more than just decorate their RH1N0 into oblivion. Tampering with its very core and the resident machine spirit to better fit their ideals. Purging amended protocols, restoring STC mandated base settings, the machine spirit should be as good as Forge fresh.

 

 

Indeed, once Brynjarr resurfaced fully to battle awareness the RH1N0 was moving.

 

 

Backwards!

 

 

Halting the RH1N0 he spotted Draak approaching, here to help. Once the devastator had soothed the RH1N0’s spirit in his way Brynjarr engaged the engines once more, and this time all seemed to function as intended, the control readout where in the green, the tracks conveying it forwards once more.

 

 

++This RH1N0 will need more attention, and a thorough airing to dispel the incense, but it should serve us if we can transport it up to the Dagger.++

Edited December 31, 2021 by Trokair

[Machine God]

Squad Alpha

 

After being healed by Vesalius, Draak stayed with Ithan. "That axe of yours is quite a piece of quality enginseering!" said Draak.

 

Draak winced as from down the bridge he heard the captured Rhino misfire three of its four engines and emit great black clouds of smoke. Also could be heard the grinding of metal on metal. "Excuse me Ithan, I think that Brynjarr needs a hand with his driving."

 

Draak walked towards the captured Rhino, as he did so he passed Svelk. "I can feel your eyes on me Assault Marine" said Draak. "The Immolator was still a high priority threat with its intact and crewed Heavy Flamer. As for the Rhino, well the shrapnel from the explosion probably helped kill the Dominion Squad that were fighting Ithan. Anyway there's a fifth Rhino about that didn't make it on to the bridge. If you will excuse me, I seek to aid Brynjarr in his endeavours!"

 

"Brother Brynjarr, relax. We want to capture this Rhino intact and not with a load of smooth gearwheels and a broken transmission!" stated Draak with authority in his voice "Relax! I can help" Draak laid his bionic hand on top of each engine in turn and each time he said "The soul of the Machine God surrounds thee. The power of the Machine God invests thee. The hate of the Machine God drives thee. The Machine God endows thee with life. Live!" stated Draak, after speaking the engines turned over properly. "Thus the Litany of Ignition has been spoken. Hail the Omnissiah!" shouted Draak, who made the sign of the cog with both hands.

 

"Brother Brynjarr, now you may try again" said Draak. "Relax. Although the Rites of Percussion are powerful, they can turn a Machine Spirit bellicose and it will fight you!"

 

(Edit:typo and changed some text)

Edited January 1, 2022 by Machine God

[Black Cohort]

"How many shuttles can we get to and from the Dagger, before drawing unwanted attention?  There is much within this fortress that the Iron Gods can either use or is valuable in trade."

[Xin Ceithan]

Ithan raises Kul‘zac in a whirring salute to the parting Draak  before clamping it across his back.

 

The Techmarine  grunts and curses under his breath as the movement reaches his injured shoulder. With his good  arm, he reproduces a flask from somewhereunder his smouldering robes, taking a deep drought, which he then spews out immediately. 
 

“Pffft.. warm as a piss. Bloody nuns ruined my drink.” He grimaces and laughs. “Good scrap, everybody! “ 

[Machine God]

++This RH1N0 will need more attention, and a thorough airing to dispel the incense, but it should serve us if we can transport it up to the Dagger++ Draak heard Brynjarr say over the Vox.

 

Draak recalibrated the Vox frequency.

 

+Yes, no doubt Techmarine Ithan and his skulls will take a look at it too. Tell me Brynjarr how did your mission go, were you successful?+

[Trokair]

++ Broadly yes.++

 

 

Stepping out of the RH1N0 and glancing skywards he continued.

 

++Though Holger is no doubt still in the process of drawing out the required lintel from Lang. Let’s hope he is done by the time we leave here, there is an Inquisitor on the hunt for the prize as well, or at least a laky of one, and they tend not to stray too far from their masters.++

 

Seeing Draak’s glance at the temporary repair work that cloaked Brynjarr’s armour he added.

 

++I lost an argument with the weather, and disagreed with a lake, nothing that cannot be undone with a bit of time and care, and maybe Ithan’s help.++

 

As an afterthought, and nodding in Orphiel direction. ++He's picked up a stray.++

 

 

Experimentally nudging a bit of broken masonry with his foot deeper into the half melted snow.

 

++So, Draak, how did a supply run end up in depopulating an entire convent?++   

[Machine God]

+Ha, ha+ laughed Draak +the halt in supplies was caused by a change of command.+

[Lysimachus]

The weak Viordan sun is rising over the mountains of Secundus, slowly and almost imperceptibly warming the frigid air to coolness.

 

The Convent House is a hive of activity. Crewmen from the Dagger Thrust are scurrying to and fro, loading munitions and other supplies into those Rhino hulls that could be salvaged. These are then driven across the bridge to the landing field, where the ship's shuttles ferry them up to low orbit and the cargo hold that has thus far served as your accommodations. Given how thoroughly the site is being looted, wherever you journey next it will be under somewhat cramped conditions! Even the bodies of the Sororitas, dead for only a few hours now, have been heaped together in a pile for scavenging tech-adepts to rummage through for ammo and useful components. The Iron Gods cannot afford to be wasteful.

 

The Kill-Team finds itself gathered on the main steps that they defended only hours before. Toks and Agnatha are there too, and Holger has joined you from the Dagger. Bobs is still out in the wilds somewhere, perhaps still watching over his long-time comrade from afar. Agnatha is clad in a simple acolyte's robe, taken from the stores within, and watches the ratings work with cold blue eyes. She looks weakened by her brief but terrible incarceration, but at the same time there is a strength to her, a stubborn, unyielding determination. Her voice is soft, tinged in equal amounts by old bitterness and the hope of new freedom.

 

"This is what should have happened the first time the Iron Gods came here. I should have insisted Varn take it all and make an end to it, rather than dragging it out over decades. It is better that there is nothing left."

 

Holger is cordial, his smile fixed in place, but its warmth does not reach his eyes.

 

"I am not sure my Lord Varn will approve of such a complete ending of his previous arrangement with you, Palatine… but I suppose the order of things in this place cannot ever go back to what it was. Either more of your former sisters will come, likely in far greater numbers, or maybe none will."

 

He pauses, perhaps thinking of Interrogator Jinsho's unknown 'Master'.

 

"Someone will be coming, however. Our actions will draw a substantial level of attention here, and I fear eventually upon you in particular... You could join us? I am sure my Lord would provide refuge, could find places within his organisation for people of your talents?"

 

Toks grins and replies in an equally quiet tone as Agnatha, though he seems more at peace.

 

"Plenty of the galaxy to see, if one has a mind to. And ways to get around it, if you know the right people. Got a few favours I can call in up at the Hive to get started. Might even know someone who can arrange some rejuvenat treatments. Didn't hold much appeal before, but…"

 

The aged veteran looks steadily at Agnatha and she looks back. Holger watches them for a moment, then shrugs and turns away. He looks around the Kill-Team, his eyes finally settling on the Traveller. The little man offers a respectful nod.

 

"My Lord Varn and Lord Degier suspected this day might mark the end of our association with you too, my lord?"

 

***

[Commissar Molotov]

The Traveller kneels, amidst the dust of Viorda Secundus and the spilled life-blood of the Canoness. It takes an exhalation to realise that his jaw is clenched, his hands balled into fists.

 

After a moment, he deactivates the hololith, reaching forward to grasp the Battle-Sister's jaw, tilting her head up.

 

"Look at me?" the words grate out of his helm.

 

His armoured gauntlet grips her by the throat, tightening inexorably. Whatever oaths, prayers or curses that she might have breathed remain caught forever in her crushed windpipe.

 

For the briefest of moments, before her eyes close forever, he does see a glimpse of his beaked helm and its blood-red stripe in them.

 

He places his hand on her armoured breastplate, the finger-tips pressed to her heart in a moment of contemplation - and perhaps even apology. He stands, a pulling motion wrenching a fleur-de-lys medallion from from the Canoness's suit, and turns to face the rising sun.

 

* * *

 

The Traveller stands inviolate as the Iron Gods' mortal servants begin to strip the convent-house, gathering the fuel for Talek Varn's conquests. As the rat-faced Holger approaches, the Astartes inclines his helm towards him.

 

"I will speak to Varn himself," he says.

 

As Holger begins to scurry away, the Traveller speaks once more.

 

"Holger. You will ensure that all of the Battle-Sisters are treated respectfully and laid to rest."

[Beren]

Svelk cocks his head as he regards the two broken corpses lying before him. They, he, and everything in their immediate surroundings are swathed in shadow. The walls of the chasm stretch up far above, where he can just about make out the bridge that is no doubt scurrying with the activity of the Dagger's crew - and his squadmates. 

 

He shakes his head as he considers them. Some are wasteful, yes, but they're all good killers. None have yet given him reason to doubt their intentions. Not yet.

 

Achard's men will be effcient in salvaging what was left for them up there, but Svelk doubted it would even occur to them to look down here, so that responsobility fell to him. His kills, his salvage. All the loose weapons and ammuntion is already stacked besides them, he can ferry them up with some effort, but there's still more to be had. Not that most of the armour could normally be removed without specialised aid anyway, let alone after the damage they've taken.

 

So, to work then.

 

If anyone above were paying particularly close attention, they might note that from the cavern below faint sounds drifted. The sounds of metal hacking on metal, sometimes metal hacking on flesh.

Edited January 1, 2022 by Beren

[Necronaut]

Vesalius watched as the grey-suited rats, red-robed vultures and other carrion-feeders from the Dagger Thrust went about their business, scouring any and all salvageable goods from the fallen and from the convent at large. The fortress had briefly been silent and empty as a tomb, its cavernous halls a grim monument to the crushing failure of its former inhabitants. Now it was crawling with the reclamation crew, who scurried back and forth between the convent and the transport ships like insects bringing sustenance back to their hive. He mused with a wry smile that even the nails, nuts and bolts holding the place together would likely be taken by Captain Achard's scavengers.

 

He turned his attention back to the medical data being fed into his HUD. Despite their disparate genetic lineages, he noted with no small amount of satisfaction that all of his charges had responded in exemplary fashion to his ministrations, and had fully recovered from their various wounds, albeit with new scars to tell the tale. He was most impressed by the techmarine, Ithan, who had taken a melta blast at close range, as most subjects on the receiving end of such a weapon, be they Astartes or otherwise, rarely lived to tell the tale. He was looking forward to conducting a thorough inspection and tear-down of the pain-engine hulk they had recovered alongside his skull-adorned colleague once they had brought the wreck back to the Crag.

 

Vesalius' dark eyes held the two humans who stood amongst the Astartes, Toks and Agnatha, assessing them whilst Holger and the Traveller spoke. The ratling, Bobs, was still out in the field, but he suspected the little man would soon heed his master's call to be quit of the worthless rock that was Viorda Secundus. There was no sense in continuing to eke out a bleak existence in such a backwater when there was a whole galaxy worth of new horizons to disappear into. He entered a note to himself in his personal log to arrange a comprehensive medical examination of the trio once back on the Dagger Thrust. Very comprehensive.

 

Better to leave nothing to chance.

Edited January 1, 2022 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Draak had used the downtime carefully cleaning his armour with fresh snow. Whilst assisting the crew with the reclamation of gear from the Chapel he espied Orphiel, who was in quiet contemplation.

 

"So swordsman, it seems that your hunt too was a success" said Draak "Brynjarr told me that you have acquired a Pet?"

[Lysimachus]

Holger frowns, somewhat surprised by the Traveller's kindness towards his fallen enemies. The little man's eyes narrow. Is the motive for this largesse guilt over their deaths? Unlikely. Or perhaps by their deaths they have paid for their crimes and earned his forgiveness? Equally dubious. Finally he shrugs and nods. It is none of his concern.

 

"Of course, my lord. The items we require will be taken, but the bodies themselves will be given a warrior's due of respect. Perhaps we can ask the Palatine regarding the appropriate rituals?"

 

He pauses again, looking… pensive? The demand to return and speak to Varn directly appears to worry him. Finally he continues.

 

"As to the first, Lord Varn sent you out to find the Pride of Kings... I have never seen him respond well to a task unfinished. But… perhaps it is not unreasonable to return home first? The Dagger's hold is full to bursting with supplies that are sorely needed by your brethren. And he might prefer to speak with Lieutenant Lang himself…"

 

Holger makes no further comment, obeying the orders he has been given. With Lang in your custody, there is no longer any hurry in seeking the legendary ship, for the former Naval officer is the only one who knows its supposed location. There is time to retreat to safer stars, time to repair and rearm before returning to continue the search.

 

You can only hope that Talek Varn agrees with this logic.

 

***

 

It takes another week to make the return journey back across the Kharidys Sector and enter the southern reaches of the Solios Nebula. Quarters are cramped, but the time you have spent warring together has made each other's company tolerable… perhaps in some cases, even enjoyable?

 

It is to the Elysium station you go, for Varn has apparently remained there throughout your mission. However, he has clearly not wasted this time, for Von Caeryd's former home is much different from the place you left a little over two weeks ago. While no still comparison to the Crag itself, the number and layout of Elysium's defences have been greatly improved, a much more daunting prospect for an invader than it was when the original members of Kill-Team Cutlass came here - and it was no easy target then. In addition to the Strike Cruiser Avarice, several more mismatched grey and red vessels float in the void. Light cruisers and escorts, including the familiar blocky shapes of Gladius-class frigates. Beyond them a substantial field of orbital mines extends in all directions.

 

When the Dagger Thrust is permitted through the defences, docked, and the unloading of the Sororitas supplies is begun, you are summoned. Not to Varn's staterooms, but to the wide, tall chamber where some of you first met Von Caeryd and fought against his hordes of followers. A far more capable force waits for you there this time.

 

Varn and Degier stand on the raised area at the rear. Below them, on either side of the hall, are dozens of Astartes. There must be at least fifty, nearly half of all the warriors Varn can command. Warriors. Killers. They stand, garbed in full battle dress and armed likewise, looking with flat eyes at your Kill-Team. Are they waiting to face you, to destroy you? The differences between them are highlighted, gathered as they are. Various marks of powered armour, weapons of disparate styles and patterns, faces of every possible variant of the human genome. Honour badges, tokens and teeth and trinkets. But somehow it is not the differences that stand out. It is their unity.

 

Old Ghoran is there, standing near the centre before his master. Slowly he raises his fist, the one not encased in a monstrous powered gauntlet, and clenches it tight. Then he brings it down against his armoured breast with a great clang. Again. Again. As he does, the other Astartes begin to imitate his example, including Varn and Degier themselves. A few begin to whoop and holler their approbation. This din continues for several minutes. Finally Talek Varn raises his fist high in the air and silence falls. His words roar out, proud and firm.

 

"Welcome home, Iron Gods!"

 

***

[Black Cohort]

Unlike the last time they were before Varn, Decimus retains his armour, combat blade and bolt pistol when they are moving about the station.  It seems a place that even an astartes might not be safe to travel un-armed or armoured.  It may not even be wise to travel alone.

 

He had spent much of the voyage back in isolation, the out of combat funk still troubling him.

Edited January 2, 2022 by Black Cohort

[Ancient_Sobek]

The bodies littered the ground around him, their forms mangled and rent. He stood in their midst silent and still. Blood coated him from head to toe casting his grey armor in crimson hues. He could feel the drip…drip…drip of the precious fluid as it trickled from the tips of his arms.

 

So much blood, so much of it his own. He had not survived the ordeal unscathed, but he had survived. The time since they set off on their mission was a red-soaked blur. He struggled to recall most of it. When his war-sprit was upon him it was like he was was outside himself. His body working on auto-pilot as he cut a bloody path through his foes.

 

What clawed at the back of his mind was the witch-kind and how he had gripped his mind.

 

 

    You have... fallen... far. You are a traitor.

 

To be enslaved to another mind.

 

    You all deserve to die. Traitors must die.

To hear that voice echoing through your soul.

 

    End each other's misery. Traitors must die. Kill each other.

 

He saw his blade arc towards his squad mates…his brothers. HIs mine had screamed in relief and frustration simultaneously as Brynjarr had turned aside his blow with his boarding shield.

 

He had felt helpless. He had felt vulnerable. He had felt… weak.

 

+++++

 

Radago’s attention snapped back to the present as the sound of fists beating on plastron’s filled the room. He took in the warriors before him the brothers that had taken him in. It had been so long since he had felt a part of something, part of a team, part of a brotherhood. Yet a feeling gnawed at the base of his thoughts. Would he be stronger in the days to come, or would he betray them again. He whispered a pray to Zhoteg for strength and guidance. But in his cold dead heart he was afraid of the answer he would find.

 

 

 

 

 

Death would be a kindness. Traitors must die.

[Mazer Rackham]

"So swordsman, it seems that your hunt too was a success" said Draak "Brynjarr told me that you have acquired a Pet?"

 

The silence of the great void below the parapet was gently broken by the Devastator.  It was interesting that the normally brash and bold heavy gunner could interact in such a moderate way.  Perhaps the din of battle satisfied those urges?  He'd noticed that Decimus seemed a little twitchy after the kill-stimulation had faded.  In reply to Draak's faint praise, Orphiel gave a shallow bow.

 

His thoughts turned to the subject at hand, and Matthias.  It elicited another sigh before he spoke.

 

+Your enemies were no match for you, Gunner.  An impressive tally over a sturdy foe,+  he let a heartbeat pass, the mild flutter of annoyance Brynjarr should so easily spill secrets, quashed ruthlessly.  He had to remember he no longer resided among kin.

 

+A pet?  No, brother, just a liability.+  Orphiel turned, nodding to the Ironclad Marine beside him as his mind slid into quiet again.  Just a liability.

 

++++++++++++++++++

 

The return journey was cramped, but he didn't mind so much.  It prevented people moving about, even the adventurous mortal youngling, who ceased his primate swinging from web-cradles and guy-ropes harnessing the stolen equipment, to strap himself into the acceleration seats when his stomach caught up with what his idiot head was doing.  He was agile though, and adaptable, Orphiel noted.  He might live long enough to die under Vesalius' blades yet.

 

The prison scum called surgeons "Skinners" and with good reason.  Taking one look at Vesalius' spike would need no second opinion.  The apothecary had tended to the others, but left him alone.  It wasn't his fault, Orphiel was the last to wander across the bridge, thanking Svelk for his timely intervention, before letting him go ahead of him to...wherever Svelk went.  He didn't see much of either of them for the trip.  He sat near a porthole, with one of his trusty tomes, the stars going by without, his mind distracted within, the harmony of silence restored.

 

++++++++++++++++++

"Welcome home, Iron Gods!"

 

Thunder crashed against his faceplate in successive waves, the sound of rough and ready warrior's approbation.  Holger The Spy had warned of Varn's temper, but in truth, what else could have been done?  Orphiel moved his eyes behind his lenses, the visor and autosenses more than enough to catch the scene.  He felt nothing for this display, it aroused no sense of victory, no stirring of camaraderie.  The once-opulence of this place had been turned into something militaristic and brutish, and whilst certainly in keeping with not only the Iron Gods, and Space Marines in general, it was...concerning.

 

Now Varn had another redoubt.  How many more would follow?  How many would be raised with the bounty from the Pride of Kings? He kept his thoughts tight, contained, partitioned.  He hadn't missed Degier, and Odysseus was close by as well.  The encounter with Jinsho had helped to solidify his mental defences, make him more mindful.

 

Even so, this display warranted some kind of appropriate response.  His lips twisted into a wry smile as he slowly drew Zachariah's Steel, grasping the blade beneath the cross-guard, to show he did not draw in threat, and responded directly to the Pirate Lord, pressing the hilt to his slightly bowed forehead in salute, not to Kill Team Cutlass' victory, but Talek Varn's.

 

He wondered if any of the Marines around him even suspected they were just tools.

[Necronaut]

They had been underway for less than a day when Vesalius contacted Holger. They were scant hours away from Viorda Prime and time was running short. The Dagger Thrust's medical facilities were spartan, but had proven quite adequate for his purposes. The ongoing treatments necessary for the more heavily wounded members of Cutlass had been completed, and now it was time to move onto other matters.

 

+Mister Holger, Vesalius. Send our guests from Viorda Secundus to the med-bay. One at a time, 60 minutes apart. I'll see the woman first. Standard medical screening, you understand?+

 

+++

 

Vesalius hummed tunelessly to himself while he worked. The drug he had concocted was quite potent, leaving the subject completely paralysed but fully conscious and aware of their surroundings. Agnatha had received the first dose, and she had been placed under obersvation for the following half hour to ensure she did not experience anaphylactic shock. Satisfied that she was stable, he secured her on an operating table and waited for his next patient. To his delight, Toks had been next to enter his lair. Now he was laid out, secured to an adjacent bed while the apothecary worked, watching the ceiling nervelessly as his captor visited horrors upon him.

 

At length, Vesalius spoke while he paused to examine his efforts, "I assure you, human, it's truly better this way. Either you came to me, or the Inquisition would have eventually found you. You might have deluded yourselves into happiness for a time, but those miserable wretches are among the best at finding people and learning all of their little secrets. And we couldn't allow that to happen, now could we?" He sighed and continued, "If there is one thing I abhor, it is leaving loose ends untied."

 

He towered over the two mortals and picked up a strip of cloth to clean his scalpel. He had removed his helm, and he stared down at the two of them, side by side, with his terrible black eyes, both of which stood in horrible contrast to his pallid complexion. He smiled at his patients with his awful, scarred lips, though the smile never touched those dark, lifeless orbs.

 

"At least this way, your beloved could see you one last time."

 

Tears streamed down Agnatha's cheeks, but she could not scream.

 

+++

 

The footfalls of Cutlass thundered down the halls of Elysium as the walked together to the station's meeting hall; not in time, but together nonetheless. They had brought rich plunder back with them from the Viorda system, plus the capture of Lang had been no mean feat. However, there was still some uncertainty as to how the Tyrant would greet the loss to his supply chain, though the former Palatine could answer for that. Additionally the only concrete evidence they had brought with them of the Pride of Kings existed solely in their captive's head. Vesalius had offered to interrogate the man, but Holger had demurred, instead saying that he believed their master would prefer to use a more personal touch.

 

Vesalius reached into the pouch at his belt, feeling about for the newest additions to his collection, a pair of fine specimens recovered from their diminutive guest from Viorda Secundus. The other trophies the ratling had yielded, along with those of his former comrade-in-arms, were in storage in the Dagger's med-bay. Curing. A work of art cannot be rushed, after all.

 

+++

 

As Kill-Team Cutlass came to a halt in the audience hall before the Tyrant, Vesalius surreptitiously scanned over the host of Astartes, all standing at attention. There were dozens of them, all clad in the motley grays of the Iron Gods. He had followed Decimus' example prior to disembarking, coming armed only with his bolt pistol and combat blade. If he was to face the wrath of his new master, even being as heavily armed as a member of the first company would avail him little against this assemblage of military might, especially considering how isolated this outpost was from the rest of the galaxy. When Ghoran began pounding his fist upon his cuirass, Vesalius' attention had snapped back to the front. Soon the assembled battle-brothers had joined the elder Astartes in the rhythmic pounding of ceramite upon ceramite, along with the Tyrant himself, to Vesalius' surprise.

 

A hush fell over the chamber when Talek Varn raised his fist.

 

"Welcome home, Iron Gods!"

 

Vesalius smiled to himself within his helm, and licked his scarred lips. Yes, he had come home, after a fashion. There was no turning back.

Edited January 2, 2022 by Necronaut