A Time of Reaving IC

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

At the report of the Phastus PDF flyover, Elvrit nodded to Nuzry.

 

“Transmit a message to Planetary Governor Groskov. Tell him, if he is a loyal servant of the Emperor, to pull back from the Iron Warriors garrison. Further intrusion into Astartes matters will be at the risk of the lives of his men… and his own.”

 

When another Astartes entered the bridge a few minutes later, it took a moment for Elvrit to recognise his Legion colours beneath the grime and dirt. A Salamander, and a devotee of Mars by his appearance. Immediately worthy of respect. Odd that Tyrthon had not mentioned that there was another Space Marine working on repairs to the Tribute, but perhaps it was simply an example of how the thinking of the Mechanicus was not that of other men. He nodded respectfully to the Techmarine and did his best to summarise their situation.

 

“We were forced to retreat from Istvaan however we could, hence the motley band you see. We came to Phastus with the intent of finding a functioning Astropath to send a warning to Terra, along with raiding the Iron Warriors garrison here for supplies. We took the fortress, but were forced to pause our investigation of the arsenal in order to hunt down a Death Guard bulk transport that was leaving the system when we arrived. That is where we are going now.”

 

He paused.

 

“We did have one of your Legion brethren with us, Ekene Sul of Battle Cadre Sindrix, but he was injured during the attack on the garrison and rests in Sus-An sleep. You would appear to be in command of this vessel.”

 

 

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

His servo arm twitched as Captain Nuzry responded, seemingly surprised he was still aboard, and again when the ebon warrior offered a half-answer to his queries. 

 

"No, shipmistress, I did not make planetfall with the others. Your powers of observation are to be commended. I have been in the heart of this beast, fighting to hold this rust-bucket of a ship together after your predecessor nearly got us all shot to pieces, or have you not seen the reports from Magos Tyrthon?! Now, as I see none of my brothers amongst your number, which makes me master and commander of this wretched vessel, you will tell me what in the blazes is going on, why we left Istvaan and what has become of the Primarch and the rest of the XVIIIth legion! Where are the rest of my battle company? To what end have we assaulted a IVth Legion garrison?! To think this rabble have commandeered my vessel, and to what ends?!”

 

Turning to the Iron Hand, he continued his tirade, “Still your tongue, Xth! I will come to you in time, and if I am not pleased by your answers then don't think I won't vent the plasma core into what remains of this ship and commend all aboard to the void!" 

Edited June 14 by Necronaut

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

It took Hadad a moment to discern the Techsworn marine’s heraldry, but when he did his mood lightened, there was another Salamander on the ship, and one of honours and rank. It had been bothering him a little that they were on a Legion vessel whose only representative they had let get injured on what should have been a simple excursion. That there was another was fortuitous.

 

Rising he went over to greet the newcomer and introduce himself. Before he got as far as that though the Techsworn berated both Nuzry and the Iron Hand, this was going to be a difficult conversation.

 

Holding up his empty hands as a peace offering Haddad spoke.  

 

“As Brother Elvrit said, the rooting out of the oath breaker and rebellious legion on Istvann went very awry. Large portions of the XVII, VIII, XX and my form kin sided with the Warmaster and entrapped the deployed elements of your own, the Raven Guard and the Iron Hand. It was devastatingly close to a total rout. Reports are sketchy and incomplete, but it appears that the Iron hands liege was slain, of yours or the Raven we do not know. The fact that any of us got out at all was ... well ... happenstance.”

 

 

“As for the Garrison, while I personally am not certain they had followed that which had once been Father into rebellion, they certainly did not offer aid when we sought resupplies and drew weapons on us when we tried to inform them of the events at Istvann.”

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

The techmarine paused in his tirade, scowled at the IVth Legionary, and then stalked over to look into the eyes of one who would turn his back on his own brothers rather than, supposedly, follow them into treachery, his servo-arm opening and closing menacingly overhead. 

 

Better to die with one's honour intact, perhaps? Perhaps not…

 

"He is your gene-sire no matter your actions in life, Iron Warrior. But if what you say is true, you may yet expunge the guilt from your conscience. Better to die untainted by treachery in your hearts.”

 

He turned to face the rest of the survivors of what would come to be called the Drop Site Massacre. If they were all true sons of the Emperor, oath- and honour-bound to prosecute His Will, then there were formalities to be observed. He doffed his scarred Mk III helm to reveal a face horribly disfigured by the ravages of war and time and exposure to horrific chem-munitions. He was a twisted mess of scar tissue and grafted augmetics – an obvious web of embedded circuitry had been fused to his flesh, its lines shining a pristine gold against his obsidian scalp, which traced their way down the back of his neck along his spinal column below the inner lining of his power armour. The silver frame and baleful green lenses of an embedded auspex blister occupied his right eye socket, allowing him to see things that none of the rest might realize about themselves, while his remaining left eye, still of his own flesh and blood, fairly pulsed with crimson malevolence. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was clear that much of his facial anatomy had been reconstructed with cybernetic grafts, portions of his tongue included, and most of his teeth were now chrome plated steel prosthetics, presumably replacing the ones which had been lost due to radiation sickness.

 

His voice grated with poisonous spite and flecks of spittle escaped his mouth when he spoke. He straightened and held his helm under the crook of one arm, and addressed the rag-tag band of warriors, “I am Hadrian Numidax Basiliscus, Pyroclast-Machinator of the XVIIIth Legion, and loyal servant of the Emperor. I have kept this ship alive while all of you have gone galavanting about the galaxy on your merry quest for revenge. I sense that some or most of you may grieve for your fallen brethren, your slain Primarch, your stained honour. They all died upon the black sands in service of the Emperor, and that is enough. There is nothing to grieve. There is no revenge; this is war. The traitors will be put to the sword, their leaders executed for their crimes and erased from memory, their perfidy put to the torch. Now, tell me your names and more of what has happened, that I might better know those who I would take up arms alongside…”

 

He waited for each of the others to introduce themselves and explain their plight in turn, committing their faces and names to memory. The Iron Hands had truly had a wretched time of it with the loss of their Primarch. The spectral sight afforded by his embedded auspex revealed how ill-at-ease they were, but he made no further comment on the matter. They were a sterner sort than that, possessed of a stronger mettle than most, and but needed a target upon which they could focus their ire. He felt venomous bile rising in his throat at the thought of three legions, including his own, being virtually wiped out and taken off of the board in one fell swoop.

 

No word of his own Primarch, Lord Vulkan, but he knew that old drake was nigh-unkillable even in the worst of times.

 

“Very good. As for this garrison you just plundered… let any who stand against us be marked as traitors and accorded as such. The Omnissiah will recognize His own in the final reckoning.” Turning back to the slight woman occupying the command throne, "Captain Nuzry, what is our target, and our objective? And how long until we make contact?" 

Edited June 14 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Ashmon

 

An aged Smith honour-bound to stay with his ship, 

 

No talk of not being on the sands, no talk of retreat before the fact. 

 

Ashmon turned to weather the storm. 

 

"Mars-sworn. I am Ashmon Stormwalker, Codicier of the Iron Tenth!" 

 

 

 

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

Guilt? No, there was no guilt, it was not him that had broken the oaths, it was not him that had abandoned duty, that had transgressed. The Techsworn had misread him in that. Nor vengeance, though he was not wrong as far as some of the other saviours, there was a desire for it amongst them. Grieve and its companions, now that was closer to the mark. Though it too rang hollow to him, perhaps this spoke too just how long it had been since the Legion’s heart had been hale.

 

 

“None of us can choose our father, and while we might strive to be worthy of them, you to yours, I ounce to what had been mine, when they break with you, and ask of you to likewise turn your back on all you stand for, then by what right can they still claim to be a father. There is more to being a father and a son then some genetic tie. I cannot speak to yours, but the evidence of the last few days speak that he is better to his son then I had had.”

 

 

“I hear you Hadrian Numidax Basiliscus, better to live or die with duty true, then either with oaths discarded. I am Utu Mot Hadad, Legionless as witnessed by the black sands.”  

[Black Cohort]

The plan that was already set in motion before the Tech-marine emerged from the bowels of the ship would not wait while you fully figured out the new dynamics.

 

"I hate to interrupt." Capt Nuzry said.  "But we are 20 minutes from maximum weapons range to the target.  What is the plan?"

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

Hadrian barked a rueful and raspy laugh, “Hah! Carry on then, ye blaggards! I will defer to whomever was leading this caper, but this is my ship. Run out our guns and put the fear in them, Captain Nuzry!”

 

Turning to the others, the grizzled techmarine paused and growled, "What is our plan for this bulk hauler, exactly?" 

Edited June 17 by Necronaut

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

"Kill hostiles. Secure ship and/or supplies from the ship. Scuttle if needed, take if possible."

 

The best plans were not iron-hard, but flexible goals that allowed for any and all changes. The Shadow-Masters taught to take all circumstances in stride and use everything to your advantage. Kraith was no Shadow-Walker, but had stepped on the path and learned some from the elder Ravens. 

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

Arazakiel watched on, expessionless but judgemental. The mechanicus could not have been innocent in all of this for the warmaster could not have made such a more without the support of at least some of their kind, forgeworlds to fuel the war and repair the fleet more valuable than any number of bulk transports.

 

But to more immediate plans, "whatever else, our priority must be to warn the Emperor and all those others who stand with knives to their back. An astropath aboard the transport, meants to get the warning out, is worth more than any information or supplies it might carry."

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

Hadrian nodded thoughtfully at Kraith and Arazakiel’s words; clearly they had already resolved to do what was necessary to wage their own private war. The die had been cast.

 

Good.

 

“So be it. Let us formalize my induction into your cabal with a good blood-letting. Shipmistress, target their engines and communications array, and bring us alongside. Fire at will when in range." 

Edited June 20 by Necronaut

[Black Cohort]

The ship shifted course slightly as it reached maximum weapons range and shuddered as a volley was fired.

 

"I recommend you take to your thunderhawk now.  Their shields will not last long."

[Lysimachus]

Elvrit:

 

The Iron Hand nodded respectfully to the mortal officer and turned to exit the bridge. As he passed the Salamander Techmarine, he nodded again.

 

“Adept,” he offered gruffly. “Magos Tyrthon did not mention your presence aboard when we were retreating from Istvaan. I hope that my attempts during the journey to assist your repair crews gave no offence.”

 

Such politeness was not typically part of Elvrit's manner, but any initiate of the knowledge of Mars should be considered worthy of double honour.

 

Niceties satisfied, he turned his thoughts back to the task at hand. The Death Guard had a reputation similar to his own Legion, of solid reliability and firepower on the move. Elvrit remembered what his Primarch had said about them:

 

"Say what you will about the Death Guard. They're ugly, vicious bastards, but tenacious. There's no one else I'd rather have with me in a war of attrition, and almost anyone else I'd rather have against me.”

 

Wise words. Accurate. Sudden choler filled both his hearts at the thought that he would never again hear his father's wisdom spoken aloud.

 

The prospect of killing more traitors pleased him greatly.

 

Of course, that was assuming that any of Mortarion's sons were aboard the Conveyor. Unlikely, if the bulk transport was nothing more than what it appeared to be. Space Marines did not usually guard grain shipments.

 

 

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

Hardian grunted in acknowledgement at Elvrit, "You certainly didn't cause more harm, breacher… Better an ugly and functional repair than none at all.”

 

He clapped the Iron Hand’s pauldron and pushed his helm back over his disfigured head.

 

"I will meet you in the hangar – I must collect my effects."

 

+++

 

A short detour later and his implements of war were in hand and mag-locked to his person. These were the tools which had served him amongst the black-armoured destroyers, who later became the Pyroclasts of his gene-father, bearers of the cleansing flames of reason. His power axe, Caress, rested on his power pack, and he inspected an ancient flame projector while he walked to the right deck, the like and use of which had been largely proscribed by his primarch. But Hadrian stubbornly clung to the old ways. This unit had been lovingly maintained, and its name, Illuminator, had been carefully etched onto its chassis in High Gothic lettering. 

 

Its fuel tank was marked with starkly opposed red-and-white triangles and black flames and death's heads with crossed bones. Four words in ebon letters told of the deadly contents of its lungs, a weapon whose very breath was corrosive flame:

 

SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTIBLE

 

PHOSPHEX FUEL

Edited June 23 by Necronaut
Spelling

[Machine God]

Ashmon 

 

Nothing more had needed to be said.

 

He'd found himself on the Thunderhawk inspecting his crash harness.

 

 

 

 

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

Utu took the seat closets to the Thunderhawk’s ramp, on the left side so that even strapped in he could sit slightly askew facing the door with rain held such that he could open fire as soon as the ramp begun to descend, just in case.  

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

Even a simple transport of the Imperium would be armoured within and without against the possibility of xenos raiders. Blasting charges would be required, their limited resources further tested.

[Black Cohort]

The Thunderhawk shoots out of the hanger and begins accelerating towards the target ship.  

 

The frigate's fire has clearly had an effect as the rear of the ship is clearly heavily damaged in several places, along with smaller patches of damage scattered around the ship.  Likely various light weapon systems or shield generators.

 

The pilot brings the Thunderhawk to a secondary access point that has an airlock that can be breached relatively easily.

 

ooc: A -10 difficulty tech-use test could override the controls giving you entry without having to breach.  Otherwise a +10 demolitions test is needed.

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

He lined up behind the Breacher, whose shield was ready. Kraith cycled his swords, quietly revving them to make sure the bands were clear and running smooth. He looked at the airlock and calculated where a krak grenade would easily breach the locking plate and let them in; they had a Tech-Marine now though, who could possibly let them in with more stealth than an explosive charge. At the very least, the one trained by Mars would be able to better place the charges so that less damage was done.

 

++Ready to breach. On your lead, Salamander.++

Edited June 30 by Lord_Ikka

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

The thunderhawk came alongside the wounded bulk hauler and matched its velocity, seemingly hovering a short distance away from the strike team’s victim like a vulture eyeing its next meal, an apt comparison, perhaps. A side hatch opened on the side of the gunship and Hadrian emerged into the void, his servo-arm extended like the claw of an enormous iron crustacean. He pushed off from the slab-nosed astartes craft and drifted for a few seconds before his mechadendrite located a serviceable anchoring point and latched on with an unbreakable grip. He reeled himself the rest of the way in, until the magnetic soles of his sabatons silently clamped to the hull of the ugly and brutish vessel, and gave a nod to his compatriots.

 

While the Iron Hand breacher, Elvrit, and the Raven Guard warrior, Kraith, floated across the narrow span to join him, Hadrian produced a beaching charge and started to clamp it in place over the air-lock. Once the other two landed, they placed additional charges and helped to wire the explosives per his instructions.

 

+Breaching charges placed and armed. Stand by.+

 

Demolitions +10 Test: I51 + 10 (Easy) + 10 (Assist) = 71

D100: 48; 2 DoS

[Black Cohort]

The charge detonates, coring out the locking mechanism securing the air-lock.  Those of you already on the hull sway with the rush of air as part of the ship depressurizes.  Inside you see a dark tunnel with lights flickering.

 

Systems within the ship attempt to sync with your armour's comms systems. 

[Trokair]

Hadad

 

Magnetically clamped to the Thunderhawk’s deck Hadad leaned out, Rain at the reedy, to provide covering fire for the others as they laid the charges against the door and prepared for breach. The autocannon would not fire to full affect in vacuum, but its ragged design and intended use by Astartes meant that he would get at least one, perhaps more shots off if the need arose. A  Autcannon shell would do little to the bulk carrier by itself, even one as old and worn as this one, but it would deal nicely if any crew took it upon themselves to come out onto the hull and have a go at the others.

 

With the breach in the airlock made the others swiftly made their way inside the craft. Hadad released the magnetic clamp holding him to the deck so that he could manoeuvre over to the bulkcarrier and follow them in.

Edited July 3 by Trokair

[Lord_Ikka]

Kraith

 

Kraith moved. Boarding actions were about swift, decisive momentum and the Raven Guard would not give up any advantage to the enemy. He ran through the debris of the shattered lock, shouldering the airlock hatch out of the way. A maintenance servitor was cleaning in the small antechamber, mindlessly sweeping with it's hard-wired broom. A cut, left-blade, servitor removed.

 

His battle-armor's machine spirit brought up a possible map of the ship's interior. It was a standard bulk transport, but some legions changed the layouts of their vehicles and starships to better serve their needs. Three icons pulsed gently. 

 

++Bridge. Communications. Engine.++

 

His voice was clipped and quick, cursing himself that they hadn't made this decision before beginning the attack. The band's lack of experience with each other and differing styles of battle could hinder them... but they must work together to frustrate the Traitors.

 

++Target needed.++

[A.T.]

Arazakiel

 

"Communications. We must determine if this ship carries an astropath, their word may save planets but may also bring the weight of the warmasters pursuit to this world if his dogs have not already been forewarned of our arrival"

 

Kraith had the way of it. Move quickly and with purpose, the vessel could not escape the guns of their warship and so only the head need be cut.

[Necronaut]

The Basilisk

 

Hadrian entered behind the others and rasped over the vox, +I say we divide and conquer. Onward to the communications hub then, ye hunters. Go with them, psyker.+

 

The techmarine shuddered inwardly at the Iron Hand’s unnatural gift, which he had learned of only just recently. He was also greatly disturbed by the gusto with which the Warmaster’s forces had descended into debauchery, madness and sorcery, if the accounts of the others could be believed, now that they felt freed from the Emperor's strictures and proscriptions and any semblance of sanity.

 

With a rictus of disgust contorting his ugly features behind his helm, he drew his power axe and bolt pistol.

 

+Elvrit, Hadad, let us take the enginarium. Hopefully one of those traitorous dogs holds command aboard this garbage scow and we might drawn him out. Failing that, we will scuttle it from there. You have the van, breacher.+

Edited July 4 by Necronaut