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

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hurrying down the corridor, Hagga considered his mental map of Brimstone. No way to reach the hangar directly from this shaft. He frowned. There weren't many options to get out, and none of them were good. Their best bet looked to be the auxiliary exhaust pipes that ran along beside the primary vent from the main reactor to the surface.

 

This vent must be one of the heaviest pieces of human construction on Brimstone, so Hagga hoped it had resisted the gravitic shear the longest. Unfortunately, it was also a ‘hot’ zone, both in temperature and rads. Still, their power armour should hold for long enough to get through. He arrived beside one of the circular maintenance access points and, with a grunt of effort, ripped the hatch off. There wasn't time for locks or cranks.

 

And it wasn't like he ever planned to come back to this dump.

 

++Hagga to Ukalegon. Get them out, brother. We will await pick up… somewhere… here.++

 

He appended a marker on the surface near the mouth of the great vent. Then he grabbed Eska by the collar, lifting her up and doing his best to hold her against his armour on the side that would be most protected, away from the core. He wasn't sure how long she would last once they were outside, but he had to hope that whatever augments were hidden beneath her skin, they would be enough…

 

Eska does have Machine Trait, immune to cold and vacuum so should be fine, but Hagga doesn't really know that yet…

 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon stood behind the krokodil’s pilots, listening for Hagga’s response. Another gantry creaked and collapsed scant meters away and the two humans looked over their shoulders nervously at him, fearing being crushed to death nearly as much as his threat of reprisal.

 

+Acknowledged. We will rendezvous for pickup on the surface. Be ready.+

 

Ukalegon knelt behind the mortal crew and said, +Get us out of here. We have passengers to recover somewhere on Brimstone’s surface, then we will rendezvous with the Dredge.+

 

He grasped a hand-hold as the ship shuddered and lifted off, and palpable waves of relief rolled off of the crew as they wheeled around and sped out through the narrow opening between the ruined blast doors

 

+Dredge. Ukalegon. I am en route to recover Hagga and the others from Brimstone's surface. Chart a course out of here and start moving. We will perform a hard burn to rendezvous with you. Transmit your flight path when cogitation is complete.+

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

Atesh nodded at the Blessed Astartes before hurrying off towards the lander he'd noticed the smiling man follow the Astartes into.  It appears the Astartes was still on the ramp, encouraging all who could make it to board.

 

“Move, you Void Scum!”

 

Atesh ducked his head down and pulled the cloth robe close about his head and shoulders and rushed past the Astartes onto the craft, assuming the look of another menial in order to keep his head down.  He would make his way on board as quietly as possible, and meet up with the grinner, or the two-headed man, as soon as he could find them.

Edited February 23 by FabiusV4lcoran

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

On board the Dredge he was relatively safe and was acting in a support role. The noosphere was of course very active, but he'd carried on listening to group vox as a precaution. Perhaps a spot of technical evaluation might serve as a spot of amusement.

 

+Ukalegon, this is Magos Kraggan. How is the new jump pack working for you?+

 

 

 

 

 

Edited February 23 by Machine God
Got rid of double amusement

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Too close, far too close to what stirred. "Orbit the brimstone and make best speed away, it is best that what has awoken here turns its gaze elsewhere".

 

Time now to see if service had brought him some measure of confidence amongst the astartes as he made his way forward to those that might listen, "servitors and other cybernetic constructs have been orderered to the void. Any we encounter might carry deeper understanding of what has begun here and means by which to confront it, but know that each that has been touched is tainted and cannot be allowed free aboard the Dredge."

[Mazer Rackham]

Brimstone (External):

 

When Xerxes strides forth, he is met with blank silence. All dock workers, the odd Red Corsair, and anyone with half a brain to realise it is watching Brimstone shudder apart. Anyone near a porthole, or indeed taking to the void witnesses something drastic, horrific, mesmerising when the asteroid shakes itself apart. Huge, invisible, shrugging shoulders crack tonnes of rock and shale, of crystalline and mineral, of metal and the detritus of Imperial occupation.

 

The Communications array, the deep-range antenna is ejected at terrific force, to whip around the asteroid bodies, cutting them in half as the monumental spar contorts and vibrates in whiplash strikes. Boulders spinning in space for ten-thousand years are pulverised into dust. Other man-made ephemera is spat from the now dense cloud of pebbles and dust - thick enough to clog any vents or engines, to hide anyone tossed to the long dark by mere happenstance.

 

The hololithic maps once out of date, but reasonable for general guidance are rendered utterly obsolete in the forced erosion.

 

The brilliant, blinding light of a giant emerald eye is almost eclipsed by the cloud of debris, shrouding the installation in a miasmic cloak, bound by reverberating waves of microgravity. Even so, rocks the size of torpedoes hurl towards the Dredge...and everywhere else. It is a monstrous hand-grenade, hurling shrapnel in a full spectrum enfilade, and these poor, humble boulders slam into each other to create an absolutely lethal debris field of hammer and anvil.

 

One Krokodil is winged, then crushed. A puff of red gas as the Oxygen envelope goes up, then nothing, except the stringy, floating bodies also tumbling into the void. Ammo cooks off, providing a short, sharp fireworks display to entertain the servitors, who track the pretty, snapping sparks.

 

Soon enough, the dark, angled brute within begins to move, slowly dispelling the rocky raiment hiding it.

 

A purple-black, immaculately smooth, obelisk, in the shape of a completely regular octahedron hangs in space, the vertices opening with eerie green glow, and the bilious, brilliant eye staring from the middle of this double-pyramid stares ever malevolently at the green sun around which it idles. A vibration of the debris forces it away from the oculus, and a seismic tremor oscillates across impervious metal skin, racing to the jewel.

 

Light pulses, gathers, a torrent swirling about the baleful, monocular stare....

 

...and Xerxes, with a cold calculus reaches the conclusion his estimates and concerns were correct.

 

The Dredge - in the haste to evacuate the personnel - is dangerously close to the unblinking megalith, even as the engines shunt the great, lumbering wreck forward, under the orders of the Lamenter.

 

Too close.

 

Brimstone (Close Proximity):

 

The interference is astronomical, and visibility is nil. The dust cloud is as impenetrable as inexplicable, and magnetic instrumentation goes absolutely haywire in the cockpits of the voidcraft. LIDAR, Augur relays, everything is intermittent. The pilots do what they can, but the engines are playing havoc with attitude control - and they need to do so, for the gravimetric forces are threatening to pull the very rivets out of the ship.

 

A boulder hammers into Ukalegon's Krokodil, mincing the starboard-side pilot, and pasting him all over the deck and cockpit. The chair is gone, but the stick and most of the controls remain. Silt pours into the cabin, until the blast shield closes, and seals the breach. The hailstone cascade which lashes the hull is incessant, enough to give even a Marine tinnitus.

 

+Two minutes to intercept survivors, but I can't hold her for long,+ the other pilot says, fighting with the stick.

Edited February 24 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Without missing a beat, Ukalegon unceremoniously scooped up and tossed the pulverized remains of the starboard-side pilot back into the passenger compartment, wedged himself into the remains of the cockpit and grasped the twitching yoke.

 

+Then I will join you and we will triumph or die together!+

 

Ukalegon blink-switched vox channels as he wrestled with the controls and roared, ++Hagga! Inbound! Two minutes!++

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

++Understood. Almost there!++ Rykaz shouted back.

 

The residual heat, even after the reactor had been shut down, was… unpleasant. But they had not slowed down at all. Getting through the pipes fast was their best protection. He could see the opening of the vent ahead, a circle of darker black than the curving metal walls around them.

 

Then, as they neared the mouth of the tunnel, blackness suddenly became a grey nothingness, accompanied by a silent roar as a pressure wave carried stone and dust across the face of the vent. Wild eddies of rock particles swirled into the vent.

 

But there was no option to remain sheltered here. Hagga reached down and pulled himself over the lip of the vent to stand out on the bare rock, suddenly changing his perspective of the tunnel from horizontal shaft into a deep dark pit beside him.

 

He looked… up…? and around, searching through the thick dust storm for any sign of the Krokodil. There. Above them. Running lights.

 

But how would they see the emerging party of Astartes to collect them? He didn't have a light to signal Ukalegon and the vox was rendered useless by interference. He frowned, looking around for some way to get the Lamenter's attention.

 

Eska, collar still held in his free hand, looked up at him, seemingly unbothered by the total lack of air. Hagga grinned suddenly.

 

++Eska, ignis++

 

A moment later, a great gout of flame burned through the dust. For a second or two, it looked like a great arrow of fire, with its narrower end pointed directly at their location.

 

They couldn't bloody miss that.

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash

 

The Krokodil bounced and veered as it rode out the gravitonic death throes of Brimstone. Gritting his teeth, Rakash fought to keep himself upright, to keep his body as stable as possible. There had been neither the time nor the space to lock himself into one of seats, so he remained upright, hands and feet wedged into anything hopefully durable enough to support his bulk. He wasn’t too much worried about himself, though. The Krokodil was packed with people and the mass of bodies would properly dampen an impact long before he’d anything with enough force to actually hurt him. But it did feel like it would be a bloody waste of effort to have come  all this way and have the mortals accidentally crushed to paste by his armoured frame now.

He’d already crushed a man’s foot earlier when he was forced to reposition himself during an earlier sudden evasion thrust and Rakash was pretty sure there was a sizable amount of bruises, concussions and broken bones spread over the mob of crew in his immediate surroundings. 
 

The Sorcerer suppressed the urge to shrug, saving them from  further blunted trauma, at least for a moment.

 

Well, at least they’ll live, he thought grimly.

As if on cue, the Krokodil lurched again. The mass of bodies shifted and someone cried out in pain. 
 

Cyrandras rolled his eyes. 
 

Well, most of them.

 

Another lurch. More grunts. Someone yelled for an Apothecary.

 

He couldn’t really see Bhael-Four from his position but he could feel the  Servoskull’s psionic sing-song on his mind. It seemed slightly amused.

 

Yes, well, at least some of them. A few.  Probably.

 

For a moment, the Sorcerer felt his mind drifting, bits of memory bubbling up…

The Palace of Thorns aflame. Shafts of devastating brightness punching through rolling waves  of ashen  black. The flash of a blade. The electric snap of…

 

No! 
 

He pushed the thought away, shaking his head. This time, he didn’t  care about the shriek.
 

Focus
 

 A thought occurred to him, something he might have missed in all the confusion if not for that bitter reminder from the past. 

 

+++Dredge. +++

 

Blink clicking, the Corsair boosted his Vox signal on a tight beam transmission via the Krokodil’s communication array.

 

 

+++ Rakash  here. Confine all refugees from this blasted rock outside established members of the  Corsairs to the hangar decks! Make sure no one from Brimstone is allowed onto the ship without being properly processed. We’ll have to make sure those Genestealer worshiping scum die with this rock for good. Kill anyone who resists. +++

 

 

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He tailed behind Hagga and Varne as they rushed through Brimstone's guts and wended their way out a vent to the rock's surface.  At first, it was because he wanted to ensure the Abominant was buried under the rocks and not following them; after a few minutes of dead sprints down smoke-filled corridors and through exhaust pipes, it was because there wasn't enough room to get past them.  Obi was lithe for a post-human, but two armored Astartes took up a lot of space in what was already close quarters.

 

He followed them out of the exhaust vent and onto Brimstone's broken surface.  He had expected to emerge with a beautiful view of the open void -- ideally with the Dredge's dire shape eclipsing at least some of the starfield -- but instead they came out into a veritable storm of dust and debris.  He tried to raise someone on his vox, but as soon as he opened a channel he was met by a high-pitched squeal.  He winced and blink-clicked the channel closed again.  He was about to tap Hagga and put their helmets together so they could speak through the vibrations, and let the other Astartes know he was going to try to just kick-off into open space, when Hagga held his pet up to the void.

 

What. . . ? he thought to himself.  Then he saw the running lights of a ship in the tempest, and hope flared.  But how will -- 

 

Then the dog breathed a cone of fire into the endless night, and Obi smiled.  He already liked Hagga.  The man was a good fighter, seemed a decent leader, but here was a bit of inventiveness too.  Maybe he's a leader worth following. 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

A gout of flame pierced the miasma of sloughed-off mineral wealth, and Ukalegon took one hand off of the stick to point through the remains of the fuselage.

 

+There!+

 

Working in tandem with the other pilot, Ukalegon nosed the rattling vessel down through the particulate hurricane, aiming for the flare. Another impact rocked the craft and it plummeted sickeningly towards the last remains of the asteroid before the pilots were able to right the ship with scant meters to spare under the ventral plates.

 

++Coming in hot!++

 

At the last instant, Ukalegon hammered the retrobooster toggle and lowered the landing gear, which survived all of 3.26 seconds before being torn free, and the entire body of the ship vibrated horribly as it rapidly decelerated and bounced along the uneven surface. The krokodil spun on its belly four times before coming to a grinding halt just shy of where Hagga and the others stood clustered, and a couple of armoured plating panels fell off and skidded away noiselessly in the void, punctuating their violent landing.

 

++Your chariot awaits!++

 

Hagga, his familiar, Eska, Varne and Obidiah, requiring no further instructions, all scrambled from their vantage point at the thermal vent and practically leapt into the krokodil, each clambering for any available hand-hold.

 

Ukalegon nodded at his erstwhile copilot and intoned, +Punch it.+

 

The krokodil, what remained of it, shuddered and shook violently as the human pilot flipped toggles and engaged the surviving high capacity fuel pumps and dumped what remained of their fuel reserves into the boosters.

 

++Passengers, please keep all limbs away from any openings in the craft fuselage, and stow away any loose items at this time. Please make your way to the nearest crash harness. Due to local conditions, we are anticipating moderate turbulence…++

 

The battered craft lurched forward violently as the fuel ignited and thrust was re-established, and it skipped off of the surface of the rapidly shifting landscape with bone-crunching force a few times before launching free from the clutches of what remained Brimstone. 

 

+More… power…+

 

Ukalegon could feel his organs being compressed by the intense g-forces, and he was quite certain the mortal seated beside him was on the verge of losing consciousness. They had to make it to the Dredge. He wrestled with the controls and put them through a steep arc towards their destination as the thoroughly battered assault transport threatened to shake itself apart.

 

++Dredge… Ukalegon… intercept… course… stand… by…+++

 

 

OOC: not sure if this is necessary, but I'm throwing it in for good measure because I like to live dangerously…

 

 

Operate (Aeronautica) Test, Hard?

Ag51 + 10 (Trained) - 20 (hard, assumed) = 41

D100: 32; 1 DoS

Edited February 25 by Necronaut

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik

 

Atesh spent however-long-the-flight-was upside-down, screaming, fearing for his life, wishing he hadn't left his homeworld, hating humanity even more than he already thought possible, and in various states of all at the same time.  Luckily, the lack of food back on Crow's Eye meant he didn't have anything to vomit up, and his bladder had been suspiciously empty since he woke strapped to the Astartes.

 

He managed to hear the announcement that they had reached the ground.  As the transport settled down, Atesh decided to focus on his surroundings and trying to locate the people that he'd followed onto the ship.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Dredge:

 

GM: As Atesh touches down, so does Crux'As, and Rakash.

 

Belatedly, the instructions from Xerxes and the Sorcerer are carried out, the few armsmen and Red Corsairs corralling the new arrivals for inspection. Iscario Seneca decants from the last surviving Krokodil, smoking engines and battered hull proof of the ordeal, but no others have made it thus far.

 

The other Marines linger in the debris field, and the green light from the Oculus pulses ever brighter...

 

Edited February 25 by Mazer Rackham

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Varne's auto-senses adjusted as the bright gout of flame from the canid filled his vision. The dust storm buffeted his form, scouring his armour. He attempted to clamber up a rocky spur to spot the voidcraft but to no avail.

 

+ One resting place is as good as another, my friends - fret not. +

[Mazer Rackham]

Brimstone:

 

The last Krokodil is savagely beaten by the Megalith's freedom from its prison. A prison of agglomerated rock and stone, arteries of burrowed nuisance scratching in the quiet, in the dark. Races without merit, without presence, without justification for existence.

 

These thoughts ripple through very existence as reality about the Octahedron quakes. Distortion rattles all with disturbing, gelatinous cloy, as something of aeons dreaming ceases slumber. Lightning arcs across in a scattered veil of coruscating green energy, lashing every rock daring to linger. Each is instantly pulverised as the Megalith begins to open up, spreading the dark eaves to stark, rampart quadrants of towering menace.

 

The desperately fleeing gunboat is whipped, struck between the shoulders several times, draining power, leeching speed as it negotiates a hurricane.  Soon, not a fleck of paint remains upon it, and the adamantium hide is wretched with deep laceration from power unimaginable. The pilot, in desperation, fires the front-mounted melta cannon, carving a path into the teeth of the storm, and punching out the other side with only half a wing remaining.

 

Thankfully, the void cares not for Magos Bernoulli, and his principles lift through air-pressure differential.

 

Grand Magos Newton, however, provides his grip.

 

Thrusters almost gone, the Krokodil makes landing, slamming down into the aft-section of the hangar bay aboard the Dredge, which itself is desperately fighting to free herself from this dreadful wallow. She banks lazily, clumsy in her striving, the normally swift engines making every girder and bulkhead creak with the unfettered, fearful acceleration.

 

It is too late.

 

The Megalith fires.

 

It is a small thing, the Oculus of this great, purple-black beast, merely fifty metres wide at the most, but it emits a tortured stream of jade brilliance, which lances out towards the green sun at the heart of Ithyca, and whatever is between it and the star, is cut into nothing. Asteroids the size of baneblades are abraded into non-existence, great irregular gaps are cut in seconds as bulky rocks spin and dawdle from the beam which offers no recoil or push. The Megalith simply ignores it all - uncaring, unwavering apathy.

 

The Dredge is next.

 

The slicing beam spears the Carnage Class Cruiser in the prow, and slices armour and adamant with equal aplomb to the rocky baubles before. Nearly all the starboard bow is neatly clipped off, the passing static and eletromagnetic ephemera overwhelming all but the hardiest and hardened systems. Hereteks are rendered almost comatose, Marine wargear is completely stripped of power. Finally, as a Cetacean turns from a submerged volcanic vent, the Dredge pulls away, her nose aglow, and the flesh eyes watch as the beam seems to reach the solar body, and finally cuts out.

 

A heartbeat later, a beam returns.

 

It collects on the Oculus with perfect alignment, without destruction, deflagration or deformation, and the waxing and waning of the field around the brutal machine reaches a tumultuous threshold that even several hundred kilometres away through space makes human teeth hum until they almost burst in mouths. Then...

 

Thump.

 

Nothing.

 

Literally nothing.

 

A great, perfectly spherical hole in the void-scarred asteroid field, where Brimstone used to be.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Hagga clambered out of what was left of the Krokodil - he was starting to feel a real hatred of the design, but at the same time… they were somehow still alive. Maybe the ugly craft were lucky?

 

They weren't far from the bridge here, so he hurried directly to it.

 

He'd already seen the alien ship… station…? device…? from a gap torn in their transport's armour, but now he had a clearer, fuller picture. He'd never seen anything like it, not even heard of anything like it. None of old Sergeant Kutha's stories of the Deathwatch had included anything that sounded remotely like it. What in the name of Hel was it?

 

It fired and the energy beam tore through the Dredge's frontal armour like paper, shearing off part of the starboard side of the prow. There was surprisingly little resistance or shaking from the hull, the cut so quick and clean it was almost surgical.

 

Then the xenos shape was suddenly, inexplicably… gone. He swore aloud. But in truth they'd been lucky again. If that beam had penetrated at an only fractionally tighter angle, it would have cut the Dredge in half from bow to stern.

 

Count your blessings, lad, and keep moving forward.

 

Kutha's words, from some campaign so long ago Hagga couldn't even place it. Good advice, though. He raised his voice to address the bridge crew.

 

“Augurs! Do we have idents on the approaching vessels yet? Helm, get ready to get us away from here at best possible speed!”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Dredge:

 

At Hagga's command for augur returns, the bridge crew spring into action. The actual bridge itself is a messy pit of discarded recaf capsules, piled punch-waifers, low-powered dataslates (repaired with different coloured adhesive insulation tape) and the woefully pervasive, and undignified stink of homebrewed moonshine-analogue amasec.

 

The crewmen seem motivated enough, though, the shipmaster throne is filled by the skeletal remains of what is probably the former Captain of the vessel. A gaudy  painted flak helmet has been perched on his head etched with the word 'King' followed by a single expletive and the crude drawing of a phallus.

 

The explosion onto the bridge by the eight-foot tall murder-machine spurs instant response from ingrained recital or sheer terror of consequence.

 

Helm answers first in that competent bark you've heard before, the gangmaster of his crew pit. 'Aye lord, best speed.'

 

The sensoria pit reports. 'Augurs report six craft, lord, but their drive outputs are confusing the mainframe cogitators. We have returns of several displacements, one cruiser, a heavy frigate or light cruiser, two lighter frigates and two corvette class - our databanks are...slow to qualify. It is possible some of the drives are unknown to it. They are matching speed and heading...parallel course.'

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He stumbled out of what was left of the Krokodil and dropped to one knee on the deck of the Dredge.  Helmet came off with a hiss of escaping air, and he coughed up a glob of blood of mucus and hocked it out onto flight deck.  He climbed back to his feet as Hagga went sprinting past.  His eyes narrowed, then he took off after the Executioner.

 

Obadiah was a few steps behind Hagga rushing into the command center.  The shipmaster's station was at the middle of a bowl-shaped room, the seat surrounded by amphitheater-like rows of cogitators and input consoles.  A good number of the officer stations were distressingly empty, but that was a problem for a different moment.  For now, his eyes found the cluster of icons on the master auspex displays.

 

He felt the slight shudder from the xenos beam-strike, but only arrived just as what was Brimstone blinked out of existence.  When the Executioner was done shouting orders, Obi moved up next to him and asked, "What are the chances those vessels are reinforcements?"

[Mazer Rackham]

The Dredge:

 

The Comms pulpit officer pipes up, her blank, bleary eyes catching the light in milky-white orbs. 'My lords? We have a message coming through, vox and holo. Do you wish to hear it?'

 

She prematurely flinches, no doubt expecting some violence-punctuated invective.

 

Edited February 26 by Mazer Rackham
Splelling, yuk, yuk.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Hagga frowned at the comms operator. A sensible way to make use of an officer who had lost their ability to see. Sometimes their other senses would improve to compensate, so blindness might even be a boon in her current role.

 

She clearly expected to be struck by her commander… but what kind of dishonourable filth would strike someone who couldn't see it coming?

 

“Play it,” he growled softly.

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Dredge:

 

The hololithic projector thrums into life, projecting the upper torso and head of a human male. His left eye is fitted with a non-affixed augmetic monacle which is chastened in silver, and pulses with an azure hue. His grooming is immaculate, his hair, moustache and beard a rich black, finely layered and lacquered. His feature paint a life of service, with crow's feet pulling at his right eye, which in contrast to the baleful glare he sports, is a warm brown. This brow and cheekbone crossed with a very fine scar, and his swarthy features hint at someone from a noble stable working a hard trade.

 

His immediate bearing is martial, and with this his trappings are of a naval line and cut, but richer, of highest quality. A quicksilver gorget hangs low beneath his open-collar tunic, but matches the collar buttons, depicting a stylised snarling tiger. Gold frogging dandies at his epaulettes, and a broad sash begins cutting from his left shoulder across his torso.

 

When he speaks, his voice is formal, neutral, but with a firmness used to command, and unused to disobedience. A scar pulls at his left, upper lip, making the resting pose a little mocking.

 

+Unidentified ship, this is Seneschal Octavian Strabo, of the Argent Requiem, and her company of voidfarers. My Mistress, the Lady Sun-Hui Baekho Joseon, also known as The White Tigress, The Will of One, Daughter of Hánguó, has taken interest in your existence, and advances a proposal. If you wish to negotiate, come to full stop, and signal welcome for a delegation as per articles of trade.+

 

The message ends.

 

Edited February 26 by Mazer Rackham

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Following his brothers at a much slower trot, Varne rolled his shoulder repeatedly to ease out some of the pain. Once he arrived onto the bridge to catch Hagga's order to the comms operator, he took a seat on a sealed crate and also drew off his helm, both air intake and his own throat letting out sighs.

 

Spoiler

Forbidden Lore (Xenos): 81, target 40

 

I need new dice

 

His mind reeled back to his battles against the destroyer cults, and that situation back in the Mordant Zone. He couldn't think of anything which operated like the weapon which had shorn through the Dredge. He'd seen as many weapons of colossal power capable of such feats as the next astartes, but this one left him guessing. 

 

Well, it seems to be gone. Out of the frying pan.

 

He held his palm to his abdomen where his armour had buckled inwards. He'd need to get that repaired. After they'd dealt with this White Tigress.

 

Edited February 26 by Mojake
Edited to make narrative sense following above post.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

They had crash-landed. Hard. But they had made it back to the Dredge by some dark miracle. Ukalegon pulled himself from the wreckage of the krokodil’s cockpit moderately worse for wear, and went back almost immediately to pull the thoroughly bruised and bloody form of his co-pilot, Vasily, free as well, gently depositing him upon the deck.

 

Hagga and the others were also starting to climb free of the burning wreck, and started over to lend a hand when he was violently thrown from his feet and the deck lurched beneath him and the super-structure of the cruiser groaned around them like a wounded giant as half of the cruiser’s bow was vapourized in an instant of arcane fury.

 

He was immediately taken back to a time many decades prior, still fresh in his mind from his time spent drifting through the cosmos in deathless sus-an sleep.

 

The Daughter of Tempests rolled and heaved beneath him. He had to find Captain Laertes. He had to find his brother, Arcturion. So much screaming. Intruders were aboard. The Minotaurs...

 

No… That was a memory. He shook his head and the Dredge reasserted itself rudely. The true nature of his circumstances could not be denied. He forced himself to his knees as the entire ship shook around him and he gazed out through the massive blast doors of the landing bay at the obsidian octahedron, hanging in space like some malevolent deity.

 

And then it was gone.

 

He looked on, jaw agape for a few nearly a minute as his mind raced and he attempted to puzzle out what in the name of Terra he had just witnessed. Brimstone had been nothing more than a prison, nay an egg for whatever that was. And now it was awake, and roaming free.

 

He shuddered at the thought and got to his feet again and trotted after Hagga and the others en route to the bridge.

 

The core of the warband, as it was shaping up to be, both mortals and astartes alike, had assembled there, drawn by some shared sense of purpose or a desire to be near the center of action, or perhaps both. Hagga was already issuing commands to the crew, and Ukalegon entered and stood in line with Varne and the Mantis Warrior, Obadiah. He trusted he would continue to survive long enough to get to know these two veterans better, but there was no time for pleasantries at present.

 

The image of a scarred and well-dressed human suddenly appeared before them above the hololithic projector. The transmission was brief, but direct and minimally courteous.

 

As it ended, Ukalegon turned to look at Hagga and his tail lashed back and forth as he asked, “A Rogue Trader, out here?"

 

He looked again at the assembled crew and members of what was arguably the command staff. They truly were a sorry and ragged looking lot, himself included, what with their patched and badly repaired armour and hodgepodge of heraldic devices and mismatched assortment of armaments and other indications of a less than scrupulous, bordering upon insane, operation.

 

"It seems we are not in much of a position to refuse their offer. Think she’ll exchange one of her ships for this rust bucket?”

Edited February 26 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

 

"It seems we are not in much of a position to refuse their offer. Think she’ll exchange one of her ships for this rust bucket?”

 

He heard Ukalegon, and he decided to make an entrance to the bridge to show off his new raiment. He had added to his robes more red cloth and some brocade to emphasise his frame. Of course he carried his badge of office, His Axe.

 

 

"Maybe the cat wants to see us dance? Or that its more a sense of 'Come into my parlour, said the Spider to the Fly' ?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 6 by Machine God
Typo

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash

 

Cyrandras made his way to the bridge once he had finished inspecting the make shift quarantine measures on the flight deck. What he encountered on route did not improve his mood much. 
 

This wreck might actually be improved by a possession or two…

 

At his side, Bhael-Four radiated its approval.

 

He stormed onto the dump that passed for a bridge, still fully armored, just in time to catch enough of the incoming message and the Lamenter’s dry reaction to it.

 

His eyes, rested for a moment on the bloodied warrior, drawn to the  obvious physical changes there. Rakash felt the urge to raise his hands to his helmet, his face but managed to restrain it.  He felt the burning sensation blazing inside his changed orbitae and let out a sharp breath. This could have gone much worse…

Ignoring Bhael-Four’s amusement, Rakash became aware of two other Astartes. One still bore the heraldic reminders of the Mantis Warriors, the other clad in scorched plate which retained.. the insignia of the Ordo Xenos Chamber Militant?! 
 

Curious…

 

A rumble went through the ship. The Lamenter had a point. There were opportunities here. 
 

He turned the rest of his breath into a chuckle.

 

“If they are desperate enough to try bargaining with this..”

 

he spread his arms to indicate the scene on the  bridge..

 

”…we should make them an offer they can’t refuse! “