To Plunder The Stars Themselves, Episode III

[Lysimachus]

Round 4 Summary Cont:

[x] Brynjarr:
Multiple Attacks at Red 1:
Standard shot with Inferno Pistol, Hit!
Forcefield Save 35, Roll: 64, Fail!
Dam 25 -TB10 -AV0(14-Pen24) = 15 Wounds suffered (now on 35 suffered in total).
Standard Attack with Power Axe, Hit!
Forcefield Save 35, Roll: 79, Fail!
Parry with Power Sword
WS50 +10(Balanced) = 60, Roll: 32, Success!

 

The deadly melee continues. Brynjarr unleashes another blast of superheated air from his melta weapon, staggering the Angels' squad leader. A follow up swing of the breacher's energised axe looks like it is about to end the combat, but somehow the loyalist Veteran manages to bring his sword up just in time to deflect the blow aside.

 

[ ] Odysseus:

Edited July 29, 2022 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Despite the arrival of the Iron Gods this battle was far from over, the Angels would fight to the last to claim one more kill to their tally. Draaks sudden outburst came at an opportune time and Odysseus needed no further invitation to take advantage as he shifted his position to evade the fallen terminators ongoing attacks and struck down with all of his strength.

Switch to solo for feat of strength

Half action: maintain shield (but shrink down to 0m)

Half action: attack the fallen terminator: 33 = hit (WS 39 +10 prone, +10 outnumbered)
Damage: 10 +RF(3) +19  = 32, Pen 6

Opposed willpower test (not pushing this time): 82 = fail with 1 DoS - though the terminator might fail by more.

 

Pre-emptive parry roll to keep things moving: 47 = pass(just)

[Lysimachus]

Round 4 Summary Cont:

[x] Odysseus:
Maintain Force Dome.
Standard Attack at Red 4, Hit.
Forcefield Save 35, Roll: 46, Fail!
Dam 32 - TB10 - AV8(14-Pen6) = 14 Wounds suffered (now on 41 suffered in total). Red 4 dies (even without extra Force Wounds!).

[x] Red 1: Swift Attack
Attack 1 at Decimus:
WS50, Roll: 45, Hit on (45=54) Body
Dodge Failed.
Dam 1d10+6 +SB13 Pen6
2+6+13 = 21 - TB8 -AV4(10-Pen6) = 9 Wounds suffered (now on 01(!)/23 Remaining).

Attack 2 at Brynjarr:
WS50, Roll: 30, Hit on (30=03) Head
Dodge Success!

 

The last Terminator - alone, his brethren fallen all around him - must know that his own end approaches. But this deters him not at all and he lashes out with his great sword at anyone in reach.

 

[ ] Ithan:
[ ] Green 8:
[ ] Orphiel:

 

Edited July 30, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Lysimachus]

Round 4 Summary Cont:

[x] Ithan: Full Move Southwest.

[x] Green 8: 
Activate Feat of Strength
Multiple Attacks at Svelk
Bolt Pistol:
BS45, Roll: 67, Miss!
Combat Knife:
WS45, Roll: 26, Hit! Svelk Dodges!

[ ] Orphiel:

 

Edited July 30, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Orphiel: Full Action - Apply Repair Cement (Armour is not environmentally sealed).

 

[Beren]

With allies closing in, Svelk surges forwards in an attempt to barge the other astartes into submission, or at least hold him down long enough for someone else to get in a finishing blow. The other warrior in exchange darts back, staying out of Svelk's reach - just not so far that the assault marine can't bat the Angel Repetant's bolt pistol out of the way.

Dodge roll:

Ag 44

d100:14

Edited July 29, 2022 by Beren

[Lysimachus]

+++STRUCTURED TIME ENDS+++

+++NARRATIVE TIME BEGINS+++

 

Varn stalks over to where Svelk still wrestles with the last of the Tactical Marines. Without speaking he barges into the combat, separating you, and jams his vambrace mounted combi-bolter against the loyalist's chest. With a roar the weapon fires a hail of shells, catapulting the already wounded Astartes across the deck. He does not rise. Then the pirate Lord turns, still not speaking aloud, to look towards where the red robed Terminator Sergeant still fights on. His blade slides effortlessly through Decimus' breastplate, sinking in deeply and seemingly becoming lodged in the Devastator's chest. The Angel tries to retrieve the weapon, but he is running out of time.

Svelk: You might be troubled, perhaps even angered, by such an unnecessary display of firepower. But then your private vox crackles. It seems that Talek Varn was making a point.

+++I appreciate your thrift, Brother Svelk. But a word of advice…? Sometimes our most precious commodity is not ammunition or other supplies… but rather time itself. By focussing overmuch on hoarding the first, it is possible that the second may slip through your fingers.+++

The vox link closes, leaving you to consider this counsel at your leisure.

***

I've added the results of those Dodges to the previous Summary post - nobody died… just!

As the TDA Sgt is down to his last few Wounds, I won't bother starting Round 5. Feel free to finish him off narratively, and/or make any fluff posts you want of your perspective of the battle overall (And as Ithan put it, Vesalius still has some stitching to do! ) then we can move on?

Edited July 30, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Whilst the Terminator Sergeant attempted to remove his power sword lodged within Decimus' chest, Brynjarr decapitated him. 

The last Angel fell away dead. Draak removed the sword from Decimus' chest and the wound clotted. 

No need to bother Vesalius, he knows his duties. 

+Well done Cutlass!+

++Swordsman thanks for the distraction++

Draak strode over and met Lord Talek Varn. Draak presented to him the Terminator Sergeants power sword. 

"Kill-Team Cutlass presents to you The Pride of Kings."

 

 

Edited December 18, 2022 by Machine God
Typo

[Lysimachus]

The Tyrant deftly sheathes his war-axe and accepts the blade with a nod. After a moment, his gravelly voice rings out across the fleet-wide vox.

 +++Iron Gods, this is Talek Varn. We are victorious! The Pride of Kings is ours! We now have the strength to keep what we have built and no one, not the Imperium, not the Xenos, not the Daemons of the warp will take it from us!+++

He pauses as scattered oaths and cheering filter back across the channel. Then he speaks again.

+++Enough, men. There is still much work to be done. We must get her home first. When the last of the Angels' forces have fallen, spread your crews out across their fleet. Their ships will replace any losses we have suffered here. You have twenty-four hours, until our Adepts have the Pride ready to fly. Any vessels that cannot be made ready in that time are to be stripped for salvage and sent into that star. They will make for a fine honour guard for the Dagger Thrust and its brave crew on their final journey into eternity.+++

This order produces a quieter response, from Astartes and mortal Captains alike, a solemn sense of honouring a fallen comrade. Varn has spoken only a few words, but his ability to read moods and motivate his followers shines through once more.

***

[Lysimachus]

It is twenty-five hours later. The Pride of Kings, remarkable in every way, has been made fully ready for warp translation. Achard still sits in the Command Throne, for Talek Varn ordered that he deserves such an honour after the loss of his own ship. Varn's personal Navigator has been shuttled aboard and ensconced within the Sanctum, ready to lead the fleet through the Empyrean back towards their asteroid home. One of the grey and red Firestorm frigates and an Angels' Hunter will not join them, and are now locked on a course set into the heart of the red star, but most of the battle-scarred vessels have been sufficiently repaired to make the journey. Even without the Pride, it is a substantial boon to the Iron Gods fleet.

As the ships move out, eager to be gone well before any greater Imperial response can be mustered, Varn stands next to Achard's throne, looking over the bridge. Several of his Terminator bodyguards and squad Sergeants are spread around the chamber, and Kill-Team Cutlass are gathered before him.

"I have observed Mister Holger's records of your mission, my brothers. You have done well and I would reward each of you. You will each have your pick of the spoils of this great ship, of course… but I would offer you more than that. After all, we each know that the greatest prize the Astartes can ask for, what we relish the most… is a greater challenge to accomplish!"

"Brother Draak. You have led well, so for now I want you to take command of a third Devastator squad, armed and equipped from our new storehouse! But more than this, I would also like you to attend Brother Ithan Redcloak and my other Tech-Adepts. Learn from them, deepen your understanding of the ways of the Machine. The Iron Gods have need of specialist officers, and you have the skill to fulfil that role."

"In particular, I want you to assist them in their newest assignment - the refitting of the Pride of Kings. It might have been used as a simple logistics vessel in the times of the great Heresy, but in these lesser days it is wasted as a supply ship. The Apothecarion and Forges will be stripped out and reinstalled within the Crag, as will most of the supplies currently stored aboard. The space thus freed will be filled by additional weapons systems and shield generators, as well as options for troop deployment. She will make a mighty warship and carrier, a new Flagship for the Iron Gods fleet."

He now turns to look at Vesalius.

"That will mean that at the Crag we will soon have a whole genetics laboratory dedicated to Astartes biology. As Chief Apothecary, I want you to work beside Magos Octavius in putting these facilities to use. While Cutlass has been seeking the Pride, other Iron Gods ships have been harvesting planets all along the edge of the Solios Nebula, finding suitable youths to join our ranks. Several thousand have been gathered, but they will need to be winnowed, tested for genetic compatibility, before we can begin the process of implantation."

"I also understand that one of the Pride's many holds contains equipment for use by battlefield Apothecaries. You will be too busy for such a role, so I will select capable brethren from our squads, and I want you to share your knowledge with them."

"Brother Odysseus. In a similar vein, I want you to join Brother Degier and form a Librarius, a council of psychic advisors to guide the Iron Gods. Degier has indicated that there may be a few among our new recruits with the right kind of potential. If that proves to be the case, I want you to train them too."

"Brother Decimus. I do not believe in the Reclusiam, in their relics and rituals. Those are the trappings of the moribund Imperium. But I do believe in maintaining morale and in making sure we continue to act with purpose. We are not and will not be mindless reavers. I have heard your words during the defence of the Dagger Thrust, seen your belief in what we are doing, and I think you are the right Astartes for the job. I want you to carry this…"

He reveals a heavy necklace, formed from steel and hanging from a thick chain. Narakiel's Rosarius, returned by Orphiel. Varn holds it out to the Devastator.

"It is not to us what it was to them - a badge of absolute moral authority. Now, it is a reminder. A reminder of what happens when we become too righteous in our own eyes. We… myself included… must always question, always evaluate whether we are on the right path and change it when necessary. You will help us to do that."

"Brothers Svelk and Brynjarr. You have much in common - capable warriors and Voidsmen both. Such skills will be needed among our new aspirants. I wish for you to work together in training and leading them. Build them into a force of boarders and void fighters to be reckoned with. For now you will be training Sergeants, but who knows? One day you may be the Captains of entire Iron Gods Companies!"

He turns finally to Orphiel.

"Brother Orphiel. I know you have a subtle mind and I would not waste it. Brother Ghoran is my most loyal second… but he would proudly admit that he has no patience for what he calls 'skullduggery'. I would therefore have you serve as my Equerry. If you are willing to stay, you will work closely at my side and with my Remembrancers, uncovering threats against us as well as further opportunities that we may take advantage of."

Then Varn nods to Holger, who retrieves a long bundle and approaches Orphiel. He unwraps it to reveal a scabbarded sword. It is the weapon delivered up to Varn by Draak, a long blade very similar in design to Zachariah's Steel, though its hilt also holds the techo-arcana that can bring its edge to brilliant, fiery life.

"Whether you choose to stay or not, Narakiel broke your blade. It seems fitting to me that his brethren should make proper recompense. If you want it, it is yours."

The Lord of the Solios Nebula pauses, then looks slowly around the bridge.

"I do not know if I believe Degier's warnings about the future, or about the role he thinks we will play in it. I am certainly not convinced about the idea of myself as any kind of 'saviour'…"

He grins wryly.

"…but we now have everything we need to strengthen and maintain our hold on this part of the galaxy. I am determined that the Iron Gods will be ready to face whatever challenges may come."

 

 

THE END

 

Though this is the end of Ep.III, please still feel free to post your character's response (whether external or internal) to Varn's offered rewards or to his grandiose plans for the future!

***

Edited August 1, 2022 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

+Gene-seed recovered. Your duty is at end; your service has just begun…+

The battle with the Angels of Redemption boarding party had lasted for less than a minute, and had been suitably brutal. No quarter had been offered or given by either side. His gauntlets were completely coated in gore and he had been forced to clear the chain drive on his narthecium twice while he plied his trade. Eventually he had resorted to ordering Decimus and Brynjarr to hack open the suits of terminator plate with their power axes once the blades on his bonesaw had been worn down by the multiple layers of ceramite and steel. But he had harvested an absolute treasure-trove of genetic material, and by some miracle none of the members of Cutlass had been felled by the furious melee with the deceased 1st Company Veterans, now lying cold and laid open on the deck at his feet. Only two gene-seeds had been lost: the first being from the tactical marine he had summarily disemboweled with the bulkhead shears, an oversight on his part which he attributed to the combat stimulants in his system, and the other being from one of the terminators who had sustained a close range melta blast from Brynjarr. 

+Gene-seed recovered. Your duty is at end; your service has just begun…+

But no matter, the Tyrant would now have his due. The Pride of Kings belonged to the Iron Gods, and the Solios Nebula and its surrounding territories would soon be fully within Talek Varn’s grasp.

Kill-Team Cutlass had emerged from their ritual bloodletting alive and kicking. 

+++

The following cycle, Vesalius stood amongst his cohort on the bridge of the Pride of Kings, as Talek Varn heaped praise and the promise of great rewards upon them. As the Tyrant spoke, Vesalius could not keep his eyes from straying to the placard mounted above the primary console.

"And thus shall the pride of all kings be brought down to the dust, by the hand of time."

Who was Callistrus Sovrak? What beings would have spoken the ancient battle-cant as their native tongue? He had hunted Traitors before, both mortal and Astartes, and though he was not particularly well-versed in the Forbidden Lores of such Heretics, he had his suspicions as to where to begin his search regarding his origins.

IUSTITIA

Yes, there would be time enough for that, that is if he truly believed in justice as a cosmic concept. By his estimation, the only governing force in the galaxy was power and the will to exercise it. What was justice in that context? Punishment of the wicked? Who were truly wicked, or by contrast truly absolved? During the Horus Heresy, it was quite clear as to who fought for righteousness, who struggled to cast down evil, but in these benighted times some ten millennia later… who was to say, really, amongst the ruins of the Emperor's carrion kingdom?

His attention snapped back to the Tyrant when he was personally addressed. Chief Apothecary, eh? That had a nice ring to it. Chief Apothecary. In spite of himself, in spite of his cynical nature, he couldn’t help but permit himself a small, private smile, twisting his horribly scarred lips into something approximating mirth. His mind was already racing at the possibilities, at the scope of the work to be done, projects to begin.

Several thousand aspirants?!

The winnowing would be cruel and merciless. If the Iron Gods were lucky, one in one hundred might be suitable for implantation from amongst those culled from the local human populations, but tens of Astartes were capable of much. The gene-seed he had harvested twenty-four hours prior would provide a start, albeit all from Dark Angel gene-stock. His smile widened somewhat at the thought of the mongrel gene-seed and genetic legacy that the Iron Gods would eventually produce if they were able to continue their existence. Polluted, impure, mixed-breed, hybrid. Clearly the Tyrant cared not where the aspirants came from, nor the warriors who served him, nor about their pre-conceived notions of genetic purity.

That suited Vesalius just fine. From mixed gene-stock could come new and interesting permutations, new genetic lineages to create and maintain down through the ages. New breeds of Astartes which he could refine and manipulate as he pleased.

He would be very, very busy…

 

 

Gene-seed Extraction Tests for Dead Angels of Redemption

Int52 + 10 (Talented) + 20 (Narthecium) + 10 (Diagnostor Helm) = 92

Gene-seed Extraction: 15#1d100 24 66 34 87 42 44 66 11 96 5 70...

 

15 tests total: 13 successful extractions, 2 were lost or otherwise beyond salvaging

Edited August 1, 2022 by Necronaut

[A.T.]

Odysseus paid little attention to Varns platitudes, the nature of his promises never changed. Rewarded with the honor of being a piece upon his board and power over those given lesser roles in his game.

But word of the Pride said much of him that was previously unspoken. The vessel was a chapter house unto itself with potential beyond that of any common ship to grasp that which lay beyond reach and Varn was to make it a warship. Was this the extend of his ambition? Another tyrant and his legion carving out a territory to quibble over resources already held by the Imperium.

It was a disappointment if all that lay behind the veil was another would be king upon a throne of burnt worlds. Glancing across the faces of the others, particularly Orphiel, he measured the worth of their vows to Varn and the promises made. The Pride was not yet wasted but Varns presence here did not auger well for rash action.

 

As the self proclaimed Lord of the Solios Nebula surveyed his prize Odysseus' mind turned to the Aeldari as their actions had seemingly done little save consolidate Varns position in the short term and ensure the Imperiums response. Why would they draw so much force to one area of space save to sacrifice it against another foe in self interest, or perhaps to create weakness elsewhere that would divert the path of those who would otherwise bring war to the doors of the xenos.

The message left by this ships warden had spoken of a psychic artifact left behind. Perhaps its power would reveal the path they had been set upon, the doors not yet closed that might be taken. The Crag was yet distant and the warp was ever fickle.

 

As the others dispersed Odysseus returned to his search of the ship. There was much to be done.

[Trokair]

Such pretty words, and yet still so, well, empty. The Tryant’s words sounds promising, that he might be a worthy leader and protector. Something better than the failing imperium, and yet it never rung quite true, that insurmountable fraction from unreal to believable. Did he just lack faith, or was there no faith to be had?

Then there were the plans for the Pride, a waste as far as he could tell, to take the heart of what they found and strip it out, destroy it for greed and bring it to fall such that its potential was naught but war. This ship could be so much more, a home, a beacon, the heart of something better and Talek Varn sees only a boat on which to mount some weapons. This grieved the Voidborns soul more than the rest, the words might be true and his volition just not enough to steer the course, doubts could be lived and survived, the death of voidvessale such as this was another matter.

Turning his thoughts aside for now, it would not do to miss the rest of the speech, Brynjarr heard as each of them was rewarded in turn, or cynically ensnared deeper into the Tyrnat’s will. The opportunities offered to the others where great, and he suspected several would take them just for their own sake.

 As the lords word turned to him Brynjarr own snare lay before him. To train the next line, the next shield would be worthwhile if the Tyrnat was true, but oh so deadly for humanity if not. Then there was Svelk, a voidsman true, but of a different life, a different spirit.

For now he would wait and see, seek the void and wisdom of the stars and see what fate suggested.

[Beren]

Svelk cocks his head as he listens to the Tyrant words, mind only half-paying attention as he goes over Varn's earlier words.

Time. Time. So what?

An attack doesn't look like it'll work out? Dissappear. Find something else worth taking out. All the time in the world. Only there hadn't been, had there. Only until the reavers left.

Had that been victory?

The thought almost staggers Svelk. Victory? If so, then what had victory done for him. He'd left after all, left when the hunt dried up. Thriftiness nothing more than a prerequisite for survival. Victory just meant having to hunt down another battle elsewhere.

Varn was different. There was something he wanted to achieve. Something to build. It was not just a matter of having more resources than Svelk and his brothers had, back on the ring. A matter of having things worth spending them on.

Oh, but how the void made a mockery of all such things?

What was that? Training? A poor substitute for the hunt. The best learning was under fire. Learn or die. Maybe that was the point. A punishment? Or a reinforcement of the lesson.

Yet, a cadre of newly risen to teach. To teach how to hunt, in the style he did. To teach of the void's hunger. Comrades closer in kine than any other within the Iron Gods, maybe even closer than his true brothers.

Maybe even the most important lesson of all. How to move on when the Tyrant's ambitions fell apart around him. How to swim the void to new hunting grounds.

Yes.

Perhaps there was something worthwhile in this after all.

[Mazer Rackham]

At the time, Orphiel had graciously accepted the gift of the blade, bowing to lord Varn and the others of Cutlass as they each were offered their prizes, but the business with the Redemptoria was not finished, not by a long tallow gauge.

He still owed Varn an answer, so once all had settled and the day was his own, he approached the disarming Ghoran.

+Serjeant, I crave an audience with the Tyrant, should it be his pleasure.+

Ghoran wore his smirk, and nodded.

In his own cell, Orphiel meditated. He contemplated telling Vesalius how he knew the rook was cawing above the bulkhead when he confronted the Interrogator Chaplain, but perhaps that secret was best left to himself. Or the time he heard the maniac scrubbing a plasteel shield free of a meaningless number. Varn was clever, but Orphiel knew more than one set of eyes watched him. Expected it.

The chime sounded at his door, but it was not the Equerry-Serjeant, such a man would have entered the cell, as though he owned it. Which he likely did.

+Proceed.+

The door opened, and the slumped shoulders of a youngling entered, to find Orphiel attending to his new blade, the field-dampener immediately beneath the hilt  interrupted the start of the fuller, forming a ricasso. It was perfect, with just enough haft for a two-handed technique. Upon the blade, inscribed into both sides were haunting words.

Redemptoria, Absolutia, Vindicta.

"You wanted to see me, lord?"

+++++++++

Now he stood before the entrance to Varn's viewing deck, the place where he'd conducted Orphiel's interview, where Admiel forged the bargain. Now they were all dead, and the pact meaningless. He thought of home, Soul's Well and the mountains of All Hallow. The chill waters of the Mere. He'd left there because of an accident turned into murder. Now he stood after the atrocity and suffered the same feeling. There was no going back from a killing.

He moved from one slaughter to another.

++++++++++

"Grieve later, lad," the Serjeant said, towering over the recruits who watched him handle the latest the body of the failed aspirant. "The trials aren't for the soft-hearted. Once you realise he is absolved in death, his failure known only to the Emperor."

The Tenth Company Captain looked on. The assault course was perilous in the extreme, blades, pits, water traps and falling hazards. "Who among you has courage?"

"I do, Lord," he heard himself reply.

"Your name, boy?"

"Lord, may it please you, my name is-"

++++++++++

+Mathias,+ Orphiel said, +would serve Serjeant Ghoran and the armoury well. I have left Argo in the keeping of Brynjarr, should our paths cross again. He is an Astartes worthy of such a trust.+

The Tyrant stood facing the stars, sharing a moment of silence as Orphiel spoke, hands on his pistol holsters. He smiled. Silence always won.

+By your grace, I take my leave. Narakiel and I will meet again, alone. Where the Traveller went, I must also go.+

He gave Talek Varn a bow. +Perhaps we shall meet again, my lord.+

The shuttle was waiting.

 

Edited December 22, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

"Of course, My Tsar!" answered Draak, accepting praise.

 

Draak assimilated all data from Talek Varn's address. 

Flattering words and promises were accepted without question like a starving man at a feast.

 

A chance to learn at the hands of the Techmarine, Tech-Adepts and maybe the Magos Octavius. Data-skeins flooded parts of his subconscious as he schemed.

 

To learn the Craft with the riches stripped from the forges of The Pride of Kings, maybe further augmentation.

 

 

 

Edited January 14, 2023 by Machine God
Tidy up