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

[Mojake]

Varne

 

Varne frowned beneath his helmet, thought for a few seconds, then crumpled the detonator in his fist.

 

"I was just making sure," he grumbled to nobody in particular, not unlike a scalded child. He climbed to his feet and offered his hand to help Ukalegon up, "nothing personal, Lamenter. I'd expect the same if I'd gone off the deep end."

 

He collected the charge from the wall with a popping noise as the adhesive came free, then looked to the others. 

 

"Now what?"

[A.T.]

Xerxes

 

With Crux'as and his men departed Xerxes worked once more to reactivate the forge from its slumber, the safeguards an inconvenience at this scale but unacceptable for his future plans, yet who else could he trust with his workings? The journey had at least given him time to consider a course of action - mechanicus unmanned probes carried cogitators stubborn beyond all measure but also chained to obey despite their great sophistication. To find and trap one could have taken a lifetime but those he now walked amongst could perhaps shorten the path for suitable compensation.

 

He watched as the spoils of war moved past, compensation... scraps and faded promise of what knowledge and relics lay buried beneath the astartes reckless assault. He could not ply a trade on trinkets.

 

Power within the forge began to grow as he prepared to transfer data from his ongoing projects back to the local cogitator banks. Grenz had produced valuable insight before the need came to place him in suspension but continuance would likely have to wait until battle damage had been attended to for it seemed settled that Kraggan would not retain his position as armourer, though equally they had not seen fit to send him back to his cage.

 

A flicker of lights alerted Xerxes as the still warming circuits diverted power and loud cracks and flashes of las-energy filled the room, steam pouring off his back as the outer ablative layers of his cloak were burnt away. The multilaser, someone would dare attack him with his own works? A sharp lance of energy from his implants carved an arc across the bulkhead as nearby servitors dropped their supplies and lurched into the path of the lasbolts - the hail cut short has he severed a power junction placed behind an otherwise non-descript panel.

 

What fool would think he did not know every weakness of his own defenses. Kraggen? But when? The sound of more lasbolts rang out at the threshold of the forge as he stormed out, fire glancing from his shield and armour alike as he lit aflame several of the crew in an incandescent burst, screams drowned by the echoing of bulkheads closing throughout the ship.

 

A mutiny, but the servo-constructs of this ship outnumbered the flesh a thousand to one and they would bow to his will if he hand to burn the circuits of a hundred for every one that would obey... but the call was met with silence by all except those servitors he had brought with him from the surface. Others stood limp as he grappled one and overrode its systems, flashes of the same code that Kraggan had carried fought back before the xenos-enhanced scrapcode burnt it down and the servitor reactivated. If his implants had not sectioned away his sense of humour in this time of need he would have laughed for the foe had played their hand too early and now his earlier purge of the ships systems function like antibodies against the STC-devised codes causing temporary paralysis rather than the intended domination.

 

 

The long range vox he had provided to Crus'as was amongst the equipment recovered and he tuned it to the freqency of Kraggans detonator circuit. It was still in range and moving... but too fast to be the heretek and not towards the forge. Switching from shipwide to surface comms - those who still carried their comm-beads or were tied into the assault frequency, "This is Xerxes, respond".

 

These bulkheads would not hold him but they would slow him and clearly whoever was seeking control here was not so hindered.

[Lord_Ikka]

Crux'as

In and out of consciousness, the Smiler ordered the fighters to place him in the wardroom. It was close to the bridge and any medicae could heal him there. It was always smart to be near the center of things.

 

Hunger....hunger...

 

Nom'zas wanted souls, but there was nothing nearby that could suffice. Crux'as sent a pulse of reprimand to the daemon-blade, then promised it a meal soon.

 

The pain from the explosion's wounds washed over him again. Before he passed out he ordered two of the elite fighters to guard him. Best to be careful...

[Iron Father Ferrum]

Obadiah:

 

Control returned gradually, and soon he was able to lever himself up to his feet.  He only paid half a mind to the squabbles of his compatriots as he took a moment to flex all the muscles in each extremity to make sure everything was working right.  That done, he interjected himself back into the conversation.

 

"Yes, we need a plan before we all die.  Again, though, who in the name of the Tyrant's black blood was that?" he demanded, eyes flitting between Hagga and Ukalegon.  "You called him Valex.  I don't need to know his name before I kill him, but I'd like to know why he wants to kill me."  He rubbed at his jaw where the kick had landed; the bone was perhaps a little soft, and his Larraman cells were no doubt hard at work repairing the bruise that he was certain was forming.  "I don't even know what a thinblood is, but it sounds like a slur."

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

“Torun Valex, Harrowmaster of the Alpha Legion. We met him first aboard one of Huron's ships. They had some sort of alliance, but there was an accident, a daemonic incursion…”

 

Hagga frowned, remembering the battle against Delphynie and her minions. Ukalegon's actions, that had such an impact on him… he had to wonder now - had they really been selfless heroism... or rather foolhardy glory-hunting? He shook his head. Not important right now.

 

“We were all part of the fight to save the ship. The Alpha Legionnaires fought too… but barely. Cowardly dogs. After it was over, Huron accused Valex of attempting to use the situation to cut off the head of the Red Corsairs. He threw him out, ending their alliance.”

 

He smiled grimly.

 

“I think he was right, but Valex wasn't happy. For some reason he seems to blame us in particular… and so here we are!”

 

 

Edited May 2 by Lysimachus

[Mazer Rackham]

GM OOC: On that handsome assessment from Mr Lysimachus, I think that's as good a place as any to close the game.

 

The Razor (All Players):

 

The ship shudders, but you can tell from the divorced tremble that it's the shields. It doesn't take a genius to understand that the voidshields are grazing something monumental, and with the long slow grind of the superstructure, it is equally apparent that it's the outer skein of Bounty's atmosphere.

 

There isn't long before the angle of descent becomes untenable, and, this ship drops from the sky with a megatonnage of impact which would make the hauler's drop look like dropping a cashew nut into a puddle. The plunge will be terminal for the world below, completing your handiwork utterly, and it won't be all that good for your health either.

 

Valex has planned everything perfectly, and as he boards an incoming Thunderrhawk, he leaves the now sloping deck in a fury of engines, and contempt. The Razor slowly cuts the atmosphere, dragging, leaning, deck beginning to slew over, nose pitching dangerously.

 

Escape, if possible, will be a very narrow thing...

 

++++++++++

 

++ END OF PART TWO ++

 

++ PLAYERS DO NOT POST ++