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

[Mazer Rackham]

Obadiah:

 

'Range is three-thousand kloms, direction...bearing three-one-five relative, five-three degrees, keel. Signal origin is stationary.'

 

Displays alter, trajectories plot in holographic brilliance, with a pinging red spot on the grid exactly where the augurman reported.

 

'Ident codex inloading...it's a storage casket...one life-sign.'

 

Edited March 7 by Mazer Rackham
Name correction.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

“Heartfelt apologies? What am I to do with these words?”

 

Ukalegon scowled, somewhat surprised by Hagga’s statements. For a moment he considered a duel to first blood, but then thought better of it.

 

“I do not require apologies or grovelling, Hagga. I do not require the satisfaction of an honour duel. What I want is revenge. Revenge against an Imperium that has spat upon me and my brothers, that cursed us and offered us only spite when we came to their rescue. Revenge against my chapter’s executioners. No, Hagga, do not offer me your apologies. I want your sword-arm, I want to know that when the time comes to punish these bastards that you will not falter in your resolve, I want to know that we will stand together atop the ramparts of our foes' redoubts! I want an oath sworn in blood!" 

 

He turned to look out at the stars for a few moments, then turned back and continued, his fury unabated.

 

"You may call these afflictions by any name you like - gifts, marks of honour, degeneration - but it will not change what they really are: they are the truth. They are our sins made flesh. They are our darkest desires made manifest. They are fate. They are proof of the monsters within us. They are us.”

 

Ukalegon spat a gobbet of acidic saliva on the deck between them and let it sizzle upon the deck plates. Then he tore his right gauntlet free and dropped it upon the deck with a thud, and drew his great knife.

 

“To hell with the dark gods and fate! To the end, Hagga! To the ruin of all who stand in our way! To brotherhood in battle! To vengeance and blood and honour! Let this be our bond! I swear to these things now!”

 

Ukalegon's voice thundered throughout the chamber and he drew the blade across his naked palm and opened a great, bloody rent in his hand. He held his hand out palm open to Hagga as his blood dripped to the floor between them and the intoxicating stench of astartes vitae filled his nostrils.

 

"What say you?!”

Edited March 7 by Necronaut

[FabiusV4lcoran]

CAW-tesh Sapik

 

Atesh leaned back and tossed the weapon he'd stolen into a pile of refuse in the corridor before taking the disguise and datapad from the two headed man.

 

He found himself semi-regularly flinching, his head naturally rotating on it's z-axis when he was curious. 

 

He opened his beak and said, "Does your appearance---" Sapik nodded his beak towards Xerxes' additional cranium and baggage, "not also 'preclude' you from planetfall?"

 

He scratched his itching scalp and pulled away a hand with several small, downy feathers that drifted to the decking before disappearing.  He rapidly opened and closed his beak in a clap of frustration.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga grinned broadly, savagely. Ukalegon was wrong - Hagga had committed no sin to deserve his current… forced indenture… and he would choose his own damn fate - but that didn't change what was truly important about what the Lamenter had said. His response was everything Hagga could have hoped for. One could not hold a grudge against another's error, and offer blood-bond to them in the same breath.

 

Calmly he removed his own gauntlet, and drew his belt knife with the other hand. Moving to stand within arms reach of the other Astartes, he matched Ukalegon's cut, and then reached out to bring their bleeding hands together in a warrior's clasp. He looked, unblinking, into the Lamenter's eyes, and replied in a low, determined tone, carefully and slowly repeating his words.

 

“To the end. To the ruination of our foes. To brotherhood. To vengeance and blood and honour. This is my oath.”

 

They stood for a moment in earnest, solemn silence.

 

Hagga was about to speak again, to ask for his brother's thoughts about the White Tigress’ deal, and the downfall of Bounty, when both their voxes burst to life. Hagga listened as Obadiah spoke, then nodded to Ukalegon.

 

“Time to return, brother.”

 

 

Edited March 7 by Lysimachus

[Iron Father Ferrum]

4 hours ago, Mazer Rackham said:

Obidiah:

 

'Range is three-thousand kloms, direction...bearing three-one-five relative, five-three degrees, keel. Signal origin is stationary.'

 

Displays alter, trajectories plot in holographic brilliance, with a pinging red spot on the grid exactly where the augurman reported.

 

'Ident codex inloading...it's a storage casket...one life-sign.'

 

 

Obadiah:

 

His eyes narrowed, though the rating couldn't see his expression behind the helmet.

 

"Interesting," he mused through his voxmitter.  "Bring us about on a slow approach.  Prepare a tractor, bring it aboard via the main hangar -- and tell the crew there not to touch the damn thing until I get there.  If anything changes, vox me at once."

 

He swapped back to the vox channel.  + Brothers, that beacon was a savior capsule.  Meet me in the main hangar if you'd like to meet a local. +  He set off from the bridge towards the hangar deck with a grin on his face.  As a loyal servant of the Throne, his days had been filled to bursting with boredom.  The same old prayers with a Chaplain, the same old firing range, the same old blades in the practice cages...at least out here, as a Corsair, each day had the potential for some new excitement!

 

Edited March 7 by Iron Father Ferrum

[Machine God]

Kraggan 

 

He followed Obadiah to the hangar bay, maintaining a respectful distance from the Astartes.

 

He wanted to see what was inside the pod.  

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 8 by Machine God

[Mazer Rackham]

Bridge:

 

After the Mantid and Mechwright leave, the crew look at each other, confused.

 

'Tractor?' asked the senior helm.

 

The comms officer sighs. 'We don't have one. We lost the magna-grapple launchers in that game of cards on Cygnax, remember?'

 

The augurman laughs. 'Good game, that. Anyway, what should we do?

 

'Just line the ship up so we so we scoop it up.'

 

The senior helm nods. 'Compliance, Comms.'

 

The ship begins to shift and tilt to 'tractor' in the treasure trove discovered in the void.

Edited March 8 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

Crux'as openly grinned at the interplay between the deck officers. Staying between here and the wardroom the last couple of days had been informative, if a bit lacking in comfort. Sleeping in the wardrooms' deck chairs was not exactly comfortable, nor was the food the height of culinary experiences. Still, making connections and finding out secrets was always useful.

 

Time to move though. He sauntered after the former Mantis Warrior and tek. Let's see what we've caught!

[Mazer Rackham]

The Landing Bay:

 

The pod sidles into the bay, even as the vessel lurches in a vaguely drunken reel, whoever is operating the 'tractor' mechanism is quite obviously using Catachan Windage.

 

Once the container gets to within landing pad mag-capture, it pulls the plasteel container to the deck, and locks it into place with a resounding clamour of metal on metal. Obadiah is correct, the humble lump of space detritus is indeed a saviour pod, although it has seen much better days. The ablative armour of the exterior epidermis is scored and pitted by micrometeorites in crazed patterns, as though the aether itself tore at it with fangs and claws. Runnels of ceramite, molten from furnace heat of explosive bolts and the caress of furious ejection motor-engines used to catapult the occupant to safety.

 

Small nav-globes wink in red and green splash, showing the pod retains power, although how long it has been spaced is anyone's guess.

 

Isacario Seneca is present. His mixed alabaster, scarlet and sable warplate denote his profession as Apothecary, or Corpse-taker of the Red Corsairs, and those of you who have tasted the bite of his wit and scalpel both, know that he has earned that name in varying senses of the moniker. Part comedian, part surgeon, all foul-tempered, he steps forward with his carefully maintained Narthecium.

 

+Life signs put the casket in my prerogative,+ he says offering deference to none, examining the cradle with a keen tilt and crane of his helm. The Mk VII Medicae-Oculum pattern casque turns to the Hereteks. His finger dallies on the release catch mechanism.

 

+Well? Should I incant the rites of Open Says-same?+

 

He yanks his index finger and the explosive bolts hammer out across the deck in all directions, pinging from the rebar and buttresses, making the curious mortals duck away and cover their faces. One retaining grub hammers into Varne's plastron.

 

+For whom the bell tolls, Doom Eagle?+ Iscario's grim curl of lip affects the tremble of vox-tenor. In the rush of pressurised air-nitrogen mix escaping the pod, revelaed within is a recumbent Astartes. After scant moments, the Corpse-taker has hooked him up to the medical gauntlet.

 

+Sus-an, forty-five weeks. Not great, not terrible.+ He deploys stimms in the whoosh-hiss you all know from the trials of pain which accompany it, and repeats the mantras of awakening.

 

The giant within the casket opens his eyes immediately, Space Marine physiology much greater than that of a human, and the sleeper's arm shoots out to grip the Aopthecary's.

 

+No, this one is mine,+ Seneca gently rebukes, shucking the grip, and replacing the Marine's hand on his other arm. +That one is yours.+

 

Satisfied, the Corpse-taker disengages his devices, and without further word leaves the shuttle bay, mumbling about his time being wasted on someone in perfect health.

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"The rite of dupliciance takes many forms". His answer cut off by word across the comms that the ship was taking on cargo. "This bares no further discussion, there are matters to which I must attend."

 

The newly re-installed multilaser hummed into life as he left the room lest the security beyond was inadequate, too many sticky fingers aboard this vessel.

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash

 

+ Brothers, that beacon was a savior capsule.  Meet me in the main hangar if you'd like to meet a local. +
 

Rakash raised an eyebrow and shared  a thought of amusement at the remark with a Gael-Four. The Servoskull wobbled giddily in a gesture of anxiety. The Sorcerer rose carefully reaching for his helmet, careful not to disturb the growing piles   of vellum, flim sheets, stained hides  and malfunctioning data pads around them. They had began compiling an overview of the situation on the Dredge for later evaluation. That would not have been an entertaining exercise under any circumstances considering their current situation, but doubtlessly necessary, so he had at first resisted the urge to look into the matter and make for the bridge at the first opportunity when the augury contact was first announced. As  dull - and frustrating at times - as this work had been for the most part, looking at a floating buoy in the void had not sounded particularly interesting…

But the way the  situation was currently developing, neither of them needed any further encouragement to use this  opportunity to gpa use their work  for a moment.  For all their differences, Curiosity and a desire to plunge into the unknown was a vice shared by post the transhumance Sorcerer and the revenant Sage. A vice neither of them could deny any longer.

 

”Let’s go then. “

Cyrandras slotted his helmet into place with a comforting snap.

 

”Though with our current luck, old friend, I’m not willing  to  wager  if we are going to pick up more pf the pathetic or more of the instantly hostile variety here.” 
 

As if in response, the Servoskull bumped into a pile of data pads, which dutifully collapsed.

 

Rakash sighed, then nodded. 
 

“All right, old fool. Follow me…”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

The Landing Bay:

 

GM: Several crates and cargo containers are attached to the pod in a web of cargo netting and jury-rigged appendage. This cargo generates the following:

• +10 Components
• +10 Supplies
• +10 Medical

GM: The attached hard-case containers also carry the Marine's gear and weapons (save for his sidearm, which is on his person). All weapons are to be presumed loaded to full complement of @BadgersinHills Chargen sheet. So no thieving, ya lubbers!

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga and Ukalegon hurried through the Dredge’s corridors towards the hangar bay. Hagga entered just in time to see Iscario stand and turn to leave. He nodded respectfully to the Apothecary as he passed.

 

Then he looked down at the occupant of the pod. And frowned. The majority of his armour was a deep purple that Hagga couldn't immediately place. Hawk Lords, maybe? A Soul Drinker? The Executioner had heard rumours about his gene-cousins turning against the Imperium, could one of them have found their way into the Blackheart's armies?

 

Why was he here, though? Hagga hadn't heard that they were being sent any reinforcements, and even if they were, why would he arrive in such a fashion? Rykaz stepped forward to question the newcomer.

 

“Who are you? A fellow Corsair? How is it you are here?”

 

 

Edited March 9 by Lysimachus
Removed mention of saltires

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

Sigh. The smile was present, but muted.

 

Another Astartes. Not that they weren't important or useful, but the Smiler was distinctly aware that his talents for misdirection and inspiring fervor fell short with the transhumans. When your target could hear your heartbeat and see minute fluctuations of pupil dilation it became much more difficult to mislead. Even one such as him was unable to completely remove his natural physical reactions, at least for now. 

 

Thoughts for another day. Crux'as would stay in the background, watching as the Corsairs greeted their...cousin. Knowledge is power, after all.

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn

 

The Space Marine within the pod is of average height for one of his kind, clad in purple armour. Armour that was a dark purple, at any rate, before whatever misfortunes befell the wearer had occurred. Bits of purple, pink and scraps of flaking gold leaf peer out from a wide assortment of cuts, shots and scorching. His hair is a pale blond, almost white, and is shoulder length. His face is aquiline, almost regal, even with a range of cuts and clearly untended stubble. His brown eyes track the Apothecary as he leaves, before he looks to the Red Corsair speaking to him.

 

That one of the Red Corsairs was speaking to him was a good sign, after his unfortunate... negotiations with them aboard the Kantele, his warband's former ship that he had commandeered on his retreat from Yentar. He had meant to signal his peaceful intentions to the hulking champion that had boarded his ship by drawing his sabre, to give the Legion sword-greeting as he entered but the damned fool hadn't waited for him to finish before he had charged him with a roar, his power axe crackling malevolently. How could he have known that these motley renegades would be unfamiliar with the 36 weapon greetings of the Konstrictus? Now he was bereft of a ship and his sabre, though he had done better than his opponent who had become well-acquainted with the sharp edge of his blade. 

 

Looking at the man, he knew at once that the warrior was a deadly fighter. That bronze collar on his neck sent a tinge of worry through him, though he had not seen such a symbol before. 

 

“Who are you, Corsair? How is it you are here?”

 

A Corsair? Did he smell that foul? He almost said so, but thought otherwise. A quick wit might not be appreciated in a time like this. Best get on with it and hope these Corsairs didn't know the one he'd left his sword in. Sitting up, he spoke. 

 

"I am Acchiersum, named Mourn by my peers. As for how I have come aboard, I must thank you and your fine crew for that," he said, smiling.

 

"And as for how I found myself in this particular predicament? Well, I shall tell you after we have made our acquaintance."  

 

 

 

 

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

OOC: Apologies, I misunderstood his having met the Corsairs already as him having joined up and assumed he would be wearing the red saltires. I'll edit my previous post to remove that.

 

Rykaz gave a brief nod. Not a Soul Drinker. The newcomer didn't have the solid manner of a fellow son of Dorn. He looked over the armour again. The purple so faded it was hard to tell, almost pink. Hagga felt a momentary, irrational buzz of distrust and aggression.

 

“Hagga Rykaz, of the Red Corsairs," he rumbled. "If you aren't already sworn to the Blackheart, you'd best explain yourself, or you might end up back in that pod.”

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan 

 

He had been present when the life-pod was opened by the Corpse-Taker, to render technical assistance. 

 

He had seen... 

 

He had backed away from the abomination.

 

He was agitated to say the least. 

 

Now the accursed Astartes had talked them and Anointed Hagga conversed with IT. 

 

 

"WITCH! He bears Her Colour!" 

 

 

He pointed his Fallen Magos Power Axe, whilst he struggled to maintain a discipline of control. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 9 by Machine God
Typo

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

Well, that's torn it.

 

Crux'as moved smoothly to the large tek's side. He carefully laid a hand on the bigger man's shoulder, deliberately but unthreateningly.

 

"Calm, my friend. While the new arrival is indeed wearing an...unpleasant hue, it does not mean he comes in service of the daemon. It may be mere chance or happenstance, not a provocation."

 

The smile was strained, as the pink areas of the Astarte's armor were a discomfort and distraction. They blurred in his vision and he knew that if he looked too long they would begin to burn and hurt.

 

"Let us see what this Acchiersum wants and take his measure before we assume, shall we?"

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Brushing at his vambrace after being assailed by the casket's locking bolt, Varne let out a sigh at the state of his armour. I really need to get that abdomen panel straightened, it will not do to be poked and scraped each time I turn. He glanced sideways at Kraggan and made a note to visit the workshop later this day.

 

+For whom the bell tolls, Doom Eagle?+

 

The echoes of the savage unlocking faded as Varne considered the maxim with a sly smile. All equal in death? You've got that right, cutter - but you're looking through the wrong lens, by my reckoning. He bowed his head respectfully as Isacario left and turned his attention to the occupant of the saviour pod and the brief interrogation that Hagga was conducting.

 

"WITCH! He bears Her Colour!" 

 

The Doom Eagle turned at the outburst, wincing. Her? What does Kraggan think he knows? This 'Mourn' seemed amiable enough, but Varne's hand hovered near his holstered bolt pistol nonetheless.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

Her?  He'd never received anything approaching a formal education of the dark powers of the Warp that he found himself surrounded by, but he'd learned enough to know that there were four primary powers: the War God, the Dark Prince, the Grandfather, and the Changebringer.  But he'd never heard any of them referred to as female before.  He filed that little nugget away for later investigation.

 

With a sigh, he pulled his bolter's butt into his shoulder and half-turned so he could keep the newcomer -- Mourn? -- and Kraggan both in his view.  Fate's Eye was at the low-ready, not pointed at anyone in particular because he wasn't planning on killing anyone at the moment, but it never hurt to be ready when armed heretics started yelling at each other.

 

"Enough of that, Kraggan," he barked from his helmet's voxmitter.  "We're just about to go killing more Imperials, now is not the time to murder a fellow heretic."  He looked to Hagga -- when did that piece of brass get stuck there? -- and listened intently to his conversation with Mourn.

[Mazer Rackham]

Docking Bay:

 

GM: Well gents, this looks like a good time to test out MG's Intelligent Cyst. Can I have a Difficult (-10) Opposed Fellowship Test between Crux'as and Kraggan, (Difficulty is for Opposed Alignment). Post your results below, before you post any further interactions.

 

GM: Then we shall have an Opposed Fellowship Test between Kraggan and Obadiah, with no penalties.

 

GM: Finally, we shall have a Hard (-20) Opposed Fellowship between Kraggan and Mourn (Opposed Alignment, and Lustful Hue).

 

GM: Neither Assistance, nor Infamy can be used in these instances.

 

Edited March 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash 

 

It had been a slow day on the Dredge so far.

 

Up to their arrival, their journey to the flight deck had actually been rather uneventful. 
No indications of  major weapons fire, no sudden explosions, failing of structural integrity or sudden daemonic incursions.

 

 A rising swirl of empyrean currents drew the Sorcerer’s attention as he entered the flight deck, an indication if rising tensions that might soon draw the attention of the Neverborn.  The whisper-song of  Bhael-Four increased it’s pitch as the entity within was drawn towards the source of this possible excitement.

 

The Sorcerer slowly made his way into the landing bay, one hand on the hilt of his force blade, extending his physical as well as his esoteric senses.

 

There was a nexus developing here, an intersection of possibilities, of diverging paths and fates.

 

This could go in all sorts of directions. It only need a push. Or a bolt round…

 

“Either way, this clearly  beats cataloguing the disaster that is the Dredge by far…”, Cyrandras thought dryly to himself
 

 

 

 

 

[BadgersinHills]

OOC: Rolled a 50 on a D100. Fellowship score of 49 - 20 = 29. Failed with 2 degrees of failure. Now that's a promising first roll!

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Spoiler

Fellowship Roll:

 

Fel 40.

Roll: 39.  Pass but not by much!

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

Spoiler

Fel Test

Target - 52 - 10 = 42

Roll - 11

Result = Pass, 3 DoS