[DW] The Desolation of Innocence (RPG IC Thread)

[A.T.]

His name called, "For the Emperors honour none shall stand before his wrath, his Angels of Death". The vanguard, yet this procession seemed odd in its haste and informality. perhaps he should have spoken at the choosing of command as now they stepped forward with deeds unknown and oaths unspoken. Inasupicious indeed.

Still there would be no delay as the Storm Warden stepped forward. If it must be in fire that the bond was forged then let them rush into the flame without delay. Ready to operate the great door by hand if needed he holds momentarily lest he offend the scion of the mechanicus in his action.

[Machine God]

Iron Father Korvaan grasped his Omnissian Power Axe with both hands as he took in the scene of the hold up. Gazing at the techpriests and the serf-enginseers in attendance at the troubled door. His hands moved up and down the shaft of his axe as he communicated to them in silent Machine Cant.

<Forgive Mk IV lots of Steam. We entreat the Omnissiah's help. If I of my Forge may be of assistance, by His Will>

"The Emperor's Will shall not be so easily diverted! Brother Iron-Father, perhaps you can assist these men to gain the Omnissiah's blessing?" asked Watch-Sergeant Philemon.

"Of course Watch-Sergeant, we shall soon be underway!" answered Korvaan as he strode up to the door and examined the auxiliary hydraulic pump.

Korvaan tapped the Iris Hatch with the butt of his Omnissian Power Axe and then he listened. "Omnissiah I implore Thee!" He then examined the pump.

 

Int 40 +10 (Talented Tech Use) +10 (Omnissian Power Axe) +20 (Exceptional Augur Array) -10 (Difficult) = 70. Result: 40, Pass 3DoS

Korvaan undid the casing and examined the innards of the device. "Yes, yes I hear your pain noble auxiliary pump. They have hurt you!" Korvaan withdrew a component and there was a sudden flash. With a flourish he quickly replaced the part and again talked to the Machine Spirit. "Now isn't that much better?"

The auxiliary pump began to operate with a steady even hum and slowly Iris 13 opened up to its full extent.

Korvaan levelled his Omnissian Power Axe at the head techpriest, "Check your maintenance logs for this pump and you shall find the culprit. The problem was an un-sanctioned repair. The 14-B that I just withdrew had been installed back to front and held in place with a nail. By the will of the Omnissiah attend to your Machine Spirits better!" 

"We may now board!" Korvaan said.

KIllteam Regent had lined up in their allocated order and Iron Father Korvaan took his place at the back.

 

 

 

Edited March 26, 2023 by Machine God
Edit Gap

[Mazer Rackham]

The Tech Adept in charge of the team bows low. "Omnissiah be praised, I will admonish the culprit lord!"

+For want of a nail, the shoe was lost! My thanks, Iron Father.+ Sophis angrily pushes the menials away and watches you board. As Moros marches up the boarding stairs, the biting chin of the Scorpion's helm jerks.  +These men show their back to you by necessity. I won't even do it out of shame. Remember that.+

He slams the release, forestalling any reply as Kill Team Regent move to their allotted cradles, the clamps and stanchions folding around you as you step onto the reactive plates, now maglocking you to the deck of the very vulnerable torpedo.

+TEN SECONDS+ the onboard cogitator-servitor intones, in a voice metallic at the edges.

++Brother Philemon, if you have Oaths to swear, you best do it now,++ Sophis advises.

Edited June 30, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

As the portal began to close, shrouding the Kill-Team in the darkness of the torpedo's interior, Philemon spoke softly.

 

"Brothers, I have prayed fervently over this matter, seeking what oath we might swear to strengthen us in our task.

I believe the Emperor has given an answer by stoking the fires of the Warden's despite. There are too many things that can divide us, issues of Chapter and pride and past… but that cannot be our path. We must be one. We must be united.

What unites us? It is simple. We are the Astartes, the bringers of death to the foes of Humanity! In this we are one. In this we are all the same.

I offer you this oath, that our differences mean nothing to me, that I will place my trust, my faith, my lifeblood in your hands and you can each do the same with me. So united, there is no task we cannot accomplish. We are the Astartes!"

 

 

In case it's not obvious, I'll keep it simple and go with Oath of the Astartes!
 

[Machine God]

As the last to enter the Boarding Torpedo, Iron Father once more greeted his fellow squad members.

First he passed Luthais the Assault Marine in the Vanguard. "Keep your Claymore sharp at all times."

Next he came to Chaplain Nergui. "Honoured Equal, may your Rosarius protect you."

Moving onwards he came past the command dais occupied by Watch-Sergeant Philemon. "For we are Astartes, five parts of the whole - Pommel, Handle, Quillons, Fuller and Blade!"

Next he offered greetings to Arcturion. "See and Watch further than Auspex."

Iron Father Korvaan sat down in his cradle at the back and secured himself. "Omnissiah bless this Boarding Torpedo so that it might carry out its ordained function in your eyes and bless these teleportation homers so that they might bolster our own and send us back intact to The Hecate on our fulfilment of our Holy Mission." 

 

 

 

Edited March 26, 2023 by Machine God
Edit Gap

[Necronaut]

The parting shot made by the Red Scorpion nearly elicited a laugh from Arcturion, as it practically crossed the line from malice into absurdity. Unable to quickly think of a rejoinder in kind, he shook his head with a roll of his eyes and stomped into the claustrophobic confines of the torpedo. The Warden was a truly insufferable man who would, no doubt, go far in his chapter.

 

As the enormous clamping mechanisms of the transport cradle closed down upon his tactical dreadnought plate, and his greaves mag-locked to the decks, he mulled inviting Sophis to a friendly bout in the cages. To first blood of course. First blood transfusion. Then a truly evil thought entered his mind, and a wicked grin split his features. He closed his eyes and reached out with his witch-sense to find a particular mind, one which was a constricting knot of rage and righteous indignation... 

 

~Brother Sophis, the Forge-Master complained to me earlier that one of his standard 3 meter rods has gone missing. Report to the Armorium immediately to present your unguarded backside for inspection.~

 

He chuckled to himself at his puerile jest, and the thought of the Red Scorpion stewing in his own impotent fury while the terminators established a beachhead on the Death of Innocence.

 

As his support harness finished locking into place, punctuating its motion with an exasperated hiss, Brother Philemon began his call to arms and proclaimed his oath of moment. Arcturion remained silent, feeling the battle-fury starting to build in his chest. He nodded his helm at Korvaan as a benediction was offered and granted, and steeled himself for the bloodshed to come. He had penned his own oaths of moment in private on parchment, and had them affixed to his breastplate with great blobs of crimson wax, each pressed with the insignia of the Deathwatch.

 

He rode now to glory or doom, but he knew not which. 

 

 

Invocation Test

WP60 + 10 (Invocation +10) = 70 (80 with Psy-Focus)

Invocation Test: 1d100 38

38: success with 3 DoS

 

Activate Psychic Power: Short-Range Telepathy

Power Level: Fettered (PR 3)

Focus Power Test:

WP60 + 5 (Psychic Hood) + 15 (PR 3 x 5) = 80

Focus Power: 1d100 61

61: success with 1 DoS oh well ;)

 

Final psy-rating: 3 + 1 (Invocation) = 4 

Range = 50 x PR 4 = 200m

 

Edited July 2, 2022 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

+FIVE SECONDS+

Rocket motors whine as they begin the furious chant towards ignition.  The control cradle - a simple affair complete with hololithic interfaces links directly to Philemon's noospheric loop, tying to his neural connection.  The spirit of the small coffin may be simple, but it is keen, matching the ardent humour of the Emperor's Blade.

Melta cutters report ready status, thruster ports flex open and shut, tested, ready.

+THREE SECONDS+

An odd sensation of vertigo briefly clutches each of you as the mag clamps invert and then the thump of release into the snug barrel of a massive gun.  A gun in which you are the bullet.

+ONE SECOND+

The universe pauses, your superhuman minds allowing many thoughts in the short time.  As Arcturion uses his strange power, an odd foreboding fills the cabin of your sarcophagus.  None are untouched in some way.  You understand you go now to a place of darkness, a carcass of metal forged by the whim of the wicked and the mad, in a realm where rules and reason are not harboured.  The hulk is cursed, and haunted aye, for it is bound together by lost souls and screaming agonies...

It is the Desolation of Innocence - and truly now you understand the grim title.

Next stop: Hell.

+IGNITION+

Edited July 1, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

The boarding torpedo launched with massive explosive force. At such speed, it would take only a matter of minutes for it to travel across the void of space and penetrate the outer hull of its vast target. As the transport hurtled towards the hulk, Brother Philemon lowered his head in prayer. He refused to hide his devotions, allowing them to be heard by all via the external speakers of his armour.

 

"Deus Imperator,"
he intoned softly,
"Custodi corda nostra,
Corroborra obstinatio.
Custodi corpora nostra,
Corroborra manus.
Negant maleficis.
Contemnat maleficis.
Perdere maleficis."

 

God Emperor,
Guard our hearts,
Strengthen our will.
Guard our flesh,
Strengthen our hands.
To deny the Witch.
To condemn the Witch.
To destroy the Witch.

 

Ecclesiarch De Lancre IV's 'Orison against Witchcraft'. The ancient prayer seemed most appropriate for the task ahead. A space hulk spent most of it's existence being carried hither and thither by the tides of the Empyrean. That meant that regardless of what kind of filth and horror they found lurking aboard the Desolation of Innocence, it was almost inevitable that their foes would include creatures corrupted and empowered by the fell influence of the warp. Traitorous witches, degenerate mutants, monstrous psychic xeno-fiends… the possibilities were as varied as the Empyrean itself.

The litany had the desired effect, focusing Philemon's will even as he uttered the formulaic words. He felt fortified, ready for whatever the vast hulk might throw against them.

 

Philemon spends a FP to activate Abhor the Witch.

 

He opened his eyes. Information from Fortis Fideli's sensorium, and from the similar arrays built into the armour of the other four Terminators, filled his HUD. Feeds from the torpedo were also displayed, with a countdown prominently shown in red.

 

67… 66… 65… 64…

 

Philemon accessed the squad vox channel and now spoke in a clipped, professional manner, very different from the worshipful tone of a moment earlier. Whether his squadmates approved of his faith or not, he was determined they would find no fault in his combat doctrine.

 

+++Impact in one minute… mark! Make your final pre-combat checks. When we breach, I want a quick, clean dispersal and a secured 10 metre beachhead in twenty seconds. Emperor be with us all, my brothers.+++
 

Edited March 9, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Necronaut]

Arcturion hammered his right fist, crossed with the crimson saltire of the Death Company and artfully adorned with inlaid blood drops, into his thick ceramite cuirass in response and bellowed, +Ave Imperator! For the Primarch and the Deathwatch! We are the Angels of Death!+

 

He clenched the fingers of the enormous silver chainfist mounted over his left hand, feeling the immense destructive power barely held in check by its ceramite housing, and the crackling energy field which threatened to discharge onto unshielded surfaces within the boarding torpedo. He read the letters to himself again which surrounded the silver skull and crossbones positioned over the hidden mechanical metacarpal-analogues, field generator and power feeds.

 

XENO MORTIS. 

 

The time to impact counted down in arterial red inside of his blackened helm. 

 

35… 34… 33… 32… 31…

 

He could feel the dark oblivion of the ancient battle-rage trying to strangle his mind, trying to drag him under. His twin hearts pumped molten fury through his veins and the red veil threatened to descend over his vision. He gritted his teeth and fought to stave off the encroaching black web of madness and bloodlust, squeezing his dark-ringed eyes shut. The time to reap a bloody harvest was nigh at hand. 

 

+SHOW NO MERCY, BROTHERS! LET NONE SURVIVE OUR WRATH!+

 

Edited July 1, 2022 by Necronaut

[A.T.]

"Custodi corda nostra" Luthais shared the words of the chaplain, sometimes speaking before or after as he uttered them not in response or by rote. The prayer of defiance for the champion once given in formal ceremony before battle now as abrupt as their oath as they were deployed with all haste onto the hulk.

They pod delayed would be among the last to strike, the enemy forewarned. Luthais lowered his head as postured ready to charge forth.

[Mazer Rackham]

The countdown ticks in metronomic rhythm with your assembled heartbeats, according to your humours. It becomes background as your craft enters the gravity well of the brute scrapheap which would fill any portholes the boarding craft possessed. In keeping with the irrefutable laws of realspace, your vehicle accelerates, the timer leaping ahead by five seconds in order to compensate for the lurch forward.

The hololith paints a silhouette only, the looming monstrosity you intend to pierce, to carry forth your blades along its arteries. A shoal of fish around a wallowing whale, around the Hulk is debris field of ancient metal and aeons old stone.  Larger pieces narrowly skim the torpedo, rasping along the hull.  The debris must have been spat out by the other boarding teams, impacts and spall thrown out like worm casts.

The augur array gives warning of bigger chunks, shed by accident or malicious design, heading for your craft.

The pilot (in this case, Philemon) will be required to make 3 x Challenging (+0) Piloting (Ag) tests.  The controls are rudimentary, much like the craft, but simplicity permits anyone to take the helm.  The near space objects cannot be fired upon with the melta lances, as these carry power to penetrate the hulk wall.  It is down to the superhuman reflexes of the Space Marines to carry the day. Failure by 4 or more DoF will result in...well, mass reactive consequences...

[Lysimachus]

Proximity warnings flashed in Philemon's HUD as the torpedo approached the deadly cloud of scrap and rubble. Immediately, he wrenched the craft's rudder controls left and right, up and down, attempting to avoid the larger pieces in their path but still keep them aimed towards the target zone selected by the Watch-Commander.

 

Ag Tests
Ag 46, Rolls: 57, 11, 74. Total = 0DoF
(If Ag 31 = 4DoF, oh dear…)

 

Then, dead ahead of them and too large to avoid without sending the transport spiralling wildly off into empty space, was a massive latticework section of rusted metal, part of a twisted frame of internal rebars covered in a few places by a handful of hull plates. Perhaps thin enough that the torpedo would simply punch through it undamaged? Perhaps not… but when there was no direction to go but forward… With a silent prayer, he aimed the nose directly at what looked like the weakest part of the framework.

 

I'll leave it with Mazer to decide what Ag value I was using and what the result actually was! Oh, and if Necro was allowed to Assist, we might be OK either way...?

Edited March 9, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The boarding torpedo slews around under Philemon's control like a block of wet lapping resin slipping across a greave-plate, however, it slams into the lattice with a -plumb strike, shearing off the control jets with a screech that echoes through the hull. So aggrieved, the machine spirit flees from Philemon's mind, replaced only with cold mercury as the vessel begins to worryingly tilt.

The change in attitude, and silence of the interface is significant, and the torpedo begins to spin to port, twisting by some 35 degrees from neutral.

Thankfully, the Servitor-cogitator is still functional.

+MELTA WEAPON FIRING+

+CONTACT IMMINENT+

A terrific force counters the propulsion units, pressing against your bodies like a hard gust of inexorable wind, and the howl of vaporising material. Shudders and bangs hammer the torpedo, and a peal of metal-to-metal before the sudden jarring of arrest when your unstoppable force hits an immovable object. The servitor is wrenched from its implanted altar, and is hurled forward, breaking up over Nurgui's shoulder, spattering the insides of the torpedo with oil and bloody gruel.

An alert lamp sparks up, painting the craft in amber hue, but the hydraulic nosecap and boarding gate remains silent.

Three heartbeats later, the explosive charges meant to help penetrate the hull erupt, blowing off the front end of the torpedo, showering Luthais with sparks and molten swarf, immediately decompressing the whole craft. The air, however, stabilises swiftly, proving there is atmosphere in this part of the hulk.  Outside the craft there is a dark corridor, awash with your own emergency lights and the smouldering orange glow of melta exposure blocking the way left.

The right hand side slopes down, the corridor just wide enough for a single Terminator.

The hull creaks around you, though in welcome or warning, you are not sure.

Edited July 3, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Philemon growled, unshaken by the impact but infuriated by the less than textbook incursion. Quickly he checked the feeds from the rest of the squad. No injuries. Praise the God-Emperor for that at least.

 

+++Well, we're aboard…+++ he quipped. +++...and it looks like we're going right. Brother Luthais, lead on. All, watch your sensoria.+++

 

They would have to continue in the order they had boarded the torpedo, as there was no room here to shuffle their positions. As Kill-Team Regent moved forward into darkness, Philemon clicked on the igniter below the tip of Torrens Ignis. The extra light revealed nothing new, its illumination pitiful compared to the powerful stablights mounted atop the flat upper surfaces of the squad's warsuits. Nevertheless, the tiny flame brought a warm glow of pleasure to his twin hearts.

Edited March 9, 2023 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

As you deploy into the truncated corridor, the deck groans beneath your feet, and you hear the skittering of feet in the darkness, your augurs and relays picking up the noise and space in front of you.

=][= For some reason this map is now total b0rk! Oh, the trials of a GM! =][=

The corridor is blocked by debris, and therefore also blocks your line of sight. However, this is the only way through, and the debris looks loose and light enough that a full action attack from the weapons you have will destroy it.  Feel free to post the composition and action required, as viscerally or not as you like.

Once that has been done, Gentlemen:

Initiatives.

Edited July 5, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

As explosive bolts fire to free the torpedos prow Luthais leaps forward, sparks and flames washing around his armour as he moves to clear the breach before any advarsary could take advantage of the kill teams limited space to move.

Planting an armoured foot against the wall as he banks right into the corridor Luthais builds up speed and lowers his shoulder as he throws the full weight of his warsuit into the detrius around the impact site, bursting out into the room beyond with a thunderous crash.

 

Thunder charge the debris

Initiative 3+4+1 = 8

Edited July 4, 2022 by A.T.

[Necronaut]

Drawing Doombringer in a flash of adamantium, Arcturion stormed out of the boarding torpedo in line with the others, head swiveling about in search of threats. He heard more than saw Luthais obliterate the obstruction ahead of the kill-team, and his brow furrowed as he neared the terminus of the narrow hallway.

 

The warp roiled and bubbled beyond the ken of the others. It would be child's play to reach out and grasp but a fraction of its power and call down the coruscating bolts of lightning which hungered for the flesh of the impure.

 

Initiative:

1d10+Ag3

 Initiative: 1d10 2

2+3 = 5

 

[Lysimachus]

Philemon shouldered his way through what was left of the barrier behind Luthais, scanning the area ahead for threats, ready to trigger a gout of blessed promethium that would turn the fiercest xenos horde into a burning sacrifice to the glory of the Emperor of Mankind. In his left hand, Vindicta Dei crackled with beautiful, deadly light.

Initiative: Ag3 +1(Armour History) +2(SigWM effect) +7(d10) = 13.

[Machine God]

Korvaan at the rear heard the Assault Marine in the van surged forwards through a wall and into a larger chamber.

Killteam Regent flowed forwards into action as TDA did, Korvaan's belligerent suit was eager for battle.

AGL 50. 5 +1 (Armour History) +9 (d10) = 15

[Mazer Rackham]

+ NARRATIVE TIME ENDS +

+ STRUCTURED TIME BEGINS +

As the pathetic barricade is smashed into smithereens by the bulky shoulder of the Storm Warden, the foul air of the the cluttered chamber beyond is detected as it slithers against your armoured skin, thick with pheremones, spores and whatever dust linger.

Confronting you, pus-yellow eyes glimmer in the gloaming dimness, and threat reticules paint red layers over weapons hurriedly coming to bear.  Distended jaws, twisted faces and hard, jagged shoulders show these vermin are Genestealer Hybrids, the dregs and downtrodden of their own misbegotten heresy.  Once they came from human genestock, but the purity of the human form has been utterly perverted by the damnation of the alien filth.

One of them ceases jabbing slime covered fingers at a console, the digits elongated, knuckles swollen with deformity of sin or arthritic rebellion you do not know or care.  A flash of a bracelet, whisps of long hair falling as the creature recoils are mere details.

All that remains now: Death.

Spoiler

+ Initiative Order +

Spoiler

Korvaan = 15 (21/21) (4/4) [ ]

Hybrid 5 = 14 [ ]

Philemon = 13 (23/23) (3/4) [ ]

Hybrid 3 = 12 [ ]

Nergüi (I had to C+P this, no damn Numlock!) = 10 (26/26) (3/3)

Hybrid 1 = 9 [ ]

Luthais = 8 (26/26) (3/3) [ ]

Hybrid 2 = 8 (PC has Priority) [ ]

Hybrid 6 = 8 (PC has priority) [ ]

Hybrid 4 = 6 [ ] 3 Wounds

Arcturion = 5 (20/20) (3/3) [ ]

Waiting for Brothers...

 

 

 

Edited July 7, 2022 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Korvaan fought down the urging of his gene-seed to rush into combat with the filthy flesh of the Genestealer Hybrids and hack them into ribbons. He advanced like a silent automata calmly he drew his Storm Bolter and unleashed a boltfire barrage at Hybrid #3.

 

 

 

Free Action: Move 6m forwards.

Full Action: SAB Vs Hybrid#3.

BS 55 +10 (SAB) +10 (Short Range) = 75. Result: 23, Pass 5DoS = 3 Hits x2 (Storm). 1D10+9, Pen 4 (Storm, Tearing). 23 = 32: Body.

Hit #1: Body. (9, 10) 10 + RF 10 + RF 3 + 9 = 32 Damage.

Hit #2: Body. (2, 6) 6 + 9 = 15 Damage.

Hit #3: Right Arm. (5, 5) 5 + 9 = 14 Damage.

Hit #4: Head. (3, 2) 3 + 9 = 12 Damage.

Hit #5: Left Arm. (2, 4) 4 + 9 = 13 Damage.

Hit #6: Body. (4, 1) 4 + 9 = 13 Damage.

 

 

 

 

Edited March 26, 2023 by Machine God
Edit Gap

[Mazer Rackham]

I will resolve MG/Korvaan's attack as it doesn't really disrupt anything.

The hail of mass reactive slugs perforate the target, and after enfleshing themselves, detonate in a ripple of tearing fleash and gobbets of flash-cooked gore.  The stench of propellant burned meat is a grisly perfume in the rank air, detected by the advanced augurs in your helms.

Arcturion feels it more keenly - the threads of a life, even shrouded by shadow, are cut, the line connecting the bestial wretch rapidly being yanked away...

Hybrid 3 is very, very, very dead.

[Mazer Rackham]

Hybrid 5:

Seeing the demise of it's sibling, the brutal visage contorts in both rage and some semblance of grief, the human soul within the contaminated body somehow manifesting. From the elevated position, it peers through a window of an ancient vessel, the hull mangled and twisted into the debris around you, even as the body of the Hybrid is fused with xenos chitin. It fumbles with something at it's waist, before hurling the blinking object at (Random 1 D5 = Philemon)

Spoiler

Half Action: Ready Krak Grenade

Half Action: Standard Attack, Krak Grenade

(MISS and Scatter - Direction 2m Up (Arcturion)

Dam: 3D10 + 4 = 25, Pen 6

GM Note: Hybrids 5 and 6 are elevated and behind 6AP with: (Head, Arms) exposed.

Philemon [ ]

 

[Trokair]

(Small bit that would have been back on the ship if I had had time to post last week.)

 

A slight click sounded as Nergüi switched to external speakers. If the others had listened very carefully they would have heard the end of his near silent prayer of focus as the helmets speakers engaged. Turning to briefly look at each of the others he spoke.

“Apologies Brothers, you sought my council and I had none to give. The dark place of the soul had me detained. I have faced time on a hulk before, and for those of you for whom this is the first time heed this warning. Hulks are distilled blasphemy and madness, they are doom. The rest of you know of what I speak.”

He continued with a short chant in a language that none of you know, its register low, almost a growl but yet recognisable as speech, an underlying harmonic fading in an out. There was something primal in those utterings.

“Doom has been called upon us, embrace it or die.” He finished in high gothic, eyelense flaring within the wolf like skull helm.

 

Spoiler

(Now back to current time:)

D10: 7 + 3Ag = 10

 

Edited July 7, 2022 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

The Emperor's Blade snarled at the presence, the very existence, of these unholy perversions of the sacred human form.

 

"Purge this filth!" he roared, stepping forward. Even as he did, there was a clatter of something striking the top of his armour. A Krak grenade! The device, poorly aimed, clattered across both his warplate and Korvaan's before exploding as it bounced against Arcturion's. A momentary red flare on the Librarian's sensorium. A glancing blow, not enough to cause any damage.

 

He turned and saw the Hybrid grenadier trying to hide with one of its fellows behind the wreckage on the gallery above. Guilliman's magnum opus strongly warned against the dangers of making an advance under the guns of enemy flankers. It also advised speedy retribution against fools with the temerity to attack one of the Emperor's Chosen. Gravely, he swung Torrens Ignis and let out a short, roiling blast of brilliant light and burning heat.

 

"Try hiding from this."

 

Free Action: Philemon enters Squad Mode (Cohesion at 10+, cannot fail Cohesion Challenge, all other Characters in Support Range may enter Squad Mode as a Free Action) and activates Lead By Example* for 2 CP (now on 13).

*all who join gain +8 on all Characteristic Tests and 1 reroll between them per Round.

 

Regular Actions:
Half move 4m southeast.
Single shot: HF at Hybrids 5 and 6. Autohit.
(Cleanse and Purify and Cleansing Flame mean all Ag rolls are at -20 and successful Ag Tests must be rerolled).
Dam 1d10+12 +2(MC) +2(Mighty Shot)
6+16 = 22 Dam at Pen6. No cover.

 

@GM: I'm not sure if I roll Damage once for all the targets hit, or each one individually - if you want me to roll a second d10, let me know?

 

Edited March 9, 2023 by Lysimachus