[BC] The Blackest Heart (IC)

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

What in the name of Terra…?!

 

Truly this wretched mausoleum was haunted, of that he had no doubt now. He had warred for decades under the banner of the Maelstrom Warders, putting whole fleets and worlds of spiritually diseased renegades to the sword, and he had seen many heresies and blasphemies, but this place made a hellish farce of reality beyond anything he had encountered prior. For the first time he started to wonder if he had strayed beyond the Emperor's Light, past the Grace of his gene-sire. 

 

“The dead stir in this foetid pit of despair, and the claws of the Warp dig deeply into its bones. If this is the path I have chosen to walk, then so be it. I will meet you at the bottom, in the lower levels of this Hell. Do not tarry.”

 

Ukalegon saluted his new companions with his chainsword and stepped over the edge of the yawning black chasm and fell in a muted free-fall for a time, and fired the boosters of his jump pack to arrest his fall shortly before touching down upon the roof of the destroyed lift, disturbing a great, choking plume of dust as he landed.

 

Mors Dei, his ancient sidearm, carved a gaping hole through the roof of the lift, vaporizing steel like flash-boiled water. He gunned his chainsword once and prepared to jump into the breach.

 

“I do not fear you, daemon!"

 

 

Standard Attack vs Lift Roof

BS35 + 10 (Aim) + 10 (Standard Attack) + 10 (short range) = 65
D100: 63; 1 DoS

Inferno Pistol Damage: 2d10+10E, Pen12 (Melta: Pen24 at short range)
2d10: 1, 7
Total damage: 1 + 7 + 10 = 17 damage, Pen24

 

 

Edited August 18 by Necronaut
Formatting

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

 

You plunge through the top of the car surrounded by the dust storm you have stirred, into a convenient nucleonic-cleared space still aglow at the peripheries of the dispersal pattern from the bell muzzle of the antique pistol.

 

Your challenge hammers from the walls and rattles though empty corridors.

 

A deep, mocking silence lingers for several minutes after your vox-distorted voice finally dies. No further reply is offered, but your armour detects an elevated temperature and gravity well down here. The depth would make sense, closer to the iron core of the moon and where the minimal power would be most available in whatever infrastructure was undamaged.

 

GM: I'll update the other Chaos Space Marines on Monday, Tuesday at the latest.

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

The Sorcerer swung around , taken off guard by the Lamenter’s furious charge. He watched him disappear,  then waited for some reaction below.

 

When none came, Cyrandras shrugged again.

 

”Well, I’ll be.. So, the strong are strongest alone, and all that? “ he muttered to no one in particular.

 

He turned back to Hagga

 

”Shall we, then?” He paused., then added. “The stairs, I mean? “

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Rykaz snorted in genuine amusement at Rakash's quip about the road to damnation. He'd never trust an Astral Claw, and certainly not one who was witch-kin, but he'd share a laugh with him happily enough until the time for bloodletting came.

 

Ukalegon disappeared down into the lift shaft, and Hagga replied to Cyrandras.

 

“Aye, looks like not much else for it…”

 

He bowed very slightly, without taking his eyes off his 'ally', and gestured with his pistol towards the stairwell.

 

“After you, Sorcerer.”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga/Cyrandras:

 

The stairs are a tangled jumble of debris and wreckage in several parts, forcing you to move it aside through sheer brute strength, or the warlock perhaps not dirtying his hands, but extending his will to bend and pry the mess out of the way.

 

As you descend, the signs of battle grow scarce, but other things become more frequent. Old, dried blood in splotches from where someone has stumbled, spaced by ungainly stagger from holding in their guts.

 

There is more besides.

 

In the dust, dirt and smears there is a frequency of design. It cannot be done by accident, however, Cyrandras, it is very sloppy and half-baked. It is the dabbling of an amateur. A Difficult (-10) Forbidden Lore Test (with DoS) will reveal more. 4 + DoF = B.A.D.

 

Ukalegon:

 

You stomp forward, looking for things to kill. The lust for death seethes, making your teeth hum. As it does so, the hackles quiver at something beyond, properly Beyond, as the air becomes greasy as it is humid, strong with metallic. Helmed, it is impossible to taste it, but it suffuses your mouth all the same. As you course through the maze of simple communication tunnels, each leading to a store room, junction box or empty tool-closet scars and burns linger, telling of a desperate running battle.

 

Caseless Autogun slugs have scraped ricochet runnels into plascrete. Lasburns decorate, leaving sublimated pocks in the walls. Old bloodstains, and strange symbols appear half-swept by hurried feet. The tunnel seems to dip and snake from side to side in the darkness. A strange lateral vertigo neither your Lyman's Ear or gyroscopic balancers can compensate for. You must make a Challenging (+0) Willpower Test.

 

Follow, follow, follow.

 

Closer.

 

So close...

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

They made their way into the depths, with Cyrandras in the lead. 

It was obvious this Hagga didn’t trust him. But the Sorcerer wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. True, it might still turn out to  be an opportunity to be shot in the back, but the other Renegade could have taken that shot, quite literally opportunity, during  their initial meeting. Also, the fact that the former Executioner still clung to his chapter’s livery might be an indication that he likewise still harboured some semblance to some of the “ nobler” aspirations of that heritage. And Rakash would literally not bet his life on it - their surroundings an imminent reminder of what the Axemen were capable of - he did see  the value of presenting the warrior from the clans of twin worlds with a display of valour in the face of their common foe, with presenting the image of being someone who lead from the front. Such a show of strength might garner a spark of respect, even if trust was certainly way out of reach.

 

“Lead with strength, and the weak will follow!” as Corien Sumatris had been fond of saying.  Though it was the sort of wisdom  that one was probably much more comfortable with spreading from within the protection of a suit of Tactical Dreadnaught Armour, Cyrandras mused, keenly aware of the growl of Haga’s power armored frame a few steps behind him.

 

They passed another display  of splattering blood. Cyrandras blinked. The “display!” That was what it was. Above, the carnage had been much more severe. Maybe that was why he hadn’t noticed it earlier. Down here, the smears and sprays seemed much more .. deliberate…  almost…familiar even….

 

Where had he seen something like this before? 

 

[OOC Difficult Forbidden Lore Test:    Int (40) - 10]..Roll: 03 Pass 

though I expect it’s not going to increase Hagga’s trust in Rakash  ] 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The deeper he journeyed into the bowels of the outpost, the worse the disorientating sensation became, for the maze of hallways increasingly snaked and undulated in their crazed and unnatural subterranean paths, as if carved by insane giant worms rather than by the hands of men. 

 

Willpower Test:

WP46 + 0 (challenging) = 46

D100: 85; 4 DoF

Edited August 19 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Cyrandras:

 

The displays, such as they are, have been almost amateurish in their invocation - and such it is, for you have seen these symbols in the Great Librarium of Glass - the hololithic repository of the forbidden texts of Badab Primaris, opened once a decade for the study of the Inquisition and Deathwatch (when the Claws were in favour) and opened to you and your ilk upon request when you were not.

 

These symbols are hastily thrown together wards of delay and rebuttal, used to fence in a wayward djinn. At first glance, it appears that the construction is incorrect, but with closer inspection it is obvious this is a deliberate misspelling of a Vectorum Anathema. A clever way to prevent a reversal by the subject.

 

At least without physical help of the pedantic kind.

 

The kind which adores in correcting mistakes - innocent or otherwise...

 

Ukalegon:

 

The bolter thunders by your head, and startled you back into action. Your weapons are simmering from heat distortion, surely you are battle? You are! The brazen brass of the hated Minotaurs and their scarlet chevron panoply come rumbling towards you, shells screaming, bursting against ceramite.

 

Indeed, your left pauldron! It shatters under the assault as the mongrels come, no mercy or quarter, they are the blades who slit throats, deep in the bowels of your own starship!

 

+Brother!+ A deep voice breaks over your right shoulder. +Fear not, I am here at last!+

 

His warplate heaves into view, battered and smashed fit to fall off him in ragged chunks, but his spirit is undimmed as his bolter smites true, striking down two of the enemy into smouldering hulks.

 

+Come, Brother! The enemy have gained the stairs - we must secure the Astropath and send for aid! We are betrayed!+

 

You cannot remember his name. You know it, but every time it touches the tip of your tongue, your subconscious tastes it not. It is beyond doubt he is your brother, and the situation is in dire peril. More rounds streak past you, this time from behind.

 

+Onwards, my kin, we are so close!+

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

The Executioner followed the Corsair down the winding stairwell, halting occasionally to help heft some piece of mangled plasteel out of their path.

But Rakash kept stopping even when the way was clear, pausing to examine details that Hagga couldn't see any value in. Blood stains, scuff marks in the dirt and dust. Surely meaningless…?

 

Obsession? Insanity? Or could the sorcerer see something that Hagga's own eyes didn't?

 

“Rakash,” he grunted finally when the other Marine had stood for almost a minute gazing into a jagged splash of dried blood, “Ukalegon is no little ways in front of us, and even I know this place is damned somehow and we are walking right down its bloody craw. We should not leave him to face whatever is ahead alone. There's a time to admire others’ handiwork, but this isn't it… unless it's somehow giving you some answers about what the flaming hell is going on down here?”

 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The Minotaurs?! How…?!

 

+Onward, brother! No quarter! No mercy! For Sanguinius!+

 

Ukalegon roared an incoherent warcry and charged onward into the teeth of his foes, his chainsword shearing into ceramite and infernus pistol cutting down the bronze-armoured killers like the reaper’s scythe. 

 

He was death. He was vengeance.

[Mazer Rackham]

Cyrandras/Hagga:

 

The sounds of battle underscore Hagga's sentiments. Ukalegon's mortal cries of war are tangible enough as they parse through your aural relays. However, Warlock, you know you must have care - if these markings are disturbed too much, the tumblers of a key could align, and open the lock...and the Aether cares not what vault it opens.

 

Yet, delay may result in such an occurrence anyway. The warp fluxes, and even the barbarian of Stygia-Aquillonia can feel the mantle of the warp about his shrugging shoulders....

 

GM: I will require one Challenging (+0) Agility Test per Player, to prevent disturbing the daubing, which will cover your complete descent to the basement level, and put you some distance behind Ukalegon. If Rakash chooses to warn Hagga, this Test is improved by one step to Routine (+10).

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

The Sorcerer nodded absently, as he eyes moved  over the room, tracing along the sigils, suddenly aware to the intricate web of runes around them.

 

”Indeed, they do, Brother Axeman. Be patient and watch your step! “

He laughed humourlessly.

 

”I thought the Neverborn were just drawn here by the echos of what your kin did here during the War, maybe stirred up  a bit by your presence. But these…”

 

Cyrandras pointed the sword at the nearest clusters of inscriptions

 

”were placed here on purpose.  By someone either very clever or very stupid. Maybe even both.” 
 

He shrugged, chains swinging.

 

”Dangerous, either way. Someone deliberately meant to draw something from the Netherplane to this place and then trapped it here. I can’t say if the later was  done on purpose or not. But whatever it is, whatever is down here,  it will be in a very, very bad mood…”

 

He turned his head and looked at Hagga.

 

”For what it’s  worth,  I think your  concern  for the Lamenter does you credit, Axeman. Believe it or not. But if we are not careful with these things.” Rakash  pointed out the next set of runes “…it might no longer matter if we reach our hotheaded Angel in time.”

 

Carefully, the former Astral Claw began to make his way across…

 

”Follow me. Very carefully….”

 

[ OOC AG 56 +- X Roll: 52 …]

Edited August 19 by Xin Ceithan
Added AG Test

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Drawn by…? Stirred up by his presence? Hagga bit back a growl. The Executioners had done the job clean, without a hint of warp trickery. Hagga was clean too, regardless of whose company he had been forced to keep in recent times. Neither he nor his Chapter had caused this mess.

 

In fairness, it seemed that maybe Rakash hadn't either, though. Someone else had been here, after the Executioners had left and before the mismatched trio had come. Fools, playing with forces beyond their understanding. Entire worlds had fallen because of that kind of foolishness.

 

He nodded when the Sorcerer suggested a cautious approach, and did his best to imitate his steps.

 

 

Ag Test: Ag42 +10 = 52, Roll: 44, 1DoS

 

As he stepped carefully over an odd swirl in the dirt, Hagga found himself quietly pondering Cyrandras’ words. Concern for the Lamenter did him… credit? Why? How? If you failed to protect your squadmates, that would bring dishonour, true enough. But how was there honour to be gained by guarding their backs? You had simply done what you should have done!

 

It was yet another example of the Astral Claws twisted ideas of what honour and nobility really meant. Hagga shook his head grimly to himself and sighed. What the hell had he done to deserve being here?

 

You know exactly why you're here, Rykaz, and you deserve everything you bloody well get.

 

 

 

[Ancient_Sobek]

Grimm

 

The way up to the station had been more challenging than he had estimated. Despite the low gravity the escarpment was rather treacherous. Luckily entry into the facility was more straight forward. He had hoped to access the power relays and restore energy to the compound. Unfortunately an orbital strike during the war had punctured a hole in the wall of the power station neutralizing the facilities network and defenses. In hindsight this was the most logical approach to assaulting this type of structure, to many years of working with pirates and renegades had led him to forget what a fully equipped Astartes force was capable of.

 

Entering the station through the rupture he began to look for alternate means of acquiring the information the Tyrant required. After some time he came across an access terminal that still had some power running to it. He surmised that there must be a back-up power node somewhere else and decided to search the sub levels as this was the most likely place for it to be located. He just hoped that the data stacks would be nearby or this could be a very long mission indeed.

 

Walking along the darkened service ways he would occasionally catch a glimpse of a shape just out of his peripheral. It was a large canid, or at least that is what his brain told him. But it wasn’t that, it’s limbs too long, its paws disturbingly humanoid. A beastly shape of dark smoke and dead light. He paid it no mind, having long ago grown accustomed to its presence.

 

As he descended into the bowels of the edifice he marveled at the sheer destruction on display. The battle that had consumed this place had obviously been violent and hard fought. The walls of the structure were riddled with impact strikes and dried blood creating an almost hypnotic ode to the hatred a brother can have for another brother.

 

His expression soured as his thoughts drifted to his former brothers and the hatred they had shown him. His armor was a testament to that hatred, beaten, broken, and scarred by brutal close quarters fighting. He had had to defend himself with bolder, blade and bare hands. He had choked the life from his best friend with his bare hands, the blood never seem to wash off after that…

 

{Stop wallowing in self pity and pay attention!} the voice hissed from somewhere inside him.

 

“What?” He growled snapping out of his reverie.

 

{look to your feet} the beast whispered.

 

He stopped and bent to take a closer look at the floor. It took him a minute to see it. A pattern perhaps, or just the impression of one? It was hard to tell whether it was the product of intention or just this place playing with his mind. Still he had learned to trust the beast when it came to these things. If it felt a danger it paid to listen.

 

He went slower then, taking care to not disturb the glyphs as he continued.

 

 

Agility Test target 40, Roll 37 (0 DoS)

Edited August 21 by Ancient_Sobek

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Very good gentlemen, with that dramatic entrance, I will be moving us onwards some time on Friday, and wrapping this part up.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Datavault:

 

It is too late. Ukalegon, led by his comrade throws open wide the datavault door. Without power, the heavily reinforced plasteel leaves take some shoving, but the mighty arm of a Space Marine is more than enough to thrust it aside.

 

By the time you all reach him, you can see the banks of cogitators, crystalline datastacks and magnetic datacoils in serried rows. In the centre of the room is a shape, huddled by a fire. A sloped shouldered, gaunt figure wrapped in coddled rags, each different colours, taken from the mouldering robes of adepts from the Mechanicum, Munitorium and Administratum alike.

 

The head lifts to reveal the face of an older woman. In her hands she holds a pair of long metal wands. It appears she is...knitting.

 

'Hello dearie,' she says to Ukalegon. 'Aren't you a biggun, eh?'

 

There's a warm chuckle.

 

'I hope you're not going to take the bairns home...they're having such fun playing with you.'

 

At her words the sound of children playing and laughing folds over the stacks. Shadows fall onto the wall, playing juvenile games like catch and tag, wheeling and chuckling with mouths full of sharpened, shadowy teeth. The shadows trail along the ground until they join to hers.

 

She goes back to knitting, jerking her chin at a strange, dusty sigil on the floor just shy of the threshold to the room.

 

'Be a love and just clean up that mess there?'

 

As Grimm lurks in view, the gammer smiles. It isn't pleasant. It precedes a wicked laugh.

 

'Hello love, long time no see!'

 

GM: Ukalegon now comes to himself of a sorts, presented with this scene once the door is open, but he is still beglamoured/dislocated by the sudden reversals and experience etc. Command Tests, or other esoteric means may assist with this (like snapping out of shock).

 

The Magog Muster:

 

GM: Mortal Players.

 

The landers dock, rocking and yawing into a ship or perhaps some kind of orbital. The trial is not yet over, however as the giant ramps fall, the cattle and the kin try to flood out, into a cordon of brutish fallen Ogryns who try to herd and swat those trying to evade their corralling into a caged areas, with caged corridors leading further into the immense landing bay.

 

The mortal servants orbit the Chaos Space Marine Reavers, minnows around sharks, as they stride out in little pockets of might. The Ogryns and more mutated soldiery apply cudgels and stun batons to harangue and separate the wheat from the chaff. Anyone who fights or stands up to these new overlords are pushed down one corridor, the meek herded down another, and those with the confident swagger down a third.

 

A sole Chaos Marine and his attendants stand out, clad in different garb and gear than the rest, they watch, almost impassively, but occasionally the crimson-lit glare of the giant dwells on a solitary prisoner, and one of the professionals at his side launches into the crowd, shoving and thumping a rifle butt toward the chosen...victim. Once you all notice this, you realise the other Marines that landed with you are exchanging glances your way.

 

Edited August 23 by Mazer Rackham
Bit of clear-up

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The first to be herded were the fools who thought themselves strong and the wretched who knew well enough to hide amongst those bound for labor before they could be caught and pushed back amongst the chaff, likely to be cast into the void.

 

In some respects a textbook culling as transcribed in the naval treatise for the replenishment of crew from untamed worlds as those strong of back and of will were put to work while any who might lead them astray or could not justify the consumption of rations and air were trimmed.

 

Nothing was to be gained by further delay, either he would catch the gaze of the watcher or he would have to carve out a new opening in the retinue of his rivals.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga snarled at the apparition. Was it taking such a form in an attempt to appear unthreatening? Innocent? If so, it was failing. It plainly did not belong in this place. Its wrongness was undeniable.

 

And yet Ukalegon seemed poleaxed. Rykaz moved quickly up beside him and threw a casual fist against his shoulder guard. The blow would likely have killed a mortal outright, but to a fellow Astartes this was simply a gentle tap to get his attention.

 

 

Unarmed Attack?

WS52 +30(Unaware target?) = 82, Roll: 61, Hit(?)

Assume there is no point in rolling Damage, wasn't the intention anyway?

 

 

“Lamenter,” he hissed, “wake yourself the damn hell up!”

 

 

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

Tracing their path past the swirling rune patterns by his witchsight, Cyrandras could feel his eyes twitching, burning. A drumming pain inside his skull, which had been increasing  made it difficult to focus on their surroundings. Somehow, it even almost drowned out the whispersong from the servoskull and thrumming growl of his power armor. Then they stepped into the archivarium and suddenly, blissfully, everything dissolved into a pure, blinding white light…

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The next bulkhead door was jammed partially open, clearly damaged by heavy weapons fire or maybe a breaching implement, and beyond he could see fire, though the sound of combat was all but absent within the next chamber. With a grunt, Ukalegon wedged in one pauldron and forced the portal open with a grinding screech.

 

“This way, brother! They're–...”

 

A withered crone sat beside a small campfire, whose flickering light caused the shadows within the room to dance and merge and separate unnaturally like shoals of lightless fish. She greeted him, beckoned to him.

 

“Who…?”

 

A sudden blow to his shoulder jolted him from the tableau and he whirled around to meet the new threat, chainsword at the ready.

 

“Hagga?! How did you – where are we? What is this?”

 

Ukalegon looked back at the crone, at the rows of mouldering databanks, the wrongness of the room and the light. He raised and leveled his infernus pistol at the thing in the middle of the room, but then jerked and pointed it in the direction of yet another newcomer to their gathering, another hulking armoured mass lurking in the shadows.

 

“Show yourself, or die, interloper. Are you in league with this creature?!”

Edited August 24 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Archive (Marine Players):

 

The white light fades slowly.

 

The crone cackles delightedly, as if your antics are part of of some childish pranking. In accompaniment, the different shadows retreating with harrowing whispers which it is best not to listen closely too.

 

'And how is Valex?' she asks, her voice disarmingly smoother and much, much younger. She flicks a rheumy-eyed glance up as Ukalegon brandishes his melta pistol. 'Such a wily serpent! I say he chose a most curious quartet to come and escort me.'

 

The needles continue to click-clack, except now they appear to be sharpened ribs, and the fabric she weaves is a large swatch of pallid, cured skin, tanned and smoothed as old leather. It appears to be forming another layer of her mouldering robes, each now also sporting distended faces, slack-mouthed and eyeless.

 

It is perhaps another illusion.

 

More likely...it is now the real visage of this grim spectre.

 

'We can't just sit here, dearies. The others tried to run away, and one by one I had to drive them mad, and bring them here so I could tell them stories.'

 

The shadows play at her feet, and the gnashing teeth now seem more in torment than threat. Claw-handed silhouettes try to snare and grasp the sigils, to rip them apart, wipe them from existence in desperate, disembodied grasping.

 

'They call me Delphynia. Long ago, at least. I used to advise lords and ladies, kings and queens.'

She stands, and everything vanishes. The fire, the upright stacks, everything. It is a destroyed equipment room. Once, long ago, there were functional things here, but they are dilapidated, wrecked and dust-laced like everywhere else. The skeletons of many human beings lay around the room, stabbed, shot or burned. It appears they did it to each other.

 

The room is suddenly cold, the fire absent, and all that's left is a tall, feminine figure wrapped in her strange flesh-robes, exposed elbows armoured by a strange bony chitin. her bare feet sport taloned nails, and the same, hard, exoskeletal dermis.

 

Mismatched horns stand stark and darkly adorn her temples, although they seem to weave in and out of reality.

 

Her pure, molten amber eyes burn maliciously and hatefully. There is nothing but wicked beauty here.

 

'We're going to have such fun.'

 

She nods at the small crystalline totem in Rakash's outstretched palm, though not even he knows he has reached to her, nor has he any memory of having the totem.

 

Then she vanishes, and the idol takes on her likeness. It is faintly, cruelly smiling. A genie in a strange bottle.

 

GM: Obviously the Marine Players may interact however they want here, but it quickly become obvious (you may narratively search if you wish) there is no information to be had, and you have been sent to acquire this...creature. You will find you cannot leave whilst holding her. The sigils will form an invisible barrier that must be destroyed.

Edited August 25 by Mazer Rackham

[Mazer Rackham]

The Avenger (Mortal Players):

 

The ship continues to heave and pitch, the press of human flesh processed into batches. It is not long before the brutish Renegade Space Marines come forth, each of you singled out, or eye caught. You are careful circled by the dark-armoured men, devoid of heavy mutation, their equipment is of good quality and qauntity, even if they do carry the emblems of the Tyrant and the Eightfold.

 

It seems they do not spend much time fawning or dallying with the dark gods. Hard currency and battle are their religion, and both are their reward. They break skulls to get to you, and break more on the way out. The cannibals fall on the wounded behind you, the sound of mortals being sacrificed to the various wills and bellies, in turn shot for their depravity or hustled into the suicide battalions...

 

A Chaos Space Marine stands before you wearing the panoply of Huron Blackheart upon one pauldron, and the scaled, multi-headed serpent on the other.

 

He stares at you, one of his eye-lenses replaced by a large, baleful augmetic of a metal you have never seen, nor could guess at value. He lets his gaze play over you and the assembled cohort - at least a dozen others like you - a ramshackle gathering of the sleek, sly, wicked or desperate.

 

+Come with me.+

 

He strides away from the deck, leaving the howling, weeping and gnashing of teeth to close into silence behind a monstrously heavy blast door.

 

GM: Feel free to narrate as you like as you are 'collected' and see each other properly for the first time. You will have any and all weapons and equipment as per your sheets, and at full wounds, Infamy and such. The fact they haven't disarmed you should tell you how powerless you actually are...perhaps comment upon this. If you want to crack  few skulls, fine, but be careful not to do it to your 'cohort'....

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The ex-Lamenter turned to regard the now corpse-littered, shattered chamber and the other Astartes around him, those made from actual flesh and blood and bone and ceramite. A wave of disgust washed over him. They had been deceived, then, all of them; it had all been a ruse. Did their mission handler think they would have refused to retrieve such an entity had they known the truth? 

 

Maybe…

 

It would be such a simple thing to destroy the daemon’s vessel, and banish it entirely. A single blast from Mors Dei could likely cut down the sorcerer as well if needs be. For a moment he seriously considered it. The Executioner might even approve of such an action and join him.

 

No, they were committed now. If they left the ruins of the watchpost without Valex’s prize, they all would die, of that he suddenly felt certain. This was a test, much as any of the rest of this “mission" had been a test. Clearly the fourth astartes was another of the ‘Harrowmaster’s’ pawns.

 

Ukalegon growled at himself and with a snarl gunned his chainsword and hewed a great rent in the floor, obliterating the warding rune indicated by this "Delphynia” creature.

Edited August 24 by Necronaut

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

Crux'as watched quietly as the mortal soldiers gathered up the "chosen", the fighters, and the weak. He motioned for Deven and the others to follow directions to go along with the more soldiery conscripts. They had served their purpose, so he was done with them- the Gods would reward those that did great things in their name and his former comrades were not up to the task of greatness. 

 

He sauntered through the crowds, slipping past fights and beatings to move confidently towards the gathering of more elite "recruits". Blows seemed to slip by his frame, his stride never faltering but his body not quite where a striker thought it would be. 

 

The massive Space Marine ordered the dozen or so mortals gathered to follow him. The Smiler nodded and moved, studying the others as he walked. There were the usual stand-outs of a prison, a couple massive men with more muscles and scars than probable brains, a gibbering madman with weeping eyes and flashing knives, and several others that may potentially be useful. Three however, looked to be very interesting.

 

Two ex-Techpriests or some sort of tech-heretek marched near each other. One he knew slightly- Kraggan, a leader among the Twenty-Fours gang. Known as a deadly killer, he was swaggering along with his giant, bloody axe in his hand. The second tek was not known to the Smiler, but anyone with expertise in machinery was useful to be around. Oily mechadendrites slithered and electricity sparked from each of the robed figures.

 

The last was a soldier, clad in a darkened teal armor. Not one of the reavers that had collected them, but part of some other warrior band. A sniper variant lasgun hung from his back and a pistol and axe were on his belt. A strange mask covered his face, obscuring featues. An intriguing personage.

 

The smile widened. Here were a group that could accomplish great things. If properly steered, of course...

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

The Executioner didn't move. For a moment, his inclination was to attack the sorcerer and obliterate the filthy icon. Or perhaps not - who knew what destroying the vessel would actually accomplish? Better to throw it to the ground and leave it here, imprisoned within the weirding signs and buried forever in the rubble of the listening post. He thought he saw a similar thought in the posture of the Lamenter.

 

That was what Hagga would choose. What his Chapter brethren would choose.

 

But he was not in a position to make such a choice. He was oathsworn to follow Huron and Valex. Honour demanded that he must accept their decision, however wrong it was. Again, it seemed that Ukalegon's thoughts followed the same path, for the Assault trooper stepped forward to destroy one of the wards with his chainsword.

 

Hagga still didn't move, though. He might not be able to act to stop the freeing of the monstrous daemon thing, but equally he didn't have to be a part of giving it what it wanted. He would stand aside.