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

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Time trudged on lazily in the fog of the priest's den. They'd been sat now for over an hour in tranquil silence, no sound other than the simpering moans and whimpers of the flock, and the constant low hiss of the smoke towers. The pain in Varne's leg had subsided to a dull throb, and he'd removed his sabaton with help from the priest to allow the twisted limb to rest on the edge of a cot. He'd spent the last twenty minutes staring at it in quiet meditation, the fug he languished in now gently overpowering his transhuman physiology to impart a slight euphoria. The leg appeared to quiver and warp beneath his stare, as though his proximity to this room - this priest - was causing his mutation to accelerate. 

 

He no longer cared. He had been blessed.

 

Almost two days he had spent in this chamber, assisting the man who referred only to himself as 'the Shepherd'. The calm that Varne felt around him was intoxicating, reminiscent of his days walking the afterlife. They had philosophised, debated, even joked together, all the while attending the souls wallowing in their putrescent serenity.

 

"It still plays on your mind doesn't it?" 

 

Varne looked up at the Shepherd's question. He let out the smoky breath he hadn't even realised he was holding, "many things do, my friend."

 

"The choice has always been yours, Varne," the man said with recently acquired familiarity. "They are but two paths to the same destination. You will achieve great things under the fist of the Tyrant, but your loyalties will always be pulled to-and-fro," the Shepherd rose, laying down the pitted teacup that had been resting on his lap. 

 

The Doom Eagle smiled, "you misspeak, the place you describe does not resemble what I saw... and that fact alone raises more questions. My doubts are not with your honesty, old man, I assure you." Varne unfurled his his leg from the crossbar of the cot and ran his bare hand along its glabrous surface for the fifth time this hour. "Faith. It is a strange concept. See how we trade one for another? That beaked fool of a mortal on the upper deck would have us believe that the strands of fate pull us one way and the next." The Shepherd grimaced at the word 'fate', his face twisting as though he'd found a bone in his meal. 

 

Varne pulled himself to his feet and slipped his hand back into his gauntlet, "you have the right of it, Shepherd," he said with finality. Locking his helm into place with a sharp click, his vox-emitter growled in the characteristic threat-pitch of an astartes, "the choice has always been mine."

 

The old priest's smile creased his face, and with an effort he offered the space marine his crimson boot.

 

"Keep it," he barked, then stepped through the curtain, leaving his small dimension of peace, and out onto the deck of the Razor's Edge.

 

The bell tolls indeed, Corpse-taker.

Edited April 15 by Mojake

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn

 

++ I will put it plainly. On Opal, I heard... dead men talking. My brothers, in another time. ++

 

His throat was suddenly dry. 

 

++ Through your arcane... arts, is such a thing possible? ++

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Apothecarion:

 

Ukalegon:

 

The Corpus Maximus Reductor awaits, poised over the medical slab in its arachnid readiness. It jitters and writhes under Iscario's ministrations to finalise his calibrations, several datapads and dataslates piled up around it, on several gurneys. Lines for plasma, Astartes genotype, augurs, probes, cataplasm caskets, the works. The Corpse Taker stands beside the slab in full warplate, his Narthecium primed and ready, power and command lines hooking him into the network of machines. All the equipment operates from a cogitator, his gauntlet and probably some manner of medical MIU.

 

+Your usual table, sir,+ he says, draping a medical gown over his arm, before dropping it over a trolley to keep off the claret he's about to spill. +Disrobe and take your station. After this, if anyone calls you fat, just say you are big boned - speaking of big bones, keep that thing firmly tucked between your legs.+

 

He nods to your...splendid appendage.

 

+Come on, hop up, chop chop.+

 

He flicks his wrist and the saw on his Narthecium shoots forward and locks into place, a grip with a trigger unfolding into his palm. He revs it.

 

+Command: seal door, prepare for surgery.+

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga's frown twisted into a full scowl.

 

“A mutually beneficial arrangement? Magos, even the simplest Stygian knows that if you don't know exactly what you bought, you don't know whether or not you got fleeced!"

 

"I cannot imagine Ukalegon will be pleased to know that a piece of his wargear was infected with this ‘network’ ...but it is surely much, much worse that you have uploaded it to any part of this ship! You have no clue about its ability to spread!”

 

He snarled.

 

“It allows access for Valex and his ilk, yes? Suppose for just a moment that it also allows them to send instructions to our systems? A sudden lockout of weapons or navigation? A total shutdown of life support or the Geller field?”

 

Hagga shook his head.

 

“You will turn over all information to your fellow Heretek, Xerxes. You will assist him in whatever way he requires to identify and destroy every instance of this code within our systems. You will not directly access this ship yourself, and that cogitator,” he pointed up to Kraggan's perch, “is to be totally purged.”

 

"You will also be fitted with a collar," he held back a snort of black amusement at the irony of that, "to ensure your ongoing loyalty. All of us will have the code necessary to use it."

 

“Lastly, you still wish to fight for us? You will. As the speartip of our forces, first into the breach, just as you wished for at Brimstone… but I would not hope for anyone to guard your back.”

 

“The others may have further demands. I suggest you accept them. Whatever they might be is better for you than the alternative.”

 

OOC: Hagga has been kind of left to pronounce judgement, I think? These are his thoughts, but obviously if anyone else has anything to add, please do. Otherwise I'd consider the matter closed and we move on?

 

@Mazer Rackham can we delete the embedded code and fully know that it is gone? (I'm not sure why I'm bothering to ask that, I'm certain the answer will be: 'as far as you can tell...' )

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Just some clear up, Ukie's appointment lasts 3 hours, and afterwards he will not be able to even leave the Apothecarion for another hour. As to the scrubbing of code from the Razor's systems, this will take an Extended 'Interaction' by Xerxes. It matters not if he uses a Scrapcode attack, or picks things apart, it's going to take D10 (10) hours to scrub it down, and will require most, if not all, main systems to be laboriously closed down and re-initialised. There is no test, it just takes time.

 

GM: Whether the errant code be cleansed entirely, none can determine...

 

GM: Once everyone has interacted/finished such posts, Kraggan has a date with Iscario for a new leg.

 

Edited April 15 by Mazer Rackham

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

It took an awful lot of heavy cardio to get an Astartes to breathe heavy, and a quick jog from the bridge to the training cages was not enough to trigger that kind of physical reaction in Obadiah Barzani.  The bridge crew had filled him in, and he had immediately made his rapid way to where the fight was occurring.

 

As he entered the chamber, he immediately took in the proceedings:  Kraggan, his robe and form deeply cloven, struggling to stand before Hagga, whose armor showed absolutely no wear or tear.  He chuckled to himself as pushed his way through the crowd of mortals -- which was partially dispersing now that the duel had ended -- as the result did not surprise him in the least.  He'd seen the Executioner swing that great bloody big sword of his, after all.

 

He came up to the pair as Hagga was finishing laying out his terms, and barked a laugh.

 

"Further demands?" he chipped in.  "I'd just put a bolt round through your skull and be done with you."  He shrugged.  "But that's just me."

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Now it was the time to speak, "A purge of this vessel will take one solar day at most, but we will be vulnerable and without weapons or propulsion for many hours.  The servitors are unteathered but will be re-examined, and all primary systems will be scortched and restored from archive."

 

He stepped further into the light of the arena, "however if the barrier to the central cogitator has been compromised such actions are mitigation, not cure, for now. I shall prepare the body of the Bounty tech priest as host to this package of Kraggans, if every door cannot be found we might yet burn away the keyholders."

 

 

The burn he had witnessed on Brimstone had been all comsuming, a purity beyond that even of the old code. But not every problem could be solved with fire.

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

He paused at the entrance to the shrine, cocked his head. The Smiler had seeded many among the crew as his eyes and ears, now one of them gave him an update via his vox-bead. It appeared that the duel between the Khornates was a bit more than he had thought and in his quick departure he had missed some very interesting things.

 

Kraggan, working with the Alpha Legion? Or at least attempting to use the Legion. Not exactly the smartest move to possibly betray the Corsairs, especially without a plan in place if it went bad. Not his worry though, the Astartes were already handling the issue and he would rather not get in-between the transhumans and the tek. If Kraggan died for his betrayal, so be it. If not, then there would be other uses for the blood-mad techpriest.

 

The Smiler walked through the door and viewed the interior of the shrine. Old and seemingly forgotten but recently cleaned and with new candles. The smile twisted. This was something he could deal with.

 

Moving with purpose, Crux'as began to alter the shrine. Little things, that would be beyond notice unless one really, really paid attention. Tiny runes carved into the metal shelves, covered by the flicker flames. The hymnal, carefully altered with deft strokes of a pen that removed praise to the Corpse-God and inserted slowly growing devotions to the Pantheon. The pews had the Four's symbols painted on their undersides in blood, giving every seat the Path's blessing. The Emperor's effigy went untouched at the moment. He would come later and see if his other actions were noted before the bronze statue was changed.

 

It was good work and Crux'as left the shrine with a pleased smile.

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Having followed loosely followed the happenings aboard the ship between Hagga, Kraggan, and the buzzing vox-bursts of excited mortals, Varne stepped into the vaulted hall which housed the training cages. He approached the group crowded around the tech-priest in time to hear Rykaz issuing his demands, the tentacled limb bared beneath his shin plate, compressing awkwardly beneath the weight of each step. Coming up behind the crowd, he pushed aside a menial to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers, noting with surprise that the man weighed as much as a fully-armoured astartes.

 

“The others may have further demands. I suggest you accept them. Whatever they might be is better for you than the alternative.”

 

Varne looked down at Kraggan's severed stump and chuckled, "you should try something with fewer joints." He looked at Hagga's pained face. It seemed as though the man was struggling with his decision, that part of him longed to make this a quick and easy end. "I agree with the deckha-" he turned, gesturing, and stopped himself as he realised Obadiah stood beside him. He frowned, then continued, "with Obadiah. Unless I underestimate Xerxes' capabilities, we don't have anybody aboard who can keep Kraggan in line when it comes to our systems and machine spirits. He's dangerous, servitorise him to a macrocannon or something."

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He listened to Hagga's orders and the words of the others. 

 

He couldn't fault them in their accusations about what he had done. 

 

He was damned, but who wasn't. He'd thought about withholding the truth about Ukalegon's Jump Pack, but once the words of the confession had started he couldn't stop himself. A weakness of the flesh perhaps, inwardly he laughed at the phrase. 

 

Regrets... 

 

He regretted that he might no longer be able to do unmentionable things with Mistress Miggins. 

 

 

He listened to Xerxes' technical proposal. 

 

 

 

INT54 +20 (Tech Use - Experienced) +10 (Combi-Tool) +0 (Challenging) = 84. Result: 64, Pass 3DoS

 

 

He downloaded a copy of the package. Carefully he reached into his robes and detached a data-slug which he proffered to Xerxes. 

 

"Within this device is all the data that I was given and utilised. I hope you find it useful in your purge." 

 

 

 

Edited April 16 by Machine God
Insurance against Infernus death.

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: On that devious note gentlemen, I am going to move us forward. Since the Razor is docked in a safe port, nothing untoward happens, except a lot of fees have to paid, which I will sort out in the Resources tracker. In the OOC, gentlemen I need you to give me a go/no-go for Bounty, or something else. If you want to propose another Op, now's the time to order it up.

 

GM: I'll make no secret of it - once the Bounty Op is finished, or an alternative proposal is completed to a satisfactory stage, Part Two will be a wrap. A complete wrap @FabiusV4lcoran - and this game will go into recess.

Edited April 16 by Mazer Rackham

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash

( The Duel )

Now ?! Of all times?! By the wretched corpse and it‘s bloody Throne!

 

Cyrandras couldn’t help but cast a quick glance sideways at the Scion of Fulgrim.  

 

He’d come to expect members of the Legions involved in Horus’ il fated uprising to flaunt their familiarity with the ways of the Empyrean over more renegades like those who followed the Blackheart. 

 

A test, then? Simple curiosity maybe? Or maybe Mourn was simply bored now that the fight had been resolved so quickly?

 

 Of course, when dealing with Warp, there was always the possibility that even the most jaded individual might come to face something that spat in the face of everything you might have been led to believe… 

 

At another time, the Sorcerer might have also inquired if Mourn had been under the influence of some intoxicant or the other, given the reputation of the Emperor’s children but he had no real experience to judge whether this might be taken as a sort of jovial jest or if the perceived slight would lead straight into the next  bloody duel of the day…

 

And if anything, this wasn’t the time to invite further grudges among them.

 

The subtle Touch, then.

 

Thus the l Sorcerer bit down the rising quib and forced his gaze back to where Rykaz was delivering the verdict.

 

+++ Some might say that  dealing in Impossibilities is at the very core of the Art +++

 

Rakash chuckled and made sure to put a dose of both pride and fraternal warmth sicker into his reply.

 

+++ And given some of my  more poetic minded peers refer to the Empyrean as “the Sea of Souls”… Well, yes. Absolutely. +++

 

After another quick glance to gauge the reaction of the other Astartes, he continued 

 

+++ I‘d be curious to speak with you on this experience further, if you are interested.

But might I suggest we find a less.. distracting… occasion for it?++++

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

++ INTERCAPEDO EXCRUSCIOR ++

 

LOCSIT: VESSEL IDENT [REDACTED]

TIME INDEX: MISSION COMMENCE +45 DAYS

AUTH: [REDACTED]

 

He stared without seeing, past the hazy purplish hue of the stasis crypt. It didn't matter much, not to the object within. A strange obelisk, cut from darkest ebony, the name only recently found on human lips for the stone: Noctilith.

 

Recently - yes. Ten thousand years, twenty-thousand? What was that compared to this?

 

The stone had been analysed with every tool and instrument he possessed, carbon dating from molecules the stone had shed as it rapidly began to disintegrate - proving the necessity of the crypt. Even so, within, the thing seemed to...slumber. That was the word..slumber. It still occasionally pulsed with amethyst cascade, despite incarceration in a time-capsule. It was out of phase with reality, with existence.

 

He considered the prisoners, most now long given over to the interrogators. He had ordered them kept alive at all costs. Some of them, left alone had gone insane and tried to hang themselves rather than give up freedoms or secrets. He'd let them swing. Hell would burn them more surely than the serums and sooth-probes ever could. His Scryer, the very talented woman appointed to him had performed deep psychic searches - and his Magi had furnished him with Necro-cortical images.

 

Past the minutiae, he had some of the puzzle pieces.

 

He'd even sent missives to the local Adeptus Astartes forces asking if anyone of their warriors or groups was in operation. The result, if a reply came at all, was the same.

 

Not in this sector.

 

When he turned form his ruminations, his eyes dropped onto the other caskets, each one containing a block of partially decayed Noctilith. The stones still sang to each other, somehow, beyond comprehension - but his Scryer couldn't even be in the same room as them. It didn't matter. Several empyrionic barrages had been spotted by the Astropathic Choir, and he seriously doubted it was coincidence.

 

Footsteps approached, accompanied by the hasp-snap of a plasfibre robe caressing ceramite. He couldn't miss the sound - no-one with working ears ever would, but he did not hear them as others did. He allowed his senses to extend, for total awareness, trusting to the depths of his subconscious. Trained, perfected. By weight and stride he knew who it was.

 

+You spend too much time here, among these relics.+ The noise ceased when the voice took over, a rich baritone, projected through vox with an almost guttural after-rasp.

 

Only one man aboard this ship could get away with such...brusque familiarity. 'Yet we need more of them to understand. What news do you bring?' he asked, a canted head showing the taller being a slanted smile. 'You wouldn't be here elsewise. Nor would you speak.'

 

+I do so only because it pleases me. There is a time for silence, and this is not it.+ The giant coughed a short, sharp, barking laugh, before removing the chisel-snouted Mark IV helm. 'Your witch has determined the main disturbance came from a place called Brimstone. An asteroid mining facility in the arse of nowhere.'

 

He studied the youthful face, blond hair and blue eyes. 'You're hiding something - as usual.'

 

'Our agent has confirmed one of the Rogue Traders under observation has been hiring mercenaries.'

 

'That is not unusual, surely,' he scoffed.

 

The hard eyes narrowed, and the giant's hands rested on the holstered pistols at his hips. 'These mercenaries, are.'

 

Nodding, the man turned and led away, the monstrosity of a warrior at his back.

 

To Brimstone.

 

Edited April 16 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

With the judgement delivered on the traitorous Magos, Hagga was ready to find something more useful to do. Maybe he could drill with Eisner's Armsmen again? The barracks were nearby, logically placed close to the training cages. He'd done so several times on the way back from Kataris, first going to pay his respects for the men killed by the infiltrator, but staying to work with the naval troops. They were improving, harder and tighter as units, each time he joined them.

 

In the interval between the last two visits, one of the mortals had set up a small shrine in a corner of the troop deck, a simple reliquary with a skull carved with the same icon as decorated Hagga's collar. Rykaz hadn't said anything about it. What could he say? Warned them away from it? He was starting to wonder if there was any escaping it…

 

He turned to leave… and saw Varne properly. What had happened to the Doom Eagle's leg?! What was that hideous growth? For a fraction of a second he stared, aghast at the sickening way it bulged from his poleyn. However, he hid his shock better this time, nodding respectfully to the former Deathwatch Marine before he left.

 

Hagga just remembered to nod to Obadiah too. Before Varne had said the Mantid's name, he'd barely even registered his presence. What was going on there, too? The sniper was good at concealing himself, but surely he'd never been that good?

 

An odd sense of melancholia filled him as he strode through the ship's corridors. Ukalegon's tail. His filthy slave's collar. Cyrandras hid it better, but Hagga suspected he too had been given ‘gifts’ to contend with. The mortals, weaker in body, were surely even more prone to the warping touch. He stopped, staring at the deck.

 

They are coming for us all.

 

After a long moment, his innate stubbornness flared in his breast. His head lifted, and he marched on.

 

Let them come. I'll serve the masters fate has put above me, as and when I must… but I'll be damned if I won't serve my way. I'll still be bloody me.

 

 

Edited April 16 by Lysimachus

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn 

 

++ I have quartered at a shrine to the Emperor, for after all, I am one of His children. Hah! ++ 

 

He watched Hagga stride away, thoughtfully, considering both of their prowesses. Now that would be a fine fight! Once he had enquired with Rakash about the... incident on the station, he would have to approach Hagga to spar, even to duel.

 

Mourn looked at the other Space Marines, giving them each a nod and saying nothing at their changes, and left the training hall. 

 

As he entered the shrine, he smiled as he saw it had been cleaned as per his wishes. In the darkness he sat in one of the pews, an unlikely supplicant to the Golden Throne, a curious devotee. 

 

And he waited.

 

Spoiler

Skill Check: Awareness.

 

Perception: 39 + 10 = 49

 

Rolled 94. You get away this time, Crux'as! 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Kraggan had been escorted to the forge annex by several of the better armed guards aboard the ship, his personal minders for Xerxes had no time to babysit him, still they were not welcome beyond the threshold of the outer forge.

 

Within the remnants of Bountys harvest had been collected and prize amongst them was the remnants of the magos, dead of flesh but not of metal. Beyond servitors and other constructs from Brimstone and beyond were sorted and isolated by layers of shielded cages. A sole multilaser tracked the new guest as he was directed forwards.

 

"This location has been sealed from the wider ship as best as resources allow. We shall see in time the true nature of this gift that you have been given"

 

Autoscribes tied to the body awoke, a physical record that could not be altered or distorted after the fact should this corruption spread to the sensory systems. "I offer you a choice - to go with your guardians about the ship or to remain here, caged from any signal or outside influence, that you might study the progress of the infection yourself."

 

He had much work to do and others to seek out. The one from the surface... Crux'as had made contacts that he might leverage. His ascension to lead magos here had been an inevitability but his position was not secure and this was the first of many tests.

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He listened to Xerxes' terms. 

 

"So it's parole or the dungeon? Can you guarantee my safety in this Faraday Cage, Head Magos?" 

 

 

 

 

Edited April 22 by Machine God
Tidy-up

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik: 

 

After the brief but enjoyable fight in the training cages, Sapik made his way back to his corridor and the empty chamber he had commandeered.  He had brought some scrap he'd gathered during the walk for a makeshift grill.  Some ambiguously-mutated vermin (meat; that's all that mattered right now) was tied to his robes by its...tail?

 

Vermin it was, but it was probably big enough he wouldn't consume the whole.  In an uncharacteristically generous moment, he considered the humans next door and when their last meal had been.

 

He set up the scrap-grill, flicked his fingers, and held the fire in his upraised palm heating the meat.  Most of the fat sizzled and evaporated when it hit the grill or the flame, but the few burning drops that survived the fire seared Atesh's palm in a most pleasing fashion.  

 

After a while, Atesh closed his fist and the flame with it, and removed the charred morsel from his grill.  He ripped it in half, and swallowed one chunk whole.  Beaks were not conducive to mastication; he learned early that whatever he ate had to be smaller than his craw, but strangely enough required no additional work to digest as humans did.  Atesh clacked his beak at the thought of all that time saved, and the idiotic look other humans would continue making while they worked their food around their mouths like cattle.

 

Atesh grabbed another piece of scrap metal from the hallway, put the remaining meat-half on it, and shook some of his feathers onto his gift (which promptly disappeared upon hitting the ersatz steak).  He left his quarters and shuffled a few meters down the hall, set the platter in front of the curtain hung over the door for privacy (an idiotic concept given its pitiful inability to hide the infant's caterwauling), and banged his fist on the corridor beside the curtain to call attention to its presence before he walked back to his own quarters.

 

He ruminated on this act while he sat on the floor and stared off into space.  Most lessons he'd learned regarding the underlying truth of the 'verse were selfish, speaking of the power of one, the strength of the individual to take from the weak.  But that part had never sat as well with him as watching out for his tribe. 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"These cages do not exist for the safety of those within, but in your case they might offer some measure of concealment should your benefactors object to your discovery and some measure of discretion should the astartes reconsider their leniency."

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

"Then I shall stay here and assist you in your investigation, High Magos." 

 

Of course it is such a part of me, I forgot that I was still carrying it. 

 

He un-jacked from his Fallen Magos Power Axe and levitated it onto a cleared workbench. 

 

"You shall have to examine that."

 

 

 

 

Edited April 17 by Machine God
Relinquish the Axe.

[Mazer Rackham]

Apothecarion:

 

+Iscario to Xerxes, I am told Magos Kraggan has been sequestered in your vault. I am not given to house-calls, but I seek permission to enter and minister to his flesh.+

Edited April 16 by Mazer Rackham

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"So be it."

 

He directed several of the tracking augers towards Kraggan and turned to leave, allowing the apothecary entry.

 

"Touch nothing but the wounded, be assured I leave nothing of my research here that would save you should you inadvertantly free the xenos blight from its containtment, nor manner in which you might leave this annex should it become sealed for cleansing".

 

Iscario... their shadow through all of this. Baseless paranoia perhaps but perhaps best that he did not stray far from the forge until the magos was alone once more.  What was one more watcher in the shadows.

[Mazer Rackham]

The Forge:

 

The pale surgeon, a death-dealer and healer both stepped inside the forge, nodding.

 

+As one professional to another, I shall interfere only with the reprobate Kraggan. I humbly trust you will spurt neither oil nor venom over my own chambers should you ever darken my door.+

 

He abides for no rejoinder.

 

Iscario has brought a prosthetic kit with him, wheeled in on a trolley. It clatters and bumps over the rude and ruddy surfaces of the forge. His very poise shows his distaste for the lack of cleanliness, but he makes no mention of it. The medical equipment is prepared, and the patient is laid on the deck in a relatively oil-free spot at Iscario's insistence.

 

+This should not take long. Your psyber-mantle implants and grafts appear to be functioning normally,+ he witters in some biological codswallop few would understand as he taps his gauntlet and a long needle slides form the Narthecium. +You will require sedation.+

 

He applies this, and gets to work, yanking out broken ephemera and cables, tossing them onto a pile of that which seems similar to him. +Do you wish the...'spares' arranged by size, Magos Xerxes?+

 

Again he doesn't even wait.

 

+Yes, yes, so very simple. Basic! Connecting amplitude regulators to Echo four-seven-six, integrated manifold-graft port thirty-one...+

 

Some of this, you recognise as correct terminology of parts. His lore differs from yours, however, and the rest is lost. He continues again for the next forty-five minutes until he is finished, and the blood and oil stops flowing. Sparks sprout from the electrograft sutures, and Kraggan has his replacement leg fitted.

 

+He will be unable to walk properly until full integration. About three hours.+

 

Without further ado, Iscario gathers everything he brought, leaves nothing he shouldn't, and traverses the forge carefully, before nodding to you, the servitors, the Multi-laser, and a wrench hanging from a screw.

 

He leaves.

Edited April 16 by Mazer Rackham

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

Mourn. The newest Astartes, of the Legion favored by the Dark Prince. Why would he be staying in a shrine consecrated to the Emperor? The changes Crux'as had made would probably be noticed by someone with more than human senses but weren't designed for a quick corruption in any case. If the marine stayed in the chapel for a long period of time they may encourage his emotions in a more suitable direction, though nothing was certain. He would keep an eye on the Emperor's Child just to make sure that there wasn't yet another potential spy or traitor among them. 

 

Dismissing the matter from his mind, he went to the officer wardroom. A quick open call to the various cell members and ship's department heads went out. a call for requisitions before the cell descended on Bounty. The Seneschal was not pleased with the potential complications of the Raid on Opal, but he still needed them to actually accomplish the Tigress' goals. Thus, helping the cell helped her. At least, that was the idea.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He watched Hagga as the Executioner trudged away.  His pace certainly wasn't trudge-like, but it was clear that the other Astartes' mind was mired in dark thoughts, so at least the term seemed appropriate.  He gave just a brief moment to wonder over Hagga's state of mind before turning to Varne and giving him a companionable thump on the pauldron.

 

"I noticed the leg, Varne," he said without preamble.  "It seems this line of work doesn't particularly agree with us."  He gave him a pointed look and added, "Any of us," before scrubbing at his face with his armored palms.