[BC] The Blackest Heart (IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

The Black Sluggard:

 

When the light provided by Xerxes' lamp illuminates it fully, you can see the pilot compartment has suffered irreparable damage. The consoles are smashed and the canopies are crunched through, large punctures where something came in. The pilot and co-pilot are red ruin from the chest up, blown apart by heavy calibre rounds. Their arms, so sturdy on the controls before flap about in ludicrous, synchronised pantomime. Instrument plastek showers from surface to surface in the jink and yaw of the uncontrolled craft.

 

The assault vessel begins to twist about its axis further, perhaps a sign of a smashed wing or stuck vector jet. The spiralling prow accelerating into a horrific ellipse as the mass and power from the engines continues, makes the spin you are entering utterly irrecoverable. Beyond the blasted canopy, the flash of pale green illuminating dark rocks is all around. Some of your fellow crew have already succumbed to blackout, the blood being hydraulically shunted from the brain to the extremities by the imbalanced, centrifugal forces.

 

It is then, in terrifying silence, the front of the Black Sluggard begins to peel open on the front flank of the Krokodil, port side.

 

What is admitted appears to be a long blade, the stablight Xerxes has, the night vision possessed by Rakash illuminates human markings, a black claw on a red field. Alphanumeric print identify this as a Fury interceptor's wing as it ploughs through the adamantium like butter, unzipping the top of the Krokodil with frightening ease. The wing approaches the cradles at stomach height, bisecting a Corsair in power armour, then chopping several humans of the assault company neatly at chest and shoulder.

 

By the time it heaves to Rakash, it takes the head off the Space Marine in front of him, and for a moment, just a moment, he can see his own reflection. the lenses of his helm glimmering with dark-sight filter in the scraped and scratched surface of the wing's edge.

 

It sails over him tightly enough, the caress grinding against his casque with a long, dull moan of metal on metal lost to the void, making it's passing only with a shower of golden sparks and celebratory adamantium confetti from the wing and Krokodil hull itself. Once it has accomplished this, the wing rams into the back of the assault boat, and tears it - almost - off.

 

The detritus blankets everything but for a moment as the ship rolls, bleeding promethium residues, oil, trailing the brass of autocannon rounds spilled from a hopper on the fury. The Black Sluggard pitches at the impacts, the terrible punishment, and slows down to a steady rotation. Everyone in the compartment can now see, whether they wish to or not, the rolling shoals of asteroids hemming around the great rock at the middle of the field. Bright blossoms of lascannon trade with neon orange hornets that can only be cannon  shells from the other vessels.

 

With the detached sensation of being in the void, you could be forgiven for considering the combat under the surface of a deep, emerald sea.

 

As the ship rotates, the asteroid base gets bigger in the great rent of the hull. Bigger. Bigger still.

 

Caught in the gravity well it is pulling you, steadily, inexorably to it. You can see, after some minutes, with great clarity the airlock you were headed for, sliding away to your starboard. You're going to miss it, going to collide with the fortified boulder obscenely hanging there.

 

How long does it take in your minds?

 

How long does your flesh suffer the wait?

 

Space dwindles between you and the Object, until all you can see is either space, or granite depending on the rotation. There's a last tremble of the ship, and it finally crashes down, hull beneath you, meeting the brutal spin of the giant rock. The landing is not gentle. You plough a trough in the basalt and granite composition, grinding a furrow hat heats the compromised spacecraft's hull. Landing skids groan with accelerated metal fatigue, the only salvation the crash cradles keeping you from falling over.

 

The ventral hull gives way, and the Krokodil snaps in half through the beam. Many of your erstwhile comrades are ballistically ejected into the depths of the asteroid field to perish from the myriad dangers that lurk without. Their cradles go with them, ruptured and broken in thick globules of blood and oil where they are dismembered. Those of you facing the front, still, and exposed to space can see the ridge your craft is about to strike, yet even this is denied you as the ship suddenly plunges down into a crater, all speed bottoming out, finally twisting once more to crash flat, inverted.

 

Dirt and ore-powder eject from the base of the ancient, unknowably ancient asteroid pit, spewing into space with a strange pyroclastic displacement - the lack of atmosphere preventing clouds, and thankfully flames.

 

You have arrived, ungraciously, but you are down, and alive.

 

A quick look around the cabin reveals you are the only ones who remain.

Edited January 13 by Mazer Rackham

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

It was the deep ache of g-force induced pummelling brought Tarh back to the consciousness that the same g-forces had robbed him of some scant seconds earlier. To his surprise, through the grogginess, he saw that the wreck that had been the Krokodil was no longer spinning, or even moving. They had landed on the asteroid.

 

Pulling on the quick release of the harness did nothing. Again he tried. Something had jammed. Not knowing where they had come down meant that enemies could be upon them at any moment. Working left hand around to reach his axe Tarh looked around some more. The others of their little band seemed to be moving, and therefore alive. Few if any of the other Corsairs troops however appeared to have made it.  

 

Their self proclaimed leader was tapping the side of his helmet. Coms where out.  Tarh had already surmised on the flight over that despite looking like it had inbuilt coms the vacsuit he had picked up not only had a tear that Xerxes had repaired, but was otherwise quite deficient. He hoped the oxogyn tank would hold out. 

 

With coms out for most of the others as far as he could tell it would be down to hand signs. Was there enough commonality in what they had all learned to be battle effect or was it down to lowest common denominator, point and hope. He would know soon enough.  Axe finally in hand Tarh worked away at the straps, the mono sharpened edged making quick work of the harness straps.

 

Signing that he going to scout Tarh did not wait to see if he had been understood, the thread of imminent enemy action was still at hand. Working his way out of the wreckage, keeping low, he wondered if they had caused this crater they were in. At least it provided some cover. Crawling up to the lip he looked over and then ducked down. There had been no movement low to the ground, only far above. Another look confirmed that this side of the crash site appeared enemy free, at least free of moving and obvious ones.

 

The vibration of the ground and dancing dust alerted Tarh that someone was coming up behind and to one side, glancing over he saw Hagga. Drawing in the dust with one finger Tarh sketched a rough outline of the terrain he had seen so far, including the structure he had spotted some distance away. Would the Chosen grasp the gist and look accordingly?

Edited January 14 by Trokair

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

The horror of the landing might have caused irreparable psychological and emotional damage to a mortal. Hagga ignored it entirely, his transhuman mind already moving on to more practical matters. He was even slightly pleased. Their previous situation had been outside their control. At least here they could still do something. Their fate was in their hands.

 

Bracing himself so that he didn't immediately fall, he hit the release on his cradle and then swung himself down to the rocky floor of the asteroid. Walking along what was left of the line of upside-down troops, he reached up and checked for life signs with taps against helms and shakes of shoulders. Some he didn't even bother, the bodies obviously ruined beyond any hope of survival. Yet somehow, all of the little group that had come aboard together had survived the crash and were freeing themselves.

 

Hagga looked around for a moment, then realised their first problem. What a bloody idiot Redfang was, sending his forces into void combat - where no sound could travel - without ensuring that they all had some means of co-ordinating their actions! Grunting to himself with bitter amusement, he raised a hand and waved at the two Adepts to get their attention. Then he tapped the earpiece on the side of his helm several times. They needed to be able to communicate.

 

Without waiting to see if either of the Mechanicus priests had understood his crudely signed request, or worrying about how they were going to fulfil it - not his problem - Hagga pulled himself up one side of the crater, following the mortal sniper. Carefully he lifted his head over the lip and looked around, trying to work out which way they needed to go. He'd seen the target airlock spin past as they'd come in, but given how much they'd been turned over and around, it was hard to say which direction it actually was…

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga/Tarh:

 

The airlock is an obvious metal cap over what would have been a natural hollow in the asteroid. A circular iris visible from this elevation, stairwell gantries and thick plascrete buttresses clamp it onto the outer skin. It sits some 800m away from your current position. There do not appear to be any weapons emplacements or observation blisters in your path, aside from the shallow craters pitting the stone-metal hide.

 

Above you, there are flashes of red where oxygen rich pockets - fighter craft - are being blown to pieces.

 

 

Edited January 14 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

The crash was unexpected and the loss of half their complement worrying.

 

Still, he was alive and intact. Time to watch the warriors and follow their lead.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon groaned and shook his head, amazed that some, any, of that rust bucket’s passengers had survived the collision with another craft, in the middle of an asteroid field, much less the completely uncontrolled landing. He found his vision to be slightly obscured by the secretions of his mucranoid, which was working in earnest to prevent his eyes and blood vessels from rupturing in the harsh vacuum, and he scowled at the desolate, blurry landscape beyond. With a grunt he followed Hagga’s suit and, with some coaxing, released his harness. That the mortals who had embarked with him had survived was nothing short of a miracle.

 

While climbing out of the wreckage, he couldn't help but look at the brutally dismembered corpses of some of the other astartes who had been cleaved apart or otherwise slain by the multiple impacts, from ammunition and debris and spacecraft wings. A pity he was not an apothecary. He shook his head ruefully at the loss of the gene-seed; their genetic legacy would die here and wither upon the vine in the harsh light of cold, distant stars. Alas.

 

The final dead astartes he passed had a half-metre-long length of metal embedded in his throat and chest, and hung limply in his crash harness. His pointed, battle-scarred Mark VI helm was painted black as pitch and trimmed with brass, and, unlike those of the rest of the dead astartes left on the transport, appeared to be intact. The red lenses reflected Ukalegon’s half-exposed face and the ruin of the krokodil and he reverently grasped it and turned it from side to side, inspecting it for damage.

 

You won't be needing this, friend.

 

With a silent word of thanks upon his lips, Ukalegon released the seals around the dead marine’s helm and pulled it free. The face that greeted him was patrician, but hideously disfigured by what must have been a direct hit from some sort of heat weapon. The entire left side of the man’s face was a mass of scar tissue and melted flesh, cracked and angry where his skin had liquefied and fused back together. The wayward son of Sanguinius regarded the dead marine a moment longer, then mag-locked the recovered helm to his belt and followed Hagga and Tarh up the slope of the crater, paying the dead no further thought.

 

Ukalegon trudged up the dusty crater wall and tapped Hagga on one pauldron, silently nodding at the aspiring champion with a look of mild bewilderment at their circumstances. He knelt alongside the other two, peering just over the lip of the crater, and the Executioner motioned in the direction of the distant airlock, which he could just barely make out with his blurred vision. He nodded again and readied his infernus pistol and chainsword, and turned to watch the other survivors as they emerged from the wreck.

 

 

OOC: Let me know if I need to drop or alter the bit with Ukalegon recovering the beakie helmet; I was going off of your comment in the OOC thread. Happy to change or remove that portion to taste.

Edited January 14 by Necronaut
Filled placeholder

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

Nothing quite helped focussing on the present more than a combination of narrowly escaping decapitation by an out-of-control voidcraft followed by a crash landing coupled with extensive hypno-conditioning, Astartesian physiology and a healthy dose of combat stimms. 

 

Almost immediately, Cyrandras pushed any thoughts on his emotional preferences about the quality and quantity of void travel to some distant auditorium among the fortress of his mind where their ongoing debate would not distract him.

 

The moment the situation allowed for it, he began pushig and kicking away debris and deformed parts of the fuselage along with slicking and swiping off parts of the less fortunate and now even less functional members of their boarding party to allow him access to the releases of his crash harness.

 

Once free, Rakash began making his way along the wreck, down to the crater surface.  He snatched up a sickle magazine of bolt rounds almost by  instinct as he made his way over and past the ruin of one of the other Astartes along the way. There wasn’t enough left of the upper torso for even partial gene seed  recovery. What a waste.  Life among the Red Corsairs reinforced  the needs of utilising every scrap of resources available on his already pragmatic, some would  say callous, Badabian outlook. 

They would have to move fast to literally salvage anything from this situation.

 

Cyrandras reached the ground and dropped to one knee, bringing his bolter up. He had seen Hagga and the mortal sniper moving out, so it made sense to set up a defensive strong point here for them to fall back to if circumstances required it. And depending on where they had crashed, they might be stuck here for a while and dependent on anything they might still salvage from the Krokodil’s carcass.

Edited 12 hours ago by Xin Ceithan

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The decision to remain seated had proven prudent, if fortunate in choice of location. Those closer to the nose of the ship had as expected met an early end to defensive fire in their eagerness to be the first to run into it.

 

Still the slim advantage of such logical choices had made a concerning small dent in the odds of survival as the vessel had begun to disintegrate around them and deep scores along the deckplate marked the spots where the tech-adepts mechadendrites had dug in as a last effort to ensure that he did not join the rest in deep space. Blade-tines struck outwards into what was once the roof of the craft as he released the securing straps, Ephialtes clawing at the seat behind him until the correct orientation had been restored.

 

The astartes were already moving signalling for silence or communication in a less than specific way. Xerxes eyes quickly turn to the locations of the fallen seeking any not ejected into space for potential salvage, disappointing slim pickings and little time lest the attack ships return. None of the others appeared to be suffocating in the void... for now better that they live to face whatever defenses remained ahead.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Hagga nodded back as Ukalegon joined him and Tarh, noticing the new helmet at his belt. Scavenging from the dead was hardly honourable, but perhaps in the circumstances it was unavoidable? Now he just needed to get inside somewhere with atmo so he could swap out his rebreather for the helm.

 

The Executioner frowned. For a long moment what was proper battled with what was practical. Perhaps it would be wise to check over the rest of the bodies before they abandoned the crash site? With a little luck, maybe there might even be enough to equip everyone that was left with comms?

With a comradely slap against the Lamenter's pauldron, Hagga turned away and slid back down the inner slope of the crater. When the mortals looked up, he pointed out the direction of the airlock, then bent down to draw in the dust with one finger.

 

800m.

 

Then he walked back along under the inverted lander with its hanging bodies. Cyrandras and Xerxes had already begun searching for more salvage, so Hagga joined them. This time he wasn't looking for life signs, but for desperately needed equipment. He pulled void suit hoods off, exposing bloodless, slack faces, and looked carefully within both hoods and ears. When he passed the Red Corsairs that had been killed, he paused to search more thoroughly. The whole thing felt utterly shameful, but here even simple bolt rounds were a priceless resource that should not be wasted.

 

 

 

Awareness* Test to find anything worth looting (particularly microbeads) in the wreckage:

Per 38 +10(Autosenses) +10(HS) = 58, Roll: 45, 2DoS.

 

*Search doesn't seem to be a listed Skill in BC, but the described uses of Awareness sounds about right…?

 

Edited January 14 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Krokodil DunDIED:

 

GM: The rummaging and scrounging turns up the following items;

• 1D5 (Location Availability) = 2 x Boltgun magazines (full)
• 1D5 = 3 Assorted Weapon Magazines (Combination of Full magazines for rifle, or shotgun or pistol).
• 1D5 = 2 x Microbeads (Quality unknown)
• 1D5 = 1 x Autogun (Common), (Loaded)
• 1D5 = 5 x Supplies (Rations, Water capsules)
• 1 x Emergency Medical Kit
• 1 x Emergency Comms Unit (Salvage)

What has not been stolen by the impacts and ruptures, has gone in tribute to the void or buried under tonnes of dust and debris. Longer searches could yield more, you are all certain, but how long will the airbladders hold in the voidsuits?

 

 

Edited January 14 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

Kraggan unbuckled himself from the crash-rigging and dropped effortlessly to the floor aided by his ferric implants. He set about aiding Hagga in his search.

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: Ok, I'll move us on since there's not much for the gang to do here.

 

The trek across the asteroid's uneven surface is uneventful, if a little tiring. Your limbs are not used to moving so much under the gravity load, and even mechanical analogues suffer more friction than they were designed for. A motley group, you could be pilgrims in another life, trekking along in the unknown, headed for the sole destination that provides succour. Standing at the foot of the airlock, you can see it is an STC construct, merely reduced in size as per strict scaling guidance laid down for such things. It is the hatch found across a hundred-thousand worlds, and ten-hundred-thousand battleships which ply the star between.

 

The condition of the plascrete is aged. Established ten thousand years ago, no doubt as a mining holdout after the destruction of the worlds the asteroid shoals once were, it stands pitted and battered, but unbroken. The mounting gantries above it are new, a strange circular conglomeration of stanchions and long plasteel rebar which may once have been a docking collar. The iris itself is some twenty metres in diameter, and stands a proud four metres from the surface.

 

The spiral staircase is serviceable, still painted white, although much has been abraded from the middle of each stout step, leaving the bare, zig-zag deck plate behind. In this gravity, it's going to be a laborious climb.

 

At the top of the stairs, a series of amber lights blink, oddly tinted by the green light from Ithyca's sun. There then, is the instrument panel which promises an open door.

 

GM: You should narrate your trek across the surface, the climb, do anything you wish to establish firing lanes or security, etc.  Once at the top, our Technical Bros will find three Hard (-20) Tech Use Tests to gain access. Extra wires and conduits have been added to the console, suggesting the device has been booby-trapped against unwanted visitors...

 

Edited Wednesday at 01:33 PM by Mazer Rackham
Shpellung

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

The journey across the asteroid surface was a wearying struggle, but for Hagga it was much more so a mental challenge than a physical one. Somehow it took a full thirty minutes to reach the airlock. Rykaz was sure he could have covered the 800 metres in half that time, even allowing for the high g and the rough ground.

OOC: Boring maths on which the above assumption is based, don't look if you don't care:

I promise, it's really dull.

Hagga's AB for movement (including Hulking) = 5, -1 for Gravity as per Mazer's instruction = AB4

Therefore Narrative Move per minute = 96m
Assume Move rate halved due to Difficult Terrain = 48m per minute
800m/48 = 16 minutes 40 seconds… and that is without even Hurrying (8mins 20) or Running (5mins 33) !

 

He was sure it was the mortals’ fault. The other two Astartes would have had no difficulty matching a faster pace. Hagga found himself grinding his teeth at every pause, every stumble in the dust that might alert the enemy to their presence here.

 

He knew tactics enough to know that an assault had to be well coordinated, striking at many points at the same moment and overwhelming the defence. If the attackers struck piecemeal, it allowed the defenders to focus on one location at a time, breaking each incursion as it came in. Now that their lander had failed to penetrate, it would be much harder going for Iorek and his other teams.

 

Still, he frowned thoughtfully as they finally approached the stairs to climb up to the airlock control, maybe that was why no-one had attacked them here yet? Two idiots wielding spoons could probably have kept them out, but if the defenders had all gone away to support the other airlocks, then the team here might have a chance to get through the damn thing without destroying it. That would be much better, allowing them into a pressurised environment where they could actually hear one another. Not to mention the Lamenter could put his new helm on, and they could fit and test the looted microbeads. Maybe they would even be able to make contact with the other Red Corsair forces?

 

First things first. Getting inside. Hagga laboured up the metal steps, his bolter held ready in case of any sign of armed defenders exiting from a hidden sallyport. When he reached the top, he panned the weapon slowly over the massive portal and all around the outcrops of rock into which it was set. Nothing. Satisfied, he nodded towards the Adepts and waved them on towards the lit console that presumably controlled the lock. He stood aside, eyes roving across both the manufactured and the natural, alert for any sign of their foe.

 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The medical kit may prove useful and the ammunition was quickly retrieved by the warriors who needed it. As for the rest Xerxes motioned towards the one called the Smiler and then turned from the ship, unsure what purpose the mortal was intended to serve on this rock but the faulty void suit he had pressed on another of the menials had not gone unnoticed.

 

[placeholder]

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

Hagga had returned to the wrecks interior, to marshal the others Tarh assumed, leaving him and the unhelmeted Chosen at the craters edge. How the Chosen was still alive was a mystery, speaking into truth many a fanciful tale.

 

With no enemy forces present, and a clear goal ahead, Tarh begun to scout out a path, from cover to cover. Glancing back the Chosen was gone. Had he also re-entered the lander? Tarh briefly wondered, and then spotted the slight cloud of dust some way to his right. There. Moving fast, despite the heavy pull downwards. The hast understandable, there was only so long that one could hold ones breath.

 

Somewhat piecemeal the group made the crossing, hardly a show of military precision, but better than perhaps the circumstance would have suggested, as they all arrived at the airlock and no defenders had stirred.

 

Catching Hagga’s eye Tarh signed that the was going to investigate the surroundings, in case there was another way in, or another way the enemy could surprise them. he waited to see if there was a reply, still unsure if he was understood at all, then set off.

 

 

Spoiler

OOC: Necro, I presumed some action for Ukalegon, if they don’t suit I can edit.

Mazer, not sure which test are relevant, so here are rolls for awareness, navigate surface, stealth and survival.

Awareness

Per: 32  + 20 (Preysight) = 52

D100: 02, Pass, 6 DoS

 

Navigate Surface

Int: 45

D100: 29, Pass, 2 DoS

 

Stealth

Ag: 42

D100: 27, Pass, 2DoS

 

Survival

Per: 32

D100: 88, Fail, 6DoF

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

He liberated wiring from comm-banks whilst he helped Hagga find available salvage, and they headed off to the edge of the crater. My the moonlet had a tough gravity no doubt a hard core of iron! The progress to the airlock was slow, labourious and tiring. Kraggan was thankful that the pirates had not mined the approach to their airlock.

 

At the airlock adjacent to the iris door was an instruments panel and a series of flashing amber lights. With a swing of his axe Kraggan brought its combi-tool element within reach of the control panel. A wealth of mechandendrites, pliers and cutters went to work getting to the innards of the machine spirit. He set about corrupting the False-Omnissiah's tech and bending it to his will. 

 

 

 

INT49 +10 (Tech Use +10) +10 (Combi-Tool) -30 (Very Hard) = 39. Result: 23, Pass 1DoS

 

 

 

He even added some codes that he had recently acquired.

 

Having gained success he withdrew his axe and he turned around to Two-Backs and Teeth, "Over to you fellow Practitioners!"

 

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The heretek Kraggan had approached the airlock first and it was with mild surprise that he had not simply struck the controls with his axe, Xerxes wondered if his counterparts erratic behaviour was a result of gradual madness or a singular event that had condemned him.

 

No matter for he had appeared to have stopped before causing irreparable damage to the device. Xerxes motioned for him to stay, aside of the controls, and by his estimation a position to most likely intercept any defensive countermeasure concealed within the airlock.

 

The machine spirit rebelled against the scrap code that had been pressed upon it and was stubborn as was proper. He worked quickly to undo that which Kraggan had done but with each cut and deletion he removed a little of the spirit as well, Ephialtes behind him transmitting the binary cant of the repair servitor that the device would not interrogate its repairs so eagerly.

 

Pull away a little more, the access codes now zeroed. The heretek had looked to another as he approached... why? A sacrifice to one last layer of defence or a misjudgement of the mans capabilities?

 

 

Tech use 65, +10 combitool, +10 assist, -20 difficulty

Roll: 55 - pass with 3 extra DoS (1 base, unnatural, assist)

 

An additional roll if needed as the Smiler has security but not much in the way of tech use

Roll: 47 - pass

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: I will rule that with the good rolls/DoS, Crux'As may use Security as Opposed to Tech Use, as the technical attack renders the security system vulnerable to subversion. Should @Lord_Ikka gain 2 or more DoS, he will be able to prevent the decompression alarms activating, and grant you a (reasonably) quiet entry.

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

He studied the airlock. Shifting the bundle of random gear he was hauling, the Smiler pulled out his multikey. The lock was not designed to be opened from the outside, but it was technically possible. The help from the former tech-priest would be invaluable, as doing everything in vacuum was trying.

Spoiler

Security Test

Target - 41 + 20 (multikey) + 10 (assist) - 20 (difficulty) = 51

Roll - 23

Result = Pass, 1 DoS. So, 2 DoS technically, since the pass itself counts as one?

The locks turned and clicked, the pressured air streaming past the cell in a blast of dust.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Airlock:

 

The Smiler has that smug slope to his shoulders as the iris opens, and the quartered leaves slide apart in silence. The deck vibrates, but the inner compartment is illuminated only by pale, wan light, and not strobing hazard warnings. As you pass over the threshold the gravity eases where the generator projectors cut in, but going from perpendicular to...perpendicular as the universe pivots around you is a tad dislocating - but only for a moment.

 

Once the complement is inside, one of you hauls the big red lever to close it up, and after two long minutes sound fully returns in a gentle white-noise squeal, until everything feels normal. The subtle purr of servos from the Marines, the rustle of fabric from other voidsuits. Moments later, there is sufficient equilibrium in atmosphere for the base-sid iris to shudder open, admitting you, finally, to your target.

 

You enter the antechamber. It is a properly machined and fitted chamber of 20 cubic metres, fully metalled as one might expect for a Mechanicum established area, allowing for magboots in the event of low gravity. Apart from pipes, vents and other Mechanicum ephemera, the room contains emergency voidsuits, spare air bottles and consoles for equipment testing. The exit to continue deeper into the facility is directly opposite the airlock, and is another fully rendered pressure, or blast door as appropriate.

 

The chamber also contains a small team of servitors who, upon the moment of your entry, activate at some unseen signal and bring thier tools and hoses to bear.

 

+Contamination at seven, point-fifteen, percent. Halt.+

 

The servitor team speak as one in a dead voxcoder monotony.

 

+Decontamination rituals must be observed.+

 

They present little threat, and indeed, no defenders are immediately present.

 

Edited Thursday at 10:10 AM by Mazer Rackham
Added chamber size 20m3

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Feeling restless and eager to be locked in combat with his enemies like all the scions of the Angel, Ukalegon pressed on ahead of the rest of the raiding party. He was a predator, a hunter at heart and sitting idle was rarely in his nature. Not to mention, the last time his mucranoid had been pushed this hard by hard vacuum exposure, he had been unceremoniously ejected from his ship at the hands of a Minotaurs company champion and had shortly thereafter sunk into the deathless sleep of sus-an for untold decades. He was also unsure how long his physiology, miraculous as it was, would permit him to remain out here in the Cocytian chill without deleterious effects, and decided he was not yet ready to truly tempt fate again.

 

The Lamenter stalked his way up to the massive steel portal under the baleful light of Ithyca’s star, his heart rate semi-elevated from the exertion of merely foot slogging his way across the planetoid and its unnaturally strong gravity, and his blurred vision set in search of any threats. None apparently in sight, he took up an overwatch position near the airlock and waited for the rest to catch up.

 

 

Awareness Test:

Per39 + 10 (HS) = 49

D100: 56; 0 DoF

Edited Friday at 06:44 PM by Necronaut
Updating placeholder with fluff

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

As the huge portal ground its way open, Hagga followed Ukalegon in through the widening gap, his bolter held ready to fire. The rest of the group edged in behind them, and then the massive plasteel plate moved back into position. There were a few worrying seconds until the small chamber began to pressurise and the inner leaf of the airlock began to move in turn, allowing them access to the interior.

 

Once across the threshold and into a much larger space, they found themselves faced by a group of servitors on clean-up duty.

 

Hagga's eyes swept across the length, breadth and height of the chamber, looking for places where hostiles might have hidden themselves, behind the pipes or vents. He also carefully examined the sprayer-servitors, checking for anything that might be used as a weapon and particularly at the arcane symbols on the gas cylinders that they carried.

 

He was glad to be able to hear and be heard again.

 

“No-one remove your voidgear yet. What is in those sprayers? Standard anti-contaminate chems? Anyone spot any reason not to let them carry out their task? Signs of an ambush or trap? If we let them do their job, they might open the next door for us? Better to get as far in as possible before we start breaking things…”

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras
 

The Sorcerer eyed the assembled servitor crew warily. There was a tactically good cause to be made for not drawing undue attention to their finished force early, but Cyrandras did not like the idea of being  hosed down with anything by a servitor from an opposing force one bit. 

 

+++ What in all the hells am I missing here? +++ 

 

He hissed into the vox but also through the speaker grills, hoping one of the hereteks in particular would pick it up. 

 

+++ What arcane circumstance would require them to run rites of decontamination on an airless rock ?! +++++

Edited 14 hours ago by Xin Ceithan

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Rykaz listened as the psyker spoke. Cyrandras made a damn good point. Hagga supposed that was one advantage of being an honourless schemer - you were better at spotting when someone else was trying to con you.

 

“So,” he offered casually to the room, even as he loosened his blade in its sheath, “maybe in that case, we start breaking things now?”

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"Execute sequential verification of contaminants and specify acceptable level"

 

Seven percent, a curiously low threshold perhaps attributed to a single member amongst them that would leave the rest to pass.

 

The servitors would likely only respond to commands within the boundaries of standard Imperial decontamination procedures, not that the machines would know nor care if they had been fitted with water hoses or promethium torches.

Edited Thursday at 11:24 PM by A.T.