[DW: Solo Play] Operation Hellstrike (IC)

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

More. Of course there were more. The scum truly were without end, as old Kryptman had prophesied. He studied these new arrivals through Sepulcrum Irae’s sensory suite, even as he trained his heavy bolter onto the remaining pod of warrior-strain creatures that lurked by a pillar of the soaring aqueduct and dialed in his firing vectors, angry red targeting reticles and parabolic arcs filling his field of view. He was certain he had fought the floating creatures before, had cut apart their disgusting flesh with blade and bolter, but their designation and purpose within the larger hive organism was lost to him, so heavily did the centuries weigh upon him now.

 

No matter, these newcomers would die just like the rest. More meat for the slaughter.

 

His mighty chassis pivoted around as he lurched forward again, and he fired another salvo of ordinance with a payload of mutagenic acid into the remaining knot of… Warriors? Riflemen? How he despised their slavering maws and unholy bio-weaponry and foul, misshapen bodies. Too many limbs, nothing but bony chitin and horrible, ripping claws. Whatever they named themselves or had been named by others, it was irrelevant.

 

Now they were on the chopping block, with him the headsman at hand.

 

 

Free Action: Weight of Years Test to use Forbidden Lore (Xenos): D10 vs Int mod 5

D10: 10 (womp womp)

Zvarog can no longer call upon Forbidden Lore (Xenos) to recall the particulars of the Tyranid menace for the rest of play, or that of any other alien for that matter, save, perhaps, for the fact that he absolutely detests them.

Half Action: Half Move (7m) towards Warrior Pod A

Half Action: Standard Attack (TLHB) vs Warrior Pod A
BS51 + 0 (Standard Attack) + 10 (short range) + 20 (Twin-Linked) + 10 (Red-Dot Sight) = 91
D100: 06; 7 DoS + 1 (Twin-Linked) 
2 hits total

Twin-Linked Heavy Bolter (Hellfire Rounds): 2d10+10X + 2 (Mighty Shot), Tearing, Blast (3), Twin-Linked, Pen 6, RF on 9 or 10

Hit 1: (10 RF, 4, 6) 16 + 10 + 2 = 28X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 1a (RF bonus): (8, 2, 2) 10 + 10 + 2 = 22X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2: (1, 9 RF, 9 RF) 18 + 10 + 2 = 30X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2a (RF bonus): (4, 10 RF, 9 RF) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2b (RF bonus): (10 RF, 6, 10 RF) 20 + 10 + 2 = 32X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2c (RF bonus): (1, 9 RF, 5) 14 + 10 + 2 = 26X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2d (RF bonus): (8, 9 RF, 6) 17 + 10 + 2 = 29X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

Hit 2e (RF bonus – this is the last one I promise): (1, 6, 7) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen6, Ignores natural armour

 

2 rounds expended from secondary (Hellfire) ammunition drum (246/250 remaining)

Dreadnought targeting system imposes a -10 to enemy dodge tests.

Boy, that escalated quickly…

 

Righteous Fury on 9s and 10s is no joke. 

 

Edited June 10 by Necronaut
Formatting

[Mazer Rackham]

The Warrior brood is torn asunder by the fusillade, accompanied by an inhuman screeching that seems to linger in the ears long after death - those senses flesh or mechanical.

 

Warrior Pod A is destroyed.

 

The floating horrors seem to wax and wane in Zvarog's cybermantle-enhanced vision, and the strange sense of warp-flux tickles the edges of all human subconscious - with a deeply unsettling sense of eternal hunger, for power, for food, for...everything.

 

It is then, an eruption of strange, actinic energy scythes out along the tortured air, heading for the large form of the Dreadnought.

 

Tyranid Actions On:

 

Zoa F:

Spoiler

Half-action, take cover.

Half-action, Bolster Kine-shield of Zoa G. (Sustained power)

WP: 53 PASS, no DoS. Manifested.

(Protection Rating remains 65, but the Target does not need to spend an Action to pop the shield back up if it overloads).

 

Zoa G:

Spoiler

Half-action: Half-aim

Halfl-action: Psychic Lance at Zvarog

WP Test: 38, Manifested

Range 30m x PR = 180m (+10 Hit, Close Range)

No Hit Roll (it's on the WP Test) Hit, Right Leg

Dam: 24, Pen 30

 

Dodge available.

 

Zvarog [ ]

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

A phantom spear of telekinetic force sheared through the air towards the Revenant as fast as a lasbolt, and slammed into his right leg with devastating, otherworldly power, cracking the ceramite armour and causing the steel underneath to groan and flex horribly. Aetheric discharge arced across his chassis and his banner flapped violently in the sudden backdraft, and he shuddered to a momentary halt as he reeled from the blow. Arterial red glyphs flooded a quarter of his HUD detailing the structural damage, and a corresponding jolt of neurofeedback from the cybermantle wracked him with pain both real and metaphysical, and he howled in inchoate fury at the torment.

 

+AARRGH! DIE, WITCH!+

 

With a deafening roar, the wounded dreadnought unleashed a torrent of grenades and hardened adamantine spite from its hull-mounted cerberus launcher and enormous double-barrelled heavy bolter in response. Zvarog knew the other creature was lurking nearby, and he toggled his auspex in an effort to find the bastard.

 

 

Dodge Test: Ag20

D100: 49; 2 DoF kek

 

Zvarog sustains 24 damage - (37AV - Pen 30) = 17 structural integrity damage

 

Half Action: Semi-Auto Burst (Cerberus Launcher) vs Zoanthrope G

BS51 + 10 (FAB) - 10 (TWF) = 51

D100: 03;  4 DoS

3 Hits total?

 

Astartes Stun Grenade: 0 damage, Blast (5), stuns for 1D10 rounds on a failed +0 Toughness Test

3 stun grenades fired at Zoanthrope G

 

Half Action: FAB vs Zoanthrope G

BS51 + 20 (FAB) + 20 (Twin-Linked) + 10 (Short Range) - 10 (TWF) = 101 91

D100: 21; 7 DoS + 1 (Twin-Linked)

9 8 Hits total

 

Twin-Linked Heavy Bolter (Kraken Rounds): 2d10+10X + 2 (Mighty Shot), Tearing, Twin-Linked, Pen 8

Hit 1: (2, 1, 1) 3 + 10 + 2 = 15X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2: (2, 1, 2) 4 + 10 + 2 = 16X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3 (10 RF, 7, 4) 17 + 10 + 2 = 29X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3a (RF Bonus): (10 RF, 1, 6) 16 + 10 + 2 = 28X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3b (RF bonus): (9, 10 RF, 1) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3c (RF Bonus): (7, 8, 1) 15 + 10 + 2 = 27X damage, Pen 8

Hit 4 (4, 5, 7) 12 + 10 + 2 = 24X damage, Pen 8

Hit 5 (4, 5, 5) 10 + 10 + 2 = 24X damage, Pen 8

Hit 6 (6, 8, 3) 14 + 10 + 2 = 26X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7 (4, 10 RF, 2) 14 + 10 + 2 = 26X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7a (RF Bonus): (1, 1, 10 RF) 11 + 10 + 2 = 23X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7b (RF Bonus): (4, 6, 7) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 8 (6, 2, 8) 14 + 10 + 2 = 26X damage, Pen 8

Hit 9 (2, 10 RF, 2) 12 + 10 + 2 = 24X damage, Pen 8

Hit 9a (RF Bonus): (1, 6, 6) 12 + 10 + 2 = 24X damage, Pen 8

 

-10 penalty to dodge per the standard arrangement

 

To quote Inquisitrix Trinity, "Dodge this."

 

20 rounds expended from secondary (Kraken) ammunition drum (230/250 remaining).

Edited June 11 by Necronaut
I can't spell gud; replaced movement action with moar dakka

[Mazer Rackham]

The monstrosity fails to dodge the hurricane of death, but it does not go down easily.

 

The rippling blossoms of bolt-detonations arrest almost 12 inches from the beast, as each shell crumples into it, shuddering and jostling the jungle around it, with such terrible concussive, compression force.

 

The abomination seems to weather the storm, sickening vertiginous energies of the warp or some worse, alien blasphemy of that cursed realm, but a few of the shots go through, punching ruddy holes in Tyranid meat. Ichor and chitin flense from the wounds in horrific, organic shrapnel. It is pulverised by the remaining slugs when the kine-shield shimmers out of existence, and drops to the ground ingraciously, a butchered carcass.

 

It continues to gurgle and twitch in an erratic manner.

 

Yet it has taken much to destroy this...hovering horror.

 

Almost in disdain, it's fellow lets out a shriek, an empyric lance not unlike the one which struck you crashes into the pillars holding the aqueduct. Girders keen, metal fatigues, and hundreds of tons of water, adamantium pipeline, and all manner of algae slurry and foliage thunder down into the basin, sloshing and frothing in a blinding, slouging tumult.

 

The beast makes good it's escape, using the junle and created waterfall as cover.

 

By the time the quagmire settles, the beast is gone, and the survivors have been swept away in the rush. You are alone, a strange king of this broken swamp.

 

INITITIVE ENDS.

 

GM: We can move to some narrative now, of you going forward or attempting contact with other forces. It is clear even to the strange confusion inflicted upon you, that this is a delaying tactic. Somewhere the swarm is appying force you may threaten.

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

The dreadnought stood amongst the rushing maelstrom of water and plascrete and foliage torn asunder while he waited for gravity and the porosity of the surrounding soil to take effect, sinking slightly indo the newly created mud as the silt washed over his feet. He scowled angrily after the levitating monster whose kin he had cut down in classical Astartes fashion, wishing death and suffering upon it and its entire species as it flew away to safety. Once the flood subsided, he wrenched himself free from grasping earth and swept the area for any remaining xenos, taking the time to incinerate the remains of the fallen.

 

He needed to make contact with the rest of the Kill-Team.

 

Zvarog set his cypher-djinn to work tapping into the planetary comms network, what remained of it, and attempted to establish contact with his Deathwatch brethren via a secure channel…

 

+Brother-Sergeant Ojuka, this is Zvarog. Fortress Sigma-Six 7745 has been secured. What is your status, brother?+

Edited June 14 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Mocking static and fragmented data scraps are your only solace at distance, but the perimter beacon for the fortress now pings in your mantle. For good or ill. It now includes a pathfinder code which uploads a local map, showing that your current location is only the environs of the base. It appears the installation is significant - and even more significantly, is equipped with several subterreanean vaults of some depth.

 

The signal origin is a heavily fortified bunker layout of standard Imperial design, with a comms centre, garrison block, and vehicle bay. There is also a ears to be a generously proportioned central chimney, or possibly cargo lift.

 

At this distance, your auspex is engaging several returns. The base is under siege, and without significant resistance, if your intercepts are anything to go by.

 

The message from before repeats, and with nowhere else to go, you trudge forward, keeping your weapons primed for the filth which surely seek to thwart you further.

 

GM: Please make an Encounter roll on a D100, posting the result.

[Necronaut]

D100: 83

[Mazer Rackham]

Insult is added to injury, and it is grave indeed.

 

At the moment when only your hatred burns, now sorrow threatens to poison it. As your mighty form stomps forth, you discover a shallow fighting pit, dug in haste with bare hands and the consummate strength of the Astartes. His gauntlets are stained thick with sod, and soot, alien guts and human blood.

 

His heradldry is the only way you recognise him - still defiant in death where it grips and empty blot pistol. Watch-Sergeant Ojuka lies with armour rent and innards plundered by ravenous maws. His chest cavity is a mass of splintered bone, and coagulated mess. It is obvious his Quintessence Sacred has been devoured, the precious Geneseed of the Lord Rogal Dorn swallowed by beasts!

 

The foliage about him shows the ferocity of his stand. Piles of dead xenos lie in perfect, and varied fire arcs, many shot through the skull. The trees show burns, and the hard bites of shrapnel, where he expended his grenades. His combat knife lies buried to an inch shy of hilt in the skull of a Warrior-clade beast leader.

 

As you crest the slight incline of his final refuge you can why he stood here. A string of PDF bodies shows a determined, disciplined fall back by sections. No doubt the Celestial Lion had roared the oder, demanded they form a line while he bought them time. A child of Dorn, true.

 

Beyond is a bridge over a stout, but deep chasm whch separates the main structures and base proper. He, and the PDF were defending it, using it as a choke-point, and they forced the filth to come through them and death.

 

Vermin infest the base, slathering, slithering, slavering.

 

Swooping above in total control of the skies, secure in their superiority, are gargoyle genus swarms. They will see you in a few moments if their vector remains.

 

The occasional snap-crackle of lasfire and heavy-stubber analogues can be detected by your sensoria.

 

It is then, you hear the crack of a bolter - a whine of supersonic shell.

 

A Kraken Round.

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

+No!... NO!+

 

The unthinkable had happened.

 

But Brother Ojuka had accorded himself well, as one of the best-of-the-best. The mighty tally reaped by his fallen brother was documented in shocking clarity by his pict-recorders for later analysis by the Ordo Xenos, and the dreadnought only lingered briefly over the dead Celestial Lion, privately lamenting the theft and despoiling of his brother's gene-seed.

 

Every alien on this planet would have to die lest the Emperor's genetic gifts be incorporated into the swarm.

 

Throwing caution to the wind, Zvarog started to broadcast across all available frequencies while he stormed off in the direction of the bolter fire with all due haste, +KILL-TEAM SHRIKE, RESPOND! I AM EN ROUTE TO YOUR POSITION! BROTHER-SERGEANT OJUKA HAS FALLEN!+

 

His mighty double-barreled heavy bolter canted upwards while he powered towards the bridge, begging, wishing any of the bastards would fly close enough to die by his guns, and he scanned far and wide for any sign of the kill-team.

[Mazer Rackham]

The beasts sense your malevolent intent, and seek not only to grant your desire, but to destroy you.

 

The wretched fools.

 

MAP:

Spoiler

 

Initiative Order:

The Mighty Revenant, Zvarog the Living Death

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm A (30 Mag, 40m)

Tyranid Shrike (Warrior) A (Inside Swarm, 40m)

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm B (30 Mag, 40m)

Tyranid Shrike (Warrior) B (Inside Swarm, 40m)

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm C (30 mag, 30m)

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm D (30 mag, 30m)

 

Map Info:

GM: Grey box is the bridge, 15m wide, supported by Dark grey/Yellow boxes forming the bridge supports (AP 8, SP 30...foreshadowing...), bisecting the map is the gorge, (20-25m span, 50m depth). Shrikes require a Called Shot to target whilst inside Swarm.

 

GM: You may make an appraisal of these beasts with an Easy (+20) Forbidden or Scholastic Lore Check (Tyranids), (Deathwatch) or (Ordo Xenos).

 

As you sally forth to continue the Xenocide, your risk pays off.

 

+This is...Jocelyn, Honoured Ancient. The rumble...of your...vox-born fury is...welcome.+

 

It is quite obvious he is barely holding on. With each word, his breath rasps with deep slurry of pooling blood and pulverised organs. The wheeze of three lungs sounds even worse than a mortal pair. His dialogue is puncuated by his expected duty. Bolter rounds whizz-bang, detonating in a satisfying crump. As damaged as the White Consul is, he fights, and hits what he aims at.

 

Edited June 15 by Mazer Rackham
I cnat spull gud. Pls forgive, am sick as a dog.

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

Clearly the xenos yearned for their own demise, to be returned to the primordial oblivion from whence they came. 

 

And he would oblige them gladly. 

 

The deafening thunder of a twin-linked heavy bolter drowned out the clangor of a distant battle being waged further up the road, where Brother Jocelyn and others yet clung to life. 

 

+Hold fast, brother,+ he replied to the White Consul, remembering to modulate his vox output. +More of these pests bar my path, but I am close to your position. You do not have permission to die!+

 

 

Weight of Years Test to use Forbidden Lore (Deathwatch): 5 (int mod)

D10: 7 (lol)

 

Zvarog is still unable to recall any lore regarding these fiends! What a dummy!

 

Half Action: Aim

Half Action: FAB vs Garg Swarm D

BS51 + 20 (FAB) + 20 (Twin-Linked) + 10 (Short Range) + 10 (Horde) + 5 (Armour History) + 10 (Aim) = 126

D100: 56; 6 DoS + 1 (Twin-Linked) + 1 (Explosive)

8 hits total

 

Twin-Linked Heavy Bolter (Standard Rounds): 2d10+10X + 2 (Mighty Shot), Tearing, Twin-Linked, Pen 8

Hit 1: (2, 4, 6) 10 + 10 + 2 = 22X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2: (4, 3, 10 RF) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2a: (10 RF, 7, 9) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2b: (10 RF, 9, 6) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2c: (10 RF, 7, 9) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen 8

Hit 2d: (2, 8, 3) 11 + 10 + 2 = 23X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3: (9, 2, 10 RF) 19 + 10 + 2 = 31X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3a: (3, 10 RF, 3) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 3b: (7, 2, 6) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 4: (2, 1, 10 RF) 12 + 10 + 2 = 24X damage, Pen 8

Hit 4a: (5, 8, 8) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 5: (9, 9, 1) 18 + 10 + 2 = 30X damage, Pen 8

Hit 6: (9, 3, 4) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7: (3, 10 RF, 10RF) 20 + 10 + 2 = 32X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7a: (10 RF, 6, 4) 16 + 10 + 2 = 28X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7b: (10 RF, 10 RF, 4) 20 + 10 + 2 = 32X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7c: (10 RF, 3, 1) 13 + 10 + 2 = 25X damage, Pen 8

Hit 7d: (4, 6, 2) 10 + 10 + 2 = 22X damage, Pen 8

Hit 8: (3, 1, 2) 5 + 10 + 2 = 17X damage, Pen 8

 

 

19 hits total x 2 (Storm of Iron) = (up to) 38 magnitude damage

 

20 rounds expended from primary ammunition drum (420/500 remaining)

[Mazer Rackham]

Gargoyle Swarm D is eliminated.

 

The flocks of slavering were-bats and grotesque abominations against the laws of nature and physics do the hivemind's will, trying to fell and impede the great warrior and topple him to his doom even as thier shredded chicken wings and beaks are tossed to the wind by the fury of Zvarog's guns!

 

Tyranid Actions on:

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm A (30 Mag, 30m)

Spoiler

Half-action: Half move (Flyer) 10m (now at Zvarog's 10 O'Clock)

Half action: Standard Attack (Fleshborer)

BS D100: Hit, Head

Dam: 1D10 +2D10 (Mag) + 5 Pen 3 = 19 (no damage)

Attack causes acidic spill inflicting 1D3 of Armour Damage: 1

Arm location has Armour reduced by 1 AP.

Tyranid Shrike (Warrior) A (Inside Swarm, 30m)

Spoiler

Half-action: Half move (Flyer) 10m

Half action: Standard Attack (Deathspitter)

BS D100: 100, LOL.

 

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm B (30 Mag, 30m)

Spoiler

Half-action: Half move (Flyer) 10m (now at Zvarog's 1 O'Clock)

Half action: Standard Attack (Fleshborer)

BS D100: MISS

Tyranid Shrike (Warrior) B (Inside Swarm, 30m)

Spoiler

Half-action: Half move (Flyer) 10m

Half action: Standard Attack (Deathspitter)

BS D100: MISS

 

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm C (30 mag, 30m)

Spoiler

Charge Action Bridge Support (Middle Right)

Swarm Explodes!

Tyranid Gargoyle Swarm C is destroyed!

 

The bioforms hurl themselves in lunatic endeavour, recklessly colliding with the bridge stanchion, in a conflagration of explosive chemicals and a shower of flash-chem-fried giblets. The bridge recoils lurching, revealing their dishonest war-make. An insult to rob you of their deaths, and treachery in battle.

 

Surely, though their strategy is sound; the bridge will not support your weight much longer should more supports be lost...

Edited June 25 by Mazer Rackham

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

The bridge! The fiends meant to destroy it out from under him and bar the way to Brother Jocelyn and any other survivors! The uncountable heresies and atrocities committed by these vile creatures against both the Emperor's servants and His architecture notwithstanding, their gory demise by his hand could wait – he had to make it across the crumbling span! With a sudden burst of mechanical vigour, the dreadnought lurched forward and pounded across the bridge with a furious, unstoppable gait.

 

+I WILL NOT BE DENIED, FILTH!+

 

 

Full Action: Run across the bridge (42m)

 

GET TO DA CHOPPA! DO IT! DO IT

NOW!

Edited June 26 by Necronaut
Fixing stuff; forgot my action film quip

[Mazer Rackham]

As you reach the fastness of the bridge parapets on the far side of the gorge, the bigger flying aliens send most of their minion broodlings in a kamikaze run at the other bridge supports, completely destroying your escape.

 

Perhaps it is some version of a standing order, a vestigal command behaviour that they are compelled to satisfy. Almost as swiftly, the brutes move to escape, diving down into the canyon in the wake of the rubble, leathery wings snapping, screeching in a keening warble, that sounds to the human ear so much like cackling corvidae laughter.

 

No turning back now.

 

Jocelyn's transponder chimes in your mantle-augurs, giving you little time to contemplate such matters of destiny. Besides, you set foot on the path you tread long ago. The complex sprawls in front of you, partially hidden by the jungle. At this distance, the improvised fighting pits reveal a slop of bloody chum, a grisly witness to the defenders' fate. The ground rumbles, making everything shudder, as you assess the damage.

 

Chittering and bolt rounds exchange in a morbid chorus. There is no alternative - onward, and to Jocelyn's aid.

 

Should he still live.

 

GM: You may narrate an advance through bunkers, blockhouses, stores, etc, exchanging fire with roving packs of rippers, hormies, termis, etc as you will. As you move forward you should include repeated contacts with an Astartes transponder, finishing your narrative in a large courtyard, surrounded by large bunkers (vehicle bays, whatever).

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

The larger fortress complex was completely overrun, nay infested with the ravening extra-galactic filth, and as he strode through the neatly ordered rows of warehouses, barracks and depots, each constructed and arranged with the Adeptus Mechanicus’s slavish and obsessive attention to detail and adherence to standard Imperial templates, he took in the heaped carcasses of dead aliens and partially consumed humans alike, the flames of his inchoate fury stoked to a raging inferno.

 

The transponder from Jocelyn’s armour chirped weakly in his HUD, and soon the mindless beasts were upon him, almost as if drawn to the sound they could not have heard, or perhaps by the siren song of the forlorn hope he clung to that his Deathwatch brethren still lived. It was impossible to know, but he accelerated and ploughed into them like a threshing machine on an agri-world, rendering them into chitin and bloody paste.

 

The light tinkling of bone-needle projectiles plinking off his hull soon joined the din of battle, and their acidic discharge further scarred, marred and discoloured his ebon hull.

 

He was surrounded, mired in a one-sided combat with a dwindling clutch of multi-clawed monsters, whilst their missile hurling compatriots had clambered onto the roof of a nearby warehouse, of every nearby building, to fire upon him. 

 

+RAAARRGH! BEGONE, PESTS!+

 

His heavy bolter roared back to life, hewing apart rockcrete and tyranid scum alike as he swept it in a deadly arc all around him, and he stomped his way through the remainder of their number on the ground, coating the street with a sheet of meat-and-bone slurry.

 

And more were drawn to him by the awful racket he was making in his transit, seemingly being vomited forth both by the overrun fortifications and pliable earth of this accursed world alike. 

 

A living carpet of tyranid bioforms erupted from another bunker, their horrible little maws slicked with human blood, and he incinerated the lot of them as he passed, even as more of their larger cousins leapt onto his hull and scrabbled ineffectually at his inviolate armour plating with their crooked claws and bile-dripping jaws.

 

He caught a leaping monster in mid-air and crushed it with his enormous hydraulic-powered fist and hurled its remains into another clutch of hormagaunts which had emerged from around the bend of another intersection. He needed to be rid of the pests on his roof. Thinking quickly, he suddenly lurched to his left and rammed through the wall of a nearby building, sending the bodies of those which vexed his exterior flying and buying him a moment of respite in an explosion of rebar, sheet metal and plascrete. Pivoting around he worked his flamer and bolter in tandem to grind down the wave of filth following him and made a stand inside of the half-ruined building, mowing them down as they mindlessly barged through his makeshift entryway.

 

Eventually their numbers thinned to a trickle and he trampled back through the improvised portal, crushing a mountain of charred and mangled alien corpses as he passed.

 

This world seemed a lost cause, but it was not his place to question the orders of the Imperial commanders, only to kill. And kill. And kill. And kill.

 

He emerged back onto the major transportation artery and continued along past a fuel depot and another row of squat barracks, following Jocelyn's signal as it reminded him of its presence.

 

KA-CHOOM

 

Without warning, a nearby fuel tank deflagrated, its volatile contents suddenly and violently combusting, and the ruined pressure vessel was launched on a pillar of smoke and burning prometheum overhead. It cartwheeled lazily through the air, landing with a thunderous crunch a hundred meters distant, flattening an unsuspecting storehouse. He watched its procession through one of his hull cameras and cycled through his remaining ammunition stores, taking inventory of his equipment.

 

The irritating plink-plink of small calibre rounds failing to penetrate his armour coupled with a few dozen hostile contacts in his sensorium bright him back to the present and he descended upon the aliens while his heavy bolter spat mass-reactive death back at them. He blew them all to smithereens. More of their compatriots arrived to claw at him even and he signed their death-warrants in turn with hammer and tong, fist and leg-strut.

 

He continued in much this manner mowing down and flattening the beasts as they came upon him while he strode through the labyrinthine network of fortifications and redoubts interspersed by pockets of thick jungle flora which had inexplicably survived, heeding the intermittent call of a Deathwatch armour transponder. He eventually passed through a ruined gate and emerged into a large courtyard, of sorts, lined on all sides by large, slab-sided bunkers and a couple of vehicle bays.

 

By now, the ebon paint of his frame was thoroughly scraped and gouged all over, and the red talon of his parent chapter was all but worn away by corrosive bio-weapons and claw marks. Even his silver machine-gauntlet was sporting fresh scars and the tell-tale discolouration of severe acid exposure. His magnificent banner hung in tatters from the pole atop his frame, its glorious golden-black fabric half-ruined by the teeth and nails of his enemies, yet the silver death's head of the Ordo Xenos yet remained clear to see, defiant and menacing, scowling eternally at any who would dare his wrath.

 

The chirping from Jocelyn's armour had become more persistent as he neared, but his attempts to raise his sworn-brother on the vox were unsuccessful. 

 

Surely he was close. Surely he was not too late…

Edited June 26 by Necronaut
Formatting, spelling, added some more (surface-level) battle damage

[Mazer Rackham]

You emerge into a compound courtyard, the concrete and tarmac patchwork demarcations stitiches of yellow and white piant, denoting the zones of lading and hazard. In this courtyard, a mighty battle has been waged. Skitarii lie broken and sparking, weapons and robes ruined and distorded in colour from red to odd purple-pink by acidic spittle and alkalin ichor. Gouts of promethium have scorched the pale grey walls with black soot, before further trauma caised in spalling from lasbolts and gaurd heavy weapons - autocannon shells have scooped divots of hardcore, heavy bolter rounds puched great craters in ferrocrete. All around are the torn and exploded scatter of  irregular glass globules from sandbags given over to volcanic heat.

 

That is not all.

 

Chitin and alien bone are cracked, smouldering and broken, much as in your war-make, the war-path you have laid with your own devastating train of vengeance. It is an affront they are stacked in amongst the identifiable human bodies of Imperial Guard soldiers, dock-menials, and even half-brain servitors. All gave thier humanity to die with the attackers who sought to devour them.

 

It is blasphemy that the alien stain each of these heroes by their disgusting touch, let alone the abhorrent comingling of blood.

 

Yet what were they defending here?

 

There appears to be nothing of great import - just a loading quay and some vehicle manouvring pans. SOme storehouses and slab-bunkers. Nothing.

 

It is then you see him.

 

Jocelyn lies in a pool of congealing, rich, Astartes blood, a great fan of broken and dead foemen in an arc around him. One of his arms is missing, and you spot the quicksilver sleeve carried by the jaws of some slavering monster by his left leg. It has the top of it's skull excavated - possibly by the last round in his bolter's magazine, for the bolt is loced in rearward position. Similarly, his bolt pistol is lying exhausted, and all his grenades and knife are gone as well. His body is cored once, by a huge rent, a massive gouge of a single talon, starting in his chest, and rapidly tapering down his abdomen. A slash of blood and corresponding scar on the wall behind him tell the rest.

 

He is guarding nothing. Nothing. And yet...

 

Your cyber-sensoria detects power fluctuations. There is a power mantle here, buried behind layers of...adamantium? A signal is weak but there. Perhaps, if you can snare it noospherically...

 

Then it happens, a deep, bass rumble. A megalodon snarl in the deep, a brachiodont in the misty jungles of anceint Cretacia, Terra, anywhere with reptiles large enough to stomp a Chimera APC flat.

 

A great pile of rubble shifts as something monstrous powers its way towards another apex brute violating its lair. The beast is enormous, easily hulking over even your redoubtable form. Befuddled memories are thrust aside.

 

Genus: Carnifex

Threat: Maximus.

 

And it looks at you, long and hard, before stalking into the courtyard, hard stomps proving malevolent sentience, one monster sizing up another. Long scything talons lift and fall, the tips crazing the metalled floor beneath, and it lets out a bellow that is nought but a challenge to the death.

 

GM: I'll hold for a bit of narrative reception, posturing etc, and then once done we'll move to Initiative.

[Necronaut]

Revenant Zvarog

 

The lone, battered dreadnought stared down the hulking, reptilian monstrosity and stalked over to stand between it and Jocelyn’s eviscerated form. The fingers of his power fist opened and closed like he would have done with his flesh-and-blood hands, his rage unbound, now worked up to the brink of all out frenzy. Jocelyn had died well, with scores of the enemy heaped around him. 

 

His death would not be in vain.

 

Zvarog knew it was a waste of time to mince words with these disgusting hive-minded xenos, but he nevertheless raised his silver talon and pointed at the thing and roared his challenge across the shattered and gore-slicked courtyard, where he would duel this rapacious alien to the death. His metallic voice reverberated within the arena with a cybernetic malice and hatred borne of centuries of war and slaughter.

 

+IF YOU WANT HIM, THEN YOU MUST COME AND TAKE HIM!+

[Mazer Rackham]

The malevolent glare you get, complete with a glimmer of malign intellect that is surprising in a beast of this volume, is the acceptance of your challenge.

 

MAP:

Spoiler

 

GM NOTES/MAP INFO: Little cirlces = sandbags, Blue circles = barrels, Brown boxes = crates, J = Jocelyn. Hatched areas are just 'loading zones' etc.

 

Init Order:

Zvarog, the Destroyer of Wretches

Bob the Carifex Primus, Genus Screamer-Killer (big arms,, squeezy claws etc, bioplasma attack) (40m)

 

 

 

Edited June 29 by Mazer Rackham