Deathwatch: Murderers in Black (IC Thread)

[Lysimachus]

All: Dendinius waits for silence, then speaks. The psyker officer sounds slightly affronted by the back and forth amongst the squad.

 

“I did not hear the Watch-Captain make any accusation against anyone? He simply pointed out a few… discrepancies, and asked all of us to be observant. I do not see how that is anything other than helping us to be well-prepared for a complex mission? And Brother Omoc is quite correct. The Raptor has command, so it is his prerogative.”

 

He seems ready to say more, but Skaayn holds up a hand.

 

“Peace, Brother Codicier. I have no problem with my men asking questions. Perhaps my former duties have made me too focused on intrigues and shadows… though I'd wager that if any of you serve alongside the Inquisition for as long as I have, you’ll soon find your own tendencies similarly altered?”

 

“I will say it more plainly. We follow our oaths. Until such time as proof to the contrary is found, we obey whatever command the Inquisitor gives us. I just ask that you each be alert.”

 

Skaayn looks at Azadth, then at Zidemi. He nods thoughtfully.

 

“Perhaps I do test you. That is part of my responsibilities as Watch-Captain, to see that you form a bond of brotherhood in spite of your various pasts and heritages. While I don't agree with the timing of… Brother Asterius’... attack, I respect his courage and skill, and I am pleased to see such loyalty building amongst you already.”

 

Finally he looks to Moridyn.

 

"Standard combat insertion, establish a beachhead for the Inquisitorial forces and investigators. Advance into the Mechanicus settlement and, depending on what we find, directly into the cave system as well."

 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 4 by Lysimachus

[Urauloth]

Váfri

 

What the Watch-Captain was suggesting made sense, at least on an instinctual level. Váfri didn't trust the Inquisition at the best of times, and he hadn't liked Kine from the minute he'd first seen him. How had their predecessors truly died? There was nothing damning Kine, though, just a few threads to tug at that might unravel something sinister or might equally turn out to be nothing at all. He thought on it a moment while he listened to some of the others weigh in, then added his own voice.

 

"I can't fault the Blackshield, except for letting his haste to get to grips with the foe outweigh his best judgement. He fought hard for us. He's tough, too - doesn't surprise me he survived before after seeing him live through what that Ork threw at him."

 

"I don't know about Kine, and I'm no investigator. If there is treachery in his heart, then he should die. If it comes to that, Watch-Captain, you know where I stand. Otherwise, as brother Moridyn says, we need to be sure we're as sharp as possible for Dorghra."

 

A shame they didn't know what they'd be up against there, though. Hard to refine your techniques for hunting something you'd never seen.

 

"One thing, though," he added, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "That big Ork was ranting about something odd - odder than usual for their kind, I mean. Something about a human telling him where to find loot? I didn't catch all of it."

That was certainly true: Over the roar of his chainblade and the general din of the battle, even the exceptional hearing of a son of Russ couldn't make out everything the Freeboter had been bellowing.

"Some of you were closer. Did you hear it?"

It might just have been the addled raving of a mad pirate, but given what Skaayn had just brought up, he didn't want to simply dismiss it.

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

'I heard little apart from his bellowing,' Azadth volunteered, although it was more an escape from his thoughts, much like the poking of the tough, gristly meat with a probing finger. 'Although, I think we might be eating him.'

 

As it occurred to him, he realised it was an opportunity missed, however disgusting, but survival in all forms was disgusting.

 

Returning to to Zidemi's and Agha Skaayn's praise for the valour of the Blackshield, Azadth admitted that yes, it was so, but he also cleaved to Váfri's question of judgement. Like climbing to a false summit, suspicion and concern grasped hand over hand. What if Asterius had been so reckless before? What if his actions had been in the close quarters of a mineshaft or space ship passageway where support was not readily offered?

 

What if he was the reason the roll of fallen heroes was filled so quickly?

 

Treacherous thoughts, like scree under fingertips, threatening to dislodge. He'd seen something of madness before. The Mantisae were not immune to strange happenstances of mind and humour, the so-called Religiosa a dire warning of the consequence of losing self to the kill, albeit an extreme of patience rendered into catatonia than fury of action. In extreme cases, the jungle fed well.

 

Yes. Survival was often disgusting.

 

Azadth shook his head free of it. This is what happened when a man sat in shadow-haunted caves - his thoughts turned darkly, turned inward.

 

'There is no such thing as co-incidence,' he voiced. He slopped the meat out onto the table, drew his Khukurai and beat it firmly with the handle. Frustration redirected, he ate.

 

Ah yes. Much better.

[Lysimachus]

OOC: I'm assuming that everyone (and Gerhardt in particular who was closer to Grubgob and should definitely have heard his words?) will have made after-action reports back to Skaayn that include this stuff, so he knows what you are talking about?

 

 

The Raptor gives a brief smile of appreciation at Vafri's words of support, then frowns at his mention of Grubgob's ranting. He nods in full agreement with Azadth's statement.

 

“Aye, it's a concern. Those Freebooterz started making trouble in this Sector six months ago or more, so if someone deliberately sent them this way, it must have been before that. Seven months? Ten? A year? That's far before any of us in this chamber even thought of coming here. A real long game.”

 

“They wore an Ordo icon. No such thing as a coincidence, just like the Mantis Warrior said. That says it could be Kine, or one of his agents. He's been based out of the Bulwark for several years… but why would you want to bring Orks into your own patch? Most want to be rid of them!”

 

“Unless… Kine undoubtedly has enemies within the local Conclave, even within the Ordo Xenos - they all do! Perhaps one of them was trying to target Kine, or distract him, or…?”

 

He grunts in irritation, and waves his own words away.

 

“All just ‘empty suspicion’ right now. Hell, the Ork's name was ‘Grubgob’. Maybe he was just lying?”

 

 

[Ancient_Sobek]

Bekkar

 

As Bek listened to the Watch-Captains concerns, he wondered what kind of mess he had been dropped into. Having just arrived, he didn’t have the practical data to make a decision, so the theoretical would have to suffice.

 

”Distraction” he said. 
 

“Explain?”  Skaayn said, turning to the breacher.

 

”You asked why anyone would invite the orks. A possible answer is distraction. Perhaps Kine wishes to conceal what was found at Dorgha. It is easier to hide one’s actions if there is a more pressing concern.”

 

”Perhaps…” he thought, “Perhaps we are not the first team he hand picked for this mission?”

 

Bek, contemplated this line of inquiry. Nothing directly pointed to the inquisitor.

 

”Or” he posited “there could be another party we are not aware of”

 

Skaayn furrowed his brow. “A rival?”

 

”Yes, the inquisition is a hotbed of intrigue and duplicity. Perhaps there is another that is seeking to thwart Kine’s attempts to solve this mystery. The ork attack would make a handy roadblock to delay our return.”

[Trokair]

OOC – This scene is retrospectively filled in as I have finally had some time. It takes place after the engagement with the orks, but some hours before the meeting where Watch Captain  Skaayn shares his suspicion as per Scene 9: The Quiet, @Lysimachus, hope this works ok with you as set up for the scene. 

 

 

 

The stars where out flickering in the night sky, and with a little patience and carful observation she could even discern which were real and which were ships and the orbital docs. It was cold at night, and even with as mild a wind as tonight the chill had teeth and was eager to bite.

 

She really should not be up here at this hour, but sleep had been an uneasy mess, the events of the day fresh in her mind. Training could never prepare one for war, just provide the skills to survive it, or so she hoped. The battle, nay skirmish really, though it had not felt like it in the moment, had been brief, and much had happened all too quickly for her to really take it in. The hours spend going over the after action reports; the data feeds from the team and the vid capture and its unerring sharpness of frame by frame replay had no doubt contributed to the restless night.

 

The chill had eaten its way through her overcoat, and was happily gnawing on flesh now, better to head back inside before it tasted bone. The day’s events while unpleasant were not however the only thought to circle round her head, perhaps it was time to go over Huskarl Aykawa head.

 

Knocking lightly on the chamber door she waited, finding Jarl Skaayn abode had proven easy enough, but now that she stood here, some indeterminate time before dawn, this was perhaps not the best time. While einherjar need les sleep than mortals they still needed some. As she was about to turn and leave, footsteps from inside revealed that the Jarl had heard her.

 

Bowing as he opened the door.

 

“Apologies for the Hour Jarl Skaayn, would you spare some time for me?”

 

The chamber was lit by a lone candle, perhaps the Jarl had been in prayer or meditation.

 

“I find that I am unable to serve my function as I understood it to be. ‘Be a liaison with the Astartes’ they said when I was pulled out of my last assignment, before it had concluded I might add. Weeks and weeks of travel and months learning here, in the Bulwalk, about the Chamber Militant of the Order Xenos.”

 

“It is poor form to question orders for one such as I, but to liaise do I not need to be able to talk to all parties so as to ensure smooth running of whatever mission thyself and the lord Inquisitor require.”

 

“Huskarl Aykawa appears to avoid me, and when I do speak to the Interrogator he is evasive. The Lord Inquisitor I have yet to speak to, or even be in the same room.”

 

“What service is expected of me?”

 

Edited May 19 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Bekkar: Skaayn nods grimly.

 

“Both reasonable theories, equally possible. But for now… assuming no one else has any bright ideas…,” he looks around, then throws the last piece of gristle away and stands, “...we've got four days to get ready for whatever Dorghra VII holds. Back to training. Adept Ulfurbur, come find me after evening meal. We'll talk then about how you can assist.”

 

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt glowered under the twin inky-black stares of the Codicier and Watch-Captain before bowing his head in acquiescence, hatred and fury making his hearts sink. Discord had been sewn into the fabric of the Kill-Team by the hand of the Inquisition, by the presence of the psyker who wore the same black-and-silver as the rest of them, whom he was oath-sworn to defend and bleed and die alongside like any of the rest of them. That galled him the most. But the Kill-Team was on the cusp of fragmenting, of losing the nascent bonds of brotherhood; it needed a firm hand to set it back on the righteous path. Gerhardt swallowed his pride and straightened himself, teeth gritted and right eye twitching slightly, resolving to lead by example as best he could.

 

“I swear I will do as you bid, Watch-Captain. I will…learn…to work with the, the… with Brother Dendinius. The Emperor, in his Wisdom, has seen fit to test me, to test my faith. He shall not find me wanting. I will bring war to the xenos alongside you, Dendinius, and you will be accorded the respect due a, a... fellow brother under the Apocryphon Oath.”

 

He wanted to collapse under the weight of the words he had just uttered. Were his brothers to learn of this he would never live it down – he would be a pariah, an exile within his own chapter, a leper. He would not be welcomed back into the Crusade fleet.

 

Gerhardt swallowed and growled, “Kill-Team Lucifer, form up! We have drills of penitence to perform for our laxity and dissension! It shames me that Watch-Captain Skaayn should have to entertain our foolishness when there is work to do! By your leave, Captain..."

Edited May 9 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Act 2: Blood

 

Scene 1: The Storm

 

Thirteen hours later finds the Bulwark’s Watchstation as quiet as the grave. Darkness has descended too, as the lumens are lowered while you each retire to your individual cells to benefit from the four hours of rest mandated by the Codex.

 

It is unknown exactly who rises first, more than an hour before the new day is scheduled to begin. But one by one, you all awaken. It is a sense of unease that wakes you, an instinctive response to danger, a habit burned into the subconsciousness of an Astartes mind.

 

Something is very wrong.

 

You emerge from your cells ready to fight, whether armoured or not, equipped with fists or blades or bolters. Perhaps some of you spot one another as you exit into the stony corridors, but no one speaks as you begin to search for the unseen threat that woke you.

 

However, from two of the cells, no one appears. Whoever first approaches the Templar's cell finds it empty, the heavy door left carelessly ajar. Whoever enters the cell belonging to the Black Guard, chosen by the Librarian because it is located as far as possible from any of the other occupied chambers, sees a monstrous, heinous sight.

 

The Codicier, dressed in simple robes, kneels before a small, candlelit, personal shrine, head bent as if in prayer, utterly still.

 

The Watch-Sergeant, similarly robed, stands above and behind him, the hilt of his long sword held in both hands. The blade extends downwards, entering through the back of the psyker's neck and exiting through the abdomen. It is a perfect executioner’s strike, the broad blade severing the top of the spinal column and slicing down through both hearts. A substantial gush of thick Astartes blood has spattered the floor beneath Dendinius’ body, proof of the massive force that must have been behind the thrust.

 

Gerhardt looks up as you enter, his expression in the flickering candlelight a mixture of grim satisfaction… and total confusion…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

OOC: Just as a note, I did discuss this with @Necronaut before posting! 

 

 

 

Edited May 10 by Lysimachus

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi: 

 

An inexplicable sense of dread had awoken Zidemi from his slumber. His chrono told him that it was still an hour before his scheduled duties were to begin. Falling back on a Space Marine's intuition and training, he promptly plotted a mental path to the Forge to arm and armour himself. Wearing only his tunic, he proceeded out of his cell.

 

Upon leaving, he immediately noticed the ajar doors of the other cells belonging to Gerhardt and Dendinius. After entering Gerhardt's and finding it empty, he moved on to the other cell. As he entered, he became aware of the other Kill-Team members leaving their own cells and following the Techmarine's movements.

 

Zidemi immediately sighted the scene: the Codicier impaled by a familiar sword from neck to abdomen, and the Watch-Sergeant wresting both hands on his signature weapon. The blood split before the duo confirming that the strike was lethal and effective.

 

He locked his crimson eyes with Gerhardt's.

 

"What have you done?"

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

The stillness woke him first. Proper sleep had taken him for the first time in as long as he could remember, the staunch walls and exhausting training regimen enough to lull the wild spirit to the hearth. This was trouble. It carried that skin-prickling sensation as nerve endings flared, adrenaline bled into the system, the senses, the war machine rousing, banishing the groggy clutches of Hypnos' surreal realm. How many times had he experienced it? That terrible silence in the jungle, when the animals were cowed to silence for fear, the green hell stilled by atrocity.

 

Sometimes it happened on an ambush. The enemy would come into the kill-zone, and then birds, the beasts immediately silenced as the mortal men within stirred their wits and will to violence. It was the expectation, always followed by realisation, right before the trap was sprung. The strange warmth of a black silk parachute - clammy, constricting.

 

He stood, normally within one of the bunkers of Tranquillity II or III, he would have been nude as custom in the longhouses. In concession to this place of chilly relief, he was in training breeks alone. Barefoot and silent, he rose, stalking to the door, hand finding and grasping the Khukhurai without even looking. By rote, all of his most important effects and weapons were within arm's reach, position memorised. There was hushed movement down below him, the tang of Astartes kill-urge and hurry as the body militant of the keep sought to discern what plagued it with disturbance.

 

No. Unrest.

 

He descended, heard the distinct tread of the heavy Salamander first, the precision of Omoc, the swagger of Váfri. No Templar March or featherweight Raven hop stirred. Sound was the greatest traitor, nothing told a story faster. He slipped further on, finding the Kill-Team coalescing, a brood of Kaimanae looking to feed at a carcass on the riverbank. He could smell the blood in the water already, a coagulation of pseudo-chemicals and haemopharms that made his own scarlet stink. The puissance of Astartes richness.

 

Azadth closed to the back of the pack, silent witness to the grisly tableau, and Zidemi's question thickened by condemnation and disbelief in equal measure.

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

The bolter was in his hands before he awoke. The stentch of taint was unmistakable, so overwhelming as to mask its source. "Let there be none who cross the threshold" the bellowed order the first time he had raised his voice within these walls.

 

Anger, undirected anger. Had the Templar sensed a threat while he lay senseless, if so why did he stand so silent in his act? Whatever his reason he had stepped into lair of the unholy and his purity must be sanctioned.

 

"Bring fire and incense. Gerhardt of the Templars you will stand your ground and be judged"

 

His eyes locked upon the Templar and the witch seeking a source for the taint that scratched at his nerves for while the Black Guard lay dead the threat here remained true.

[Xin Ceithan]

Amaras 

 

“….Immuno- baric rejection of augmentic replacement remains within projected tolerance while re-established  neural linkage looks overall tolerable. Textus nigrum tissue replacement is currently running at capacity, however, Lord Apothecary, so…”  

 

Amaras nodded as he listened to the morning briefing of the Apothecarium serf on duty. A servoskull projected an hololithic overview of Asterius anatomy in front of them.  Running  a gloved finger through the wiremesh  like representation, he brought up further information. The restorative processes required to save the Black Shield had demanded most of Amaras attention since the kill team’s  return.  Back among his own Chapter, such a task would have fallen under the Auspices of a much more senior member of the Apothecarae, but at present, overall supervision fell to Amaras. The Bastion’s small staff of medical specialist serfs had taken to the task at hand admirable though and the Deathwatch stronghold had likewise been sufficiently equipped to address the extensive protocols required to return Asterius to serve the Emperor once more. In what remained of his original body, at least. 

 

Under other conditions, Amaras suspected that their options would have been much limited, compromising mostly extensive reduction of the damaged physiology to the anatomical core aimed at preserving basic functions prior to stasis interment. 

 

A klaxon interrupted his line of thought. The miniature display of Asterius collapsed into itself, immediately replaced by the rotating winged serpentine helix symbol common to the Imperial medical services. It  blinked from bright green to angry red, flanked by high gothic lettering and numbers.

 

 >> ALERT! SUBITIS MAJORIS !! ALERT !  SUBITIS MAJORIS ! ALERT! Deploying on site primary response units! ALERT…<<

 

The sound came from the servo-skull in front of them, as well as vox speakers within the chamber itself. The serf jumped, up and ready at a moments notice, instinctively running towards where the emergency response  equipment was located for immediate access. He hesitated for a just moment,   looking  back at numerals, confirming the location.

 

“Lord!” 

 

The Serf swallowed hard. 

 

“ But .. but Lord, that is  …the Luciferan Dormitory?! That can’t be right?!…” 

 

The Serf turned. 
 

Amaras was already gone.

 

Edited May 12 by Xin Ceithan
Placeholder filled

[Lord_Ikka]

Moridyn

 

A dead Librarian, slain by a brother marine from a chapter known to hate psykers, even those sanctioned by Terra, with an unthinking fervor. 

 

Moridyn hefted his shotgun, but kept it carefully aimed neutrally at the floor. He said nothing at first, merely watched everyone and studied the scene. Emotions overruled logic and cool decisions were needed here.

 

He activated his vox ++Watch-Captain Skaayn, report to Codicier Dendinius' cell immediately.++

 

Turning to the Templar, he spoke softly.

 

"Brother Gerhardt, release the weapon and step back from the body slowly."

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

As he would any killzone, Azadth tried to make sense of the murder from the battleground.

 

Per Test:

Spoiler

Looking to 'read' the room for anything unusual, untoward or that shouldn't be there.

Per: 45 + 10 (HS Sight)

D100: 50, Pass, no DoS.

 

OR

 

Intelligence Test:

Int: 48 (woah, brains!)

D100: 007 Pass, Plus 4 DoS (spy sleuthy).

 

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt lay alone in his cell, clad only in simple robes. The knotted leather thongs of the crude scourge he had constructed were lashed tightly around one fist. His sleep had been deep yet unrestful; broken and tortured, yet he could not rouse himself. Strange, foreign thoughts intruded upon his fitful slumber, insistent and demanding. 

 

Danger.

 

A voice came to him, simultaneously alien and familiar. A stern voice; a trustworthy voice? An irresistible voice. Gerhardt was prodded, goaded into action, compelled to move.

 

It must be done… It must be done… It must be done…

 

Groggily, Gerhardt began to emerge from the depths of the trance-like dream, feeling the comforting and familiar weight of Drachenhauer in his hands. Without even opening his eyes, he immediately knew that he held the mighty blade inverted, pommel up. The faint crackling of something burning in the weapon’s power field came to him next. There was the stench of cooking meat and blood, the pleasing aromas of heretics receiving their just rewards.

 

Satisfaction.

 

Slowly his eyes opened, and he was greeted by a tableau both confusing and macabre. The librarian, Dendinius, a man he had grudgingly sworn to protect scant hours prior, knelt dead at his feet, nearly the full length of his longsword buried in the psyker’s back and torso. Nearby, other shapes gained coherence, taking the forms of Zidemi and Omoc and Moridyn and Azadth. Their faces were twisted in rictuses of horror and rage and disbelief; their weapons were leveled at him. His allies had arrived… to celebrate his work? Had he done well? What had he done?

 

The voice was silent.

 

The witch was dead. Good riddance.

 

And yet…

 

He glanced down and back up again, looking askance at the Salamander, and the Red Scorpion, and the Star Phantom, all of whose words further pushed back the veil of incomprehension.

 

His eyes widened as the gravity of the moment crashed down upon him like a wave. He released the blade from his nerveless fingers.

 

What had he done?!

 

Oathbreaker. Betrayer. Hero? Heretic.

 

Was this the Emperor's will?

 

Dendinius toppled over with a dull, wet thud and lay motionless upon the bare stones, his viscous, crimson vitae traveling away down the runnels and channels of the masonry, thickening and slowing the further it went. Tiny points of light from prayer candles reflected in the coagulating lake of blood surrounding the dead astartes. 

 

“Brothers…? Where, where am I? What are you… What have I…?”

Edited May 11 by Necronaut

[Urauloth]

Váfri

 

In his hours of rest, he dreamed of the Old Ice. He often did. In his dreams, he saw the frozen vistas of his homeworld he remembered from his youth. Glaciers cracked like earthshaker guns as they calved sheets of ice the height of warhound titans. Shrieking winds froze the pines so solid their needles became like thickets of knives. Fur-clad warriors fought from the decks of snekkjur, sending eachother down to the frigid tomb of the bloody ocean.
 

He dreamed of wolves, too, as he often did. A pack loped through driving snow, breath billowing like mist in the light of the moon, heads down in dogged pursuit of prey. This time, though, something was wrong with the familiar dream. A sense of unease stole over him, and he stirred in his sleep. At the head of the pack, a black wolf snapped around and siezed the throat of its nearest companion. A killing bite. Fangs tore flesh. Hot blood steamed on the snow. Frozen in time, the rest of the pack stood snarling, hackles up, in a circle around the killing.

 

Váfri woke with a start.

 

A terrible omen. Something was wrong in the Bulwark. Not portended in the future, but right now. There was no time to have his armour fitted. Buckling on the belt that held his knife and pistol, he left his cell in his robe and furs. He would have liked a sword, but his was still in the armoury undergoing the modifications he'd requested. With luck, what he had with him would suffice.

 

He found out what was wrong very quickly. The other members of the Kill-team all seemed to be alert to it as well, several of them crowding into the Codicier's chambers. Váfri was just beginning to ask what was happening when he got close enough to see the scene himself. A black wolf, tearing the throat from his packmate.

 

"What foolishness is this?"

 

The demand lacked his usual bombast. He kept his voice low, his tone sombre. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing, and he wasn't altogether sure that he should.

Edited May 11 by Urauloth
My line breaks like, never end up in the right place bro

[Lysimachus]

It takes only a matter of minutes for Skaayn to respond to Moridyn's call, Inquisitor Kine and Interrogator Aykawa following in his wake. The Watch-Captain is clearly disgusted, disappointed… but not entirely surprised.

 

“By the Emperor…,” he grimaces, his voice a resigned whisper, “can the honour of the Templars really have fallen so far?”

 

Kine looks, sniffs indifferently, and turns to walk away, speaking loudly over his shoulder as he goes.

 

“There can be only one judgement for such fratricide, Watch-Captain Skaayn. Do what must be done and move on. Our mission must come first.”

 

The Raptor frowns. He looks around the rest of the team, then back at Gerhardt. He stares, clearly unhappy, but finally nods heavily.

 

“Gerhardt of the Black Templars," he declares, "you have failed in your oaths to the Emperor and to the Watch, and done harm to one who should have been your brother. Arrest him. Strip him of all armaments and confine him to his cell. Two of you will stand guard over him at all times. In four days we will depart for Dorghra VII. In three, you will be executed for the murder of a fellow Astartes of the Long Vigil.”

 

He turns to leave Dendinius’ cell, pausing to speak quietly and quickly to the team members who stand outside.

 

“It looks bloody bad… but when the damn Inquisition is involved, it's rare that anything is exactly as it looks. I've given us three days to find out if there might be anything more to this than what it seems.”

 

He looks around again, his eyes falling on Azadth for a moment.

 

“Did you notice the lack of any signs of a fight? No defensive wounds, no damage to anything else in his cell? Dendinius wasn't one to get caught by surprise, though… Something stinks.”

 

Then he looks ahead, glowering at the Inquisitor's rapidly disappearing figure.

 

“I'll keep Kine busy and out of the way, the rest of you try to find out if there is any reason to excuse or explain the Templar's actions. Otherwise… the judgement will stand.”

 

 

 

 

[Mike Zulu]

 

Zidemi: 

 

In typical fashion, Skaayn had cast doubt on what had transpired, but Zidemi failed to see what was in dispute. If Gerhardt was in full control of his blade and motivated by prejudice, he was simply guilty. If he had been puppeteered, as suggested by Gerhardt’s confusion, then he was compromised by the enemy. Neither was a persuasive argument to spare his life.

 

A potential redemption for the Watch-Sergeant was Dendinius to be proven a traitor. Yet, there was no conviction in Gerhardt’s own words, which undermined any justification he could give for the Codicier’s execution. Still, if there was a justification to give, then Gerhardt needed an opportunity to explain his actions.

 

Putting on a face of feigned stoicism, Zidemi turned back to the Black Templar, as other Astartes flanked him in an attempt to restrain him.
 

“Brother, if your intentions are honourable, now is the time to tell us. Why did you come here?”

[Xin Ceithan]

Amaras

 

The sound of running feet alerted the small group to the arrival of the Apothecary. 

Amaras shot a quick glance at the trundeling form of the immediate responsive medical servitor which apparently had powered down outside and ignored those of his brethren who had more or less openly fallen  into instinctive defensive stances at the sound of his approach. 

 

The Apothecary unceremoniously shouldered through the assembled group, medicae robes still flowing behind him. Glowed hands steadily glided over the form of the fallen Librarian, plugging auto-senses umbilicals and medicae feed links into various ports…

 

A muscle visibly twitched along his jaw.  Amaras didn’t look up. 
 

“And apparently no one of you bothered to check if he might  still be saved?” 
 

 

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

Gerhardt howled in a panicked, crazed response to the Salamander, “I– I do not know, Zidemi! I do not know! You must believe me! There was a Voice, it came in my dreams! I thought it was the Emperor! What have I done?!

 

The others formed a ring around him, restraining him. He thrashed madly against their imposition as he was hauled away to his cell and clapped in irons. His insane, anguished cries reverberated throughout the Bulwark, causing the chapter serfs to shy away in fear and make the sign of the Aquila whenever they were forced to draw near, muttering prayers of their own to ward off the terrible racket.

 

What had he done? Had he truly wished death upon the psyker? Could he no longer guide his own hand?! What fell force drove him to betray his oath, to stain his honor?!

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

Throne's sake, the man was obviously very dead.

 

'My apologies, Apothecary,' Azadth looked at the foot of steel protruding from the Seer's guts. 'I just thought it was something he ate.'

 

He delivered the callous rejoinder to dissemble, steering from the terrible disappointment of Gerhardt's lack of control, or force of will - the implications of both, and the bleak humour that now risked manifesting in the squad. The Mantis Warrior frowned, releasing the twisting blade. In truth, the duty of the Apothecary was well discharged by the Charnel Guard, a far more civilised man than that of the Green. The Mantisae would have split up the fallen warrior's equipment, catalogued his victories to the Sky and Earth as per custom, and then burned him, so no animal would desecrate the hero's body.

 

At the hearth and in the hills, deep voices would sing the lament of Ootheca, and they would laugh as they recalled moments of Humanity amongst the barbarous existence.

 

He moved into the room, unfazed by the lack of Dendinius' defensive wounds. Murdering a man whilst he was in repose was the easiest of despatches, why else would knives haunt the dark, train the ear to stillness? How many times had he stolen into an encampment at dusk, to leave only corpses and severed heads? Still, such stealth upon a warlock was...uncanny. Not even the First Son of Aresh could count coup on a witch-kin.

 

Knife stowed in his belt, Azadth moved closer to the Crusader, taking his left wrist. As he made his way past the dead Librarian, sniffed tightly. Certain animals exuded poisons through contact or diffusion to debilitate prey through hallucination or stupor. Man had long learned to harness those toxins.

 

Per 45 (Schnoz don't got HS)

D100: 50 (Fail, no DoF)

 

The reek of blood and sweat was too thick to track anything else. He shook his head free, looked at the corpse, then up at Gerhardt, awaiting his response to Zidemi and the others, the disgraced Templar being carted off down the hall in chains.

 

Azadth sighed, jaw clenched, and followed.

 

Aye, Gerhardt, that's all you get today, brother.

 

Edited May 12 by Mazer Rackham

[Xin Ceithan]

Amaras

 

“Well, he is most certainly dead NOW”

 

The Apothecary shot the Mantis Warrior a stern look, then returned to read out on his diagnostiation gauntlet.

Any mortal would have certainly been killed instantly.  There was no arguing with that. It was only the beatific work of the Emperor that gave an Astartes  the ability to live through gruesome injuries. Amara’s reflexively took in the jelly-like patches of hyperagulated blood enclosing the wounds on Dendenius neck and epigastrum.
This close, he could still hear the rubbery shrugging of the Librarian’s multilung attempting to sample oxygen despite the ruination of the body around it. There were some other autonomous reactions still running inside the bio engineered shell, but with both of his hearts out and  primary lungs paralyzed, even the body of an Astartes soon faced inevitable  cerebral damage. 

 

To be honest, Amaras wasn’t sure if he - if anyone- could have saved the Librarian.
IF he’d been standing right next to him AND  if they’d been in their  war plate, then, maybe… even then, the damage done had  been massive and there was no doubt to the lethality of its intent.

 

”Praise  be to HIM on Terra, for only HE is allowed service in Death Eternal”,

Amaras whispered under his breath.

 

Aloud, he said: 

 

“Total loss of primar or  secondary circulatory and cerebral functions. Failure to reach Su-san recuperation trance”

 

The Apothecary looked up, searching for the Watch Seargeant.

 

”Subject deceased. Permission to begin gene-seed recovery” 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Skaayn, who turned back to wait when the Apothecary arrived, and stood watching silently as the yelling Templar was incarcerated, now nods.

 

"Permission granted. Thank you, Brother Amaras. Once his seed has been recovered, take the body back to the Apothecarion. I want a full examination to confirm what happened here."

 

 

 

OOC: @Xin Ceithan The autopsy will be a Difficult (-10) Extended Medicae Skill test, requiring 3 rolls. Each roll will benefit from the +20 provided by Amaras’ Narthecium, and an additional +20 due to the highly advanced nature of the Watchstation Apothecarion. (If I'm adding it up right, that gives Amaras a target number of 76 on each of the 3 rolls?)

 

If you do the 3 rolls first and let me know, I will work out how the DoS/DoF relate to what Amaras is able to uncover and (possibly!) provide you with some additional pieces of information that you can maybe include in an 'autopsy report'?

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Amaras

 

Autopsy Test

 

Spoiler

1st Roll: 26 - Pass -DoS 5 (?) https://orokos.com/roll/1010552#

 

2nd Roll 37 - Pass - DoS 3 (?) https://orokos.com/roll/1010553#

 

3rd Roll 51 Pass - DoS 2 (?) https://orokos.com/roll/1010554#