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

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga watched from the Bridge of the Razor's Edge as Opal disintegrated into the swirling gas clouds below. Satisfying to see the job done, but he had to admit that the manner of its completion was… dull. A hold full of fuel, weapons, supplies, and even new crew… but where was the glory? The thrill of combat? The pleasure of testing oneself against a skilled opponent?

 

He found his hand caressing the hilt of his long sword, scabbarded at his side. He had barely even drawn her at Kataris!

 

Heart-Eater. You deserve better… You will have better.

 

The words were uttered silently, only in the vaults of his mind, but to Hagga they suddenly seemed no different to a sacred oath sworn before the Deathspeakers.

 

 

With GM permission, I'm declaring Hagga's intent to Elevate Heart-Eater to Legacy Weapon status. As such he cannot attempt to Elevate any other weapon in this way (unless Heart-Eater is destroyed or permanently lost) and if successful, cannot use any other Melee weapon or Heart-Eater will lose its Legacy Weapon status and benefits and must be re-Elevated.

First Elevation Attempt:
Inf44 - 30(Astartes Power Axe, Extremely Rare) -10(Power Quality) +19(total GM assigned bonus for weapon history/great deeds) = 23, Roll: … … 11!!!

 

And why not? Heart-Eater was a sword among swords, her tale far older and more glorious than a thousand other blades. She should have been a heavy, brutal killer… and in truth she was… but the sword's monstrous effectiveness did nothing to deny the beauty of her clean lines or the graceful, fey arcs of light left in her fiery wake. She had kept Hagga alive more times than he could count; Khymara, Corcyra, Brimstone, aboard the Avenger against Delphynie and her creatures.

 

Even the vicious axe wielded by the Blackheart himself surely couldn't be a match?! She deserved the finest necks to hew, the skulls of the greatest warriors to take as trophies, evidence of her deadliness. Hagga felt the fire of his pride in the sword burning in his chest, burning as bright and hot as Heart-Eater's own blade.

 

Wait…

 

…that wasn't it? The fire wasn't pride. It was pain.

 

It burned in his hearts, his lungs, all through his upper body. Hagga let out a low snarl. The hated collar again? No, the sensation was different. The injuries he had taken from the cowardly mortal's grenade ambush. But it couldn't be? He'd taken far more serious wounds over the years, had felt fine almost immediately. The pain increased, gradually setting a fire in what felt like every artery and vein in his body. With a slightly hunched step, he turned from the bridge. He needed to find Seneca.

 

“Mister Toulk, set us a course back towards Ithyca. I will return… shortly…”

 

With that he strode as quickly as he could from the command deck, down towards the section of the ship where Iscario had made his home. The pain in his body flared and then subsided as he walked, occasionally leaving him gritting his teeth against it. When he finally arrived at the makeshift Apothecarion, he was sweating.

 

“Brother Healer,” he grunted to the white armoured veteran, “I fear I must request your aid. I have taken minor wounds, only, but something is… not right…”

 

 

Acquisition Test:

Inf44 -20(Very Rare) +10(Single) +0(Common) +10(1 Leftover Infamy Point) = 44, Roll: 19, Success!

 

Edited April 12 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor:

 

The bounce through several short warp-jumps is nerve-wracking, but without incident, thanks to your transit maps and empyrean forecasting. The Razor translates at the Mandeville and slowly rolls into the lane to take it past Perugia Station without tripping any alarms. Once again, as a matter of course, credentials are requested, and again, the codes and forgeries provided by Magos Kraggan prove provident.

 

The Razor stacks into holding pattern for several hours, until finally it is in orbit to dock with Perugia, and after a sojourn of some ten days, given the vagaries of warp travel, you are all reunited from your endeavours.

 

Your arrival didn't go unnoticed by those who were expecting it, as evidenced by the encrypted message left for you on Perugia by one of the Tigress' Agents.

 

'Noble Factor,

 

It is with great pleasure we hear of the demise of Platform Opal, and commend you and your colleagues on a successful endeavour.

 

An investigation was launched by the authorities three days after the installation ceased reporting, and as predicted the xenos corpses provided have muddied the waters beautifully. However, Heracles Nydax has raised some concerns with the investigation of the incident, one of his observers raised the matter of the corpses' condition and has determined that boltgun munitions were used in the defence of the station. Unfortunately, he has enough influence to push the notion.'

 

Worse, these munitions have been determined as .75 calibre, which are of course the preferred rounds of the dreaded Space Marines.'

 

As you might imagine, this provokes concern, since it is well-known the platform was not equipped with such robust weaponry and personnel. The Sector Command has been approached to pursue the matter further.'

 

Scrutiny has not yet fallen upon my mistress, but the situation is delicate. I would hate to think that such a mutually profitable enterprise might end before it fully begins.'

 

I would suggest we keep our distance for the time being - at least until certain arrangements can be levied.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

Strabo.'

 

GM: I rolled on the percentage chance of how many DE bodies were lurking (60% D100 = 037), and if the bolter damage was discovered (10%, D100 = 006) along with the technoglyphs (5% D100 = 069). The latter was the only one missed. You can infer from Strabo's message that the Opal Operation was an 'audition' and at the moment, the jury is still out on if they can trust you. How this will affect ACQ, I am not yet certain.

 

GM: It has been four days since the incident on Bounty, (for narrative convenience, the actions there will have occurred over the course of a couple of days, plus travel and some waiting in line, yadda yadda, four days for you to get out to Opal, then six days to RV back in Ithyca) for a complete mission time of ten days.

 

GM: Let me know how you wish to proceed in the OOC.

 

 

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He stared into the mirror, completely motionless except for his eyes.  The brilliant cobalt irises darted around as they studied every facet of his face in the reflective surface.  It was his face, the same face he'd always had. . . but something had changed.

 

He had first noticed it when he had taken the improvised bomb to the armory.  It was slightly less of a shambles at that point -- the armsmen and menials had already begun to clean it up after Hagga's pet had pulled the bomber pilot's remains out of the ducting -- but the crew was still in the process of removing grenade shrapnel from the walls and re-inventorying the arms & equipment when Obi had shown up.  He handed the disarmed device to the sergeant-at-arms with strict instructions not to tamper with it, and the man had nearly laughed in his face when he responded, "Who are you to give me orders?"

 

Obi had grabbed the man by his shirt-front and lifted him a meter off the floor.  "I am Obadiah Barzani of the Adeptus Astartes, worm," he growled, "and you will treat me with the appropriate respect, or else I'll toss you out of the nearest airlock!"

 

The man had spluttered an apology, his eyes as wide as saucers.  It was as if he hadn't at first realized who -- or what -- he was talking to.

 

Obadiah had walked away from that encounter with his hackles risen, and was suddenly on alert.  As he strode through the corridors of the Razor's Edge, his alertness paid off.  He noticed other changes as well.

 

Normally, crew scrambled to get out of his way when encountered.  It was partly, he assumed, the acknowledged phenomenon called "trans-human dread."  Ordinary people tended to have an almost autonomic fear-reaction to seeing one of his kind.  It might also be partly because Astartes were so large, and starship corridors cramped by designed, that there tended not to be enough room for him and another person to pass each by comfortably.  But as he prowled the ship on his way to the chamber he'd commandeered as his personal quarters, the crew did not make way.  They turned a bit so as to avoid touching him, but that was normal human behavior.  Their eyes did not light up with the usual combination of fear and amazement; they did not duck into another hatch to clear his route.  They were treating him like he was just another normal human-sized member of the crew.  As if he were...unremarkable.

 

He'd tested this new condition in a few ways since they'd left Opal Station behind.  He'd gone to the refectory first.  The mess staff usually called them up to the head of the line to collect their ration of nutrient-gruel and recycled water, but not this time.  He even tried to cut the line, and a dozen angry mortals began catcalling him until he resumed his place in line.  He tried again in the bridge, inquiring after transit status and such, and while they answered his questions, they did so with odd looks as if they couldn't understand why they were answering.

 

So now here he was, staring into this mirror.  His skin was the same nut-brown, criss-crossed with lighter-colored scars.  His hair was the same short-cut jet, his beard still close-cropped (though it would need a trim soon).  His aquiline nose, blue eyes, heavy brow, and high cheekbones: all the same.  He leaned in close to the mirror, acute vision probing for any blemish, any sign that something was wrong.  Intellectually, he knew he was just looking at his own face.

 

Yet somehow, he didn't recognize himself in the mirror.

[Mazer Rackham]

Obadiah:

 

As you are studying your reflection, your reflection winks, and you think you can hear a cat meowing, but a quick inspection of your billet reveals nothing, and your Lyman's Ear detects no presence....

 

The reflection stares back - fully now matching your movements, and despite further inspection it shows no sign of being any more familiar nor strange.

 

There is a knock on the door lintel.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He stared at his own face for another moment more, wondering if that wink had been his mind playing tricks, before giving himself a shake.

 

"I'm not crazy," he muttered under his breath, then strode to the hatch and opened it to see who had come to visit.

[Mazer Rackham]

Obadiah:

 

No-one stands at the door, but as you look out, you catch a glimpse of Stinky the ship's cat. Her shadow is painted onto the wall, but it is the silhouette of a female humanoid, slinking along the ground, almost slithering or sliding. At the head of the shadow, tall horns, and the tail is finished with vicious barbs. The cat keeps going, but the shadow spots you looking, the head rears up, it lifts a hand to its lips and blows you a kiss.

 

Then, suddenly, the shadow realises the cat has moved on, and rushes to catch up with it.

 

Unbidden, your shadow waves it goodbye, before returning to rigid command of physics and spill of glowglobes.

 

Edited April 12 by Mazer Rackham

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn

 

For a ship's shrine, the heart of its spiritual wellbeing, it was a small room. There was a lectern with a crumbling book of hymns, but the pews had been stacked to the side, likely so that more of the congregation would fit in the room, and it was clear that there had been no great congregation in recent times. Dust and cobwebs adorned what few decorations there were, the stubs of old candles everywhere like dead fungi on a rotting log, the paint peeling off of the walls as if it couldn't stand being in the room. While it had avoided the ravages of its new occupants, the same could not be said of the passing of time. 

 

Mourn was not alone in the room. There was the Emperor. 

 

The Emperor stood in stone, about the height of a mortal man. He was not the Emperor Ascendant, casting down His dread son and enemy, nor was he the Emperor Enthroned, his eternal sacrifice guarding the Imperium as its lord and god. This was at once a gentler form, yet stern. Clad not in armour but in flowing robes, He looked straight ahead, His sword pointing down as if He rested and watched over His flock at the same time. At His feet was a one-eyed children's bear. 

 

He didn't know how he had found this place, or why he had stayed in it. If he had worshipped the False Emperor it had been in his mortal days, far removed from his ascension to the Legion. His brothers would have desecrated the shrine without any thought, and perhaps it was that which stayed his hand, though an urge within told him to thumb the activation rune and tear this room and the Corpse on the Throne apart.

 

He did not. Instead, he turned on the lumens and... cleaned, sweeping away the dust in the corners and picking apart cobwebs with his hands. He did not touch the Emperor's image. It was a meditative exercise, though it wasn't enough to silence the voices that called to him in his memories. 

 

The door alarm chimed, and a woman entered.

 

"Ah, Mistress Maribor. Thank you for your time. I hope you have seen my request for candles," he said, gesturing to the messy room, "for foul things lurk within the darkness."

 

Mourn smiled, as it it was a joke, but it didn't reach his eyes. 

[Mazer Rackham]

Razor - Apothecarion:

 

Hagga:

 

Iscario turns at your challenge, his face unchanged from whatever he was studying under the analyser he's got parked on what used to be a kitchen cabinet. In all respects, this room does indeed resemble a ramshackle assembly of stolen kitchen units from someone having a replacement fitted. It is all in order though, kit is placed in rigid regiment and tools are sequestered in hygienic autoclaves and sonic debrader caskets.

 

His helm sits on the lower shelf of a small gurney which carries a thick tome of medical texts.

 

Cooling mist circles the room, and although you, the crew, and your companions may be falling to degeneracy, in here there is semblance of order, of precision.

 

'Well,' he looks up you and down with an austere appraisal, arm traversing the room in invitation before arresting at a sturdy Astartes-grade examination table, which also appears to be an autopsy block, 'recline on the table, babble not, and avoid fidgeting.'

 

He swivels back around to grasp the components of his Narthecium.

 

'The first is a necessity, the second annoys me and the third is pointless.'

 

He rolls his chair closer to the table with an expectant look on his face.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He blinked in a moment of confusion as the shadow-thing slithered out of sight behind the cat, then his lips pulled into a derisive sneer.  "Next time I see that cat," he muttered as he sealed the hatch, "I'm going to murder it."

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Hagga grimaced, laying himself out atop the examination table.

 

“Got it, doc…”

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

Iscario gets to work, accessing your harness, whilst studiously avoiding looking at your collar for too long. He busies himself instead with the diagnostic tools of his trade, taking readings, and the stab of your injectors demonstrate he's taking samples too.

 

'Interesting.'

 

He noospherically exloads the data to his analyser and a picter screen flashes up with the sample upon it. Your Larraman's Cells are being swarmed by microscopic mechanoids.

 

'Hmm. Recombination nanites, foreign to your system, however, Larraman Cells responding, but gene-coded invaders here and here,' he tells himself, pointing. 'Rhesus-IX Factor VIII are present. Intriguing.'

 

He turns to you abruptly. 'You have come into contact with someone bearing a Cybernetic. Your body is currently rejecting the mechanoid fabricants because the sample has not replicated, nor assimilated due to debasement. However - your recent wound has reactivated the dormant polymorphic encroachment.'

 

He turns back to you and meets your gaze.

 

'In essence, you have part of a plug looking the rest of the socket. It is misfiring.'

 

The swivel-seat clatters away again.

 

'Purging the toxin may cause irreparable harm, as it has metastasised to the point you must now be turned into the plug.'

 

He reaches for the overhead lamps, hauling on the grips, and donning his helm.

 

+Command. Seal room, stand by for surgical procedure. Increase counterseptic particulates to twenty-five in one-hundred.+

 

Your armour ramps up, bio-feeds coming to prominence on your optic relays, as the surgery responds around the Apothercary.

 

+Maglock patient.+ A solid cascade of electromanetic restraints pins you to his table, while he looks down, the white faceplate scuffed and scarred with innumerable dings and clips. +Apply analgesic formula three-three-one-seven, concentrate of one-percent.+

 

Coolness floods your veins, damping down the raging fire.

 

+This might hurt. If you have two kidneys, I could use a spare. You don't mind, do you?+

 

Darkness.

 

GM: We can assume that your Black Blood Cybernetic is installed and working. Feel free to narrate leaving the apothecarion and naything you want to mention whilst under the knife.

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

As the maglock engaged, Hagga immediately found himself struggling against the invisible bonds. It was instinctive, a predator caught in a trap.

 

Be still, you damn fool, before you move the wrong way and he guts you by accident. He's bloody helping!

 

Forcing his body to stillness, he blew out a long, slow calming breath. Then the painkiller took effect, and darkness swallowed him.

 

***

 

When he awoke, Hagga felt a hell of a lot better. Not only had the fire in his veins disappeared, but the pain in the muscles and bones of his chest and back had faded, barely more than an ache.

 

He sat up to see Iscario moving around the chamber. Cleaning up? To be honest, he didn't even understand what the Apothecary had said or done? Nanites? Gene-coded invaders? Rhesus-IX… something…?

 

It didn't much matter. Hagga felt better, that was enough. He offered an appreciative grunt as he swung his legs back down to the deck.

 

“You’ve got skill, Healer. I am in your debt. When battle comes, I will guard your back.”

 

 

 

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

Stood at his pulpit on the Bridge with all the rest of them.. 

 

They are all idiots! Useful to him in their limited way

 

Whilst the missive from Strabo was read out. 

 

Pathetic Obrats! 

 

"There was a transmission sent from a Cruiser to the Opal Station from the Deathwatch of the Ordos Xenos, answering their distress call. I remember reading it in their logs, at least I can fabricate such a thing."

 

 

 

 

 

INT54 +20 (Tech Use - Experienced) +10 (Combi-Tool) +0 (Challenging) = 84. Result: 23, Pass 7DoS

 

 

 

 

 

Kraggan manipulated the Vox transmission sent by Obadiah. 

 

 

"Comms send this transmission log that I'm now sending you, to Seneschal Strabo."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited April 12 by Machine God
Obadiah

[Mazer Rackham]

Kraggan:

 

GM: The message is sent. It may take a few days to get to Strabo, though. I will use you DoS to Oppose Strabo's Scrutiny. We'll see what comes out in the wash.

 

Mourn:

 

'Aye lord, I have brought the candles as requested. It is strange to be in this place.' Jaina watches you warily, and rubs her shoulders, shivering as though someone is treading across her grave.

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon stormed into the medicae bay, such as it was, just in time to find Hagga rising from the operating slab.

 

“Good. You're awake. We have received a communique from Strabo. While we were successful in destroying his Mistress’s rival’s mining operation, an investigation has turned up troubling evidence: apparently one of the xenos corpses we left behind as a diversion was riddled with bolt rounds, .75 calibre to be precise. I can only presume you had the good sense not to discharge your boltgun during our looting spree, which shortens the list of the others with access to such munitions. There is a traitor in our midst.”

 

The last he snarled, gripping the pommel of his chainsword in white-knuckled fury.

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Against probability their withdraw from Bounty was curiously peaceful given the chaos below and the less than discreet appearance of the mutant, and the world would provide valuable insight into the stability and containability of the neutered scrapcode. So many new possibilities, how best to prioritise?

 

Many possibilities and yet no real resources as even the lesser master of this backwater commanded a forge not built from scraps. Such a facility could not simply be carried away upon a shuttle but there must be something on Bounty of value in trade and they would return soon enough to this world in force. He could not afford to take a back seat and let others reap the benefits of his preparation.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga frowned as Ukalegon passed along Strabo's message, then growled.

 

“So it would seem, brother.”

 

 

OOC: As we know it was MG/Kraggan's idea, I'm not going to bother asking Varne why he did it - that seems a bit pointless as it wasn't Mojake's idea? So I'm going to assume that Hagga keeps following the trail around and back to Kraggan to ask him?

 

 

“Well, Magos,” he asked softly when he and the Lamenter returned to the Bridge, “why would you do such a thing when you know we are seeking to avoid calling the Imperium's eye down upon us?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited April 13 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Since this will be another Interaction, (shudders in cargo bay shell shock) some guidance on tests/dispositions.

 

GM: Firstly. Whilst both Kraggan and Hagga are the same Alignment, (un?)/fortunately Kraggan has the Enemy (Everyone), which will impose some penalties on both Characters of -10 to any Command (Fel), Intimidate (Str), Charm (Fel) or Deceive (Fel) Attempts. No Assistance may be given. If another Character intervenes, they must go through the same back and forth. If no attempts are made, no Tests are required.

 

GM: Obviously these Tests are Opposed by Willpower in the first three instances, and Scrutiny (Per) in the last. Bear in mind the effects of the Intelligent Cyst, as well.

 

GM: Players may substitute Infamy for Command or Intimidate Characteristic, if it is higher.

 

GM: For general information and to keep everything transparent and above board considering the circumstances, all Players are operating under their own initiative, and no GM ONLY information or guidance has has been shared.

 

GM: Lastly. I expect Big Boy Trousers, gentlemen.

 

Edited April 12 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

Even as he spoke, Hagga moved closer, looming silently. Not within range of an axe blow or a quick blade thrust - he didn't trust anyone but Ukalegon that close - but near enough to let the Magos see in his ice-hued eyes that he was definitely unhappy about the situation with Strabo.

 

 

Intimidate Test

Str71 +10(higher Str) +10(Trophy Rack) +10(Pity the Weak) -10(Enemy) = 91, Roll: 54, 4DoS +2 (UnnStr4) = 6DoS

(Very last edit: corrected test numbers as per OOC GM instruction)

 

 

Edited April 13 by Lysimachus

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Running full sprint,

Eska loping beside,

Heart-eater drawn, the collar burned.

Thundering through the door.

Explosion, pain,

Gasping, looking down,

Twisted armour, twisted leg.

The saboteur sinking into floor,

A need to reach out

and wrap fingers about throat.

Reaching,

further,

further,

further.

 

Varne woke with a start. Plagued now four nights in a row by this wretched nightmare. Curse these warp jumps.

 

Rykaz was fine, healed, and the Doom Eagle had witnessed far worse wounds than those which the krak-trap had inflicted on his brother. It was always the same, the twisted limb and the compulsion to reach out to strangle the life from his quarry; yet each time he'd dreamed it he managed to reach out further than the night previous. 

 

He sighed, climbed from his cot and limped over to fetch his canteen. As he swallowed the gritty, recycled water he looked down at his leg and grimaced. This is becoming something of a ritual. The sores were worsening, and whilst the shock of yesterday morning at his toes having fused together had subsided, a fresh wave of surprise rocked him as he realised his foot was backwards. There was pain, there had been constant pain for days. He lifted his leg and the limb simply flopped back into place and rolled sickeningly inwards. There was no popping of joints, nor cracking of bones; it was as though no skeleton existed halfway below his knee. And yet he could walk on it... with difficulty, and agony. If the ramblings of the mortal heretics they'd collected from Bounty were to be believed, it was fate which had stolen his deserved peace amongst the sands, and delivered him into this existence. He spat on the floor, the metal hissing briefly. Fate is a cruel bastard.

 

It took some time to worm his way into his armour, and he wandered now the halls of the ventral sub-deck. He had paid a visit to Iscario yesterday, hiding his... situation, but the apothecary could spare nothing to relieve the pain - except for that jest about voluntary lobotomy and reporting to Kraggan for installation into a door panel. 

 

He inhaled deeply the redolent obscura haze, pushing aside the grease-stained curtain and stepping into the priest of the plaguefather's domain. 

 

As his auto-senses adjusted, he noted the cramped confines of the room, exacerbated by obvious growth in the priest's 'flock'. Uniforms bearing patches of designation to Opal, and myriad mining corporations dotted amongst the supine forms. Varne allowed himself a quick smile at that, easily able to overlook the weeping boils and toothless mouths to recognise the peace in their expressions. 

 

The priest's back was to Varne as he mopped a steadily expanding puddle of exudate beneath one of the bunks. The Doom Eagle made to call out, but stopped himself, hand raised. I would demand this mortal's aid in granting me reprieve from this torment, yet I do not know his name, nor his own obvious struggles. He retracted his lingering finger, and closed his fist. He looked about the room until he saw a small pouch atop an upturned crate, spilling small cubes of coal. He hobbled over and scooped up the small rocks, then attended one of the ventilation towers, ignoring the small step-ladder and gently placing the coals in the tray at the tower's peak. 

 

He unclasped his helm then with a hiss, breathing deep the fresh smoke billowing from the seven hoses placed equidistant around the circumference of the machine. His eyelids fluttered as the potent chems entered his body, yet their effect was quickly stemmed by his multi-lung, the promise of bliss snatched away. 

 

A spluttering cough to his left stole his attention - a girl, not much older than he'd been when he was taken on Gathis II. He knelt beside her and slowly turned her from laying on her back to her side with care, ignoring the sheath of skin which tore free and remained plastered to the sodden bedsheets. He moved aside a small strand of lank hair which had caught in her mouth, then, once satisfied, pulled himself to his full height. 

 

He turned to see the priest watching him intently, a grandfatherly smile reaching his eyes. 

 

With curls of brown obscura smoke cascading from his bare face and the audible background hum of the smoke-towers, Varne spoke.

 

"I need your help, priest."

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He stood at his pulpit on the Bridge and... 

 

The absent Poppinjay strides in, accompanied by the Thrice-Dead

 

 

“Well, Magos,” demanded Hagga after striding up the stairs menacingly, “why would you do such a thing when you know we are seeking to avoid calling the Imperium's eye down upon us?"

 

 

"Has Ukalegon been whispering sweet nothings in your ear? I gather from your demand that you refer to the missive from Strabo?" 

 

Although he had the advantage of the high ground, he did not wish to damage his cogitator banks. He

un-jacked his Fallen Magos Power Axe and moved to the stairs. 

 

"Who are you to question my Logic? The machine spirits and data-looms of the Opal Station were very robust and could have been interrogated upon being found in the wreckage. Even you must have thought that the mission was too easy." 

 

"There was no blood, just some dead Xenos corpses. Opal Station did receive a transmission from the Deathwatch. It was sent by us by that Mantid, what's his face? Astartes versus Xenos raider forces, probability dictated that there would have been some Bolter exchange."

 

"The Deathwatch transmission could have been found. We have just sent onwards to Strabo, a copy of that transmission that I have subtlety modified with proper Cruiser idents." 

 

 

 

 

FEL 35 +0 (Command) -10 (Enemy) -10 (Khorne) = 15. Result: 05, Pass 2DoS

 

 

 

"If you wish to make more of it, may I ask it to be for First Blood?" 

 

 

 

 

Edited April 13 by Machine God
Tidy-up

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

“Foolishness. You know that we took all the vox logs from Opal, including that one. (OOC: Hagga did this himself) There were no records left for them to find. No messages from the ‘Deathwatch’ or anyone else. Try… again… Magos.”

 

 

 

Edited April 13 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

"Well I wasn't informed about that. See what happens when people are left out of the loop? Anyway I have had the information sent onwards!" 

 

 

 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Ukalegon glowered at the rebuke and snarled at the magos, “Unlike you, cur, I do not whisper or mince about in the shadows!”

 

He drew his infernus pistol and leveled the dread, tank-killing weapon at the red priest.

 

"Whether it was malice or incompetence that drove him, his treachery has been laid bare, Hagga. He admits it! Let me end him…" 

 

OOC: I'm not looking to interject Ukalegon into this test of wills between Hagga and Kraggan, just adding in some angry gnashing of teeth as a spectator.

Edited April 13 by Necronaut

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He turned his head, stared at Ukalegon and ignored him completely. ("I have detailed files" Kraggan examined the Vox log made by the party on the Opal Station Mission.)

 

"Ah. It was a corrupted file received by the Vox-thief. Comms, can you access the Vox files pulled from the Opal Station and ascertain if we recovered all the transmissions sent by them and us?" 

 

Kraggan turned back to address Hagga. 

 

"Mea Culpa - It seems that I am in error Hagga. But there were the rogue transmissions! Once Vox has been transmitted it can be picked up, eavesdropped. We were shadowed by that Comet."

 

 

 

 

Edited April 13 by Machine God
Tidy-up