[BC] The Blackest Heart (Part II) (IC)

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Varne followed the renegade marine through the hum of activity within the arterial corridors, eventually arriving at what appeared to be a crude workshop. Ducking to the side on entry as the mutated marine conversed with a robed priest, Varne inspected the assortment of scrap laying around the large chamber, picking up bits and pieces as he moved between tables. As he fingered the blast compensator from an old bolter, a rough voice called out to him.

 

“Ho, Deathwatch! What brings your kind to this den of iniquity? If you're here to hunt aliens, I may have saved some for you in the bowels of this miserable rock…”

 

"I no longer differentiate between the 'faithful', the alien, the heretic, nor the... mutant," Varne tossed the bolter part away dismissively as he glanced at the scaled appendage behind Ukalegon, "all are equally deserving of absolution".

 

Navigating around the workbenches, Varne approached the man addressing him.

 

"The Deathwatch saw all manner of individuals pass through its ranks, but none so motley as I've seen these past weeks. It will take some adjusting," his eyes focused on the priest tinkering with a jump pack before turning back to Ukalegon. 

 

Spoiler

[Forbidden Lore: Adeptus Astartes - 81 (FAILURE)]

 

"I am Varne Nabor, of the Doom Eagles. Formerly, now, I suppose. Forgive me - I do not recognise your heraldry."

Edited February 9 by Mojake

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

Kraggan returned to his Forge and jacked-in to his Fallen Magos Power Axe.

 

++Missed you. Care to assist me in some construction?++

 

He assembled his Tech Thralls. "Now there you are, good. You haven't been in my Inner Lair have you?!"he asked, casually stroking a flensed skull. This was answered by lots of head shaking and abject denial. "Good we have a commission to construct the Jump Pack and some armour modification for Ukalegon the Twice Lived." He moved over to a chart of paper and began sketches.

 

He noticed an eager hand go up. 

 

"Ah yes Willhelm. No we will not need the Cogitator that goes Ping, but I think that we could do with the one you salvaged with the lights that do the flashing and beeping! A good forge needs helpful adepts, useful tools and obedient Machine Spirits. What do I say?"

 

"Ooh!" An eager hand thrust quickly up.

 

"Yes, Bert?"

 

"If us Adepts aren't helpful or useful tools then we onna trip to Servitor-dom!"

 

"Yes that is correct. If you do as I say then you can gain the rewards. Work hard and play hard. Now we are going to make this jump pack, I shall doing the construction and you will pass me the tools when I ask for them."

 

Kraggan placed the skull on a bench "You can just sit there and watch Tom" he said to the skull.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited February 9 by Machine God
Pesky typo that will become a servitor!

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"I'm looking for Xerxes."

 

Amongst the rabble it is not difficult to ascertain the tech priest - a dull iron carapace covered by the red robes of the mechanicum trailings mechadendrites and what appears to be a partial servitor hung from his back. Though clearly an adept of the omnisiah little about their appearance would otherwise mark them as a master of anything for their stature is no greater than that of any other here and they are armed only with a simple autopistol and the thin blades of their implants.

 

"I am Xerxes".

 

Another, this one new, abandoned by the warmaster for some slight perhaps. His warplate well maintained with little of the trinkets or modifications of others he had seen, not a good sign of influence or wealth but still the least of the astartes stood amongst the highest of the mortals in this place.

[Mazer Rackham]

Atesh:

 

As you and Mukta approach a junction, discussing the rigours of the Great Crow, the nature of flame without fire, the colours unseen by myriad eyes, and possibly your favourite type of salad, a small bundle of rags shuffles hurriedly to one side. Scaly hands, and half-clawed fingers seize upon a handful of bonding studs and starts hurling them at you.

 

'Take that you thscumbags!'

 

It is the voice of a child, yet he's hurling those bolts with terrific force. Thankfully, his aim isn't superb, and it is only Mukta who cops one above the eye, sending him reeling.

 

'Come on bathstads!' the...boy...lisps, before running away. He darts around the corner, and there's the unmistakeable sound of a steel hatch clanging shut.

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

Atesh perused his datapad trying to navigate to what appeared to be some sort of market or workshop (he could not settle on the meaning of 'Emporium' on his datapad) with Mukta when they were 'attacked'.  

 

"---bathstads!"

 

Atesh peered down the path at its entrance. He stopped Mukta from advancing until they'd had a chance to ascertain the risks of ambush.  Atesh muttered under his breath, "Thcawy."

Edited February 9 by FabiusV4lcoran

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

"Greetings, adept," he said.  He fipped the knife in his hand so that he gripped it by the blade and proffered the handle to Xerxes.  "I was wondering if you could hone this to a monomolecular edge for me."  His eyes narrowed.  "If you lick it, though, I'm going to gut you with it."

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Adept no more... but this was not the time.

 

"The workshop lacks suitable equipment, I will see that this is rectified and return your blade within one Terran day", modifications to a lascutter would be sufficient to sharpen the blade but without further equipment the act would have to be done by his own hand. Perhaps the armouries aboard the cruiser would carry more suitable tools.

 

"Should you seek more complex tasks such the maintenance of your armour or repairs to the adaptive camoflague netting it will be necessary to expand the forge. I advise that such resources are located before their lack becomes pressing."

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

"I know the value of quality equipment.  Get me a list of what you need, and I'll see what I can do for you."

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

An open offer, curious. Best not to overstep yet.

 

"Adamant and ceramite, and tools suitable for the central forge above the reactor. Maintaining the outer shell is one matter but knowledge of the suits inner workings is carefully guarded and the warsmiths of Huron would not part with such a resource easily."

 

He saw no reason to lecture the Astartes on the well known truth of the matter, without the resources of the Imperium the power armour worn by those here would degrade reliant upon components scavanged from loyalist and traitor to the Emperor alike.

 

"Know that such materials are abundant upon the Dredge but that the vessel itself demands repair. What can be secured now will likely be all that can be secured until victory in battle brings its own reward". A steel-taloned hand indicated in the general direction of the lighter bay, "I am to attend the ship and assess its needs soon, it is conceivable that not all of the voided sections have been picked clean but I can promise nothing."

 

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

A few hours later and the jump pack had been created. He was pleased at the outcome of his work and the assistance given to him by his Thralls. 

 

 

 

 

INT 49 +20 (Tech Use - Exceptional) +10 (Combi-Tool) - 20 (Hard) = 59. Result: 37, Pass 3DoS

He further added to the performance of the device. 

INT 49 +20 (Tech Use - Exceptional) +10 (Combi-Tool) - 20 (Hard) = 59. Result 21, Pass 4DoS

 

 

 

It was a thing of beauty. His hands guided by the inspiration of the True Omnissiah, had drawn the spirit of the jump pack into existence. 

From the underlying artifice, he had fixed the fuel pumps and feeds to the central turbo fan. He'd added wings for guidance and to blend in the additional lift nozzles. They had even been able to craft individual feathers and paint them Red. 

 

He lifted up the jump pack and placed it away safely on a stand within an arming cage, which he locked. 

 

"Look my Thralls and rejoice upon our fine work," he said pointing to the jump pack on the other side of the adamantium chain-mesh door. 

 

He picked up the power pack and gauntlets of Ukalegon's armour. 

 

"Bert and Willhelm, I am away now to my Inner Lair. I am not to be disturbed! You will both guard the Forge and our prize from thieves. Look at servicing the rivet gun, the bolts and the hammers. In six hours I shall return and send you both to guide Ukalegon here for the armouring. Make sure that the fires don't go out, you know what hides in the dark."

 

He drew the heavy Armoured Curtain to one side and made to enter his Inner Lair, suddenly he whirled around and pointed his Fallen Magos Power Axe at his Thralls.

 

"If you ever think to leave me and the Forge to the Xenos, to steal our precious creation! I will hunt you down, and when I do! I will remake you both together, you will look worse than Xerxes!" 

 

He then moved back into his lair. 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited February 10 by Machine God
Theatre

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: Just to be clear here so Mojake doesn't think I'm stiffing him, Ukie's JP was a Chargen Acquisition. He'd be hard pressed to get one now.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon nodded and rose, rolling his shoulders as he did so, holding both of his blades turned down and away in a reverse grip.

 

“Forgive me in turn for greeting you in nought by my breech clout, Varne Nabor. My warplate,” he said, nodding towards the heap of battered ceramite with its cracked and flaking black-and-crimson paint, which a small army of tech-thralls and a corrupted servitor were servicing, “bears little surviving heraldry from my past life, in any event. Ukalegon Moros, formerly of the Lamenters, once a Maelstrom Warder. Welcome to Brimstone." 

 

He eyed this newcomer up and down and then ruefully cast his gaze down and back at the tail which now graced his backside.

 

"Ours is not so much a sacred brotherhood as a den of thieves and murderers and outcasts bound together by the will of the Tyrant. I don’t know that anyone here seeks absolution, Varne, nor can it be granted to them, save by a death in battle. We have, each of us, willingly passed through the gates of Perdition,” he finished bitterly.

 

"In my pride I chose to believe that the cause had been just, that I was on the side of right, that my flesh was incorruptible. Now… I do not know. Cling to what honour you have left, for that is in short supply here, and it is the only thing any of us might still have. Sanity is surely not required." 

 

He sat again upon the bare stone floor and resumed his work upon his old and haggard chainsword, his features dour and  then looked up at the renegade Deathwatch marine.

 

"I will tell you this, Deathwatch: Hagga Rykaz is a worthy leader, and honourable. He led the assault upon Brimstone, and is its de facto master, for now. Seek him out. Find your place within this warband. Find your purpose while you still have your wits about you."

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga entered the chamber that had been assigned as Operations Centre with Eska at his heel.

 

He'd asked the other Astartes now aboard Brimstone to join him here so they could plan their next steps. Asked. He didn’t feel comfortable giving orders.

 

No one had put him in command, though he'd taken charge during the Krokodil assault. Redfang had been no help. The Wolf had just left them with that bloody awful wreck in orbit, and then ed off.

 

Throne! Barely a gun aboard, no Navigator, a fraction of the crew a ship that size needed…

 

Again he wondered, as he waited to see if any of the others turned up, if Huron was just setting them up to fail?

 

 

Edited February 10 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

As he entered his Inner Lair, he took out the blood sample and placed the bottle in into a centrifuge and turned it on. His gaze wondered over the thirty pieces of component salvage that he had acquired. He had already used some of it to create additional systems for his cyber-mantle and the curious green gemstone that he was sure could be crafted into a power source-adjunct for his potentia coil.

 

 

 

 

 

INT 49 +20 (Tech Use - Excperienced) +10 (Combi-Tool) = 79. Result: 72, Pass 1DoS

 

 

 

 

He jacked in to the Power Supply of the armour and made sure that it was on. He plugged it into his potentia coil and started a recharge cycle. He chewed on a synthi-bar and swallowed some water from a flask to replenish and refresh his flesh systems, few that there were.

 

Reverently he fondled the gauntlets of the power armour, seeking both to absorb particles of the ceramite and to commune with the anima spirits held within the ancient devices. He then laid some of the components that he had not yet used, down on the floor as if was making a bed or a nest.

 

He laid down on his uncomfortable bed and initiated a sleep cycle. What is comfort versus pain? Pain makes one think and thoughts lead to deeds and desires. In his sleep cycle he thought upon his Logician dogma, designs of Silica Animus and of the Flesh-Metal.

 

 

Six hours later he awoke and wandered over to the centrifuge that had long since finished its cycle. He also too began to pull out splinters of metal from the salvage components that had stuck in his side as he'd turned over in his sleep.

 

The denser particles of adamantium were at the bottom of the bottle and the Black Blood was at the top, satisfied that the process had worked and that the machines in the blood sample had had time to feed on the metals at the bottom he went over to a sample of iron filings that he had earlier made from the salvage.

 

With perhaps a random thought, he shook the blood sample and poured it together with the iron filings into a bigger beaker. He then brought the beaker to his lips and greedily gulped the mixture. He then artfully gave an almighty burp and then walked out into the Forge. His Thralls had been busy and he was pleased.

 

"Good, good you have been productive. Now of you both go and fetch Ukalegon, inform of our creation and that it is now time for Armouring."

 

 

 

 

 

Test to advance Mechanicus Assimilation one rank.

INT 49 +20 (Tech Use - Experienced) +10 (Combi-Tool) -20 (Hard) = 59. Result: 24, Pass 4DoS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited February 11 by Machine God
Typo

[Mazer Rackham]

The Operations Centre:

 

You can hear the trample of swift footsteps as they clash on metal deck. There's an odd cadence about them, as through the person walking does so without a proper or correct rhythm to his gait. Some might find it jarring, others annoying, as they assumed the metronomic canter would announce distance, but with this step, the distance seems to alter, as though the owner is about to stop, or has turned left or right, then a heartbeat later, it resumes normal pace.

 

It must be a male. It cannot be otherwise since the tramp and clatter is of Astartes sabatons, and when the man approaches, the lumen strips behind him fall into shadow just enough to drape the figure with enough light to see by.

 

Unhelmed, his pale face is young, almost fresh if the eye did not scowl too closely, but the most striking thing about him is the piercing, china-blue eyes that sweep the room. The true-hue of his gaze is deceptive, for across his face this Marine has the counter-glare paint stripe of a Scout ranging from temple to temple in a neat, purple-black ribbon of colour. The resemblance to a Neophyte does not stop there. His head is shaven neatly, save for a one-inch wide and tall mohawk running from brow to nape in what can only be his natural straw-blond follicles.

 

A single, small gilded pendant gleams from his left earlobe.

 

Shaven, tidy, the suggestion of youthful inexperience and countenance is at odds with his warplate, which has indeed seen battle. Heavy Mk V, so-called Heresy armour, his bonding-studded helmet sits maglocked at his waist, alongside his weapons and trinkets. It is a tapestry of scarlet and black, and each of these ceramite plates is scuffed and scratched. Even the brass mantlets for his power-pack exhaust and vambrace locks are dulled, a strange ruddiness to them.

 

He spots Hagga instantly, and as he turns to bow, the broad haft of a massive chainsword comes into view where he has it limbered out of the way on a thick crossbelt of some xenos-leather hide.

 

There is a smile on his face as though he knows something you don't, or suspect something different from that which you would prefer. It is a confident smile, but it does nothing to hide the predator behind this mask of less-than-Cheshire whimsy. Here is a killer, the plasma pistol on his hip and the broad-saw behind the tools of a warrior turned agent, for the real weapon is within.

 

The Tyrant's Claw is borne upon his right pauldron, and left greave (the latter in that same, dark gilding) but his left shoulder is blank - nothing but sable grace broken only by the tarnished brass bonding studs.

 

'Hail Executioner,' he says, the deep baritone of an Astartes throat clean in the mess around you. 'I apologise for my tardiness.'

 

You know he means nothing of the sort, and his face shows you are correct the moment his comment slicks into your Lyman's Ear.

 

'I am Desann Baraduk. I am here to assist you in your efforts in the service of the Tyrant.'

 

With that odd, gait, which is now revealed to be more graceful than awkward, Baraduk steps down to the holotable and fires it up.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga frowned. He hadn't been informed of this arrival. No youth just out of their Tenth Company served as a Huntsmaster of the Red Corsairs. Were these markings an attempt by this Baraduk to disguise his experience, or simply an affectation? Whatever the case, his name betrayed his origins almost as clearly as the smug, arrogant look on his babyish face.

 

“Speak plainly, Badabian," he growled softly. "To what purpose does Huron place you here? If you command, say so, and I will gladly follow your orders. Maybe better to be a foot soldier than to be responsible for the mess we have been left to sort out!”

 

 

Edited February 10 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

For a heartbeat, Baraduk appears to be lost for words, but a real grin slowly spreads across his face. 'I forgot how up-and-down your Chapter bred your hunters,' he rejoined, nodding. 'Very well. Warrior to warrior.'

 

The slope of his shoulders changes to something approaching normal posture, and his back straightens to reveal his true height.

 

His voice now is without artifice or jingle. 'I am here because Lord Huron sees this venture slipping into farce. He worries about his former allies and has asked me to be their counter. This secondment is a temporary one. Our lord is cunning, and not even Redfang know my real status. I am to collect information, collate the details and brief your team on operations of your choosing.'

 

He steps closer, and the years of experience absent from his face carry the weight of aeons in his eyes. Living under the Hateful Sky of the Maelstrom will do that to a man.

 

'With the Fourth Brotherhood, I have hunted bastards across a thousand worlds, and heard the dying breath of all those who sought to transgress against our lord. I am his hand here, aye, but you are his weapon, and you will slay who - and where you will.'

 

Baraduk's face is sincere and cold as any Badabian you've ever met, but the slight aggression to every syllable is tight.

 

'Is that plain enough for you, Headsman? Or-' the grin and easy confidence resurfaces, '-shall we pit Soulshear against your little pig-sticker?'

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

Hagga was the only other Space Marine on Brimstone he'd been introduced to, so when his request arrived via runner to attend a briefing, Obi complied.  What passed for a strategium here was an unimpressive site, though Obadiah's attention focused on the two other post-humans already present.  One was Hagga, standing tall in that odd blue that the Executioners favored, and the other was a strangely young-looking Red Corsair in Mk. V plate.  They certainly weren't yelling at each other, but the conversation didn't come off as polite either.

 

The Mantis Warrior strode up to the pair, approaching the Corsair from behind.  That same naturally soft footfall was in play; he wasn't going to attack the man, but it never hurt to test an ally from time to time.  Now more than ever, he needed to know for certain who could be relied upon in a pinch.

[Mazer Rackham]

Obidiah:

 

GM: Roll Opposed Stealth then, good sir!

D100 (PER): 1 x Pass, no +DoS.

 

Edited February 10 by Mazer Rackham
Vocative Commas are mine enemy

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

After a moment, the Executioner found himself grinning back. Maybe the Claws weren't all conniving little… He stepped forward too, enjoyed the straightforward tone, the eye-to-eye. He barked out a harsh laugh.

 

“A farce of your mighty Blackheart's own making, I'd say,” he snorted. “But it is well, it is well. We will listen to your advice, and then make our choices. One piece of advice for you, though, ‘Huntsmaster’...”

 

Hagga calmly ran his hand over the hilt of his sheathed blade, his eyes suddenly as cold as Stygian winter and his voice grim.

 

“She is called Heart-Eater, and if you dishonour her again, she will take off your pretty little head.”

 

Then he casually turned away, seeing the Mantid entering over the Corsair's shoulder. He wondered whether their... conversation... would distract Baraduk from the other Marine's appearance?

 

 

 

 

Edited February 11 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

Baraduk nods, pleased and intrigued in equal measure.

 

'A farce of his own making? Perhaps there is more truth to that than you realise.'

 

What has spurred both sentiments is unknown, but he catches the slight shift of your eyes, and it only increases.

 

Edited February 11 by Mazer Rackham

[Iron Father Ferrum]

1 hour ago, Mazer Rackham said:

Obidiah:

 

GM: Roll Opposed Stealth then, good sir!

D100 (PER): 1 x Pass, no +DoS.

 

 

Spoiler

Ag 43 + 10 (Stealth) - 30 (Power Armor) = 23

Roll: 67.  Failed miserably.

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Obidiah:

 

Your soft step comes undone as you bump into a loose plate on the deck. A twang of sprung steel announces your proximity to the Corsair, but it was evident he was about to turn regardless.

 

He now does, a steady sweep that adds a deft step so he can see both of you, and cover the door.

 

'Greetings. You must be Barzani.'

 

GM OOC: He introduces himself, adding a short nod.

 

 

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He gives a very slight, sheepish smile while mentally cursing the loose deck plate.  "I am he," he responded.  "Do we have...new orders?"

[Mojake]

Varne

 

"I don’t know that anyone here seeks absolution, Varne, nor can it be granted to them, save by a death in battle."

 

Watching Ukalegon's pitiful eyes cast down at his corrupt anatomy, the devastator marine pondered the man's words. Varne was far beyond the point of judging a man for his actions. What he sought was to absolve others of their pain, an end to the perpetual suffering of those burdened with life.

 

"Now… I do not know."

 

And what pain written plainly in your eyes, former Lamenter? When the time comes, yours will be a grand unburdening.

 

Varne remained silent as Ukalegon returned to sharpening his blade.

 

"Seek him out. Find your place within this warband. Find your purpose while you still have your wits about you."

 

As Varne turned to leave, he spoke with a softness, "for your counsel, you have my gratitude, brother."

 

Brother? Where did that come from? Several weeks prior, Varne would be killing this warrior and his ilk on sight, commands from the Ordo or not. How strange a thing death is, to so change a man's outlook?

 

+++

 

He entered the Operations Centre to the grinding sound of poorly maintained servos as the door crawled open. Two marines in conversation and a third with his back to them. Varne's eyes immediately settled on the purestrain trophy mounted to the latter marine's backpack.

 

Striding over to him, Varne extended his left arm in greeting, catching the lumen-glow on the scarred pauldron of his former allegiance.

 

"You must be Hagga Rykaz. Varne Nabor. I heard there are xenos to kill."