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

[Mazer Rackham]

Crux'as:

 

Strabo's face is carefully neutral. It is a face you know well, having worn it often enough, but underneath, from the glimmer in his eye, you can tell he is absolutely livid, to almost beyond endurance.

 

'I have received notice of your wish to engage, Factor. However, I am disinclined to assist you. We have received a report pertaining to the Opal Expedition, which originates from your vessel. What the hell is going on? An Inquisition cruiser? A Deathwatch Kill Team? Now you contact me for more resources?'

 

He shakes his head slowly.

 

'No sir, it will not do. Your ill-bearing news, by the way, contained some manner of nonsense only my Magos-Explorator General understands, and it took us an entire day to scrub it all out. I suspect, sir, that you are an entrapment vehicle for the authorities. Given our past goodwill, I will grant you one opportunity to explain yourself sir, after which, if satisfaction is not reached, we will terminate our mutual involvement.'

 

He has not lost his temper, nor has he run out of breath. He blends outrage with disappointment in a masterful mix to underline everything he wishes to say.

 

GM: You will need to make an Opposed Persuade/Charm Test. Disposition is not good, 'angry out the wazoo' doesn't appear in BC Core, but I'm guessing its going to be at least Very Hard (-30) on top of the Oppose.

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

 

Crux'as bowed his head slightly.

 

"Greetings dear Strabo. I understand your anger, yet I believe it is incorrectly aimed. We found that one of our tech-priests had contact with an agent of the Alpha Legion and obtained a package of data programs in trade. Unfortunately these programs were malignant and caused the issues you have seen."

 

The smile was muted, but turned slightly vicious.

 

"I have to wonder whether or not your Mistress has offended the Legion, for our small band has not done anything of significance of which to warrant their attention. I would advise you to look for deep-cover operatives within your ranks before more problems occur. As for our adept, we have already sealed his data-ports and confined him physically to prevent further disruption. While his destruction would be enjoyable, currently the need for competent tech services overrides liquidation. In fact, one of the items we have need of is an explosive collar with which to use on him if a more permanent solution is required."

 

Spoiler

Charm Test - To make Strabo less upset

Target - 62 - 30 = 32

Roll - 30

Result = Pass, no DoS. Will spend 1 Infamy Point to add a DoS. Now at 3/4 Infamy Points

 

Deceive Test - To point at the Alpha Legion as the possible enemy/issue

Target - 62 (as long as the Charm Test works shouldn't have a mod?)

Roll - 41

Result = Pass, 2 DoS (if no mod....)

 

"The other supplies we require are mere trifles for your mistress, and would greatly increase the future success of our joint ventures."

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Crux'as:

 

GM: Your mollification is a success, however, Strabo sees right through your duplicity, wins by +4 DoS.

 

'Factor, put quite simply, I think your ploy was facile, but it was certainly amusing. The Alpha Legion? Really? I applaud the daring creativity if nothing else. I shall extend to you one final courtesy and then we shall conclude our relationship. Give me your list of requirements, and they shall be delivered by third party. Consider it....a golden handshake.'

 

GM: Put your trades/ACQ's in gents, because once they're in, the White Tigress is leaving the Inca Sector. Expanding your influence in other systems will be paramount to maintaining your supply routes. These will be your last 'buys' before the game goes into recess.

[Mojake]

Varne

 

"It seems this line of work doesn't particularly agree with us... Any of us."

 

"It's a matter of perspective, Obadiah. Gifts, favours, afflictions, punishments; I am beginning to believe that these... manifestations... reflect ourselves. See it as a curse; you will be cursed. See it as a blessing; you will be blessed. In the end, it may be for us to decide the 'why' of it." A short pause, then he let out a loud bark of laughter, the mirth echoing from the black walls, "the dark gods alone know why Ukalegon has a tail."

 

He began walking towards the exit, the limp still present - and inflicting a pace little more than a dawdle for an astartes - but less noticeable by the hour as Varne became used to the awkwardness of his gait. "Come brother, the bridge awaits our next dastardly plan."

Edited April 17 by Mojake

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh: 

Spoiler

OOC:  I don't fully know how to roll this/if that's involved, so I'm gonna write a narration and I can edit it if directed.  Sorry for the OOC font color absence; that button seems to have disappeared in my screen.

 

 

Atesh's was stalking vermin in the lower decks, hoping to locate a reliable source of food for the future, when the vox chirped in his ear.  Sounds like the smirking one wanted incendies.  Atesh liked incendies.

 

He found himself sniffing the air as he wandered the ship; eventually the tang of fuel caught his nares and he followed it to the depot.  

Edited April 18 by FabiusV4lcoran

[Mazer Rackham]

The Apothecarion:

 

Ukalegon.

 

Scritch-scratch, scritch-scratch.

 

Ukalegon...

 

The whisper echoes softly in a voice which sounds feminine, but you recognise it not. It scratches at your inner ear.

 

Ukalegon...

 

Smooth, cool, hands pressing against your chest. Ten thousand different perfumes and sweet scents from a million different worlds. The dripping of nectar into a fluted chalice. A burning sensation of soft lips against yours. The sharp sting of a bite, of fangs.

 

Promises of splendid pain which bring only daunting pleasure.

 

Soon. Soon.

 

You awaken. There is no-one near, but on your nude pectorals, rapidly healing from this procedure, are bright red handprints with long, slender, clawed fingers. Your tongue tastes blood that is not your own, and the imagination of the past few hours, moments, however long suddenly rushes in to make you shudder.

 

You awaken again.

 

The handprints are absent.

 

Soon.

[Xin Ceithan]

Rakash
 

Placeholder to keep things moving

 

wandering in, possibly raising an eyebrow at the Feng Shui, seeking out Mourn’s retreat.

 

”I hope I am not disturbing your rest, Brother.”

 

Cyrandras halted at the entrance to where Mourn had made his lair, both as a gesture of respect and so as not to espouse himself unduly to any unexpected violent reaction.

 

You wanted to discuss your experience on Opal? “

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He stroked his bearded chin for a moment, considering Varne's words, then shared a chuckle with him over Ukalegon.  "Well.  I've certainly never seen him tuck it and run from a fight!"  He followed the other Astartes as he turned for the bridge.  "You really think we're dastardly?" he asked with a grin.  "I was hoping for villainous."

[Mazer Rackham]

GM: Gents, there are conversations in the OOC about what to do. I feel some of these discussion should push into the IC, so once everyone has completed their current intermissions, I wall call the Players to Convene as discussed in the Compact rules in BC Core. This will signal mission commencement. All Players will attend.

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Delegation was required yet there were not to which these tasks could be trusted. The servitor crew of the vessel remained suspect until his work upon the xenos code was adequate to ensure and hidden code was wiped away, the human crew incompetent at best, and the command staff mutating at a rate that made him question the integrity readings of the geller field.

 

And no word had reached him of the fate of the Dredge, perhaps they had intercepted it before the vessel escaped into the void or perhaps the attempt simply fuelled their current anger. In either case this alliance, such as it was, seemed soon to end and the scrubbing of the ships systems of double purpose in ensuring the vessel did not seek to return to its former master.

 

It also seemed prudent to extract what resources were possible before the door closed. Approaching Crux'as he offered the least of his labours - two of the astartes pattern bolt pistols modified for human hands, berift of any markings and presented as dueling pistols of sorts. Valuable enough to cover the costs of his needs and should Crux'as be as persuasive as he believed himself more than enough to offer a margin of profit.

[Machine God]

Kraggan

 

He awoke from his slumber, sat up and then he examined his new prosthetic leg. 

 

Of course it would need to be fully examined when he had the requisite time and privacy. 

 

He wondered. Had he just been fitted with an explosive device? 

 

 

 

 

Edited May 1 by Machine God

[BadgersinHills]

Acchiersum Mourn

 

He did not turn when Rakash entered, eyes looking ahead at the statue of the Emperor as he spoke.

 

"Thank you for your presence," he said.

 

"When I parted ways with my brothers, with my Legion..." he said and stood up, turning around to the Sorcerer.

 

"Let me set the stage...", he gestured with one hand, as if a circus master introducing the next act.  

 

"The enemy had broken almost as fast as they attacked, and we relished in our sweet victory. We were hounds having scented blood, and we wouldn't be satisfied with the little we had lapped up. They had not fully lost their wits and returned to their transports, pissing themselves as they did so, and we gave chase. We didn't wonder why in the hells they, for the first time, had attacked us instead of cowering behind their walls and turrets." 

 

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

 

"We followed them into an abandoned fort, the doors not closed in their haste to flee, and as we followed-" 

 

Mourn looked Rakash in the eyes.

 

"We have seen Space Marines die. It is part of our trade, our art, our life because the death we deal takes us too. But it is one thing to die, and another thing to be... slaughtered. Executed. Culled. Put down."

 

"They had planned the trap perfectly. They turned the tide in moments, cutting us apart from every direction they hid in. Erkos Bloodhand, the first to enter didn't even realise he had died, his corpse stumbling to a halt even as it disintegrated from massed lasgun fire. Kartho the Perfumed screamed as he died, cooked alive by flamers, his perfume flasks exploding as they burned with him. I will remember the smells of rosewater and burning flesh mixing.

 

Grirmal, our lord- former lord, had not been slain as I retreated, fury written on the half of his face the meltagun hadn't scorched away. He led what few of us lived into a charge- Elfroc Garon, Creon the Fat, perhaps Arken of the Gilded Spear - a charge I did not see the result of, though I doubt it ended with their glorious victory."

 

"It does not matter how they died, of course, only that they did die. Unworthy deaths, I will say, but deaths. But why I approached you is that... On the station- On Opal, as I approached a makeshift devotional painting..."

 

He swallowed as if his throat was dry, and was silent for some time.

"I heard them." 

[Mazer Rackham]

++ INTERCAPEDO EXCRUSCIOR ++

 

LOCSIT: VESSEL IDENT [REDACTED]

TIME INDEX: MISSION COMMENCE +48 DAYS (IMMEDIATELY PRIOR TO BOUNTY INCUSION)

AUTH: [REDACTED]

 

Genhanced hearing was a boon and bust. Carraigh, as he called himself now, heard the thunder-rumble from the training rooms as plate clashed with steel, a trial of mettle in both hammer or anvil. It smote through everything, a vibration of violence which had bassline and baritone, tenor and tribulation. The tympanic clatter of brass cases sloughing from an automatic weapon ejection port were windchimes blown on the breath of war.

 

Not that Carraigh was here for a music lesson - no. He attended the firing ranges to re-acquaint himself with an old friend, and see if the new Blackshield the Squad had picked up was of any value.

 

Issakar Dravok, although everyone had latched onto his last name, because nobody wanted to engage with the surly bastard with any courtesy. He was foul-mouthed,  and of ill-temper, which he enjoyed oft, and his tongue was rich with crass humour when he felt like sharing it and was otherwise sarcastic, even though nobody else wished him to. Six weeks he'd been in service to the Master of this little expedition, and Carraigh knew little about him, which was very unusual, because Carraigh knew everything about everyone.

 

It was not a boast. Information was observation, and from the bastion of silent watchfulness, Carraigh had ascertained Dravok was as much worth investigating as a shallow puddle of vomit. Still, the Marine knew his weapons - especially the rapid-fire variety, and this was his first test - to provide and care for the guns of the Squad.

 

Squad. They'd put him in charge. Sweet Emperor's numb arsecheeks. If he could have, he would have rubbed his palm down his scarred cheeks and chin, wounds inflicted when he'd head-butted a mouthy Chaplain a few times. Thankfully, the austere Mk IV casque and visor saved him the trouble and he made do with distracting himself with the ageless laments of Ygrekian poetry until he keyed the door, and the thunder became a storm.

 

A heavy bolter, commingled with a heavy flamer - an Infernus pattern, he remembered being told, hammered out in a stanza of death for the fool training servitors in the way at the end of the firing gallery. Great clumps of flesh and mangled steel flew in all directions as Dravok The Arsehole continued to reduce them to battered pieces and melting runnels where batteries and capacitors exploded.

 

The Devastation was as complete as it was vicious, and the Marine - quite short, but suitably broad, put the weapon down on the bench in front of him, the snub Mk VII Vox grille and visor swivelled, the whole suit of plate making snarling noises. The heavy gunner acknowledged Carraigh's presence with a wave of his left gauntlet, the fingertips machined into pyramidal shape to form some fashion of claw.

 

The man was a pillock.

 

+Hail priest-beater!+ Dravok began, +I fixed your toy. Ready for sticking up a heretical arse - whenever you are ready, that is.+

 

Pillock.

 

Carraigh said nothing. He approached the arming bench and saw one of his beloved treasures, his Mk IV Thunderfury Storm Bolter. Worked on by some of the best tech-adepts the Master could provide, it had been made into the perfect, final form. Fitted with DNA sensors, intruder countermeasures, and the shot-selection system, the forward and pistol grips accepted his hands readily. Upon thumbing the Rune of Possession, it integrated with his systems effortlessly, and he took it to the range as the next file of hapless, braindead idiots drooled their way onto the ranges.

 

He hefted the weapon, also named after an Ygrekian myth - and loaded up. In moments, his finger caressed the trigger - never a firing stud! He maintained he needed to feel the break of the relays, to avoid training accidents. Like shooting pillocks in the head, and turning them into braindead idiots.

 

He opened fire - and Carraigh put the demolition he'd just witnessed into a shadow of his own. The Storm Bolter was a bucking, live thing in his palms; it chewed through everything in front of it in a broad sweep, catching everything left behind, and all the fresh targets, some as small as a stylus. The firing lanes filled with careening debris, pinging off walls, deck and ceiling. After thirty seconds, Carraigh let the weapon hang on his chest, in the old, familiar place.

 

+You will refer to me as Sergeant, Dravok. Remember your Oath when you took the Sable.+

 

He turned and left the Devastator staring after him, thoughts amused by the swish-scuff of his green robe.

 

Sometimes, a lesson was needed.

 

The Imperium understood that well.

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Entering the bridge with Obadiah, Varne approached the group of heretic mortals and astartes discussing potential ways to inflict catastrophe upon Harville. Menials scurried across the chamber in a blur of activity, reading reports from dataslates, quoting PDF complements, slinging data about capital infrastructure, output from the astropathic choir, and all manner of other things. The topographical map with a 3D projection of the city dominated the command table, and was the focus of most of those aboard who had any sort of sway over matters.

 

The Doom Eagle tuned out the background chatter, perking up to pay attention only when somebody he respected offered an opinion or some vital information. After a half hour, a call-out from a vox-adept caught his attention, concerning the layout of the various canal locks that surrounded and lay within the city. He stepped up, rotated and enlarged these parts of the map - the complaints of his peers at interrupting their own cartographical assessments ignored.

 

After a minute, he grunted in satisfaction. "I believe the structures to control the canal depth surrounding the distribution docks are a weakpoint we should consider. Annihilating these vital locks," he pointed across at two points on the map, "would flood the better part of the eastern city. Not only would that pull the PDF and arbites across the capital, opening them up to ambush or a clearer assault of their headquarters, it would also cripple maritime trade and damage the administratum complex here," he pointed again. "Hindering their capabilities to import food, reinforcements and materiel, as well as the shutting down the city's brain, will leave them vulnerable to all-out-siege from the Smiler's rebels. If we disable or hold the bridges out of the city, and whatever they have that passes for a spaceport, they are isolated."

 

He reset the map view and stepped back, slowly looking around at each of the others to invite question or debate.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

He nodded at Varne.  "That will certainly hamper long-term travel and inflict plenty of chaos, but I think our first move should be to cut communications."  His finger stabs at a building on the north side of the river.  "This is the Astropathicus relay.  If we want this uprising to succeed long-term, our first step should be to kill the Imperials' ability to call in reinforcements.  Ergo, first act: kill the Astropaths.  As quietly as possible, too, to keep any on-planet response delayed."  He looked up and around at the group, focusing mostly on the mortals.  "I can take a small team in, stealthily, and execute the choir -- but it'll have to be folks who can walk softly in shadow.  We will need someone to pick us up and get us across the river to join in the rest of the mayhem, too."  He tapped his chin for a moment.  "I suppose we could take the Wasp in.  Any takers?"

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Rykaz frowned. Dishonourable methods, but he wasn't a Templar, wherever his helm might have come from. When it came to strategy, the Executioners trained pragmatists. He didn't have to like it as long as it worked.

 

Keep telling yourself that, fool. Maybe you'll convince yourself…

 

“Whatever we do, we should do it soon. Their forces are spread out all over. If they were all buttoned up tight behind those walls, I'd say drop quietly out in the wilds and spend a month or two whittling down their patrols. But as it is they've given us an opening to make a real raid of it. Attack, take what we want, and get out again before they can gather.”

 

“Have our allies step up their diversions, pull as many of the loyalists out of the city as possible. Then, I agree, hit the Astropaths, cut their lines of communication. Then the water. Make it look like an accident, pull them out from their nests. But you're forgetting something.”

 

He frowned, looked down at the map, and pointed to the imposing bulk of the Arbites bastion.

 

“Arbitrator forts always have their own dedicated Astropaths - in case the locals turn traitor. As soon as they realise what's happening, they'll call for help. Not to mention that place will be a rally point for the whole defence. It needs to die. Sooner rather than later.”

 

Edited April 20 by Lysimachus

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"Transport undetected is available but limited", interjected Xerxes, "the grain delivery vehicles are automated and can be compromised."

[FabiusV4lcoran]

Atesh Sapik:  

 

Sapik listened to the Astartes debate strategy.  He debated whether he should revisit his ideas about plague and the overload that strain might place on an already tested medical system.  Handling the fire might have started to drain the colony's medical resources already, and every strain on the civilian infrastructure would push on dragging Bounty down.  However, he wasn't sure casually admitting to an act of arson was a particularly smart consideration regarding his continued survival.

 

He'd spent the majority of the time between this meeting and the fight in the training cages mixing a batch of 30 incendiary bottles together and getting them to a store compartment as directed for the return to Bounty.  He'd scrounged up some other rags that, while not particularly clean, would do well enough to cover his mutations and make him appear to be a generic transient.  His face was uncovered at this meeting, but he had a headpiece prepared that would cover his face relatively unobtrusively.

 

Now, he watched the individual speakers in the meeting, and tried to hush the clucking noises happening in his throat.

[Mazer Rackham]

LOCSIT: BOUNTY ORBIT

TIME INDEX: MISSION COMMENCE +49 DAYS

 

The Razor slides into a high orbit above the agri-world of Bounty, ready to unleash the hell within her terrible hull.

 

GM: Ok gentlemen, be about your business. There is Sub-light lift freighter XV#1104 in pattern for leaving orbit. it will take half an hour to reach her by small ship, it is fully automated, so there's no crew on board. You can handle the hijacking part narratively. Steering it to ground will require my intervention. Other Players are free to handle their tasks narratively as well. I will roll randomly to see if they are spotted by air, space or land traffic.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga watched the mortal, even as the mortal watched the holographic representation of the freighter descended back towards Bounty's surface.

 

Andus Ressokov seemed about as nondescript as you could expect a human to be. But Senior Pilot Honso had said he was both a capable flier, and despised the Imperium with a cold, dull, and deep hatred. Something about the man's family? Hagga didn't know if Ressokov's feelings had any real validity… but he clearly felt that they did. You could see it in his eyes. Hurt. Angry. He'd willingly, joyfully, die to strike a blow.

 

“Keep watching, Mister Ressokov. Learn all you can of her route. We'll put you on board that craft on its next rotation up. It's automated, so it will take you all the way back to the landing fields between the mercantile district and the Arbites bastion. At the last possible moment on your approach, you'll need to switch back to manual control. Then… then you'll have your chance for payback.”

 

[Trokair]

Tarh

 

Some time Earlier

 

 

Tarh slipped into the meeting late. He had only recently returned after his own separate mission more suited to his past and skills, and his first call had been to check in on Mithra. She had recovered well from whatever ill fate had stranded her so far from home when he had found her; regained strength and vigour under the Beastmasters care. Tarh had visited as often as he could, and dredged up from memory some of the rites and rituals from back home relating to the care and training of her kind.

 

The barding and adapted saddle he had worked on, with the help of some of the Tyrant’s indentured menials, at a cost of a fair few of his own meals in bribes, was near finished. The panels taken from damaged and surplus flack armour repurposed. The mounting for the m 34 Autocannnon was likewise complete, the straps and bindings tested so that it and the semi howdah sat still and steady even as Mithra put here new attire through its paces. That had been an interesting ride, down the narrow corridors, people scattering aside. He thought he would get in trouble for it, but none of the Tyrants Enforcers bothered him about it since.

 

But as late as he had been to the meeting, and no doubt missed important details, hopefully non that would proof lethal, it was still in full swing.

 

He recognised some of the Chosen and Mortals, by sight or reputation and for a select few, form previous shared terror, or adventures as the Chosen would no doubt call it, but there were so many new faces as well.

 

When one of the Chosen called for operative for a stealth mission to silence the Astropathic sorcerers of the Corpse Emperor he paid attention. Not for any particular interest in the target, but for the approach and mission requirements. This he could do.

 

---

 

It was a little cramped aboard the Wasp, not least because he had lead, coaxed and finagled Mithra and her new battle caparison aboard in addition to the Chosen and mortals also taking a ride down to the planet. Maybe this had not been such a good idea.

 

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Satisfied with the plan, but lamenting the fact his part of it hinged on his own understanding of the Ithyca-Pattern demolition charges that had been procured, Varne left the bridge some time later and headed to Xerxes' workshop. 

 

He pressed his palm onto the door activation rune and limped over the threshold, avoiding a servitor carrying the upper casing of a bolter.

 

"Magos," he greeted Xerxes, busy fiddling with some techno-arcane component. "I require a servitor, mono-tasked to carry a heavy weapon. Airborne preferable, tracked for all terrain if not. It must be capable of reaching speeds up to forty kilometers per hour."

 

Varne then gently placed a stack of six demolition charges onto a clear space on a worktop, warily ensuring no wayward scrap or components would accidentally roll onto the explosives and end their warband's journey early. "And, I require your assistance with these. I will be deploying these charges without yours or Kraggan's expertise. Is there a means by which you can make this task more suited to a rudimentary understanding of demolitions?"

Edited April 22 by Mojake

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

It had seemed that eagerness for this expedition had not decreased amongst the astartes despite recent circumstances, though it was perhaps to be expected given their hypno-indoctrination and genetic inclination for war. So long as they knew no other way their demands could be anticipated and dealt with in a manner to most efficient advance more important research.

 

And for now that research required that he once again secure the knowledge gained from the xenos experiments and this fresh intrusion, leave no trace behind while he is away that might be used to undermine his work.

 

A task interrupted yet again. His ascension to chief magos in the eyes of the rest had come with additional tasks that would be better left to a menial but no candidates for such a position were present amongst the dregs of this ships crew. "No servitor capable of flight is present aboard this vessel. Speed is possible but maneuverability would be limited."

 

He studied the astartes armour, "suggestion: grafted servitor harnessed to your armours power pack. Alternative: gravitic suspension of weaponry"

 

 

Turning his gaze to the explosives, "Recommendation, demolitions teams chosen from crew. Transportation of pre-primed explosives inadvisable near sources of heat, flame, strong impacts." He indicated towards the marines jump pack. "Likelihood of self immolation high."

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga circled the Starhawk before boarding. It looked as though the tech-adepts had done a decent job of converting the bomber into something approaching an Astartes dropship. With Eska and Ressokov following just behind, he squeezed through the side hatch into the large troop compartment. Deployment would be much quicker and easier, dropping directly from the repurposed bomb bay doors to the ground a few metres below.

 

They would coast from the Razor - painfully slow, but vastly harder to detect - and intercept the automated freighter in high orbit. Once the suicidally determined mortal pilot was put aboard, then their dropship would stay in the much larger hauler's augur shadow as they entered atmosphere.

 

By that time, the infiltration team should have been back on Bounty for a little over a day. Cyrandras and the bird-faced witch Atesh would have joined the mortals and diverted even more of Harville's military assets out into the wilds, and dispatched several of the renegades’ best squads to assist with the covert attacks on the city. Crux'as and Xerxes would have continued their efforts to destabilise the enemy's command structure. Obadiah and Tarh should be in place to cut their communications.

 

Varne's Arvus would depart just ahead of the bulk freighter, putting his demo team in place at the docks with as little lead time as possible. Less opportunities for the monstrously mutated Astartes to be discovered and cause a panic too early.

 

Once the bastion was burning, and the eastern end of the city was drowning, the dropship would attack the next target. The Sororitas HQ. Between himself and Eska, Ukalegon, Mourn, and the traitor Kraggan - Hagga was happy to be able to keep an eye on that one - they should be able to wipe out the best of the defenders without heavy losses.

 

The speed of the attack should render the Imperial forces out in the country impotent, unable to return to the capital quickly enough to stop the Corsairs from looting the defenceless warehouses and stores, and destroying whatever they could not steal. Then a quick retreat to the Razor and out of Ithyca for good.

 

It was a good enough plan. Soon they'd see if it actually worked.

 

 

[Mojake]

Varne

 

He considered the magos' reply, grimacing beneath his helm at the suggestion of grafting a servitor to himself. "I thank you for your wisdom, priest,"  Varne said flatly before leaving.

 

Xerxes suggestion to take members of the crew had given Varne another idea.

 

+Varne to bridge. Are there any crew aboard this ship proficient with demolitions?+

 

Before waiting for a response, he voxed again, +And where can I find the corpse of the saboteur who rigged the bomber?+