[BC] The Blackest Heart (IC)

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

"Crux'as the Smiler, at your service, master Redfang. Liar, conniver, and student of demonology I am. Not so much use in the... murder-make as some others, but I have my own talents and specialties. Pleased to be aboard."

 

The Smiler grinned at the boisterous former Space Wolf. He may not have the fighting skills of his current comrades, but fighting isn't the only thing needed to advance the plans of the Four. 

[Mazer Rackham]

Crux'As:

 

The huge warrior sniffs, hard, twice.

 

'Come now, no need for such self-deprecation among friends, lad.' Iorek replies, but it's affable. The glint in his eyes is less so. He continues to sniff, although now it's more subtle, like he's tracking something elusive, faint...duplicitous. The thought he could discern anything in this miasma of greasy food, weapon oils, wet dog, aether-infused debasement and slobbering urchins is ridiculous.

 

Yet...

 

He looks at you again, this time, the glint of certainty haunts the stare, and it is hard.

 

'I am sure there is more to you than meets the eye,' he speaks, again in that affable tone. 'Do not speak in double-tongue to me, lad. Not ever - and we'll get along fine.' His gaze rolls and roams, meeting every other individual before nodding at them. It is obvious that his sentiment goes for all of you.

 

GM OOC: I think everyone is introduced now - and will assume Iorek already knows Issekar Grimm (Sobek) and he will certainly know of Tarh Teshub (Tro) from the prison break. These busy folks can of course post if they like, no worries.

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

 

Tradition satisfied, Rykaz moved aside to allow the other newcomers to introduce themselves. Perhaps unnecessarily, for it seemed Redfang already knew each of them in no little detail?

 

Reaching down across the table, the Executioner helped himself to a substantial haunch of grox and a flagon of mead and carried them away to one side of the wardroom. Though in some ways this savage, firelit hall felt akin to those within the Darkenvault, it was not a place where he could fully lower his guard. Leaning casually against a bulwark - so that it guarded his back - he tore a chunk of the greasy meat away from the bone with his teeth, watching the room carefully.

 

When the Wolf mentioned this ‘Requiem’, Hagga paused in his meal, eyes narrowing. From Iorek’s words, it seemed certain that they were on their way back into the fray. Good. He hoped it was a more honourable mission than Khymara's moon.

 

Then the Heretek Kraggan entered with Eska. The hound’s ability to recuperate seemed almost Astartesian. Whatever implants were hidden within her muscular frame, they were more impressive than he had realised. Hagga ordered her down, then dropped the thigh bone of the grox for her to chew on. There was still a little meat on it, but even better, her powerful jaws would quickly work their way into the highly nutritious marrow inside. He leant forward slightly to scratch the ruff of her neck as she ate. As he did, Hagga spoke again, quietly addressing the giant Corsair.

 

“And what… glorious... task has the Blood Reaver bestowed upon us this time, Ser Iorek?”

 

 

 

Edited December 5, 2024 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

A fist-sized meat pie disappears into the ravenous maw of the Redfang, making Eske's jowly meal rather meagre. The Redfang pauses as you ask your question, notices and hurls another pie, to land a foot from the canid's haunches.

 

He shrugs.

 

'It is but a trivial matter, unimportant. We are tasked with securing space object number three-three-zero-six, or those are our official planning orders.'

 

He looks into space, mind piercing the plasteel and adamantium as he sniffs dismissively.

 

'Unofficially; we shall break into a dangerous asteroid field, seize an armed space station buried within the biggest, filled by desperate pirates and foemen, kill them all, and steal their base for our own.' He lifts his hand, waggles it.

 

A clarion call rings across the wardroom, and likely elsewhere.

 

+Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge.+ The woman's voice is rote, stern, and carries the twang of Badab, +Outer marker reached.+

 

Redfang grips a rag, wipes down his mouth. 'When you are all ready, meet me on the bridge.'

 

His massive frame moves in pantherish tread as he smoothly exits, a roll of his shoulders proving his pleasure for the prospect of action.

 

Edited December 5, 2024 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon scowled at the mortal heretek in his panoply of ragged robes and twitching augmetics. The cocksure human was either mad or ignorant of the danger he had faced down or both.

 

“Careful, human, it is twice that I have been called back from beyond the veil. Luck spared you a similar fate, this time. Do not forget that." 

 

The ex-Lamenter turned away from the bloodthirsty tech-priest and tore a great hunk of meat from the haunch he held as he sauntered over to stand beside Hagga.

 

“I hear I owe you thanks for dragging my carcass to the tender mercies of Iscario." Ukalegon grinned then winced again at a sudden flash of pain, unable to hide it from his fellow warrior in that moment. “That is to say I suppose I owe you my thanks – the cybernetics our resident butcher-chirurgeon bestowed upon me are still proving quite vexing. Dying is easier than living, it seems.”

 

He made short work of the rest of the grox meat and had devoured a further two meat pies when the klaxon sounded mere moments later, summoning Captain Iorek to the bridge. Ukalegon looked up again at Hagga somewhat sheepishly, and between mouthfuls remarked with a pained smile, "Time to dance with death again, eh? A shame our illustrious Lord could not furnish me with a proper bonnet. I shall have to acquire a new one from within or without in the future."  

Edited December 5, 2024 by Necronaut

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga grinned, genuinely pleased to see the Assault Marine recovering so quickly. However, he snorted in mock disbelief when Ukalegon spoke regarding his helm.

 

“Ha! I believe it for not a second!" He let out a bark of comradely laughter. "Like any scion of Sanguinius, you were just looking for an opportunity to show off your handsome face!”

 

However, once the moment of playful derision had passed, he continued more softly, just for the Lamenter's ears, with real sincerity.

 

“I jest, brother. Whether you bear his angelic likeness or not, your bravery against the daemon-witch proves that you are a true son of your gene-sire. I could do nought else in response except to assist you in whatever way I could. Even in a place such as this…” Hagga looked around the wardroom at the filthy mutants and dirty heretics, “...courage and honour can be found, and should be valued.”

 

 

Edited December 6, 2024 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

He was addressed by the 'Thrice Dead.'

 

 

“Careful, human, it is twice that I have been called back from beyond the veil. Luck spared you a similar fate, this time. Do not forget that." 

 

 

"Indeed I thank thee U-ka-leg-on" he stressed the syllables. "Ah luck, Randomius Factoria! The fickle fingers of fate or the winds of chaos. Ah there's the Rub!"

 

"Human you call me. Is that all the taunt you have left? I am of the True Flesh, I left that baseline countless years ago. I am no more human than you are!"

 

 

The Astartes turned away, and sauntered over to stand beside Hagga.

 

 

“I hear I owe you thanks for dragging my carcass to the tender mercies of Iscario." Ukalegon grinned then winced again at a sudden flash of pain, unable to hide it from his fellow warrior in that moment. “That is to say I suppose I owe you my thanks – the cybernetics our resident butcher-chirurgeon bestowed upon me are still proving quite vexing. Dying is easier than living, it seems.”

 

 

He had of course followed cautiously, to get in the taunt.

 

"Ah, I of course too aided you in that endeavour. I aided Iscario by crafting some of those cybernetics. Don't cry Lamenter, son of a Cursed Founding. You even now are one step further on the path of true perfection!" 

 

 

As the klaxon sounded mere moments later, summoning Captain Iorek to the bridge, he strode off after. 

 

 

 

Edited December 29, 2024 by Machine God
tidy up

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon sneered after the departing tech-priest in contempt; he would not mince words further with one of the insane. The heretek knew nothing of his and his brothers’ sacrifices in the service of an uncaring and corrupt empire. He knew nothing of what had driven the Lamenters into the open arms of Huron Blackheart, and he never would. If the human had indeed crafted any of the cybernetic grafts that now tormented his flesh, he was of half a mind to gut the cur and shove his remains out of the nearest airlock, for his handiwork seemed deficient. Dealing with the priest was ultimately hardly worth the trouble, but Hagga's talk of maintaining honour in this den of iniquity had him feeling otherwise.

 

His hand paused briefly above his chainsword's grip then relaxed, reaching instead for another morsel from Iorek's table.

 

The ex-Lamenter rolled his eyes and sighed, putting the deranged human from his mind, and wolfed down another slice of meat, noting how his incisors now caught on his lips as he chewed. Had they grown whilst he convalesced?! With a grunt of annoyance, he fitted the rebreather mask back over his face and secured it in place, and gave Hagga a nod.

 

+To war.+
 

Edited December 6, 2024 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

As he walked out his axe snagged a side of grox. Whilst he was of the True Flesh he could still gain sustenance from flesh and drink, although it was an abhorrent act for the enhanced. 

 

Several metal flagons of Mjod floated out after him upon electromagnetic tethers. 

 

 

 

 

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

OOC: The first part of this post should have been the second part of my placeholder of 9th October taking Tarh up to the point where he is directed to the Wolf of Fenris' Wardroom as per GM direction in the 6th October post. I had part written this sometime in the week of the 14th (I think) but stalled out and did not finish it. I have now taken the opportunity to rework this and use it to also introduce Mithra into Tarh’s care.

 

 

For a while he just lay there on the deck, half sitting amongst the debris. Not long after Lord Hurons departure a troop of menials escorted by armed guards bearing the Corsairs mark and overseen by a handful of Chosen arrived. The cleanup operation had begun. While the prisoners were taken elsewhere in small group under guard other menials started gathering the scattered objects. A few Medics made their way around, when one approached him he waived them away, he was not insured, just exhausted in mind and body.  

 

As the clearing continued Tarh eventually found his feet, and made his way, if a little unsteadily, towards the breached airlock that he had entered the hanger by. There was no quite slipping away however, even in the turmoil of recent events and the ongoing cleanup operation. By now repair crews where moving in to mend the ship itself.

 

One of the Corsairs Chosen stopped Tarh and made it clear in no uncertain term under whose authority he now was and how to get to the shuttle bay where the cargo flight to the Wolf of Fenris was due to depart from. For good measure two of the mortal armsmen where called over. Where before the Hydra’s oathmen had herded them through the ship now it was those with the livery of the Red Corsairs that were his escort. A mark of honour or another iteration of prison guards, come to oversee his transfer to whatever death this Iorek Redfang had in store.

 

The escort direct him from time to time as they traversed the Avenger, but seemed in no hurry to take him on the straightest route to the shuttle pay, even if he had known it. Perhaps a mark of respect had been earned after all, or just us likely he mused they knew exactly how long they had to meet the allocated shuttle and the longer the walk took the longer they were away from the hanger were the after effects of the Utukku’s incursion were still felt.

 

Passing the entrance to a larger space Tarh paused, the smell in the air had been changing and he had not really taken it in until now, when he also finally noticed the change in the ever present background noises of ship life. Inside the room there was livestock, rows upon rows of stalls, pens and enclosures. Grox and bovines, herdables from many different worlds. 

 

Just then a group of perhaps two dozen workers moved with purpose several animals in tow. Tarh was about to move on, having projected the groups path as existing through the entrance he was currently standing by, when he thought he saw something at the back of the group. Towering a little over the workers, a little larger than even the bovines and certainly wider. At first he had thought it was another Grox, like the one near the front of the procession. 

 

Could it be? It had been many years since he left Akkad, and many more since he alogn with some of the other apprentices had made the pilgrimage to the tropical temple city of Kish-Parur. His Master at the time had come from there and thought it an important step to periodically bring his apprentices there to learn some of the skills and techniques first hand and not just rely on those that were popular amongst the old guard of the Crafters quarter back in the Sargonian Capital. The four day hike into the jungle to visit the Chelonoidian Monastery had been a particular memorable. Both for the sheer strain and exhaustion, something he would experience many times in the years to come as a soldier on campaign, but also the mighty denizens that live with the Monks at the Monastery. 

 

As the workers led the giant Tortoise closer Tarh became more and more sure, this was not just a similar or related species that bore some resemblance. This one had come from Akkad. He was sure of it. He briefly wondered how it could have ended up here of all places, but then so had he.

 

Reaching out he taped one of the handlers on the arm.

 

“Where are you taking this denizen?”

  

The Handler looked confused for a moment, then followed Tarh’s gaze to the Tortoise.

 

“The Wolf of Fenris, Lord Redfang is holding a feast and Lord Houron granted these boons from his holding.” The Handler replied, motioning to the string of animals he and his colleagues where leading.

 

Tarh froze, the thought! To eat one. Truly barbarians.

 

In the few moments it took to recover from the shock the group had already moved on. Even as calmer thoughts prevailed. There are many cultures and ways across the stars, and these people could not know how abhorrent such an idea was to a native Akkadian. To them it was some exotic animals they picked up somewhere, spoils of war. 

He would not let them eat the giant Tortoise. Striding forward, he called after the Handler. His two escort startled by his hast took a moment to catch up.

 

“This one is mine.” He simply stated, with as much authority as he could muster. The handler shrugged him off.

 

Tarh drew his Laspistol.

 

To his surprise his guards did not react, though no doubt they would if it looked like he would turn his weapon on them.

 

“As I said, this one is mine.” The handler looked uncertain now, several of the others had also stopped to look. Within moments some sort of Foreman had been called from the head of the procession. A quick exchange between the Foreman and the Handler, and a few glances in his direction and the raised pistol. 

 

“Take the beast back to the pens, and fetch one of them four legged birds, got to have something unique for Redfangs table.” The foreman order, then turning to Tarh he continued. “Yours is it, you better square the beasts upkeep with the quartermaster, or have it moved to the stables. Any personal beast quartered here are likely to end in the pot, sooner or later.” There was a nasty look to accompany the last few words.

 

“I am stationed on the Wolf of Fenris you may as well take it over with the other livestock now, save me arnaging space on a shuttle later.”

 

“You are?” Even as the Foreman asked one of the guards spoke up in conformation that Tarh was now under the command of Lord Redfang.

 

“Belay that last order the beast is going over.” The Foreman shouted at his workers.

 

“Why you waste my time? It was bound for the Lord Redfang ship and it’s not my concern what his men do with the beast afterwards.”  Shaking his head he departed, hurrying to get back to the front of the group.

 

Tarh and his escort stood in silence. Holstering his pistol he set out after the giant Tortoise. Tarh had a feeling that if he let it out of his sight now it may yet end up as the centrepiece of the feast.

 

---

 

This new ship that they were headed for, Wolf of Fenris, he was not sure what to make of it. The name meant nothing to him, but it clearly meant something to the others that he had been grouped with. That much he could tell as they all were gathered in the hanger while the shuttle was loaded. That they would east one of the denizens was not a good sign as to what kind of master he was now in service to. Not that he had any say in the matter. First the Serpent Lord, now this. Should he have stayed in the imperial prison?

 

Tarh made sure to keep an eye on the tortoise, and once aboard the shuttle he slipped out of the passenger compartment and down into the hold.  His escort had only come as far as the hanger and ensured he had boarded with the others. While those crew on board paid him no head, just another man they were taking from one Voidship to another. In the cargo hold the light was patchy, but he quickly spotted the Tortoise and worked his way around, avoiding the increasingly skittish bovines.

 

Once he was close he approached slowly, speaking a few words in old Akkadian. The few he remembered, for even in the Sargonian Capital the dominant language was a Creole of Akkadian and Low Gothic. Some words persisted, in names and song and mantra. He was on shaky ground if he were to try and hold a conversation, but as he hoped the words seemed to sooth.

 

Touching the shell he run his finger over it, brushing away some dirt and dust. A few minutes later, the shuttle had taken off by then, when he felt he had gained the Tortoises trust, he knelt down and glow light in hand carefully examined the shell below the neck. If he had been mistaken as to the origin now it would be apparent. He was not, for carved into the shell, faint and grime obscured where Akkadian Cuneiforms. Sounding them out, he read the name.

 

“Mithra” He stood, “How far we are from home.”

 

At the sound of its name the Giant Tortoise looked back at Tarh and he felt that there was a understanding between it and himself.

 

Arrival aboard the Wolf of Fenris had been a little tense. The shuttle had been met by another armed escort and an Officer, nominally to welcome them aboard and show them to their designated barracks quarters. Tarh however had stubbornly remained aboard the shuttle with Mithra even as the other livestock and cargo was unloaded. Perhaps word had reached them, or some miscommunication, Tarh could not be sure, but the Officer eventually ordered some of the deckhands to find a suitable place to quarter both Mithra and Tarh. He had not fully caught the conversation, but it sound like ‘If he wants to stay with his pet rather than have befitting quarters then let him’.

 

---

 

He saw the others enter the Wardroom just as he turned the corner into the corridor. He was late. The deckhand had been quite instant that he come. A summons was not to be refused, but the path had been longer then from the barracks that the others were assigned to. Picking up the pace Tarh soon was at the door and through it as Hagga Rykaz introduced himself to what must be Iorek Redfang.

 

Tarh remained silent as the others in turn also introduced themselves, Lord Redfnag no doubt already knew who he was, perhaps even that he was the reason that no tortoise meet graced the menu of this feast. Though judging by the appearance, and the barbed banter with Priest in their company, perhaps this Lord cared more for the filling nature of his meal and less its exoticness.    

[Mazer Rackham]

Teshub:

 

GM OOC: Between leaving and bantering with the others.

 

'Ah, he finally attends! How gracious. I am glad to see you have survived, and that you stabled your overgrown marching helmet in the pens. As you can see, my table is quite replete, and I could not eat a whole one.' He offers a grin, not quite challenge, but not altogether in bonhomie, either.

 

It appears that the Wolf-Lord knows all that happens on his ship, through either keen eye, ear or nose.

 

GM OOC: Alright gents, I think this clears us up. Do not make any further posts until we reopen - my compliments to Players thus far, and I'll see you next year!

[Mazer Rackham]

+ THE BLACKEST HEART +

 

EPISODE II: BETWEEN A ROCK AND DARK SPACE

 

 

The Wolf of Fenris slips into the system, a lupine slink to her shoulders as she prowls quietly forward - and no suprise, fro the manoevre into an asteroid field does not come without dangers. A Strike Cruiser is no small vessel. It harbours megatonnes of engine core, decks, weapons and all manner of ephemera vital to the astrogation and operation of the vessel. Megatonnes of welded, plated armour, all adding the one thing that matters most: mass.

 

'Silent running.'

 

'Aye sir.'

 

The lights in the bridge dim to arterial red, and the hum of the ships' hull decreases substantially. Plasma contrails streaming lazily from her engines, this hulking behemoth draws a careful path along a precisely chosen route. Thrusters alone cannot hope to arrest the mass being propelled, but they can diffuse the angle of traverse. The seers and astrosextants have plied and pored over charts that are likely over a thousand years old, for nothing newer is in the posession of the shipmaster.

 

'Steady,' he growls, as his keen eyes study the hololithic shoals arrayed either side of him. He knows his displacement cannot be out by half a beam, lest asteroids begin to lose thier centrifugal orientation and begin and elliptical, collision course. Yet he is playing a dangerous game, for the vectors plotted take the Wolf close to larger asteroids. The dalliance between mass acceleration and velocity exchange is a narrow tightrope.

 

The bridge is quiet, and everyone from the mutated servitors hardwired into the deck stations, the augmented Battlefleet Maelstrom traitors serving as deck crew are taut. They sport no extra appendages or lesions. Good-quality implants replace limbs lost to corruption. It is plainly obvious that this is for efficacy. Commands are given with steady confidence, albeit muted, in the manner of any Imperial bridge known to you.

 

'Bear to port point-two degrees. Rotate fiften millrads from neutral. Four millisecond burn on thruster seven-two,' the navigation officer advises.

 

'Aye,' the helmsman station reports. He quickly rattles off the instructions confirming he has them correct.

 

'Primary target available to view, my lord,' one of the crew calls.

 

Redfang grunts affirmative, and the hololith splits, the left side displaying the asteroid path, with a projected trajectory through it to a desingated launching point for voidcraft. The other contains the asteroid base. This pirate haven looks formidable, cratered and pocked, but the threat-augurs lock onto emplaced guns and capitol torpedo blisters. The Wolf is no slouch in war-make, and the array of weapons confronting her is trifling in comparison, but a shipmaster is a fool to fight a station. The Space Wolf appears to be no such fool, either, he rubs his chin, considers his options.

 

'Augurs? Any sensor webs?'

 

'Negative, lord Redfang. We are receiving no phantom signals.'

 

Iorek doesn't look too happy. 'Very well, we will linger here. Burn retros, cascade pattern. Alert the launch bay, we will deploy Krokodil.'

 

+++++

 

Half an hour later, one of the Redfang's bondsmen, an astartes of the Corsairs in his mixed crimson and sable leads all of you down to the launch bay. The magnetic field shimmers across the huge maw of the bay, the monstrous blast doors retracted as though the Wolf is snarling, baring her fangs. The warrior escort has a truncated autocannon slung about his person by heavy straps and chains, the insignia of the Astral Claws hidden beneath a heavy, grey fur pelt.

 

In turn he is attended by a mortal female, her armour and accoutrements possibly once of cadia. They make an odd pair, in that neither of them seem particularly coarse or foul to the other, sharing a strange air of comrades.

 

Truly, normal existence is different under Huron's banner.

 

In several cradles where Thunderhawks would usually sit for manipulation onto the launch pads dotting the bay, were strange craft. They were a sstrange conglomeration of Shark Assault Boat, Cestus Assault Ram and some unidenfiable cobble of different winged craft. Furies possibly. The silhouettes of these beasts are not svelte. The snub nose and riot of saw-back dorsal fittings and tandem pilot blisters above the launch ramp give the craft thier namesake. One of them is subjected to a steam bath as the giant hydraulic cradle lowers it to readiness, the landing gear bowing as it's placed down on it's haunches. It is festooned with defensive weaponry and large, front-fixed melta cutters.

 

'We'll launch you in the third craft, with a target of Airlock Gamma,' the human soldier advises, the brutal snub helm of her companion looking you all up and down, before dismissively looking out of the launch bay at the stars and spinning asteroids beyond. The crepuscular green light permeates the entire deck, giving an ethereal corpse-glow to every edge and surface.

 

One of the Krokodil craft opens and shows rows of crash harnesses for Astartes and mortals alike, but it is quite obvious this vehicle has no gravity generator.

 

'The first two craft will carry other assault warriors to breach other airlocks we have detected. We'll deploy spoof beacons to draw any fire, and a Fury wing will use the cover of the shoals to move in support. Any questions?'

 

GM OOC: Due to the nature of this mission, I will not be permitting any Minions which aren't 'attached' like Ephialties. The usual Player queries and screaming can be resolved in the OOC.

 

Edited January 8 by Mazer Rackham
Adjusted some spell, but I'm done in and sick as a dog, so if you spot any pretend they don't exist. Ta.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

The order to take to the boarding craft could not have come soon enough for Hagga. He accepted the necessity of naval action to get assault troops to their targets, but he had never paid the specifics of it any real attention beyond that. He was a warrior, not a Shipmaster.

 

When they reached the hangar bay, the Executioner gave the ‘Krokodil’ a quick look over. Ugly things, but they looked solid enough to get them where they needed to be. However, one point irritated him. There would be no practicable way to put Eska into one of those harnesses. He frowned and whistled for the hound to attend him.

 

“Eska, exspecta, wait.”

 

The great guard-beast growled and whined in dissatisfaction comparable to Hagga's own, but after expressing it she acquiesced. She padded away and sank to her haunches in a quiet corner of the hangar.

 

Rykaz climbed aboard and settled himself into one of the larger harnesses, nearest the assault ramp. He drew his boltgun, checking the action and the clip. Satisfied with the ranged weapon, he drew his claymore in his other hand and looked carefully along its edge. He was, surprisingly, looking forward to this fight. No need to fret over the honourableness of his actions when the target was a filthy nest of renegade mortal scum. He smiled to himself, then his natural pragmatism reasserted itself. He looked over at the female soldier.

 

“What do we know about the interior? Layout? Maps? Scans? What are our objectives, and those of the other teams?”

 

Edited January 9 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

'Mhm,' the human draws a dataslate, obviously expecting this. Her slender fingers dab and push at the tiles on the storage device. 'Long range returns...indicate heavy lodes of significant density which preclude passive augurs, but you should expect large spaces, especially in the airlocks, connected by tight tunnels. There is on discernible void a Klom from your target zone we think is thier hangar bay.'

 

She pauses to read ahead, takes a breath. 'Your objective is to secure the airlock, then press through to neutralise enemy voidcraft launches. Our other teams will press from their landing zones to assist, but they have secondaries to secure - life support, that kind of thing.'

 

Her fingers stalk once more. 'It's an ex-mining colony, so numbers could be anywhere from a century to a cohort. Anything else?' she asks, patiently waiting.

 

Behind her the 'Corsair' folds his arms, looks at the canid follower as it retreats, and fixes on one of your party, jerks his chin in recognition.

 

+Cyrandras.+

 

The accent is Badabian, but devoid of the noble sneer infesting the highborn. Greeting discharged, he returns to studying the weapons of the Krokodil, with no great affected interest.

 

Edited January 9 by Mazer Rackham
Bit of cleanup

[Lysimachus]

Hagga frowned thoughtfully. Minimal information, about as much detail as you could hope for in this type of situation. So, large voids interspersed with defensive bottlenecks. Problematic, depending on the environmental conditions.

 

"What sort of g will an asteroid of that size create? Do all of our forces have sealed atmospheric equipment?"

 

One final thought struck him. It was also important to know the capabilities of those you were fighting beside, and to have a clear chain of command. He looked the Astartes and the mortal up and down again.

 

"Who are you two, are you joining us, and who has command of this team and this assault?"

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

'One moment,' the human aide's brows work, and her tongue sticks out as she interrogates the dataslate. With a frown, she draws a port-cartridge, an external datablock storage unit from a pocket of her combat fatigues, and plugs it in. 'Aha!'

 

More digital ballet follows.

 

'You should expect anywhere from two-to two and a half Gees on the exterior due to mass and rotation,' she continues, 'with much less approching the core. We can read there is a powerplant signature, and plasma venting, so you can assume gravity-manipulation equipment is present. Voidsuits are available in the lockers on the Krokodil - although I can't speak to thier condition.'

 

She shrugs, almost apologetic.

 

When you ask to thier identities, the Marine half-turns. When he speaks, pride and arrogance are tempered by bitterness. +I am Sevaris, last True Son of Badab. This is my bondswoman, Olivia Galea. We stand Oathsworn only to Shipmaster Redfang.+ His arms unfold to allow him to briefly tap a fist against his pectoral.

 

+As to command of this party?+ he snorts, +Whomsoever you please. We are to remain here.+

 

He falls into silence again, his armoured shoulders set awkwardly, perhaps to some inner dialogue.

 

Edited January 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon looked sidelong at his comrade-in-arms, feeling oddly freed and half-naked by the lack of a fully encapsulating helm. +Not afraid of a bit of hard vacuum exposure, are you Hagga? It only hurts for the first few seconds… then continues…+ he said with a twinkle of knowing mirth in his eye.

 

Looking over his shoulder to review the motley crew of mixed astartes and mortals who were part of this assault squad, his trained eye looked them once over and he continued, +The tech-priests will likely survive sudden decompression, but the Akkadian and Crux’as will have a more difficult time. I would advise void suits if there are any to spare for those two. We shouldn't let their talents go to waste.+

 

Turning back to the Badabian astartes, he continued with a respectful nod, +Well met, Sevaris of Badab. Pity you won't be joining us with that impressive piece of hardware – it will be like older times before the War, hm?+

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

Rakash had drifted in, almost slouching, keeping an eye on the orchestrated pandemonium of the embarking deck. He shrugged. 
 

“A shame. I would have enjoyed for us to hunt together again”

 

He returned the salute, suddenly very formal. 

“Sevaris” 

 

The Sorcerer gave the former Astral Claw a courteous , respectful nod, 

A fully enclosed suit of Astartesian armour often made interpretations of body language  difficult, but it seemed to lack the usual hints of amusement or even more or less concealed mockery which often seemed to accompany his interactions with other Astartes, especially those from outside the original Chapters of the Maelstrom Wardens.

 

It even somehow carried over as Rakash turned and gave a slight bow to the female renegade, the very image of a Badabian noble.

 

“Olivia”

 

There now was a hint of a genuine smile on his voice over the distorted report from his vox-grill. 

 

“Tares’simil” , he offered in the words of lost Badab. “I wish you both  health”

 

 

Edited January 9 by Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

 

Sevaris goes very still. The air takes on a gently charged quality as his helm's emerald lenses seemingly continue to stare at the boarding craft, but you know damn well his flesh-eyes are staring at your scarred face.

 

+The war,+ he growls, both words saturated with poisonous derision. +At least you and the Headsman turned up for it, Lamenter.+

 

His gaze slides off you, and he says no more until the Sorcerer speaks...

 

Rakash:

 

The sudden tension dissipates as swiftly as it arose at the old, sincere benediction.

 

+Ezé-bi-da, Ahu.+ And with you, brother.

 

Olivia merely bows, a crease of relief on her forehead.

 

GM OOC: Edited for Xin's reply.

 

GM: As per good query in the OOC, anyone requiring a void-glove or vacc-suit will need to make a Difficult (-10) Intelligence Test. If you have Armourer, Armour Monger or such, it becomes a Challenging (+0) Intelligence Test. Obviously on a PASS, I will advise if there are any defects, which may have a single repair attempted. If your roll/result displeases you, you can always make an Infamy Test for some other poor NPC schmuck to surrender his: beware, because his could be worse (I will roll in secret).

 

GM: Questions etc in the OOC as normal.

 

Edited January 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon’s eyes narrowed at the slight, but he offered no rejoinder and spoke no further to the Badabian. For the other Space Marine too, it seemed, the fires of resentment and betrayal still smouldered in his breast, though the scars the ex-Lamenter bore from the War were more fresh, at least by his reckoning. Time, it seemed, did not truly heal old wounds for some, particularly in the Maelstrom or in the service of Lord Huron. He had meant no offense, of course, offering only a warrior's greeting to a peer, but this Sevaris did not seem interested in making friends from amongst the ranks. He was little better than cannon-fodder in the other's eyes.

 

So be it.

 

+They must know we are here by now,+ he said, changing the subject while staring out through the enormous yawning maw of the hangar blast doors at the debris field and miniscule speck of a fortified base lying therein. +We should anticipate all manner of traps lying in wait amongst the asteroids beyond. Let us hope we arrive in one piece. Do we know anything of the pirates’ assets or other defensive capabilities? And will we be facing only mortals or perhaps something a bit stiffer than that?+

 

He suspected no quarter was to be offered or granted, should it be requested, and left the question unasked, as he increasingly understood the Red Corsairs and the Blood Reaver to be a bloodthirsty and merciless lot, and the pirate rabble they were tasked with subduing likely offered little more than additional mouths to feed to Lord Huron’s schemes. That and they were just pirate scum, and those who had likely already been offered the chance to bend the knee to the Tyrant, but had foolishly demurred.

 

Ukalegon flexed his fingers in their mighty gauntlets and rolled his neck and shoulders as the potent cocktail of Astartes kill-urge and violence-enhancing hormones flooded his system, and he grinned to himself under his half-mask, eager to wet the newly whetted teeth of his chainblade with the blood of the wicked once again. Needles of fresh vexation stabbed their way down his spine seemingly in mocking reply to his unconscious physiological response to the promise of bloodshed, and he shuddered angrily while noisily sucking in air through the brutish grille of the osmotic gill.

 

Truly, with every blessing came a curse.

Edited January 9 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

 

'We deem them to be mostly the usual chaff,' Olivia starts, tucking a lock of jet black hair behind one of her lobeless ears, 'But they could be composed of anything. We don't expect any Space Marine competing analogues, but never say never.' She has to switch to another slate entirely. ' Our Augurmen and infomongers identify several wrecked ships in the area, of fighter and bomber hull class, which are post Schism patterns, and recent reports from the Administratum-'

 

Here she is interrupted by a scornful bark from Sevaris +Ha!+

 

The outburst scares a couple of the robe-clad menials who are employed loading tools and supplies into maintenance trolleys. One of them looks up with an array of weeping eyes instead of a face, hurries the other out of the angry Marine's shadow.

 

Olivia ignores the disruption, continues. '-advise twenty-six confirmed interceptions or hijacks by those same displacement of craft. However, a monitor has been noted as seen...' The screen is flicked up and down. '...but not confirmed as deployed by the pirates. They themselves are a conglomerate of some seven gangs, with loose affiliation to renegade factions.'

 

'I make no comment if they are aware of us, but I'd play it safe they do.'

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The tech priest surveyed the ship and supplies that were brought before them, weighing the force that would be needed to penetrate the outer airlocks should binaric deception not prove fruitful. Every path would be sealed by bulkheads designed to restrict depressurisation to individual compartments.

 

Cutting tools and power charges will be required. He eyes flicked across to the void suits, little needed but it would be foolish to not take what was offered and find want for it later.

 

The astartes spoke amongst themselves as he worked of past and present, seemingly accepting their lot as fodder for this assault. Well programmed by their chapters for violence if perhaps not for loyalty.

 

 

INT/trade armourer test = 41 = pass (+1 DoS)

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

With a dubious look Tarh boarded the Krokodil  that was to be theirs. He did not doubt that it was flight worthy, for in such a case it would probably have been striped for parts to keep the others in the hanger going. What he did doubt was the rest. Would the environmental seals hold, or were they about to bath in the void. Did the harness and inertial dampers contrive to keep them hale during the crossing or pulverise them.

 

Noting The Smith devote attention as he inspected the void suits available Tarh joined him, after all if the craft had issues then a good set of void-proof gear would give he at least a chance.  Picking one out of a storage locker he examined it. In truth he was out of his depth as far as void combat was concerned, it had been mostly planet bound, with the occasional inertia of a ship or station, but never beyond the hull.  

 

Spoiler

Int: 45 -10(difficult): 35

D100: 58, Fail, 3 DoF

 

Turning to The Smith devote and his joined ‘companion’, holding up the vac-suit.

 

“This worth the effort?”  

[Mazer Rackham]

Xerxes:

 

Remarkably, the suit you assess looks rough, but is in reasonable repair. A few seals here and there will make it properly voidworthy. Within the suit's helm, or headsack, as some voiders refer to it, is a poor quality commbead. Repairing it would be a trifle.

 

GM: The dice (or Dark Powers) favour you - a bit. Since these tasks would be of no Challenge, you may merely add narrative if you wish. (Optional). If you wish to upgrade the commbead to Common Quality, it will be one Component. No test will be required (you're spending a Resource after all).

 

 

Edited January 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

Crux'as took the void suit a reaver had handed him and looked it over. He knew nothing of such suits, but as he inspected it he noted some burrs in the locking plates around the neckpiece. Hmm.

 

Turning to another member of the mortal crew of the boarding team, he spoke quietly. "Ah, my friend! I notice your suit seems to be somewhat worn. As I am...not exactly a frontline fighter such as yourself, please take my better suit to protect yourself more fully."

Spoiler

Intelligence Test (suit acquisition)

Target - 41 - 10 (difficulty) = 31

Roll - 56

Result = Failure, 1 DoF

 

Charm/Deceive Test (scamming crewmate- Both are the same target number, just whichever works best narratively)

Target = 62

Roll - 19

Result = Pass, 4 DoS