This was not a good situation but perhaps it wasn't as bad as it seemed, the information of where this crates were and what they contain should be useful, now the only problem would be exiting.
Seeing no other option and not wanting to loss time Mikael decided to go for the ravines as quick as he could in order to share this information, hopefuly the Emperor would look out for him this day.
You start up the slopes best you can.
It's difficult work, but you're tough and tenacious. You grab for handholds amid the rocky, metallic soil, and hoist yourself up. Your boots find traction easily enough as well, and you leverage that in concert with your arms to hoist yourself up swiftly. One bit of metallic debris stuck in the side of the ravine after another, checking your shotgun is still slung every few seconds, the distance vanishing surprisingly quickly.
Thank the Emperor for flak lined gloves and boots, else you'd be coming out of this minus a few fingers and toes.
You hand reaches the top of the ravine, and you hoist your self up and over the top. Sweat pours down, your face, and you wait a moment to drink from your canteen before you spring up to head back to the make shift encampment.
(OOC: Athletics, Success with 4 DoS. You get out of there with plenty of time. You can either rush back and report your findings, or take the risk on retrying your Scavenging (TN 48) at the risk of another Random encounter)
Smoop froze as she felt, rather than heard, the terrible click under her foot.
Wonderful. She'd survived the battle, even getting shot, and now she was going to get blown to pieces looking for a bite to eat. She took a deep, shuddering breath, keeping her foot as still as she could. Then she noticed an unfamiliar figure bumbling around nearby.
"Hey, uh... new guy," she called out, wishing she'd bothered to listen out for his name. "Kind of... need a hand here. Might be a little hazardous. I'll owe you a big one if we can make it work though."
Antonius Freeze up for a bit as he was address before looking back at the the woman, as first he was confuse seeing her a bit pale but nothing wrong, what could she need help for, until he look down at the where she standing and see a small dust under her foot, it only took a moment for he to understand stand with dawn out horror as look back toward the woman, then he contemplates going back to camp to ask for help, so he walk to the woman position as fast as possible while remain silent and cautious looking around the ground
It took a few second before he stand before the woman, eyes look down at the disk as he open his mouth: "how exactly do you need my help?"
It doesn't take long to find a suitable piece of debris, a heavy metal plate half buried under an inch of soil, that might've once between part of the outer structure of a building that's long been torn down, or else torn from the hive itself.
Antonius drags it over to where Nyla is standing atop the mine. Now to just get it in under the boot. He slowly inches the heavy plate under her boot, sweat pouring down his face with every millimeter of space shoved forward.
Then Nyla stumbles forward, as the plate, shoved to fast, disturbs her balance, and he her boot slides off the pressure trigger.
Desperate, Nyla kicks backward with the other boot, it landing half atop the plate and half atop the pressure trigger barely a split second after her other boot had stumbled off of it, and before the trigger can fully release.
No explosion. A released breath.
Antonius continues to shove the plate forward, millimeter by millimeter until, as last, it's fully atop the trigger, Nyla's boot holding it down.
Sweat pours down faces. Another breath is released.
Nyla steps off the heavy plate.
No explosion.
A moment to breath freely. A death barely averted, it must seem so.
Scrape
Nyla's head snaps over to the plate, as it slowly slides off the pressure trigger, without the pressure of her boot to hold it's irregular, curved surface in place. Damnit, why hadn't they thought of that? They should-
Click
Then there's no more time to think. Nyla throws herself to the ground only a split second behind Antonius, both bring up their armored gloves to cover their faces.
Then sound and thought are hammered away as the mine detonates.
Pressure. Heat.
Then, a moment later, a steel rain as fragments of the metal plate and the mine's casing rain down on both legionaries, deflecting off their helmets and flak jackets.
A moment of seeming silence, either natural or imposed by brutalized eardrums.
Then both Legionaries stand up, and set off to leave this unfortunate incident behind.
(OOC: Failed first attempt with 0 DoF, failed second with 2 DoF, both passed test to dodge prone on TN 27 and 40 for Nyla and Antonius respectively. You can either head back to base camp or reattempt your search (TN 66 with Antonius assisting Nyla)
No damage dealt by the mine as well. You got a low enough damage roll that the combination of prone and your armor absorbed the entire hit)
+++++++++++++++++++++
Jeradresh sighed. Of all the people to go and get themselves shot. "Sylvia was her name, yes, Sergeant O'Garan. We all could have used another medicus around, but..." he trailed off. Little more needed to be said about that.
The heathen coughed into his fist at Nora and Hansan's interruption, and raised a hand. "It is fine, I understand where Nora comes from. Where I came from...Well, only the God-Emperor had time or strength enough to weep for the fallen, if that makes sense? Right now, it's enough for the living to concern themselves with staying alive. The dead are dead, and I feel it best we worry about them once we no longer need fear join them, yes?"
"Nonetheless, my sympathies for your fallen. I am sure they dwell with the Emperor now."
"Practical attitude." Hansan says. "I suppose we are living in an extended disaster scenario. Practicality is what we need."
You can tell it doesn't sit right with the youth, regardless.
"Nobs?" Jeradresh muttered, brow furrowed. "Isn't that some sort of euphemism for...Oh. Nobility, that's it." He said, snapping his fingers. So the man had stolen a noble's...
Jeradresh's head jerked upward, eyes wide. "By the Holy Emperor, did you say you stole a horse?" he asked, leaning forward. "There are not any in my homeland, but I have read of these 'horses'! Such fearsome, noble warbeasts, the pride of the Imperium's famed 'rough riders'! There was a quote by some Imperial Guard commander, I forget the name, talking about how they're even more stirring than a Titan! I am amazed you stole one of those beasts and lived to tell the tale! It didn't tear your throat out with its deadly fangs or vicious claws?"
"I know such a brave act would have left my kin swooning! Are they not famously loyal creatures? How did you not..." Jeradresh paused, seeing the other man's hesitation. "Perhaps another time then..."
"No it's...." Obed shakes his head. "It's fine." He pauses another moment, perhaps showing it's not quite fine.
"Rantisari hive is a lot like where you come from, Pagan. Gotta stay sharp even if someone takes your partner to confessional." Obed continues. You are struck by the oddness of the metaphor.
"Iven would want me to make it off this dungheap of a world, rather than get myself shot getting weepy over soon to be corpse starch." He pauses. "After his killer got his, but you already took care of that for me. Owe you for that."
You try not to look confused. When had that been...
Oh. The Frenzon. Of course.
"But yeah...Horses." He pauses a moment. "They're fearsome, for sure. In their natural form, easily a meter and a half tall at the shoulders, perhaps a tonne in weight. Claws as sharp as a mono knife, a bite that can tear out a man's throat. Able to take most of an autorifle mag before it drops, I hear, and it'll still trample you to death before it notices it's dead."
"And that's
before the Nobs augment em." He continues. "Armor plating, synthmuscle, Chem reservoirs. Anything to make their mount all the deadlier and tougher."
The rest of Obed's new squad seem rapt in attention. Voidborn you reckon, must have even less experience with such magnificent beasts than you do.
"Loyal too, of course. Horse lords train with them from birth, and in most circumstances you'd be a right moron to think you can take one. Especially since most Horse Lords don't even live, or keep their mounts, in the Hives." Obed says. "But the local Nob, Countess Resnik-Korosec, liked to parade hers through our hablock, every other month. Show of force, as if she was scarier than the Confessors."
"During one of those parades, me and Iven, we noticed that the Countess didn't use reins like a normal rider." He taps the side of his head. "She had interface plugs that were connected to the thing's spine. The Horse was little better than a Servitor."
"So we waited until she tied it up outside the local Cathedral and..." He makes a gesture with his hands, something to do with wires. "A little Hiver prayers, and it did whatever our dataslate told it to do."
"Wait. You interfered with the sanctity of a Servitor and rigged an MIU up to a Dataslate?" O'Garan asks. You're not sure if her tone is impressed or horrified.
"We said the proper prayers." Obed says.
"What proper prayers? Are you a trained tekkie?" Hansan asks.
"No, but for the right price one of the Coggirls will tell you any prayer you want to know." Obed says, raising his hands. "Especially if you offer them half of a Warhorse's augmetics."
"Alright, fair enough I suppose." O'Garan says. "How'd you get caught?"
"Lasted two weeks." Obed says, flashing a grin. "Me and the rest of the gang all ate well on Horseflesh, and we got a pretty throne from the butchers and Cyberdocs for the Augmetics. Even got paid two thousand thrones for the skull...."
"God Emperor in the Void, two thousand thrones? I could've paid off near half my debts for that." Nora says, glaring at the thief.
"Then me and Iven got drunk in the wrong bar and a Confessor heard us bragging about what we did." Obed says, shrugging his shoulders. "They told us the Lady Resnik was a merciful sort, so instead getting fed alive into the Corpse grinders, we'd we be sent to Vankilla to atone for the lifetimes of sin we'd accrued."
"Well...." O'Garan says, at that entire story. "I hope you remember some of those Prayers. We might need them."
"I'll try." Obed says. "I won't even charge you."
Jeradresh shrugged his shoulders. "Well, whatever happens I will be fine. The Emperor loves me," he chuckled, raising his palms. "I know I must sound like a madmen saying that, but I should be dead a dozen times over! Charging across an open field is significantly less frightening than having to convince a platoon of Imperial Guardsmen and their bloody tank not to shoot me."
"I saw my favorite servant eat a tank shell, and the butler chopped in half by lasgun fire. But here I am, safe and sound. Whatever the enemy have got, the Emperor they have not."
Jeradresh frowned, considering a moment. "Ah, and yes, I did have servants. Well, my mother had servants. I suppose I am ah, nobility, though I certainly did not have a tower in the clouds. More a few head of grox and a dilapidated country estate. If the latter did not get sold to cover my uncle's gambling debts. At the rate things were going I would have been lucky to inherit three grox and a groundbike. Honestly, the Imperial liberation was lucky. I took out some hefty loans at the university on the assumption I would actually inherit anything."
"I would call if unfortunate my degree is worthless now, but my mother would say it was useless even before the Imperium happened," Jeradresh chuckled. "I think the evidence speaks for itself, it's just like that Inquisitive fellow said, the Emperor must truly love me."
He waved a hand. "Still, for your lots' sake I hope it's not charging across open ground. I mean, our artillery is pounding the ground hard, so at the very least we should have cover, I think? Has anyone heard if the enemy has tanks? If they don't, then our own armor should have free reign, no?"
"A nob, huh?" O'Garan says. "Well, you seem alright enough to me regardless, despite being a Pagan and a Nob." Most of the rest of her squad, including Obed nod.
"Just don't tell us you used to work for the Pagan equivalent of a Charter Corporation, and we'll get along fine, yeah?" Hansan adds after a moment. You're not sure what that is, but it doesn't seem like anything you'd been associated with.
"Not a Noble." One of Colm's squad says, the massively built Genebulk stubber operator. A moment passes. "The power and privileges of the Nobility are a design in the Emperor's grand vision." He rumbles again. "Therefore, if you are from a Pagan world, you by definition
cannot be granted the privileges of noble birth."
A moment passes, and no one can argue with the logic of that.
"Alright, Nob status or not, I wouldn't be so confident." Obed says. "If the Emperor favors you, that's great, but it's a lot like luck, right? It'll run out before you know it. Best to make your own, yeah?"
"Says the man who got rich, then blew it by getting drunk." Nora mutters.
"Yeah, exactly." Obed smiles. "Real lucky. Real favored yeah? Right up until I wasn't."
He waved a hand. "Still, for your lots' sake I hope it's not charging across open ground. I mean, our artillery is pounding the ground hard, so at the very least we should have cover, I think? Has anyone heard if the enemy has tanks? If they don't, then our own armor should have free reign, no?"
@Easter @Sir_Travelsalot
It seems likely to both Albert and Celine that the enemy does indeed have some form of armor.
Albert knows that a hive on a wealthier world would be able to muster entire divisions of tanks, and keep them well maintained enough to parade entire regiments before the populace every month or so. However, on so ramshackle a world as Rorschah Mundi? Who could know. These people might well have forgotten half the techlore needed to maintain a Siegfried tractor, much less a Leman Russ.
(OOC: Lore (Hive Cities) pass with 0 DoS).
Celine knows a bit more. She knows that armored vehicles are preciously rare on Rorschah Mundi. The expense of maintaining even a single regiment of tanks could bankrupt the lesser Spire Lords who held command of the lesser spires and demi-hives and outhive cities, and even in her home hive....well, they'd only seen Mother Kare's armored might once, and though the iron monsters had certainly been impressive, there'd only been a precious few hundred of them in the armored processional, and who knows how few thousands in total in the Mother of City's arsenal?
It seems likely to her that any armored might that Hive Lozepath has is held in reserve for a more vital moment that duking it out with the vast amount of armor that the Imperial Guard could bring to bear. Even with the limited view she could've seen of that firepower, there must've been near on five hundred tanks in Hezean colors alone, much less other regiments and the technological marvels the Skitarii must've brought. No, they'd want to bleed away those numbers with fortifications first before they ran out anything so precious as a tank.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi passed with 3 DoS)
"...Does anyone else here know how to sing or dance? We could put on a show of our own devising for a while, until the order to march comes. Certainly seems like it'd be nicer than sitting here and thinking about what's like as not to happen."
Arriving in time to hear Celine's question Albert pipes up with a bit of an embarrassed look "I've only ever sang when my brother and I went to the shrine to attend service, outside of that I've not much experience with anything like that."
"I can sing quite well, but I am afraid I know no Imperial songs," Jeradresh said, shrugging his shoulders. "I would offer to sing my own native songs, but well, last time I did there was a small misunderstanding and I am wary of doing so again."
"We used to run a choir group, back home." Sergeant O'Garan says. "Course, we're down two people...may they rest in the Emperor's light..."
"We know most the big ecclesiastical and Mechanicus hymns ." She thinks. "The Fede Imperialis, The Imperial Hymnal, A Mighty Fortress is our Emperor, The Hymnal of Engine Commencement and Hymn of Reforging, the Voidman's Hymn..."
Celine doesn't recognize the back half of those, but then she supposes the Voidborn probably won't recognize "Hymn to Terra's Spires" themselves.
"Course, there's work songs too. Doubt these Tumeng have ever heard 'We All Lift Together.'" Nora adds. "Or 'Airgate Lament'."
"That one's about getting executed." Hansan says. "Don't think anyone wants to sing that."
Probably not, though Celine knows there's a broad genre on Rorschah Mundi about much the same thing. Mostly about being thrown off the Hive Spire or dumped into the sump, instead of being marched out an airlock, though.
"Plenty of options." O'Garan says. "You know any of those, Lanate?" She asks Celine. "Or anything of your own."
(OOC: Well, what music does Celine know? Are you willing to join O'Garan's squad in a religious hymn?)
