Deathwatch: Murderers in Black (IC Thread)

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

“Then we must assault this hitherto unknown xenos lair nearly blind, relying upon fragmentary information and with an untested kill-team?” He smirked at his rhetorical question, the absurdity of it. “Good. The Emperor favors those who suffer in His name.”

 

Gerhardt looked around the chamber, taking in each of the assembled astartes in turn, mentally filing away their names and chapter heraldry, their totems and adornments. Some chapters were previously well known to him, such as the Space Wolves and Salamanders, while others like the Mantis Warriors, Charnel Guard, Red Scorpions and Star Phantoms were more of an unknown quantity to the Black Templar, their service records and histories notwithstanding. And that was to say nothing of the Black Shield. They were no doubt blooded and hardened killers each, but with uncertainty came doubt and with doubt annihilation. 

 

In Gerhardt’s mind, however, there was no room for such doubts. Faith and fury had seen him through a number of brutal meat-grinder campaigns, and it would see him through whatever the Deathwatch had in store for him and the rest of these chapter tithes. The psycho-indoctrination and training protocols of the Ordo Xenos were unknown to all of them, though they would no doubt break and reforge each of the assembled warriors into something terrible to behold, remade in the mysterious and frightening image of their new masters. 

 

“Barring any additional revelations from the Lord Inquisitor regarding this newly discovered menace or previously unseen picter images of our foe and their redoubt, I suspect there is naught for us to do now but to steel ourselves for the undertaking. Show us to your trials then, Watch-Captain. Show us what it means to become one of the Deathwatch.”

Edited March 19 by Necronaut

[Lord_Ikka]

Moridyn

 

Moridyn smiled bleakly at the Templar's remarks. Some Astartes really did live up to their chapter's depiction. Interesting. I'll have to watch if he is indeed as bellicose as they are rumored to be.

 

Moving to the Salamander's side, he spoke quietly to the Techmarine.

 

"Brother, after the training I will have need of your expertise in the forge, for a small ritual to honor the fallen."

[Lysimachus]

Scene 4. School Days.

 

Your training begins immediately. The first seventy-two hours are spent in a large briefing hall. The chamber is dark except for a huge screen that fills one wall, and feels akin to an Apothecarion due to the neat rows of upright surgical slabs that fill the space.

 

Strapped atop these indoctrination tables with your heads locked into immobility, you are hypnotically force-fed tactical information at a rate that would likely cause an aneurysm in a mortal brain. You also listen as Aarval Skaayn speaks, his words overlaying the visual instruction. He points out the identifiers, preferred strategies, and weaknesses of dozens of known xenoforms, and dozens more that your own Chapter training has never even hinted at. Although his voice remains as emotionless as that of a Servitor, you might still get the sense that these are not lessons learned by rote, but rather the benefit of centuries of personal experience as a hunter of the Alien. On and on and on it goes, hour after hour after hour.

 

At the same time your armour is removed, taken away to be retooled and repainted by Serf-Artificers in the black of the Watch. When it is returned, your left shoulder pad has been replaced with the silver icon of the Xeno-hunters and your Chapter shoulder pad has been transferred, if necessary, to the right.

 

Then the practicalities of your instruction begin. Perhaps you feel a certain relief as forced immobility is replaced by a whirlwind of deadly activity?

 

The Raptor leads you first into the ranges, then into the cavernous chambers and winding tunnels beneath the Watchstation, where your newly learned skills can be put to the test. Your targets are sometimes made of nothing but light, hololithic representations that are destroyed by low powered las weapons. At other times you engage in murderous live fire exercises, using explosive bolts rounds and roaring chainblades against servitor constructs designed to mimic the strengths and weaknesses of forms of inhuman life from across the breadth of the galaxy. As you complete various missions over several more days of non-stop, intense training, your transhuman minds are able to call forth the implanted wisdom of those who have gone before you, readying you for the tasks to come.

 

OOC: At this point, all PCs are considered to have gained the various starting Deathwatch Training Skills. Asterius won't have needed to go through the hypno-indoctrination, as he'd have already done it - I guess he could have started early with some time in the training cages? And obviously the bit about modifying armour only applies to those who haven't already had this done themselves!

 

During the latest of these practical sessions, the current simulation is suddenly halted and Watch-Captain Skaayn is required to make contact with Lord Inquisitor Kine. He moves to a comm station near the training hall entrance and converses quietly for several minutes.

 

Finally the conversation seems to end, and Aarval pauses, staring intently at the comm unit. Then he throws an irritated punch that shatters chips from the rock wall beside the door frame, before returning to Kill-Team Lucifer. He growls.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Run it again!”

 

 

Edited March 24 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

With seventy two odd hours to himself he hastened to the Training Cage Ranges. 

 

To sing the song.

 

A brace of Chainswords in hand and a Cage Range set to Ork/Kroot/Heretic Astartes, he let loose the curse. 

 

BERSERK. 

 

 

 

Edited March 22 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

When the incapacitating blast stopped 13.93 millimetres from the beaky tip of his helm, Azadth was already ducking. The blast froze, suspended if trapped in time. He had to look up to see what happened, watched the Captain become agitated.

 

It was obviously unpleasant news, yet now was not the time to share it, as Skaayn exhorted them to do battle once more. Live, fight, die, repeat.

 

He wasn't tired yet, despite the demanding course. The real enemy was not the myriad obstacles, nor the servitors and hololithic projections of filthy Ork-kine, Aeldari, or even the forsaken of the Dark One. Seeing even facsimiles of the warriors of the Kalimatakata was enough to set his teeth firm. No, the real enemy were the dwindling numbers Skaayn kept slicing by whole seconds, and each pass grew tighter still.

 

Targets were being hit, but to make time, everyone was being a little too reckless, trusting to their comrades or armour to bear the brunt of close action. if it wasn't simulated battle, each of them would have great divots chewed from their warplate. Azadth was sure Asterius would have been dead at least twice.

 

Yet they all made mistakes. Azadth knew he moved too quickly, navigating the underground maze of hard-light boxes and tight, plasteel corridors  the Salamander, even with his prodigious strength and determination could not power his bulky frame through the fabric of time. Moridyn tried shooting through it, the snarky clink of the plastek shotgun shells bouncing off Azadth's pauldrons more than once.

 

Gerhardt tried spitting it with his sword, Váfri railed against it, the others, shot stabbed or tore at it.

 

Yet, time was not the enemy.

 

The desert wind cares not whose bones they scour clean. The Jungle, is neutral. Azadth cooled his mind as the area was reset and they once more attained start positions. Time is not the enemy. It dos not hold me prisoner. It binds the enemy to me as surely as death weaves us together. I must merely find the path ordained by Heaven. It is there, the perfect thread...in time.

 

+Standby, standby,+ the harsh voice of the training offer called.

 

He remembered the teachings of Master Thangka, who told the great epics of the Warriors of Quan Zhou and how they found the people of the Glimmering Shoals worthy to raise Cousins there. He closed his eyes, awaiting freedom.

 

+Go, go, go!+

 

He sprang away, tossing grenades first to delay the enemy and steal their time from them. Live, kill, die, repeat.

 

Heaven's cause was not revealed without effort.

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

His left arm was cladded in silver. Gone was the Black of Vengeance, gone was the black-and-white Crusader Cross of Eternal War. A leering silver death's head layered over the arcane device of the Inquisition, which was further layered over the Gothic litanies of detestation of the xenos in bold ceramite lettering, now stood in their place. He was certain that he would never get used to the sight of the pale vambrace, the shining gauntlet which now held his ancient boltgun Eisenfaust. Even that had changed: now a magazine selection system had been installed, allowing him to cycle between different ammunition types depending upon the foes he and the rest of the Kill-Team faced.

 

His face was a rictus of barely restrained glee behind his Mk II helm as he butchered his way through servitors and xenotic illusions. Such was his fervor, and so brutal had the hypno-indoctrination been that he no longer saw the humanoid constructs for what they were. Now they were the knife-eared aeldari, while other times they were the feral and piggish orks, and yet other times they were alien forms so hideous and grotesque that any sane mind would have recoiled, but he charged into the fray regardless, standing shoulder-to-shoulder more often than not with the Blackguard of all people, hacking and stabbing away at their simulated foes.

 

And they were without end.

 

The passage of time had little meaning in the dimly lit caverns beneath the Bulwark. For all he knew they could have been down there for days or weeks or maybe even years, or perhaps only hours had passed. He knew not, and he cared not. 

 

The xenos were utterly without end, utterly ruthless and utterly without remorse.

 

The xenos were without end.

 

The xenos were without end.

 

He split another servitor from throat to groin with a vicious overhead slice and his boltgun roared and bucked in his hand as he unloaded a close range barrage into the one just behind it. These aeldari looked different from the others, their armour a hideous greenish-black and festooned with all manner of ragged blades and sheets of human skin.

 

How he despised them, how they disgusted him.

 

He half-roared, half-laughed as he spun around, sending the cleaved halves of the servitor-aeldar flying and ran a third through up to Drachenhauer’s hilt. And still they kept coming.

 

The xenos were without end.

 

No matter how many he killed there would always be more, more, more, more, more, more, more… 

 

MORE MORE MORE MORE DIE DIE DIE DIE KILL KILL KILL–

 

He was suddenly aware that the light level had been raised in the training cavern and the aeldar he was locked in a death-struggle with had gone limp, and then he realized it was no xenos at all, but what was once a human, now lobotomized and heavily augmented with all manner of cutting blades, cybernetic limbs and other accoutrements of the Mechanicus. Its dull red eye lenses stared up at the rocky ceiling some 5 or so metres above them, unseeing and unblinking.

 

Disgusted, he shoved the thing off of him, pulling his longsword clear of its torso. He looked around at his compatriots, realizing that all eyes were upon the distant Watch-Captain, whose normally dour expression had darkened further into barely restrained fury as he listened over his private vox-link. Skaayn savaged the cave wall with his fist in a moment of inhuman frustration, then growled at the Kill-Team to run the simulation again.

 

The ambient lighting dimmed once more, and suddenly Gerhardt and the others were back in the dark and foreboding jungle, the hideous warcries of the xenos sounding in the distance. He flicked machine-oil-blood from his blade and readied himself for the approaching horde of aliens.

 

And they were without end.

 

Edited March 24 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

The glorious song is sung. With many verses, a stanza of reaving, many of them fun and bloody carnage. 

 

Stood to with brothers at the shoulder against the Foe Xenos filth. 

 

Death twice over riding the bear shirt eating world's of gore. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi:

Zidemi was a millisecond away from informing Skaayn that he was familiar with fourteen different boltgun patterns. He realised the Watch-Captain had spoken in jest.

 

The briefing had exhausted it's purpose. It was indeed time for the inductees to, as Gerhardt put it, "steel themselves for the undertaking".
 
Before the training began, Mordiyan, the Star Phantom, approached him with a request that required the Forge - a "ritual to honour the fallen". Zidemi was unsure of his ability to assist, but trusted that the request would be a simple task. “Yes, Brother. Once we have completed our training, we can discuss this further in the Forge."
 
____________________________________________________________________________
 
Zidemi’s mind was attuned to handling large volumes of raw data and information, but the indoctrination rites had been taxing on his mind. Binary was perfect suited for this function - what he suffered through was brutally inefficient and unpleasant. Despite his complaints, it had in fact worked, with his mind and muscle responding instinctively to the xenos constructs within the caverns.

 

Zidemi was able to complete most of the challenges with his new Battle-brothers, but the others were clearly faster and better than him. The Deathwatch trials demanded greater speed and agility than what would normally be expected of a Salamander. Carrying the servo-arm on his backpack only exacerbated his slowness. It had been a timely reminder for Zidemi to maintain his warrior form, despite his more recent commitments to the chapter forges. 

 

"Like steel in the furnace, these trials will temper us," he posited openly.

 

An aeldar wearing a rictus mask and flowing red mane, lunged at him from the left with acrobatic grace typical of its species. It slashed downwards at Zidemi with a powered blade, missing his chestplate by millimetres. It followed up with a second swipe, aiming for Zidemi's throat.  WIth careful timing, Zidemi countered by clutching the creature's throat with his servo-arm. He lifted it above his head, whilst looking ahead with his bolter in anticipitation of the next approaching xeno. It sputtered with a feminine voice as it limbs flailed wildly, but Zidemi continued to clamp down as it attempted to squirm free.
 
Suddenly, the illumination levels had risen, and the simulation appeared to have been halted. He looked to his left and right, seeing the rest of the Kill-Team paused in a mix of ready positions, defensive stances and striking poses. The illusion of the xeno targets had dissipated; their bloody slaughter of the aeldari attackers had transformed into a oil-soaked servitor massacre.
 
Zidemi took a closer look at the limp construct simulating the aeldari warrior. He saw the servitor's engineered skull, marked with the Opus Machina, underneath the crude imitation of aeldari armour. “What crime did you commit, to suffer this fate?”, he asked rhetorically. It seemed tragic for this machine’s body and spirit used for target practice and imitating the inhuman form.
 
From the observation point, an aggravated Skaayn bellowed through the vox to continue the trial. The lights dimmed, the simulated ambience returned and the servitors regained their sentience. The one in Zidemi’s grip recommenced its routine, readying its blade for a disarming blow. It was abruptly interrupted by a wet snap in its neck. Zidemi released it from his servo-arm's grip; the aeldar falling limp and lifelessly to the cavern floor.

 

He retracted his servo-arm and readied his bolter, preparing for what comes next.
 

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

Omoc was no stranger to hypno-indoctrination, the chapter had long since seen the value in compartmentalised mind cleansing and strategic instruction. Detailed knowledge of a world was a tactical advantage only in passing, not worthy of extended study nor distraction once an assignment had been completed.

 

But this was different. Tactical theory at odds with the codex and more beyond the scope of its teachings, the thought not alien to the Red Scorpions but far more disquieting to Omoc than the extensive xenological teachings. To know the enemy was to know its weaknesses that they might be exploited but the methods of the Deathwatch lacked... purity of form, their use a toll to be paid in pursuit of a greater need than oneself.

 

The fighting pits were a welcome change though just as hollow as the indoctination. Others allowed themselves a delusion of battle lust but Omoc pushed it back ensuring the visions and experiences of the indoctrination would not find purchase on his soul, that he would not emerge as any other but the Scorpion - instructed, but still true. Each and every aspect of the training he repeated as best he could, testing the strengths and weaknesses imparted against those simulated that he would know them with his own eyes, his own arms, and not the memories of others.

 

 

Another simulation, another hopeless battle testing the indoctination to identify an objective amidst the chaos of battle. Each to their own as their demeanor and that of their chapter fought against the training, under other circumstances they would not be deemed ready in the timeframe but against an enemy unknown it was perhaps of little consequence provided that they could at least learn not to get in each others way.

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

“Gerhardt, this is a summons, a call to duty I - we - cannot ignore. You will accept this honour, brother."

 

“But–"

 

“You will accept this honour, brother. It has been decided.”

 

Castellan Siegwald’s brow furrowed, then relaxed, his expression softening at the sight of his confused and crestfallen brother. 

 

“Your transport awaits you, brother. Go now before I change my mind and tempt the wrath of the High Marshall."

 

A kilometre-long shard of ceramite and steel hung in low orbit above them, visible to the naked eye in the alien sky. A dagger suspended in the heavens. 

 

"This is not exile.”

 

+++

 

The kill-team trudged back to the entrance of the cavern once again, the previous simulation finally completed to Skaayn’s exacting standards. They entered a well-equipped chamber and busied themselves with restocking ammunition for their bolters and making minor adjustments to their wargear and running files over the teeth of their chainswords, attended by a small army of chapter serfs who stood at the ready to render assistance to the superhumans.

 

Gerhardt nodded at his assigned serf, a muscular and grizzled looking human who looked to be in his middle years by the name of Boeckner. He was spectacularly ugly, but strong and a highly skilled artificer. Gerhardt laid his bolter down on a work bench opposite Boeckner and watched with no small amount of respect as the man’s large fingers nimbly danced over the weapon with a variety of tools, making adjustments here and there under Gerhardt’s instruction. It was a delight to watch the shorter man work, a true master of his craft. And his blunt personality was a constant source of amusement to the Black Templar, reminding him of his brothers. 

 

“It would please this serf if my Lord Gerhardt would show this blessed machine the respect it's due.”

 

Gerhardt felt a wry smile creep over his lips, but the blunt visor of his Crusader-pattern helm gave away nothing.

 

+Eisenfaust has seen far worse, artificer. And I am not the first to bear this noble weapon into battle by far.+

 

“If my lord continues to use this blessed weapon in the manner this lowly serf has observed, he might be the last.”

 

Gerhardt suppressed a guffaw. +See to your trade, Boeckner and I will see to mine.+

 

He turned and walked out of the small antechamber, not waiting for a retort from the serf.

 

+++

 

Gerhardt found Watch-Captain Skaayn alone in the command centre, stooped over a grid of objective markers with an accompanying data-stream of combat statistics scrolling past on a trio of data-slates stayed on the table before him. The Watch-Captain seemed on edge, with lines of stress etched into his weathered features. He represented over three centuries of experience and wisdom in the sacred calling of all astartes, if not more with how a post-human mind could process and analyze information. He was ill at ease. 

 

Gerhardt doffed his helm and stood at attention by the door, waiting to be acknowledged by the older warrior. He remained there patiently, studying the Raptor as he poured over the figures like a man keeping himself busy for its own sake. Minutes passed with no words spoken between the two; Skaayn appeared to be absorbed by his own thoughts.

 

Gerhardt cleared his throat politely, “The Kill-Team awaits you for debriefing, Watch-Captain.”

 

Skaayn, didn't look up from his read-outs, didn’t respond to the Black Templar. Gerhardt gritted his teeth in mild annoyance, but waited again for another tense span of time. Perhaps he’d best try a different tack. 

 

“Any tidings from the Lord Inquisitor?"

Edited March 26 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Gerhardt: The Watch-Captain grimaces, then turns to look directly at you. He nods thoughtfully. Perhaps there is now a measure of respect for the new Light-bringers in his black eyes?

 

“I figure you've earned a right to know…”

 

He then activates the squad vox so that all of the Kill-Team can hear his next words.

 

“The damn Orks weren’t all killed. They’re here. Just entered the Alucar system - and from the broadcasts they are putting out on all channels, it seems Grubgob Warpzagga was not aboard the Kill-krooza that was destroyed. He must have followed the Supremacy of Man when it limped home. Cunning, for a greenskin. Held back just far enough not to be detected. Thought he might find a good fight, would be my guess. Or some loot worth stealing. It doesn't take much more than that to draw a Deathskull.”

 

Perhaps some of you immediately, instinctively, begin to arm yourselves in earnest.

 

“Hold fast!” Aarval roars, then lowers his tone. “The Lord Inquisitor says he doesn't want you wasted on killing a few Orks, or worse yet, lost to another pointless tragedy. Or, for that matter, for any of the work to repair the Supremacy to be undone. Kine's priority is to know what was uncovered on Dorghra VII. Maybe he's right. The ship will be moved to an opposing orbit, and we are to continue your training. Kine says the orbital minefields and defences should be more than sufficient to destroy a few Ork raiders, or at least turn them back.”

 

The reason for the Raptor's ill-at-ease is now abundantly clear. He does not appear particularly happy with his superior's decision, but also seems to be intending to obey his orders.

 

 

 

Edited March 26 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

Yes, very inconvenient of the Ork-kine. Or maybe not. Perhaps these were the robbers the prince hired, not by promising coin but by rattling a big stick in a nest of rats.

 

The Inquisitor sacrificed nine Marines, and all their sacred wargear, their lineage, all priceless beyond measure. What was a small, out of the way Watch Fortress? What was a small bastion fleet?

 

He shrugged and reloaded.

[Urauloth]

Váfri

 

He hadn't liked the idea of any of it.

He'd grumbled about handing over his wargear for modification - they had the nerve to suggest this was improvement, as if anything could improve on the works of the Aett's Iron Priests! - and the notion of having them fix him to a slab and put things in his head made him want to bolt all the way out of their fancy halls and run snarling into the mountains. Only the strength of his new-forged oath to Skaayn kept the heat of his blood in check. He might not like the idea, but he had sworn to do it, and it was better to die than to be útryggr. Oathbreakers were fouler again than any xeno-spawn of the outer dark.

 

As it was, he was... surprised. The indoctrination taught him things far beyond the ken of even the most grizzled Grey Hunters. He wondered if even the ancients knew some of the secrets he had been taught. There were foes and prey in the galaxy he was sure no saga had ever mentioned, and he knew other things too: Ways of hunting, ways of slaying, that refined his existing knowledge.

 

He was unusually quiet and contemplative when his arms and armour were returned to him, still taking in the scope of what he had learned. He checked everything over meticulously. Grudgingly, he had to admit that the work was very good indeed. The black of his armour looked odd, and it would take some getting used to. The old bloodstains were painted over - this irritated him - and would need to be replaced once he had a chance to fight. Gone was the shoulder guard bearing the red and black dags that had marked him as a Grey Hunter, replaced with the pauldron emblazoned with the Stormwolf icon of his Great Company.
On the left was a wrought silver pauldron embossed with Gothic script, a death's head, and the badge of the Inquisition. Carrying their mark came with the territory, he supposed. He slung his heavy wolf pelt over that shoulder.

Gylthir had clearly been handled with great care, and the addition of a shot selector looked useful. He grinned as he tested the weapon's new weight, pleased with the result. Soon, he would put it to use.

 

***

 

The Holo-excersises were tedious, however challenging they might make them, and he chafed at the lack of flesh and steel opponents. He didn't have to wait long, though, before the new Kill-team were off the leash in live-fire drills. The Watch had made some truly vile servitors for this purpose. They made for good fighting. As much as he exulted in the rush of battle, though, killing the things wasn't the hard part. Skaayn was pushing them hard on objectives and deadlines, forcing errors to shave time off their runs through the training caverns. At least once he was sure he made a mistake that would have seen him dead on a true battlefield. He thought they probably all had.

I recognise my failing, he thought, and will be sure to correct it. That was what he thought, anyway. What he said at the time was obscene enough that it might not have an equivalent in Low Gothic at all.

 

***
 

He had been seeing to his wargear when Skaayn informed them that the Orks were still active. He snorted at the news. His instincts has served him well, he had been right to ask if there were remnants of their fleet still roaming the local stars. But why had they been told the Orks were no longer a concern? A mistake? Maybe. He had just begun stomping towards the command centre to discuss the matter with the Watch-Captain face to face when the order to hold fast came down.

Very well. Back to training. Irritating, though, when there was a real enemy so close...

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

"To dismiss the ork threat is unsound, and unsupported by the edicts of the Codex Astartes". Omoc could appreciate the priorities of the mission and would not question the chain of command, but the Astartes served in co-operation rather than subbordinate to the Inquisition, and unless the inquisitor kept his own council as to the value of Dorghra there seemed little reason to permit the orks free reign in probing this stations defenses.

 

"Dorghra VII has no stated cause for haste save the Inquisitors curiosity and vengeance for the fallen, but the Orks may call many more to this post or follow us once more when we leave. The xenos should not be suffered to live."

[Lysimachus]

Omoc: “In this instance, the Codex Astartes and I are of one mind, Brother Scorpion. However, if you serve long enough you will come to realise that there is a tenuous balance between the Watch and the Ordo, a balance that must be maintained.”

 

The Raptor scowls.

 

“Not to mention that the Lord Inquisitor is a man of some influence within the local Conclave. If I were to go against his wishes, I would need better reasons than simply disagreeing with his choice of priorities.”

 

[Machine God]

Asterius:

 

So there were more Orks after all. Of course there were.

 

There was always more Orks...

 

The newblood, the new, his new allies. The New Kill-Team Lucifer were questioning the mission and the new intel from Watch-Captain Skaayn.

 

 

He stayed on in the Training Ranges there was always something to learn.

 

He dialled in more Ork / Kroot / Heretic Astartes routines and added Tau / Squat / Ultramarines to the mix.

 

After all you never knew who you would be fighting.

 

 

He danced...

 

 

 

 

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi:

Zidemi gritted his teeth at hearing the update from Skaayn. The closure he - and the team - had on the Ork incident had eroded away. It was unnerving to think that Ki’shar and his combat team died in a vain attempt to eliminate the Ork leader.

 

Yet, he was still inclined to agree with the Inquisitor that the Orks were not the priority threat. There was no mystery to the Orks and their behaviour - they were no different to vermin. The Dorghra assault was still unresolved, and the alien menace yet unmasked. If they engage the Orks now, their resources would be spent and the assailants on Dorghra may be harder to find.

 

He looked at the Kill-Team, particularly Asterius, Moridyn and Omoc, gauging their reactions to the news. Omoc was the first to speak, showing support for engaging the Orks currently in system. As much as Zidemi’s desire to engage the Orks in righteous vengeance, he still felt it would be a waste of resources and simply giving the Orks what they wanted - the sport of war.
 

“I disagree, Brother Omoc. The Orks are distracting us from the unknown threat on Dorghra, and doing so would be purely for their benefit.”

To strengthen his case to Omoc, he invoked his indoctrinated knowledge of the greenskins, their culture and their typical tactics in battle…

 

Forbidden Lore (Xenos) Test:

Spoiler

INT: 50 (Trained, no modifiers)

d100: 06

 

OOC: I’m using this as practice with the “roll mechanic”.

 

Edited March 29 by Mike Zulu

[Lord_Ikka]

Moridyn

 

Moridyn listened to the discussion going to and fro. In his mind, the decision was already made by the Inquisitor, so any thoughts about the Ork threat was pointless. Reaching down to his belt, he took up the chain-bayonet and clamped it onto his shotgun. Pressing the activation stud, the chainblade gave a keening hum of readiness.

 

He looked at Skaayn, "Watch-Captain, when do we deploy to Dorgha?"

[Lysimachus]

Zidemi: From your training and personal experience with the Salamanders, and now your Deathwatch indoctrination, you know that the Orks cannot be ignored. They must be destroyed, weeded out whenever and wherever they take root, before their numbers can grow and swell to catastrophic proportions.

 

However, you would also know that a viable tactic in dealing with the greenskins is to allow them to advance, stretching out their forces, drawing them piecemeal onto your defences and annihilating them with overwhelming firepower. It appears to you that perhaps that is Kine's intent? It is a strategy with no small risk, though. If you open your door and the guest is more dangerous than you believed, it can be difficult - or even impossible - to close the door again.

 

 

Moridyn: Skaayn nods in tacit approval of your acceptance of the way things are.

 

“Repairs proceed on the Supremacy according to schedule. Assuming these Orks don't cause too much trouble, we should be ready to depart in twelve days.”

 

 

[A.T.]

Omoc

 

The Salamanders words were familiar as if spoken by himself as he seemed to argue for and against his own position in equal measure. It was the hypno-indoctrination untempered by true experience.

 

"I have met the orks in battle and their stubborness is only limited by the sway of their leader. If he is weak then fruitless siege might turn them away, if he is strong then he will call more to his ranks, and more again while we strip this place of its defenses and chase ghosts." He shrugged, "though if it is the Supremacy that the orks seek perhaps the Inquisitor will have no objection to its use luring them from the system, indeed if they followed it this far he may have little choice in the matter."

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

"The Enemy is at our gates, and we are to sit idly by while these slavering jackals come to gorge themselves?!”

 

Gerhardt’s eye spasmed and fist clenched uncontrollably, his bellicosity and incredulity getting the better of him. The Red Scorpion had the right of it in his view. Suffer not the xenos to live. 

 

"Either we can continue to dither here and train to combat a foe about which we know nothing, or we can make a tangible impact here and now and snuff out the last dregs of this greenskin war party once and for all! One does not require a Codex to see the obvious. I did not swear the Apocryphon Oath to sell my life dearly in the service of satisfying the curiosity of some Inquisitor."  

 

The last he practically spat out, so disgusted was he by Kine’s casual dismissal of the near-annihilation of the previous Kill-Team Lucifer, and the loss of their precious wargear and gene-seed. It was not death that Gerhardt feared so much as ending his life in futility, leaving enemies alive and oaths unfulfilled.

Edited March 28 by Necronaut

[Mike Zulu]

Zidemi:

In reciting his understanding of the Orks to Omoc, he realised he had somewhat contradicted himself and undermined his own position. The volumes of data over the last 6 days were still being sorted within Zidemi's mind.

 

"I am concerned that engaging the Orks directly will lead to a repeat incident, or draw us into a protacted conflict, to which they benefit and we suffer regardless of the outcome. We should let them exhaust and frustrate themselves on our standing defences, while we focus on Dorghra." He paused for a second, considering Omoc's rebuttal, then continued, "I do agree, Omoc, that our hand may be forced here, and using the Supremacy as bait may be a necessary tactic."

 

Zidemi winced slightly at Gerhardt's outburst that followed. "It is not mere curiosity. The unknown forces must become known and in turn exterminated, whilst we have the opportunity to do so. Lest this menace continue to fall upon other Imperial forces unprepared." Zidemi did not care for defending the Inquisitor, but neither did he care for the Black Templar's belligerence. "It is not only Orks that defeated Kill Team Lucifer."

 

 

[Necronaut]

Gerhardt

 

"I take your meaning, Salamander, but the scum have come to us! I can think of nothing better for a freshly minted kill-team to cut its teeth upon.”

 

He turned to Skaayn once again, looking the Raptor in his black-within-black eys.

 

“What say you, Watch-Captain? If you bid us remain, then so be it, but the opportunity laid before us is undeniable. Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

[Mazer Rackham]

Azadth:

 

Sitting on the edge of an ammo crate, Azadth carefully settled, the wooden frame creaking under the strain of his wargear. He put aside the bolter given into his care, a rare and precious Tigrus pattern, which had been rechambered into .75 calibre, and slowly began to slide bolts into the Sickle magazines, and the masterfully fitted shot selector, worked into the weapon sometime shortly after it was fabricated. The patina didn't lie.

 

He doffed his helmet, to soak up the air, harrowed with fyceline and chastened with blood. All that was missing was the charred grass, the hum of insects, and it could have been Tranquillity III. He sniffed, and gazed off into the distance, waiting for an opportune moment.

 

Snick-snick-snick. His thumb worked to depress the bolts without looking at them.

 

Asterius interrupted the arming with a savage burst of butchery on some poor bloody servitor.

 

Snick-snick-snick.

 

Azadth paused, slipped the full magazine into a wax-oiled leather pouch at his left hip, upside down, nose to front. In so doing he disturbed the broad Kukhurai, which settled back down after his passing like the lazy dog he described.

 

He picked up a Krak Grenade hull, and carefully seated the explosive charge in it before lodging this into a cup-pouch he folded closed. He frowned, pulled the sheathed blade from his waist and maglocked it to the rim of his Deathwatch quicksilver pauldron, testing the reach and fit, working the blade through the neck of the sheath a few times.

 

Once satisfied, he left it there, and maglocked a further ammo pouch in the now vacant spot before he continued reloading another magazine.

 

He was ready for either path to be decided.

 

EDIT: Gutted the post, didn't like it. Better now.

Edited March 28 by Mazer Rackham
Killing Darlings

[Lysimachus]

All:

 

The Watch-Captain is clearly torn between his own desire to strike out at the hated Orks and the political realities forced upon him by the treaty with the Ordo Xenos. Finally, he growls under his breath.

 

“Throne, this is why I became a bloody Kill-Marine…”

 

He looks around the Kill-Team.

 

“For now, the decision is made. Continue your training.”

 

 

OOC: We're due a weekly update tomorrow, so I'll try to work out a way to assuage your desire for violence then, you bloodthirsty bunch!