[BC] The Blackest Heart (IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

Cyrandras:

 

The Legionnaire studies you, nods.

 

'You may be onto something. Since you and few others have broached it - there are a few rival pirate houses operating in the Belt. Hit and run scavengers mainly, although one group has pulled off a few scores here and there. Small arms shipments, a plasteel billet theft.'

 

He shrugs.

 

'Big for them at least. There are a small patrol of three Defence Monitors that don't go into the belt that far, but they do "corral" most of the civilian traffic - relic hunters, tourists, pilgrims and the like. Shouldn't be too hard to catch them out of position. Your best bet would be to link up with the Daedalus Group. That's the sharpest outfit, and will likely know the minutiae of the situation. Where they are in the debris field, though...'

 

Another shrug adds dramatic punctuation.

 

'On the subject of transport to and from the...illustrious...Ravager, I will of course be providing the team with an assault spacecraft. Rakash-' He grins back and it's the perfect profile of a Komodoan Drygon, '-go down to flight deck Alpha-one. Take this.'

 

He tosses you a silver locket.

 

'That will permit you entry. Tell the first tech you see that Commander Valex requires the Black Angel.'

 

He waves his hand dismissively, the orders given. His green eyes blink oddly, with a short flick of a membrana nictitans, serving to add to the reptilian glamour.

 

'Unless there is anything else, gentlemen, you will rendezvous on flight deck Gamma-six in twenty-four hours.'

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Well said, trooper, Ukalegon thought to himself at the green armoured renegade’s words, the faintest of smiles touching his lips at the mortal’s defiance. He stood near the back of the chamber apart from the rest of the rabble, preferring not to appear too chummy with anyone in particular. 

 

His bout with the Executioner had been most salutary. They had gone to work upon one another with combat blades, a gentleman’s duel to first blood, the best of five bouts. He reflected upon the match before Valex’s summons had arrived, interrupting what would have been the deciding round.

 

+++

 

“Well met, Hagga," Ukalegon nodded at the hulking scion of Dorn. A bulky canid now trotted along in the Executioner's shadow, snarling at any who drew too close to her new master.

 

“You must have read my mind." 

 

He smirked and doffed his helm to look upon the other in kind, unassisted by auto-senses and targeting data. The Lamenter, like many sons of Sanguinius would have been counted vaguely handsome by mortal standards despite the old scar which split his features in a ragged diagonal slash from one side of his face to the other. A steel service stud was hammered into his brow and his sandy mane was kept in a short mohican.

 

“You seem to have made a new friend?"

 

Ukalegon knelt to get a better look at the massive canid and she snapped at him warily, uncomfortable in the presence of a rival apex predator. He smiled at her ferocity and rose to meet Hagga’s gaze again.

 

“She has a warrior’s spirit. Fitting. Best of five?" 

 

+++

 

He snapped out of his reverie when the hololithic display sprang to life, displaying tactical data for their proposed targets. It was intriguing and somewhat thrilling to know how much leeway Lord Huron gave his lieutenants in prosecuting their various personal campaigns of plunder and vengeance. A few voices made themselves heard, Hagga and Rakash among them, joined by some newly acquired mortals following the invasion of a penal colony. Despite being a lying, thieving Heretic, Valex certainly seemed to have an eye for talent. 

 

There seemed to be a growing consensus around a raid upon this Ithica system. Pirates, local cults of degenerates, materiel to acquire. Fair enough. 

 

Ukalegon offered no counsel of his own; he was a stranger in a strange land. He would follow the others’ lead for now until he had a more firm footing within Lord Huron’s forces. 

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

“Planning a mission already, when he has yet to give us reason to follow and fight?”

 

Tarh looked round at all of the assembled, men and chosen alike.

 

“Is the promise of plunder, which may not even be there, all you seek?”

 

Directing his gaze at the Legionnaire once more.  

 

“I have heard of this Lord Huron you refer to Hydra, but you have offered no prove that he is blessed by the gods and worthy of all our service, so I ask you once more, swear before the gods the truth of who you serve and what you offer.”  

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

The Sorcerer was still fidgeting the locket in his armoured fingers when the mortal warrior - Tarh, was it? - voiced another concern. Bhael-Four had drifted in, obviously curious about the trinket he’d just received. There was something uncanny about it.. something  very familiar…

Cyrandras  wanted to get a closer look at it, too, but tensions were rising in the Briefing theatre and he did not want the emotional background noise to mess with his reading. 
 

On the other hand, there was a chance to chance to gauge just how far one of them could push the Harrowmaster before Valex was about to add another mortal to his growing circle of pen pals today, which might come in handy at a later date…

 

The ServoSkull whispered in his mind. Rakash shrugged, then nodded. In the end his curiosity about whatever was on the landing deck overwhelmed his interest in such …mortal concerns.

 

Also, there might just be an opportunity here. If Valex were the one laying the groundwork and dealing out some harsh discipline here on behalf of the Tyrant, that might make Rakash seem more.. approachable later on…

 

”Seeing as you represent Lord Huron and the Red Corsairs on this mission, Commander Valex” - Cyrandras jovially nodded at the Harrowmaster  - “ I’ll leave that to your authority.  I’ll be on the flight deck.”

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Strategium:

 

Tarh:

 

The Legionnaire's eyes harden as he stares at you for long double-thumps of his hearts. He cocks a half-grin that is as loaded as a bolter.

 

'I will swear nothing to you, zealot of the Eight. I promise you nothing but freedom. As for Lord Huron, it would be best if you witnessed him yourself.'

 

He gently eases the stylus and dataslate down, before picking up his helmet, and speaking into it using the sub-vocal mutter of the Astartes. He tips his helm in front of his mouth to prevent reading his lips, but his green eyes shine with relish and amusement. The vox clicks give some orientation of a sharp, and annoyed exchange. Finally, after almost two minutes of back and forth, he grins, with perfect, if slightly too many teeth, cramming his helmet on. His voice changes a third time as the helmet comes to life - the strange and startling image of a statue flooded with sudden vitality.

 

+Your request has been granted, Tarh Teshub,+ the Legionnaire half growls, half chuckles. +Lord Huron Blackheart will answer your questions...personally.+

 

His vox-chastened laughter fills the auditorium as he files out and his personal squadron comes in to round you all up, notably, more Legionnaires in the shimmering green-blue scaled armour amongst them, their warplate decorated with the points of Eightfold stars and growling, half-sentient weaponry agglomerated about their persons. A sense of unfathomable hunger radiates from holstered blades, the twitching lips of gun barrels.

 

The 'Commander' leads on apace.

 

+Keep up, Tarh Teshub! If any of you fall behind twenty paces, my men will kill you all. I don't want you to be late for your meeting!+

 

His laughter, cruel and harsh barks out into the steel passageways, fills the ears of even those in hard armour.

 

The Mortals can feel it in their ribs.

 

Edited September 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga grimaced. Fool mortal. What was he even asking, anyway? Now this ‘Teshub’ had rammed himself - and the rest of them along with him - down into the maw of the beast.

 

It wasn't that he feared Huron. Hagga was Astartes, after all. However, he'd be a fool too if he didn't recognize the risks involved in such an audience. Firstly, whether he respected the Blackheart as a man of honour or not - he didn't - he had to respect the Tyrant's prowess as a warrior. Not to mention that he'd be surrounded by his most capable and deadly followers. Even if Hagga could take on Huron - and I'd at least give the old cripple a decent fight - he'd never get away afterwards.

 

The Lord of the Red Corsairs didn't like him, either. It was well known that Huron hated the Executioners Chapter with a wild passion, blaming them for being the beginning of the end of the Badab War. Rykaz’ refusal to take the red, other than the saltire that obscured his twin axes, seemed to grate on the Reaver’s nerves. Understandable, Hagga supposed, but who knew when that irritation would flare into furious action and the Tyrant would give the order to have the Executioner executed?

 

Again, he felt no fear over the possibility of his death… but dying in such a pointless manner could hardly be described as glorious. Maybe he'd best stay silent, and keep towards the rear of the pack? He grinned suddenly to himself. Maybe his blue-steel plate would blend in with the armour of Valex' brethren?

 

Then he frowned. No. Silence was one thing, but attempting to avoid notice would smack too much of subterfuge. Cowardice, even. He would stand tall, aloof, proud of his colours. Regardless of whatever ire it earned from the Blackheart, Hagga would maintain his honour.

 

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

The power struggle was as petty as it was inevitable, but it was not his place to stand nor to choose. All warriors must come in time to pay the price of the forge and such competition would only increase demand for such service.

 

Besides it was best to first see if the neck stuck out would be the first struck off in this place.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The Lamenter’s eyes and targeting reticules flicked over Valex and his bodyguard. What little he knew of these Traitors from the fading remnants of his century-old hypno-indoctrination was they were maddeningly dangerous and treacherous almost to a fault. The fact that Lord Huron would call upon these warriors, or, more likely, contract with them, spoke volumes. Their baroque warplate and sinister, almost alive weapons evoked an age of legends, an epoch of tumult and conflict when demigods strode the stars. His hearts quickened a fraction at the thought of locking blades with them, but he quickly dismissed his flight of fancy.

 

Ukalegon briefly met a look from Hagga and exchanged a subtle nod of understanding before falling in line with the others as they tramped out of the strategium. Despite himself he unconsciously checked, again, to make sure his chainsword, combat blade and infernus pistol were still on his person, a habit he had developed since induction into the Corsairs due to constant press of strangers and potential enemies. There was no honour to be had amongst these thieves, just the will to hold dear to what one had and take by force that which one's strength permitted.

 

The mortals were in for a rude surprise, having called down the wrath of the Tyrant. He grinned a private, savage grin for himself alone which quickly faded into an expression matching his former chapter’s namesake. 

 

The fools.

Edited September 10 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Rakash:

 

The doors to the docking bay admit you, and immediately the scene changes.

 

Contemporaries of your...Librarius, the sorcerers of Huron's own cluster into pockets around a Thunderhawk gunship. It is pitted with age, crater impacts, micrometeorite strikes, las-burns, cannon shell divots, bolter pocking and only Throne of Thorns knows what else. Bloodstains and blast wash. Under all this, the livery of the Astral Claws lurks, even if daubed in impromptu scarlet and sable.

 

A heavily augmented archeotech savant, his mechadendrites more organic, webbed with some kind of flesh-metal, bars your path. His arachnid battery of ocular lenses fixes you, even as the daemonic musk puffs faintly in pink swirls at his every mechanical, wheezing breath from behind the augmetic gill replacing his lower face. He sighs in recognition and pleasure.

 

+We have been expecting you. Please, join your kin.+

 

His words write in the air, as the musk glitters into pretty punctuation, instantly falling from sight, although not your mind. From the corner of your senses you detect a familiar pseudo-human presence. A female, or an entity purporting to be so is gently whispering your name. It is clear that this entity knows you have been delving into her secrets, bringing you dangerously closer together.

 

Her stasis cloche is brought in on a maglift pallet, and hastened towards the Thunderhawk.

 

This draws your eye to a ragged line of prisoners 'liberated' for the sacred task you can sense in front of you. A chasm of possibility pulses in the brainstem under your amour and super-heavy Astartesian physiognomy. The Brotherhood of Seers, Huron's lower order of Astral Claw and allied, strays from other Lexicanum ordos approach.

 

The tallest, and most powerful - a rival of yours not only in potential but favour - bows, long helm crests tipping like a twin-pronged lance. A bull short of goring, it is not mocking, knowledge greets knowledge, regardless of enmity, even if Kadron hates you.

 

It's fine. You hate him back.

 

+We have orders to await you.+ He eyes the amulet. +So, it is you who holds Lugft's favour?+ The smile vibrates your faceplate.

 

He bangs his staff on the ground, and robed Acolytes begin to push the prisoners forward. It is then they see the deep runnels carved into the slab of ceramite forming the deck plate. Wicked, shining blades are drawn, the mixed batch of men and women start to recoil, uncertain. Some still have prison uniforms on, others are emaciated prisoners in the trapping of mouldering Imperial garments. No doubt scribes or captives from Loyalist ships or installations.

 

+We await your pleasure, Companion,+ Kadron continues. He follows your gaze. +They have all been properly screened.+

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras 

 

“Khardon”

 

 Cyrandras returned the bow, suddenly alert.  

Gods take what remained of that pompous wretch’s soul, as for all that had transpired between the two Sorcerers since the fall of Badab, Rakash had never seen the other sorcerer act rashly or go as far as attempt a seemingly cheap shot at another practitioner of the Arts during the invocations of a ritual  or in pursuit of something that held the interest of Huron Blackheart.

 

Seeing the Seer and a full circle  of acolytes had  already been preparing this ritual and the effort that had obviously gone into it, along with the fact that Khardon was unwilling the rub the extent of his current favour with the Black  Throne under his nose meant that this ritual had already progressed for some time and was reaching a critical stage. It also meant that this whole mess was much more  under the scrutiny of the Bloodreaver than Valex had been willing to let them believe. The stakes had just gotten higher.

 

For a moment,  Cyrandras wondered if Khardon was the reason he’d not been taken into full confidence before he’d been sent to Khymara. 

 

“Maybe someone thought I’d rather let that old bastard burn all by himself instead..” he thought. Rakash felt a grin forming on his face. “That someone might even have been right…”

 

Sadly, today would not be that day. 

 

But Khardon  was still  an Astral Claw and a former fellow member of the Librarius and even with what little remained of the principles and honour of that once great and now lost chapter of the Astartesin their blackened heart, it would not be Cyrandras Rakash who would cast aside the oaths of the pact of vindication the survivors had sworn after the Badab had burned. 

Also, you didn’t burn one of Huron’s current favourites on a personal whim. At least not if you did not have either the strength to face the wrath of the Blackheart or at least something more valuable to offer up instead. And at this very moment, sadly, Cyrandras Rakash had to admit that he lacked both.

 

So, no, sadly, today was not the day that would see Khardon’s soul burn in the infinite hells. 

 

“A pity, that.”

 

Bhael-Four drifted closer, the unending whisper-song seemingly taking on a note of sympathy. 

 

Rakash felt the silver locket in his grip twitching, pulsing in tune with the chants around them. His curiosity returned. There might still be something happening here that might make the presence of blasted Khardon bearable, after all.

 

“By his claw, Brother Seer.” 

 

The Sorcerer straightened, offering the now almost traditional salute of the Corsairs. 

 

“Lead the way.”

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Cyrandras Rakash will now be included in an offscreen scene conducted 1-2-1. @Xin Ceithan await instructions via PM.

 

The Avenger:

 

The Commander sets a harsh space, a gentle push even by Marine standards. He eschews any lifts, motor-walkways, powered chutes. All is by foot, stairs, endless deck plates, a maze of corridors and hatches, bulkhead doors.

 

It is more than plain to the warrior-minded that he's doubled back at least once.

 

The bastard is taking the long way around...

 

It is at that point, one of the Mortals falls, tripping over a low sill going through a bulkhead, letting out a curse as she bumps her head and lands in a heap on her elbows. One of the Legionaries looks over his shoulder. It will be moments before she is beyond the arbitrary distance set by the...Harrowmaster. He reaches for his bolter, gently placing his palm on the butt, but nothing more.

 

+Resolve the problem, or suffer the consequence,+ the Commander calls.

 

GM: The casualty is an NPC. There are still a handful of these with you. All Mortal Players must now take a Toughness Test. You have Rested, so may add +10 to the Test, and may re-roll if you possess any of the following: Machine, Unnat Tough or Sprint (this is because of your conditioning). If you fail, you take 1 Level of Fatigue.

 

GM: A Space Marine Player will roll 1D5 and post the results in this thread.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

The Executioner growled when the woman fell. As a son of Dorn he could comfortably keep up the gruelling pace for days, but he was becoming genuinely angry at the wastefulness Valex was displaying, both of time and of personnel. There was no honour, no purpose, in such a death.

 

Without stopping, as he crossed the threshold at the rear of the pack, he reached down and picked up the mortal by the scruff of the neck, lifting her easily. He continued forward for a few strides then deposited her back on her feet, giving her a gentle push to catch up with the rest.

 

“Resolved,” he grunted at the Harrowmaster. “Are we about done with this foolishness?”

 

 

d5 = 2

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

+No.+

 

The marathon continues for another stretch, until another mortal begins gasping. He grabs the shoulder of one man, but the latter ducks, fends him off. There's a nod from the Commander to a Legionnaire, and a bolt pistol fires, tearing into the man who shrugged his hapless comrade off. The ruddy chum coats everyone as the body flops down.

 

+March!+

 

The pace quickens, but, noticeably, there are a few more shortcuts, leaving the quivering meat behind, which is slowly hauled to the gutters of the deck, and sharp teeth gnash, with the soppy noise of flesh torn and devoured.

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

So this Lord of the Hydra was heathen, willing to live and work amongst the faithful, eve partake in their blessing, but not one to devote himself to the gods. Now Tarh knew where he stood, no duty was owed to the Hydra and his men.

 

Given how quick the Chosen had been to kill to make a point, and yet here he was taking them to his Lord, suggested that they, or some of them at least, or their mission, was of greater importance than the Hydra’s words had given. Useful to know.

 

 

This unnecessary march however, a ploy to buy time before they were presented, or spite and malice, daring him to fall behind and the excue to kill him. In fact, Tarh wondered, had the Legionnaire planted the hapless rumble just so he could kill them make a point to those that had been selected for the purpose of this mission? Further showmanship to distract them all from the truth. Too much lay unanswered.

 

Toughness Test

T: 41 +10(Rested) = 51

D100: 51! Pass just.   

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

A curious charade, or was it an execution for challenging the ships master. As the pace increased more would fall by the wayside regardless of endurance... and then violence would be required.

 

But such plans would wait as the power that flowed through this vessel would sustain him indefinitely, his augmetics leaching sustenance from the conduits as he passed.

 

Toughness test at +10 = target 60.

Roll 32 - pass

 

Xerxes has the flesh replenishment talent allowing him to draw upon his own reserves and any power source he can make physical contact with (including operational machinery and the batteries he carries) to remove levels of fatigue if needed - though he has yet to craft an extended power reservoir so he would need to do this each time he suffers fatigue.

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

So the Cultist Tarh wanted to go and see the exalted Lord Huron and the Harrowmeister Vallex was showing them the way at a blistering pace. If you weren't heavily augmented of course, plus there was the threat or promise of Red spilling too. Yummy.

 

"Thanks Tarh, you idiot Cultist! Ta very muchly. You don't demand to see the Blackheart, he's the A number One!"

 

Kraggan strode into the fast pace and deployed ferric pulses to propel him and keep him upright. It was a good job that he'd got his skull reinforced too as was evident by what happened to the female.

 

 

TGH 42 +10 (Rested) = 52. Result: 40, Pass 1DoS. Machine(2) Re-Roll: 22, Pass 3DoS

 

 

 

 

 

Kraggan redoubled his pace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited September 10 by Machine God
typo

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

He glanced over at the red robed figure.

 

“You’d rather serve blindly the first bully that bellows ‘Jump’ at you?”

 

He concentrated on keeping his footing as the party crossed a patched together stretch of ground.

 

“I’d have thought devotes of the cog had more intelligence then that.”

 

“What about you?” Tarh spoke between breaths to the other Mech marked figure in this procession, “Would you have also contently followed a Hydras lies with no verification?”  

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"The truth of their claim was not material to me." The renegades logic lacked foundation, "my service has a price, I care not for the worth of those that pay it and no more reason to trust one than the next."

 

"And I suspect you would not know if you stood before the true Huron".

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Despite the grueling pace, by mortal standards, some of the rabble seemed to have the vigour to squabble amongst themselves whilst the Harrowmaster drove them on. Ukalegon considered advising the one named Tarh Teshub, who had repeatedly challenged Valex and gotten them into this mess, to save his strength and speak no further, but thought better of it, not desiring to draw the ire or attention of the assembled Legionaries or other Astartes – any display of mercy might be construed as weakness, which could prove lethal amongst this company. 

 

With a sneer of contempt, mostly self-directed, the Lamenter instead barked at the mass of humans, “March!"

Edited September 11 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

The Avenger:

 

GM: Players, please make a Perception Test (No Fail State on this one, but obviously if Fatigued, then it's -10 etc)).

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Awareness: 76 vs 28 = fail

Minion awareness: 34 vs 45 = pass (minion cannot see ahead, only behind)

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Awareness Test: Per38 +10(Autosenses) +10(HS) +10(Eska has Awareness for an Assist?) = 68, Roll: 51, 2DoS

 

Also, realised I maybe needed to do a T test for Eska?

T20 +10 = 30, Roll: 96, Eek!

Machine Trait reroll: 24, 1DoS

 

 

Edited September 11 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

The Running Men:

 

As you are mainly focussed on keeping pace and not tripping, certain subtleties may have evaded you, but the following occurs (GM OOC: note that this is concurrent with your progression through the decks - mainly to allow others to get posts in):

 

Xerxes:

Your bonded minion has detected that the Legionaries are communicating in hand sign, and that this has been constant. It cannot determine the messages, only that such  a pattern of potential communication is present.

 

Hagga:

You can discern a little more on top of this. The Legionaries are using Astartes battlesign. Not only this, but it is a wholly unique cipher. Noticing Eska cock her ear, it is possible there is also subvoxing or some other communication beyond, or outside, mortal pitch.

 

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

Per: 32 + 20 (Preysense Goggles) = 52 (if visual, otherwise 32)

D100: 39, Pass if vision based, fail otherwise

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Perception Test: Per39 + 10 (auto-senses) + 10 (heightened senses) = 59

D100: 28; pass with 4 DoS

Edited September 11 by Necronaut