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

[Machine God]

Kraggan 

 

Anger

 

 

 

Kraggan - Crux'as

 

FEL35 - 10 (Difficult) = 25. 

Result: 77, Fail 5DoF

 

Kraggan - Obadiah 

FEL 35 = 35. Result: 45, Fail 1DoF 

 

Kraggan - Mourn

FEL 35 - 20 (Hard) = 15.

Result: 53, Fail 3DoF
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 9 by Machine God
Anger leads to hate

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash

 

 

And here we go again..

 

Cyrandras   sighed.  

 

He felt a familiar sense of foreboding. This was why it had been the Astral Claws taking the lead among the Warden Chapters. Too much bickering. Not enough focus on the long term. 

Which, true, in this case, mostly revolved around Cyrandras getting off the Dredge, getting out of  this backwater assignment, but the Sorcerer was pretty sure these interests were shared by most if not all of his current associates. Given time, they might come to their senses.  And in the past, Rakash might have trusted on the will of that withered Corpse on its gilded throne or the currents of the great Ocean or the anything like that.

 

But that was the past. That was what their failure at Badab had taught him. What the Blackheart had come to personify. 

 

Huron Blackheart cared not for the Emperor, not for Fate and not for any gods. He cared for results. 

 

If you wanted to achieve anything in this galaxy, if you wanted to see results, you better had to step up and put your claws around an opportunity.  Afterwards, you could still decide on whatever pressure needed to applied…

 

They were here at the Blackheart’s. Request. All of them. And he. Expected results. And apparently it fell to Cyrandras Rakash  once more to be an extension of the Tyrant’s Claw.

 

He sighed again. So, the subtle touch…

 

The Sorcerer  stepped forward, raising one  hand in greeting - the other stall firm on Thistlespine’s grip.

 

“Brothers… “ Rakash paused.

“ No! Corsairs! “

 

He put his emphasis on the second word, deliberately attempting to remind everyone present, Astartes and Mortals of both their common cause and chosen allegiance. 

 

“Brother Obadiah is right. We are all here to make the Imperium pay. To see their fleets broken, their worlds burned. This is what Huron Blackheart offers you. This is what Huron Blackheart expects of you. You are here because you have chosen this offer. Each of you has  chosen this life.. We all have sworn ourselves to this path. I have chosen this. I have sworn  myself to this“

 

He looked at everyone in turn.

 

“And I will not see my oaths and efforts, my vengeance brought low by some petty bickering. Or further waste of blood or munitions.”

 

He let out a deep breath. Then, with his free hand, he gestured at the savior pod. 

 

“Anyone who wants out - here is your chance.  Take your chances elsewhere. Or pull that trigger. Now. See what happens. But always remember - being  a Corsair is all about making a choice. So go on. Make your choice. But stop wasting every one’s  time. “
 

Spoiler

Fellowship 44 + 30 : Roll - 51 Pass

 

Edited March 9 by Xin Ceithan
Fel test added

[Mazer Rackham]

Cyrandras Rakash:

 

GM: I can see that this speech and appeal to your fellows is based on your Pride of Foresight, which is defined handsomely by your prose. I  am moved to hereby award you the benefit of an Incursion, with a Bonus to Fellowship of (+30) based on your narrative and call to the stark choices all Corsairs face, to the benefit of the Players and continuation of the Game.

 

If any other Player that is not involved wishes to also intercede in a similar manner, they may now do so. I will decide difficulties of any further tests after a chance to make interventions.

 

+ Players may now post +

 

Edited March 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga snarled under his breath as the occupants of the hangar seemed ready to turn on one another. Swallowing a sudden urge to join in, to draw Heart-Eater and begin hacking through whichever fool was closest, he listened as first Obadiah and then Cyrandras spoke. Good words. A choice. Vengeance against those who deserved it, not your comrades. Enough pointless squabbling.

 

He stepped forward, leaning in to first speak quietly to the Heretek.

 

“Kraggan,” he growled softly, “if you can't get yourself under control, get the Hel out of this hangar. Now.”

 

Then he turned, looked again at the newcomer, and raised his voice to a deep bass roar that all could hear.

 

“The Sorcerer is right! Enough time wasted! We have our targets, that is where all our focus should be! Acchiersum Mourn!"

 

Now he did draw the long weapon, keeping the pommel up, resting the blade's tip on the deck.

 

"I’ll ask again, why are you here? To serve the Tyrant? If you are, you can swear your oath on this sword and I'll hear it on Lord Huron's behalf this damn second. If not, you can take your pod and your gear and be gone.”

 

 

Edited March 9 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Since Rakash passed by 3 DoS, I now require Opposed Fellowship rolls from Kraggan and Mourn with a Bonus of (+30). The next post I make will be the consequences of these rolls.

Edited March 9 by Mazer Rackham

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

 

Kraggan - Rakash

 

FEL35 - 10 (Difficult) = 25. Result: 11, Pass 1DoS 

 

Kraggan - Hagga 

FEL35 +10 (Same Alignment) +30 (Intervention Speech) = 75.

Result: 41, Pass 3DoS 

 

Kraggan - Mourn 

FEL35 - 20 (Hard) +30 (Intervention Speech) = 45. Result: 13, Pass 3DoS

 

 

 

But there would have been bloodshed 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 10 by Machine God
"But why is the Rum gone?!"

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon watched as the new arrival, Acchiersum, emerged from the salvation pod under Iscario’s ministrations, and introduced himself. The marine’s heraldry, while somewhat garish, was certainly artfully applied. Some of the hues made him wince but did not provoke a violent response in him as it did the tech-priest, Kraggan. However, there was something decidedly strange about this astartes, as if he had emerged from a different time.

 

He racked his memory of the few chapter heraldries he had bothered to learn beyond those of the Maelstrom Warders and those with whom they had enjoyed regular dealings…

 

 

OOC: We all know OOC what is going on here, but I'm requesting to make a Forbidden Lore test here for Ukalegon to see if he can figure out who this new astartes is before things get further out of hand…

 

Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes): Int39 before mods (unknown difficulty)

D100: 09

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

 

You recognise the heraldry of one of the Sons of Fulgrim, a Scion of the Purple, a Student of the Phoenician.

 

GM OOC: You can mention this, of course, but don't forget Mourn/Badgers has a lot to catch up on already.

 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

The Lamenter’s eyes narrowed and felt his hackles raise despite himself and his current predicament as the realization came to him. It was so obvious! Arcturion would have been chuckling to himself were he there now. Well, before beheading the newcomer as a matter of due course. He laid a hand upon Hagga’s shoulder and stepped forward, his curiosity piqued.

 

“He is no corsair, Hagga; observe his heraldry. His armour marks him as a warrior from a tradition far, far older and fouler than ours. Who are you, Acchiersum Mourn, and what were you doing in that?”

Edited March 9 by Necronaut
Lol spelling

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga frowned. What did Ukalegon mean…? The realisation hit him, and the remnants of his hypno-implanted instincts nearly made him twist Heart-Eater up into a guard position and attack. A Traitor Marine! More hated by the loyalist Astartes than the worst renegade, a member of one of the vile Legions that tore the Imperium asunder!

 

He almost did it, but something about the Traitor made him pause. This was no 10,000-year veteran? And where were his Legion brothers?

 

No, this one was alone. Wherever it was that he came from, he was like them. An outcast. A renegade.

 

After a long moment, Hagga shrugged, but his eyes were full of cold anger.

 

“Does it matter, my brother? The Blackheart cares nothing for his warriors’ pasts, only that they obey him. Are you ready to swear to Huron's service, Child of the Emperor?”

[BadgersinHills]

Spoiler

OOC: D100 = 3. 

Fel = 49 + 30 = 79

 

Pass with 7 Degrees of Success. 

 

Acchiersum Mourn: 

 

Acchiersum had watched the rapid escalation of events in the hangar with half bemusement and half horror. Things had been going well enough with Rykaz until the red-robed priest had started shrieking about someone's colour. How peculiar. He hadn't taken the Magos for an aesthete. 

 

He'd feared, for a moment, that the Corsairs and their allies around them would reach for their blades and butcher him before he even stepped out from the saviour pod. Then the Sorcerer had stormed into the room and given a fine speech, Mourn had to admit, made all the better by the fact that it seemed to calm the Corsairs down.

 

“He is no corsair, Hagga; observe his heraldry. His armour marks him as a warrior from a tradition far, far older and fouler than ours. Who are you, Acchiersum Mourn, and what were you doing in that?”

 

“Does it matter, my brother? The Blackheart cares nothing for his warriors’ pasts, only that they obey him. Are you ready to swear to Huron's service, Child of the Emperor?”

 

Perhaps calm was the wrong word. He sighed, and rose out of the saviour pod. I ought to have stayed on Yentar. Being executed by the Imperial Guard didn't seem so bad after all this. 

 

He addressed the marine who spoke first. 

 

"It is good to know that some remember the glory of the old Legions," he said. It mattered little that he hadn't even been born for the vast majority of that glory, or in the eyes of the older warriors he was but a thinblooded pretender. 

 

He then looked to Hagga Rykaz and smiled, despite the simmering fury in the man's eyes. 

 

"I've heard much of Huron," he said. He didn't mention that what he had heard were was mostly from the raging curses of old Lord Grirmal, lamenting that the Long War had forgotten the Legions for brutes and fools. He slowly put his right hand on Hagga's blade. 

 

"I, Acchiersum, named Mourn by my peers and Death by my enemies, do swear this. I declare that Huron's foes are mine, as are his friends. This is my word."

 

And if things went well, he may even keep his word. He flashed a grin at Rykaz and the marine who had spoken to him.

 

"Is the... honoured tech-priest always like this?"

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga snorted.

 

“More often than I'd like… but he is useful.”

 

Now the newcomer had sworn, the Executioner relaxed slightly and lifted Heart-Eater to return her to the heavy sheath at his side.

 

“There are… reasons… for his outburst. You'll need to show your allegiance to the Blackheart on your armour somehow. You can wear the red entirely if you want, but take my advice and at least cover up the… pink…" he just about kept himself from snarling the word. "Don't ask me why, but it will make being accepted here much easier for you. Then get your weapons and gear together. I wouldn't bother finding yourself quarters - we're on our way to transfer to another ship anyway.”

 

He grinned.

 

“Then there's a fight to be fought.”

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He was heating up as he struggled to control his anger. 

 

Outside forces tried to talk to him, like water to quench a hot blade.

 

Teeth carefully laid a hand on his shoulder. 

 

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

 

Silken words from the mouth of a past rival. Ha! Not cold water quench, more like a bucket of tanners  vinegar. 

 

He wrenched his arm from the offending touch. 

 

"Twenty-fours for Huron!" 

 

He felt battle eyes on him. Irritable he turned his head and eyed Obadiah. 

 

"Enough of that, Kraggan." 

 

Kraggan stuck out his long tongue and then licked his lips. 

 

"We're just about to go killing more Imperials, now is not the time to murder a fellow heretic."  

 

"How's the blade. Silence?" 

 

Then the Sorcerer stepped into the room. Another Witch? 

 

“Brothers… “

 

 

“ No! Corsairs! “

 

 

Something new, although it was still fingers on a chalkboard. 

 

 

“Brother Obadiah is right. We are all here to make the Imperium pay. To see their fleets broken, their worlds burned. This is what Huron Blackheart offers you. This is what Huron Blackheart expects of you. You are here because you have chosen this offer. Each of you has chosen this life.. We all have sworn ourselves to this path. I have chosen this. I have sworn myself to this“

 

 

He caught Cyrandras Rakash's eyes upon him, and he listened to the heart of the words.

 

 

“And I will not see my oaths and efforts, my vengeance brought low by some petty bickering. Or further waste of blood or munitions.”

 

Better he could still belong. 

 

"But always remember - being a Corsair is all about making a choice. So go on. Make your choice. But stop wasting every one’s time.“

 

 

Hagga stepped forward, and spoke to him. 

 

“Kraggan,” the Heart-eater growled softly, “if you can't get yourself under control, get the Hel out of this hangar. Now.”

 

 

He had a change of vision as he listened to the interplay between Ukalegon, Hagga and this Akky. 

 

A large battle on black sands and much death. 

 

 

He calmed down to an acceptable level. 

 

"Mourn, I am Magus Kraggan.

I welcome you and your offending armour."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 11 by Machine God
Placeholder filled

[Mazer Rackham]

++ THE BLACKEST HEART ++

 

+ PART TWO +

 

 

In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?

Tyger Claws, burning bright, In the Astral forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

- Remembrancer Wilkan Blavakan of Badab, (Attrib).

 

 

LOCSIT: The Golden Shoals, Ithyca II Asteroid (Guild-bonded) Mining Belt

TIME INDEX: MISSION START +21 DAYS, 6 HOURS, 2300HRS ZULU.

 

INCIPE:

 

The long march to the co-ordinates provided by the Tigress slows to a crawl as the Dredge navigates the approach lanes indicated by winking nav-bouys pulsing amber glint and static blurt on proximity warning. The bridge crew is focused, alert and tense as they carefully steer towards the small dock platform serving as a mining lading station. It is an STC design, that much is obvious as the hololith in the conn-pit paints it onto monitors and picters. Even at this distance, sixty-thousand kloms, the Iconoclast docked there is unmistakeable.

 

It carries no ship name, nor registration codes which exload into your datavaults. To all intents and purposes, it does not - yet - exist, but your eyes do not decieve you, the mass augurs which calculate displacement and status do not lie, and as the Dredge closes to maximum intercept distance given the markers and the shifting shoals, the shining chip of adamantium glistens in the wan green light of Ithyca's solar centre.

 

It will be small transport from here.

 

The officer in nominal charge, the Senior Helm, who carries the old rank from his Battlefleet Maelstrom days breaks the professional quiet buzz of bridge chatter. 'We'll turn this tug around and make room for the sport model,' he says. His hands point and dart across his command pulpit, and the bulky cruiser slowly shudders into bovine compliance at his team's insistence.

 

'JMC Platform Juno, this is Imperial Merchant supply ship...uh...Fortunate Horizon. Cogitator Handshake is down, send docking perms and clear, please,' the comms officer stumbles just the once, her brow arching to bridge the deceitful misnomer. After a minute she shakes her head, repeats the message, then exactly sixty seconds later, and quite unerringly, her face turns to Hagga.

 

'No response, sir.'

 

'Confirm, no augur beacon echoes,' adds the augur controller. 'Lights are on, but it looks like nobody is home. Lifesign scans are inconclusive - I can't burn through that much armour and shielding to ascertain.' He shrugs. 'The destroyer is hard-docked, I can tell that much. Looks like it was refuelling.'

 

For its part, the docking rig, heavily armoured and shielded against rogue asteroid impacts, wallows in silent apathy of your probes and plight. The bulk storage hangars and shuttlecraft docks remain closed, silent mouths tight against the void, and unwilling to give up the secrets.

 

GM: Welcome to Part Two, finally! There's not really much more for me to say at this stage, so questions and screaming in the OOC as usual. Obviously everyone is lurking on the Bridge, so if you want the officers to conduct scans, that's your shout. FYI, you only need a skeleton crew to shift the Iconoclast, so as long as you get her alongside, cross-decking shouldn't be a problem.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga nodded, and offered a word of thanks for the benefit of the blind officer.

 

“Augurs, be alert for any signs of anything not right at that rig, and in the surrounding field.”

 

Transferring an entire crew from one ship to another without anyone to watch your back was a bloody dangerous business. It was a perfect moment for an ambush. He grimaced.

 

“An advance team will take a Krokodil across first to make sure it is safe. Have secondary shift officers standing ready to take over at all stations here on the Dredge. As soon as the scouts give the word to go, I want primary shift officers and engineerium adepts on the first boats going across. Get the Razor's Edge ready to make way as soon as possible. Once it is mobile, we can bring it out of dock and close enough to begin transferring the men over in full. Once we are all across, secondary shift officers and a skeleton crew will remain aboard the Dredge long enough to find a nice quiet den to hide her in until we need her again.”

 

He looked around the other gathered renegades.

 

“Anything I've missed? Who wants to go over and check it out?”

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

The Heart-eater looked around at them. 

 

“Anything I've missed? Who wants to go over and check it out?”

 

He moved forward. 

 

"I will. Clearly you will need tech support, and an axe." 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Dredge - Bridge:

 

'Aye, sir,' the Augur commander replies. 'Initial sweep shows no intra-shoal craft or immediate vessel displacements. I am detecting static energy cell outputs, which register to fixed, servitor-slaved harvesting rigs.'

 

He looks up to Hagga, face lit from below by the green glow of panels, and half-light of emerald from the sun's rays.

 

'They're attached to the asteroids, sir,' he offers as qualification.

 

'Seeing as we're going across,' Comms states, casting her voice at the humans, 'don't you think we should wake up Milo?'

 

'I'm not waking up that degenerate,' Helm says. 'You do it.'

 

Comms rolls her bleary-milk eyes, and fires a pointed sigh. She navigates the room quite well, aware of every sharp corner and step, which is, perhaps the only benefit to technology that hasn't been refitted in ten-thousand years. With a deft step, and swift kick, her well-worn boot flies into a pile of what you took to be old uniforms and tattered tarpaulins.

 

'Milo! Milo!'

 

'Hmmph!' A voice, heavily muffled, but obviously clear in protest responds - reluctantly.

 

'Get on your station, Guns, we need you.'

 

'Murragh.'

 

'No, today. Move yourself, or one of these big bastards will eat you.'

 

The pile begins to heave and shift, with a scrawny arm, carrying Imperial Navy and Battlefleet Maelstrom tattoos reaching to find what orientation its owner is in. A wiry-muscled fist grips a stanchion, and with a heave, finally births what is likely the human personification of the ship. He's naked, apart from a pair of Imperial guard shorts, and combat boots. A set of holotags drips from his neck, an array of fourteen in all, and his unshaven face is hairier than the rest of his body put together.

 

He manages to get to his knees, shucking the rest of his...den...and rummages for a Cadian tri-dome helmet, which is replete with expletive graffiti. He perfunctorily drops this on his head and shambles forward looking like death warmed over by a faulty sunlamp. His eye hollows ringed with black, cheekbones sharp through haggard skin, Milo looks every part a recruiting Sergeant's worst nightmare.

 

He scratches his stubble, arranging a jaw which has seen one-too many fists in bar brawls, and cracks his neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, knees, knuckles and feet. Once completed, he yawns and farts at the same time.

 

'Guns,' he mumbles, breath a tidal wave of halitosis and raw-brew amasec, before staggering over to his station, slapping into every console in the way, rubbery movements implying he either has no spine, or the deck is pitching under the fire of the Planet Killer, and drops into his gunnery pulpit. Without further word, he kicks his heels onto the console with a solid clump of rubber boot-soles and after a second begins snoring with a chaingun rattle of nostrils.

 

Edited March 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon canted his pointed helm towards Hagga.

 

“I'll lead this sortie across. Varne, Obadiah, Teshub, you three as well.”

 

He looked about at the assembled crew, renegades and all.

 

"Would anyone else care to join us?" 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Rykaz nodded in agreement with Ukalegon's selection. Besides, it seemed he had matters to handle here.

 

He'd been wondering when the first challenge to their rule would come. Maybe he should just order the mortals to deal it? Still, sometimes there were advantages to solving such issues yourself. More fun, for starters.

 

“Eska, refer.”

 

From behind him, the massive hound suddenly lurched forward, yellow eyes burning. She leapt upwards, putting her forelimbs up on the gunnery pulpit and snapping her jaws around the closest boot with a crunch. The sudden scream of pain that resulted suggested that she had caught more than leather in her teeth, but the canine ignored it, yanking the wiry little man bodily over the top of his station and across the deck. It was unlikely that he weighed more than half of what Eska did, so his pitiful scrabbling for handholds did nothing.

 

Wide awake now, are we?

 

Eska deposited this ‘Milo’ in front of Hagga and turned away to lounge in the corner, still chewing on the man's boot. Fortunately for him, he hadn't bothered lacing them properly, else she might now have been gnawing on a crudely severed foot. Still, Hagga could see several oozing wounds around the man's ankle.

 

“Your attitude offends me, mortal,” he growled.

 

 

Edited March 10 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

Milo slowly looks down at his foot, wiggles his toes to make sure they're still there. He then vomits a reeking melange of old alcohol, the dregs of his last rancid meal, and any gall that Eska disturbed all over the deck, only narrowly missing your boots.

 

Wiping away the gruel when he's done retching, he peers up you, looks straight, with no tremble or qualm from either his canine-wrought ordeal or intestinal purgation and stands there, silently for one heartbeat.

 

Without warning, he suddenly attempts to launch up in a spry climb, defying any expectation of slovenliness, The affront of this ineffectual assault is only mildly assuaged by the stink of his existence.

 

GM: @Necronaut, until Tro is fully up and about, Tarh will be unavailable.

 

Edited March 10 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Fool.

 

The mortal clearly didn't understand the speed of Astartes reactions. Though his attack was a surprise, Hagga still had time. Before the man's attempt to bite could even break the skin, or his thumb came anywhere near his eye, the Marine had caught his jaw, squeezed the teeth apart and forced him out to arm’s length, where his furious struggles had no more effect than a tantruming child. The Executioner held him there one-handed for a long moment, then with a brutal movement slammed his skinny body down into the deck with bone-breaking and organ-pulverising force.

 

The man tried to breathe through ruined lungs, but Hagga lifted his armoured boot and brought it down on the side of the man's head. The Cadian helm splintered under his sabaton, as did the bone within the man's skull. Grey matter spurted to either side as Hagga's boot reached the deck.

 

“That was pointless,” he muttered in irritation, then nodded towards the ship's operations pit.

 

“Patch me through to all decks, all crewmen.”

 

He’d been considering this moment ever since the Tigress had made her offer. A new ship didn’t necessarily mean a new or more capable crew… but maybe a little time and effort might? If he wasn't forced to kill them all...

 

“This is Hagga Rykaz of the Red Corsairs. You may know of me. You may not. But understand foremost that I am a man who speaks the truth. I will not lie to any man that serves under my command or at my side.”

 

He frowned, looking down at Milo's corpse and thinking of the conditions that had prevailed on the Dredge.

 

“Aboard this vessel, your fortunes have been… poor. Lacking in supplies, in numbers, in maintenance... but worst of all, lacking in glory. I can understand the apathy that has resulted - such dishonour could poison the heart of the bravest man. But it stops… now.”

 

“Our transfer to the ship we are now approaching can be a new start for all of you - a chance to rebuild, to make a new name for yourselves, to become known and feared among the reaver fleets of Huron Blackheart!"

 

"From this day onwards, you will serve with the spirit and the resolve and the competence of the finest crew in the Inca Sector… for that is what you will be. Crimes against our new ship - giving anything less than your best, or putting your own selfish interests ahead of the needs of our crew - will be punished. Harshly. But serve well, and I shall see every one of you well rewarded with plunder and infamy! Now, make yourselves ready to move to your new home! Rykaz out.”

 

Just words, they meant nothing without actions. But they did make plain his intentions for the Razor's Edge, and gave fair warning to those fools who might think to impede him. Hagga might have to kill a few more incompetents or malingerers along the way… but maybe he could turn the rest into a crew worth having?

 

 

Edited March 10 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Xerxes peered up from one of the anciliary augur consoles, expressionless beneath his mask but seemingly irritated at the disorder. In truth it was the revalation that this ship might not offer that which he had hoped - enough crew to split and sustain the cruiser at minimal operations. Crippled though it was the warship was many times older and more powerful than this tiny escort craft and worthy of salvage.

 

"Low crew signs may indicate servitor automation. Those amongst the asteroids might share a noospheric link."

[Iron Father Ferrum]

6 hours ago, Necronaut said:

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon canted his pointed helm towards Hagga.

 

“I'll lead this sortie across. Varne, Obadiah, Teshub, you three as well.”

 

He looked about at the assembled crew, renegades and all.

 

"Would anyone else care to join us?" 

 

 

Obadiah:

 

When the mutant deigned to give him an order, Obi's head snapped over at him.  His eyes narrowed and his hands instinctively tightened on the bolter's grip.  His own words from a moment ago flashed in his mind -- reinforced by the psyker's speech -- and he forced his grip to loosen.  He pushed a slow breath out of his nose, and finally let his weapon fully hang from its sling.

 

Instead, he grabbed his helmet off his belt and slipped it over his head, finally letting his distaste show on his face as the seals connected with a hiss of air.  There was no clear chain of command amongst the band, and even the shine Obi had taken to Hagga was fading now that he was displaying that odious collar.  For the time being, for the sake of the mission, he'd go along with Ukalegon.  In the future, he might have to start asserting his own authority.

 

He turned to Ukalegon, the blue lenses of his helmet contrasting with the green & yellow of the paint -- and most especially with the dark crimson streak that cut down across the right eye like some hideous scar tissue.

 

"Do you have a plan for this incursion....brother?"

[Mojake]

Varne

 

The Doom Eagle had since had his armour resprayed in the red of the Corsairs, trimmed in sable, yet his left pauldron still reflected silver in the low light of the bridge, the marred and melted litany xenomortis reading like it was scrawled by a man breathing his last. He was at ease, resting against a cogitator bank and watching his assembled brothers-in-arms carefully throughout this meeting.

 

“I'll lead this sortie across. Varne, Obadiah, Teshub, you three as well.”

 

Varne noted Obadiah's discomforted grip on his weapon at being addressed as such, then let his eyes slide towards Ukalegon. It was comforting to no longer be the most recent addition to the warband, but Varne was unaware of any context prior to his arrival or since which gave the Lamenter the right to command. "As you say, brother," he lifted himself slowly from his relaxed posture and took his newly sprayed black helm from where it lay on a ticking pipe. 

 

"Eska, refer."

 

The flash of movement on Varne's left stopped him as he began to move towards the exit. The subsequent violence from Eska and execution from Hagga was unexpected. A hard man, that one. As Hagga delivered his speech, a wry smile touched Varne's face. These mortals may lap it up, increase productivity by a couple of percentiles, but they'll remember fast that they are expendable, their lives worth less even than Astartes. These wretches will not respond to respect, but to force - this will not be the last execution.

 

Varne looked across at Mourn as Hagga finished, "I think you've upset him," he slid the helmet over his patchy pate and let the seals click into place as his smile spread into a grin.

 

+ Arming up. + 

 

He made no attempt to hide the mirth in his voice as he left the bridge and headed to his armoury.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon watched dispassionately as Hagga brutalized and obliterated a – clearly insane – member of the crew who had thought it wise to attack the Executioner.

 

That was foolish…

 

He then turned to regard the Mantis Warrior, and held him in his gaze for a few heartbeats.

 

“We will take a krokodil over to have a look and find an ingress point. Perhaps Varne, here, will humour us by acting as our pilot? Once landed it will be a matter of finding an airlock or access hatch or," Ukalegon drew and charged his infernus pistol for effect, "we will make our own entrance. From the there, we will make for the command centre and set Kraggan to work establishing control over the station. All clear?"

Edited March 12 by Necronaut
I made no scrutiny rolls, so no notice was taken of Obi's discomfort