You lose less XP. For example, the last -100XP would have been a -150XP without it.
Thresholds are 10%, 25%, 50% 75% and 90%.
Loyalty is its own Reward (A Traitor Legion Chapter Master Quest)
- Thread starter ThunderOwl
- Start date
Thresholds are 10%, 25%, 50% 75% and 90%.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
I got so freaking lucky. I re-checked my plan, found I forgot to assign the 10 extra Heavy Bolters anywhere, and edited them in less than 5 minutes before the vote closed. Holy shit.
One thing if you could tell my real quick who´s supposed to wear the prototype armors in each deployment, I would appreciate it.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
For Brudenell it's meant for the 10th Company squads and for Radio Silence it's for the 10th Company squads, Catilina, his Lieutenants, and his Company Ancient. The remainder are to be equipped to whoever it is believed will make best use of them or simply as quick replacements in case any get damaged. That last part's up to Catilina and Karark Zel's discretion... AKA yours
Edit: @ThunderOwl
Is it possible for production to not cost one of Karark Zel's actions if the equipment being made doesn't require Senior Techmarines or a Master of the Forge?
And is it possible to build Storm Eagles, Stormhawks, and Stormtalons?
Last edited:
Will have to think about it.
I'll wiki dive for info about them and if they pass muster I'll add them to the production tables in turn 7
In the Blood Part 2
This conclusion to In The Blood is brought to you by Myrok's 8 Weapon Skill, 8+2 Agility, some impressive dice rolls, the almost Shakespearean monologue of an introvert who finally is going to let loose with all the shit he's wanted to dump for ages, and me forgetting about finishing this omake for a few days because new books.
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In The Blood Part 2
The appearance of Falce was somewhat expected.
"Marcus, Tullius, the Chapter Master has called us for assembly in the primary training hall."
"Who is 'us', Falce?"
"All who are currently informed of the technicalities of our origins."
A mass assembly was not. Especially not one organized along those lines, nor one called the day before the Night of Fright.
Falce did not wait for their answer, already moving onwards to presumably round up the rest of the called. Tullius gave Marcus a gentle slap on the pauldron as he moved towards the door.
"Look on the bright side – if they haven't killed you by now, they aren't likely to do it here, and I don't think you did poorly enough to warrant a serious punishment."
There was an urge to punch him in the face for his flippancy. Marcus might have followed through on it if it didn't feel like the Keep was bound to his limbs.
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They were too disciplined to let it show to most, but to the eyes of Myrok the confusion was clear as day. They needed more training if something as simple as a large elevated vid-screen to either side of him was enough to crack their composure. For his own part, he stood like a statue, barely breathing and taking the time to meet the eyes of each and every Marine as they gathered.
(It didn't quite make it into his musings that what confused most of them was the sight of their Master of Recruits in robes, slightly favoring one side and with nothing but the haft of a training staff to occupy his hands at the same time that the rest of them were in full armor and kit, some wearing their helmets and some not).
It would be inaccurate to call his thoughts calm, but they were for lack of better words sharp and flat as a razor. It almost resembled the crystalline clarity that he embraced in battle, but somehow...lacking in the energy that fueled it. He could honestly say that he'd never quite felt like this before, and he wasn't sure what it was or where it was coming from.
The last of the called entered the hall, and took up their positions. There was a subtle division in their arrangement, along the lines of friendships old and new, cliques that had arisen in the wake of the revelation. But they weren't hostile to each other, and that was good enough for what came next.
He stood in silence for a short while longer, letting them work themselves up in suspicions then back down as no threat made itself known. When he judged them sufficiently restless but pacified, in the hunter's calm he'd drilled into them since that first day in selection, he spoke.
"22 days past, a mission was sent out to aid the Luctusians in their task of clearing the main roads as part of the establishment of a planetary government. You will be shown recordings of that mission, taken from the vid-thieves in our helmets. Observe, evaluate, analyze, and learn."
Taking his signal, Karark activated the vid-screens from where he was concealed in the next room over, and the recordings began to play. One from his own helmet, one from Marcus', the only editing being a slight alteration to ensure the two differing feeds did not overly overlap each other. Myrok paid them no attention for he had created one and already seen the other; he kept his eyes on his students instead.
"Squad 1, spread out and pair up. Meltas on the outside, plasma on the inside".
That this put them in overlapping fire with the Master of Recruits in one of the kill zones did not go unnoticed, judging by the slight increase in tension.
Long minutes passed as the Mist Shrikes advanced along the gullies and small valleys of the Iron Hills, Stalker Bolters quietly coughing as assorted monsters were quickly and ruthlessly put down. Only the occasional roar-hiss of meltas and searing electrical noise of plasma guns disturbed the relative quiet. Those that got too close were dispatched with casual ease by a short, sharp blow from a chainglaive or more rarely a swift rain of mutilating cuts from a chainsword.
Until the almost hypnotic pattern was broken by a tense voice over the comms.
"What is he doing? He must have noticed by now."
"Clear the comms, Brother Jovan. We're not done yet."
"Marcus, he's not just giving us his back he's acting as bait and been standing in a crossfire this whole time. He knows what we think of him, why is he still there?"
"And the more you ramble about it, the more likely it is he will notice and do something. Be silent and patient."
"Jovan has a point – we are well away from any aid, the atmospheric conditions are blocking long range communications, and we have the right weapons for our task. When are we planning to make our move?"
"When I say we are, Mikhail. This is not so simple a thing that any ground will do."
The reaction from the crowd upon hearing that exchange was immediate. What had been small separations became wide open trenches as the groups separated, turning inwards and outwards simultaneously as hands drifted to weapons and unworn helmets raised towards head. "Cease." The command wasn't shouted, but it resonated through the room all the same and stopped the preparations cold. "Your instructions were to observe, evaluate, analyze, and learn. Are you certain you have all the relevant information?"
Whatever they had been anticipating, a question straight out of a stereotypical schola tutor's mouth wasn't it, and it was enough to break them out of their combative stances. Myrok motioned back towards the vid-screens, and sullenly his students complied though they did not stand quite as close as they had before. The recordings had not paused.
This sequence repeated itself thrice more, as it became clear that Marcus and his squad were planning murder and betrayal; especially obvious when the differentiated audio helped the viewers understand the Master of Recruits was not included in the comms network they were speaking over. Just as it did and had in this view into the past, tensions rose higher and higher, but no one moved to strike even as palms gripped tight round knife hilts and fingers hovered near triggers. Through it all, Myrok stood calm and seemingly complacent, giving not-quite-barked commands and terse guidance in genial, almost amused tones.
Eventually, they came to a dell, scrubby and sharp-edged in the mist. It might have been picturesque if it wasn't for the caves and the colored webs that blended well with the dark rock. But for the auto-senses in their helmets, they might have missed them entirely.
"These are not signs we've seen before. Pull back closer to the mouth of the valley, and prepare for volley fire."
When Marcus and the rest had set up their positions – still with their original target in their sights – Myrok seized a large boulder, hefted it, and slammed it into the nearest webbing with a muffled crack of rock on padded rock. Immediately there was a sort of rattling screech echoing from nearby, and a series of nightmares erupted from the nearest holes in the stone.
They were tall – three times the height of an Astartes – and skittered on anywhere from four to six long legs of serrated chitin, hoisting a long thin abdomen aloft that was topped with an oversized mandibled head that bore far too many eyes. As the gathered Marines opened fire, two of them swung their guts forward and unleashed tight cones of more webbing, which only luck of the Emperor spared them from as the first blasts of the meltas caught and incinerated the barrage. They screeched and fell back as their shells melted and ran like candlewax at the edge of the guns' range, stumbling as their suddenly weak forelegs were lacking in carapace to sustain their weight. Another one was immediately felled as the twin plasma guns blew its face off and explosively separated its torso in two, while three others were riddled with rapid-fired bloody craters and fell a moment after.
Then they were among the Marines a heartbeat later, and a disciplined line was forced to draw chainswords and split up to dance a frenzied staccato; hammering limbs tried to bowl over and stab armored giants and whirring diamantine teeth aimed severing blows to cut them down, while opportunistic shots were aimed at the now visible orifices from which the webbing fell like disgustingly sticky rain.
Brother Andro was caught in a thrown net that pinned his right side, and reeled back in faster than was thought possible as his captor began to retreat. He would have been lost entirely had Brother Tobias not lunged between the dueling combatants and blown its ass clean off with a perfectly placed krak grenade. Before they could be boxed in, Myrok was there and cut down and decapitated two of the spider monsters with a dozen sweeping blows in half as many seconds, flickering backwards and forwards along the ground in a blur of silver and midnight blue. He dragged them back under covering fire from Marcus and Jovan, taking a moment to back off and drop their blades as they hammered the triggers until the magazines ran out.
Nobody commented on how the bolts flew so close to Myrok that for a few perilous moments he seemed haloed in tracers and flashing metal.
More shrieking echoed off the rocks, and more of the creatures erupted out of their lairs; drawn by the smell of fresh blood or the sound of a battle promising a weakened feast, it didn't really matter. The initial wave had been slaughtered, and though some portions of armor were cracked the only two who were combat hindered were Andro and Calmas, webbed as they were. Whatever it was made of, it was exceptionally tough and slightly stretchy; Calmas had been sawing at the shroud covering his helmet with his monomolecular combat knife ever since it blinded him, and had not made much headway.
"Mark this location and retreat. We will come back here with air support later."
They did so, firing as they went with two of them one-handing their bolters as they carried their incapacitated. Some of the oncoming assailants changed direction to swarm and eat those weakened brethren that remained, while the rest came forth in a collapsing but still advancing wave as disciplined shots tore them apart.
The withdrawal was proceeding apace until a call of "RIGHT HIGH!" alerted the Mist Shrikes that some of these spider-monsters were smarter than they appeared.
The leader – and that was the first thought as it was almost half again the size of the ones they killed, with ten interweaving legs blitzing over the crags – nearly slammed into and wrecked the formation before Myrok leapt up the slope like an old pre-Dark-Age Terran goat. A short plasma burst nailed one of its eyes and lured it in with a deeper roar than the others had demonstrated, and the battle that followed was breathtaking in its savagery.
Watching it from Myrok's perspective on the vid-screen was an almost nausea-inducing whirl of colors that barely made sense even to enhanced Astartes senses, and some of the gathered brothers hoped it was an artifact of the recordings being insufficient because...well, they had much further to go than they thought if that was how it appeared in real time. What seemed an age later but video time-stamps marked as slightly less than two seconds, the rest had retreated far enough that it could be seen from the edge of Marcus' viewpoint, and it wasn't much clearer then. The clash of exoskeleton on chain glaive rang out over hill and dale like a chorus of saws and hammers on anvils, and where Myrok was a whirlwind of polearm 'round midnight dervish that thrashed the mist into eddies and whorls; the "Spider Chief" was a deranged interweaving of crossing and uncrossing legs that was far more coordinated than any beast should ever be, even as it lost one and then two limbs.
Then it apparently decide this fight wasn't worth the effort, recoiling and springing over its foe's head to launch a web at the center of the formation.
It didn't go unnoticed; Marcus called "SCATTER!" and his squad mates complied with alacrity. He was too slow in throwing Calmas away from the danger, as the snare landed on his turned back and yanked him away. Even with the knowledge that Marcus was very obviously still standing there, a stone sank into many guts in that hall.
A flying tackle from Myrok barreling into Marcus, interrupting the escape as the force and weight threw the spider off balance. "PULL THEN DODGE!" rang out from the helmet's speakers, and three other marines mag-locked their guns and embraced the duo. With their feet under them, the five heaved with all their might and the off-balance monster fell in a tangle of flailing legs as approximately a ton and a half of muscle and ceramite dragged it down before separating.
Even as they fell apart, surrounded on all sides by his brothers, Myrok couldn't take full advantage of his own advice as the skittering horror decided to prove that those serrated spines of its appendages weren't just for show. As it went down, it twisted and lashed out with an extended limb, slamming into his left, breaking arm and armor both and cutting a bloody gash along his chest as the strike sent him and shards of plate flying back the way he'd come.
No call for fallen brethren was made, no exhalation of rage or exhortation to greater efforts. Brother Blagoy simply assaulted forwards, vaulting over the still waving stems until he fired a near-point-blank melta blast into the chest of the beast, just behind its head.
With their apparent leader dead and the four hauling marines returning to add their gunfire to the slackening line (Even Marcus, slowly dragging the chunk of web-connected corpse behind him), the horde apparently decided to cut their losses and run, chased by shell and energy shot until they could no longer be seen in the mist. The scattered corpse-meat was quickly webbed and dragged away in the process until the only sign of battle was craters, burns, bloodstains, and the occasional fragment of animal carcass too small to care about.
A short time later, a half ring of Marines in emergency-patched armor surrounded Myrok at a short distance as he sank to one knee, the Mist working its way through the gaps in the armor and into his blood. No weapons were leveled and no words were said as the spiking vitals readout on Myrok's HUD indicated his coming death. Subtle turns of helmets portrayed unease as the conspirators looked to each other to make the first move.
The stalemate was broken by Marcus moving forward laboriously, still dragging that abdomen and sextet of legs behind him. He reached into one of his armored compartments, withdrew one of the emergency stimms Valzadai had worked up to counteract the Mist's effects, and offered it to his teacher. Too weak to take and apply it himself, Myrok nodded, and the hypodermic jet was plunged into the emergency port at the base of the armor's neck. Sealant foam was used to cover the wound, then emergency cement applied to patch the armor.
"Pair up and butcher any remaining parts, and call for pickup. Those things must have some sort of solvent they use on these webs. And try to keep the heads in repairable condition."
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Silence reigned for what seemed a year in the auditorium as the feed cut out, howling thoughts and emotions raging behind stone faces.
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Then Myrok slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, drawing attention with the slightly echoing report.
"Temptation is part of our lot in life. Little errors in moments of passion spiraling into larger errors in judgment descending into terrible errors in action. And just as our successes are greater than those of mortal men, so too are our failures. Marcus is to be commended for averting such a thing, for we understand how difficult it can be to stay the course.
For all that he liked to claim he was the blade in the night, the scourge of the guilty, Konrad Curze was more blunt than a bag of hammers. He was terrified of something. Of what, we never found out, even when we could see the little signs of it as his control slipped. It got the best of him far more often than it ever should have, making him clumsy and blind. But he was still a Primarch – our Primarch – and even at his worst he was well above any of us. Until the Exterminatus of Nostromo he even still cared to teach, to help, or tried to in his own brutal way. So we took our cues from him, because it got the job done and brought Imperial Compliance with a minimum of damage. For a while.
That's the most insidious curse of war – the honor of a soldier, mortal or Astartes, only rarely consists of mercy, of constraining your might and means. Far more often it's merely a matter of target selection and collateral damage, because if you are going to war anyway softer means have already failed. In those days no provision was made for anything but war. Reasonably so, for the galaxy was plagued by monsters and daemons enough that nobody really expected to live to see the end of it, but it did obscure certain ideals that might have prevented or at least diverted the downward spiral into damnation.
So when we were taught the methodologies of torture and sadism and terror, how and why it works and how best and why to use it, then were pointed at truly foul xenos and Chaotic heretics...it took us far too long to consider what to do when those tools failed.
By the time we noticed what was going wrong, it was too late. The chains of fear Curze had used to bring Nostromo to heel had fallen apart to time, adaptation and forgetfulness. The nobles lied to the recruiters, sending the worst prison scum and debaucherous outcasts of their families. The gutter trash had learned the barest hints of technique from his rampage, becoming more vicious and careful. The few decent souls caught in the middle simply bunkered down and hoped to survive until the morrow, because the corruption had simply grown too great for any one man, or even collection of men, to truly comprehend much less break.
Whether by incompetence, disabilities mental and sometimes physical, petty cruelty, and a host of other degradations, all our recruits were wretches and ghouls barely fit to hold a knife much less be trusted to use it in battle alongside those they were technically supposed to call comrade. And turning them into Astartes only meant that when our lord chastised them, they could survive more damage and better learn how to replicate his growing tyranny.
You ask how it is possible we survived in the Warp, uncorrupted? For the same reason that any of us survive any conflict; training and preparation. It is because we had already been fighting a shadow of that battle for decades beforehand. Every second of every day, always prepared for an ambush or assassination attempt. Learning by trial and error to project an image of strength great enough to discourage the stupid and greedy, but not so great as to convince them they needed to band together to kill you. Never sleeping in the same place twice unless you'd recently purged it of threats and other inhabitants beforehand. Practicing the rites of maintenance on bolter, chainsword, and armor because you could never be entirely certain the Techmarines hadn't been turned against you for whatever flimsy justification, and learning field medicine because the Apothecaries were even worse. Always prepared to kill your 'brothers', especially if they were your subordinates, at a moment's notice because no one could be trusted and sometimes the only way to prevent a murderous free-for-all was to pick the most rabid one of the bunch and make an example of them. Never fully believing information you hadn't personally confirmed, not even if it came from friends.
If you cannot bring yourself to trust in our devotion to the Emperor and Imperium, this does not irritate me in the slightest. Terran loyalty, Luctusian brotherhood, and Imperial courage is a far more palatable distrust to me than the rotten festering ire of Nostroman malice and cowardice. To see it stand both against and beside us, to be used to strengthen instead of weaken and sharpen instead of dull, is the most glorious thing I have seen in centuries, second in all my life only to my first view of Holy Terra from space. A sign that even if the four of us die here and now, you will not carry on the failures that brought us to this.
But no matter where we proceed from here, trust in our hatred of the Enemy, and trust in our determination to never let them gain so much as a single iota of ground or touch even a single soul. Because no human words can adequately describe how much the four of us loathe Chaos and the Night Lords for what they did to Primarch and Legion, and for their fear that turned proud children of the Emperor into traitorous meatbags unfit to be called human."
Silence ruled once more as he left the hall and his students to their musings.
As he settled on the operating slab half an hour later for Valzadai to perform the next round of long-term Mist-exposure treatments, a thought occurred to Myrok.
He finally managed to place that odd feeling he'd been bearing this whole time.
Peace.
...
...
...
Emperor's shiny golden ballsack, the children were getting to him. He actually and unironically called it "Holy Terra". Severus was never going to let him live that down.
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In The Blood Part 2
The appearance of Falce was somewhat expected.
"Marcus, Tullius, the Chapter Master has called us for assembly in the primary training hall."
"Who is 'us', Falce?"
"All who are currently informed of the technicalities of our origins."
A mass assembly was not. Especially not one organized along those lines, nor one called the day before the Night of Fright.
Falce did not wait for their answer, already moving onwards to presumably round up the rest of the called. Tullius gave Marcus a gentle slap on the pauldron as he moved towards the door.
"Look on the bright side – if they haven't killed you by now, they aren't likely to do it here, and I don't think you did poorly enough to warrant a serious punishment."
There was an urge to punch him in the face for his flippancy. Marcus might have followed through on it if it didn't feel like the Keep was bound to his limbs.
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They were too disciplined to let it show to most, but to the eyes of Myrok the confusion was clear as day. They needed more training if something as simple as a large elevated vid-screen to either side of him was enough to crack their composure. For his own part, he stood like a statue, barely breathing and taking the time to meet the eyes of each and every Marine as they gathered.
(It didn't quite make it into his musings that what confused most of them was the sight of their Master of Recruits in robes, slightly favoring one side and with nothing but the haft of a training staff to occupy his hands at the same time that the rest of them were in full armor and kit, some wearing their helmets and some not).
It would be inaccurate to call his thoughts calm, but they were for lack of better words sharp and flat as a razor. It almost resembled the crystalline clarity that he embraced in battle, but somehow...lacking in the energy that fueled it. He could honestly say that he'd never quite felt like this before, and he wasn't sure what it was or where it was coming from.
The last of the called entered the hall, and took up their positions. There was a subtle division in their arrangement, along the lines of friendships old and new, cliques that had arisen in the wake of the revelation. But they weren't hostile to each other, and that was good enough for what came next.
He stood in silence for a short while longer, letting them work themselves up in suspicions then back down as no threat made itself known. When he judged them sufficiently restless but pacified, in the hunter's calm he'd drilled into them since that first day in selection, he spoke.
"22 days past, a mission was sent out to aid the Luctusians in their task of clearing the main roads as part of the establishment of a planetary government. You will be shown recordings of that mission, taken from the vid-thieves in our helmets. Observe, evaluate, analyze, and learn."
Taking his signal, Karark activated the vid-screens from where he was concealed in the next room over, and the recordings began to play. One from his own helmet, one from Marcus', the only editing being a slight alteration to ensure the two differing feeds did not overly overlap each other. Myrok paid them no attention for he had created one and already seen the other; he kept his eyes on his students instead.
"Squad 1, spread out and pair up. Meltas on the outside, plasma on the inside".
That this put them in overlapping fire with the Master of Recruits in one of the kill zones did not go unnoticed, judging by the slight increase in tension.
Long minutes passed as the Mist Shrikes advanced along the gullies and small valleys of the Iron Hills, Stalker Bolters quietly coughing as assorted monsters were quickly and ruthlessly put down. Only the occasional roar-hiss of meltas and searing electrical noise of plasma guns disturbed the relative quiet. Those that got too close were dispatched with casual ease by a short, sharp blow from a chainglaive or more rarely a swift rain of mutilating cuts from a chainsword.
Until the almost hypnotic pattern was broken by a tense voice over the comms.
"What is he doing? He must have noticed by now."
"Clear the comms, Brother Jovan. We're not done yet."
"Marcus, he's not just giving us his back he's acting as bait and been standing in a crossfire this whole time. He knows what we think of him, why is he still there?"
"And the more you ramble about it, the more likely it is he will notice and do something. Be silent and patient."
"Jovan has a point – we are well away from any aid, the atmospheric conditions are blocking long range communications, and we have the right weapons for our task. When are we planning to make our move?"
"When I say we are, Mikhail. This is not so simple a thing that any ground will do."
The reaction from the crowd upon hearing that exchange was immediate. What had been small separations became wide open trenches as the groups separated, turning inwards and outwards simultaneously as hands drifted to weapons and unworn helmets raised towards head. "Cease." The command wasn't shouted, but it resonated through the room all the same and stopped the preparations cold. "Your instructions were to observe, evaluate, analyze, and learn. Are you certain you have all the relevant information?"
Whatever they had been anticipating, a question straight out of a stereotypical schola tutor's mouth wasn't it, and it was enough to break them out of their combative stances. Myrok motioned back towards the vid-screens, and sullenly his students complied though they did not stand quite as close as they had before. The recordings had not paused.
This sequence repeated itself thrice more, as it became clear that Marcus and his squad were planning murder and betrayal; especially obvious when the differentiated audio helped the viewers understand the Master of Recruits was not included in the comms network they were speaking over. Just as it did and had in this view into the past, tensions rose higher and higher, but no one moved to strike even as palms gripped tight round knife hilts and fingers hovered near triggers. Through it all, Myrok stood calm and seemingly complacent, giving not-quite-barked commands and terse guidance in genial, almost amused tones.
Eventually, they came to a dell, scrubby and sharp-edged in the mist. It might have been picturesque if it wasn't for the caves and the colored webs that blended well with the dark rock. But for the auto-senses in their helmets, they might have missed them entirely.
"These are not signs we've seen before. Pull back closer to the mouth of the valley, and prepare for volley fire."
When Marcus and the rest had set up their positions – still with their original target in their sights – Myrok seized a large boulder, hefted it, and slammed it into the nearest webbing with a muffled crack of rock on padded rock. Immediately there was a sort of rattling screech echoing from nearby, and a series of nightmares erupted from the nearest holes in the stone.
They were tall – three times the height of an Astartes – and skittered on anywhere from four to six long legs of serrated chitin, hoisting a long thin abdomen aloft that was topped with an oversized mandibled head that bore far too many eyes. As the gathered Marines opened fire, two of them swung their guts forward and unleashed tight cones of more webbing, which only luck of the Emperor spared them from as the first blasts of the meltas caught and incinerated the barrage. They screeched and fell back as their shells melted and ran like candlewax at the edge of the guns' range, stumbling as their suddenly weak forelegs were lacking in carapace to sustain their weight. Another one was immediately felled as the twin plasma guns blew its face off and explosively separated its torso in two, while three others were riddled with rapid-fired bloody craters and fell a moment after.
Then they were among the Marines a heartbeat later, and a disciplined line was forced to draw chainswords and split up to dance a frenzied staccato; hammering limbs tried to bowl over and stab armored giants and whirring diamantine teeth aimed severing blows to cut them down, while opportunistic shots were aimed at the now visible orifices from which the webbing fell like disgustingly sticky rain.
Brother Andro was caught in a thrown net that pinned his right side, and reeled back in faster than was thought possible as his captor began to retreat. He would have been lost entirely had Brother Tobias not lunged between the dueling combatants and blown its ass clean off with a perfectly placed krak grenade. Before they could be boxed in, Myrok was there and cut down and decapitated two of the spider monsters with a dozen sweeping blows in half as many seconds, flickering backwards and forwards along the ground in a blur of silver and midnight blue. He dragged them back under covering fire from Marcus and Jovan, taking a moment to back off and drop their blades as they hammered the triggers until the magazines ran out.
Nobody commented on how the bolts flew so close to Myrok that for a few perilous moments he seemed haloed in tracers and flashing metal.
More shrieking echoed off the rocks, and more of the creatures erupted out of their lairs; drawn by the smell of fresh blood or the sound of a battle promising a weakened feast, it didn't really matter. The initial wave had been slaughtered, and though some portions of armor were cracked the only two who were combat hindered were Andro and Calmas, webbed as they were. Whatever it was made of, it was exceptionally tough and slightly stretchy; Calmas had been sawing at the shroud covering his helmet with his monomolecular combat knife ever since it blinded him, and had not made much headway.
"Mark this location and retreat. We will come back here with air support later."
They did so, firing as they went with two of them one-handing their bolters as they carried their incapacitated. Some of the oncoming assailants changed direction to swarm and eat those weakened brethren that remained, while the rest came forth in a collapsing but still advancing wave as disciplined shots tore them apart.
The withdrawal was proceeding apace until a call of "RIGHT HIGH!" alerted the Mist Shrikes that some of these spider-monsters were smarter than they appeared.
The leader – and that was the first thought as it was almost half again the size of the ones they killed, with ten interweaving legs blitzing over the crags – nearly slammed into and wrecked the formation before Myrok leapt up the slope like an old pre-Dark-Age Terran goat. A short plasma burst nailed one of its eyes and lured it in with a deeper roar than the others had demonstrated, and the battle that followed was breathtaking in its savagery.
Watching it from Myrok's perspective on the vid-screen was an almost nausea-inducing whirl of colors that barely made sense even to enhanced Astartes senses, and some of the gathered brothers hoped it was an artifact of the recordings being insufficient because...well, they had much further to go than they thought if that was how it appeared in real time. What seemed an age later but video time-stamps marked as slightly less than two seconds, the rest had retreated far enough that it could be seen from the edge of Marcus' viewpoint, and it wasn't much clearer then. The clash of exoskeleton on chain glaive rang out over hill and dale like a chorus of saws and hammers on anvils, and where Myrok was a whirlwind of polearm 'round midnight dervish that thrashed the mist into eddies and whorls; the "Spider Chief" was a deranged interweaving of crossing and uncrossing legs that was far more coordinated than any beast should ever be, even as it lost one and then two limbs.
Then it apparently decide this fight wasn't worth the effort, recoiling and springing over its foe's head to launch a web at the center of the formation.
It didn't go unnoticed; Marcus called "SCATTER!" and his squad mates complied with alacrity. He was too slow in throwing Calmas away from the danger, as the snare landed on his turned back and yanked him away. Even with the knowledge that Marcus was very obviously still standing there, a stone sank into many guts in that hall.
A flying tackle from Myrok barreling into Marcus, interrupting the escape as the force and weight threw the spider off balance. "PULL THEN DODGE!" rang out from the helmet's speakers, and three other marines mag-locked their guns and embraced the duo. With their feet under them, the five heaved with all their might and the off-balance monster fell in a tangle of flailing legs as approximately a ton and a half of muscle and ceramite dragged it down before separating.
Even as they fell apart, surrounded on all sides by his brothers, Myrok couldn't take full advantage of his own advice as the skittering horror decided to prove that those serrated spines of its appendages weren't just for show. As it went down, it twisted and lashed out with an extended limb, slamming into his left, breaking arm and armor both and cutting a bloody gash along his chest as the strike sent him and shards of plate flying back the way he'd come.
No call for fallen brethren was made, no exhalation of rage or exhortation to greater efforts. Brother Blagoy simply assaulted forwards, vaulting over the still waving stems until he fired a near-point-blank melta blast into the chest of the beast, just behind its head.
With their apparent leader dead and the four hauling marines returning to add their gunfire to the slackening line (Even Marcus, slowly dragging the chunk of web-connected corpse behind him), the horde apparently decided to cut their losses and run, chased by shell and energy shot until they could no longer be seen in the mist. The scattered corpse-meat was quickly webbed and dragged away in the process until the only sign of battle was craters, burns, bloodstains, and the occasional fragment of animal carcass too small to care about.
A short time later, a half ring of Marines in emergency-patched armor surrounded Myrok at a short distance as he sank to one knee, the Mist working its way through the gaps in the armor and into his blood. No weapons were leveled and no words were said as the spiking vitals readout on Myrok's HUD indicated his coming death. Subtle turns of helmets portrayed unease as the conspirators looked to each other to make the first move.
The stalemate was broken by Marcus moving forward laboriously, still dragging that abdomen and sextet of legs behind him. He reached into one of his armored compartments, withdrew one of the emergency stimms Valzadai had worked up to counteract the Mist's effects, and offered it to his teacher. Too weak to take and apply it himself, Myrok nodded, and the hypodermic jet was plunged into the emergency port at the base of the armor's neck. Sealant foam was used to cover the wound, then emergency cement applied to patch the armor.
"Pair up and butcher any remaining parts, and call for pickup. Those things must have some sort of solvent they use on these webs. And try to keep the heads in repairable condition."
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Silence reigned for what seemed a year in the auditorium as the feed cut out, howling thoughts and emotions raging behind stone faces.
------------------------------------------------
Then Myrok slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, drawing attention with the slightly echoing report.
"Temptation is part of our lot in life. Little errors in moments of passion spiraling into larger errors in judgment descending into terrible errors in action. And just as our successes are greater than those of mortal men, so too are our failures. Marcus is to be commended for averting such a thing, for we understand how difficult it can be to stay the course.
For all that he liked to claim he was the blade in the night, the scourge of the guilty, Konrad Curze was more blunt than a bag of hammers. He was terrified of something. Of what, we never found out, even when we could see the little signs of it as his control slipped. It got the best of him far more often than it ever should have, making him clumsy and blind. But he was still a Primarch – our Primarch – and even at his worst he was well above any of us. Until the Exterminatus of Nostromo he even still cared to teach, to help, or tried to in his own brutal way. So we took our cues from him, because it got the job done and brought Imperial Compliance with a minimum of damage. For a while.
That's the most insidious curse of war – the honor of a soldier, mortal or Astartes, only rarely consists of mercy, of constraining your might and means. Far more often it's merely a matter of target selection and collateral damage, because if you are going to war anyway softer means have already failed. In those days no provision was made for anything but war. Reasonably so, for the galaxy was plagued by monsters and daemons enough that nobody really expected to live to see the end of it, but it did obscure certain ideals that might have prevented or at least diverted the downward spiral into damnation.
So when we were taught the methodologies of torture and sadism and terror, how and why it works and how best and why to use it, then were pointed at truly foul xenos and Chaotic heretics...it took us far too long to consider what to do when those tools failed.
By the time we noticed what was going wrong, it was too late. The chains of fear Curze had used to bring Nostromo to heel had fallen apart to time, adaptation and forgetfulness. The nobles lied to the recruiters, sending the worst prison scum and debaucherous outcasts of their families. The gutter trash had learned the barest hints of technique from his rampage, becoming more vicious and careful. The few decent souls caught in the middle simply bunkered down and hoped to survive until the morrow, because the corruption had simply grown too great for any one man, or even collection of men, to truly comprehend much less break.
Whether by incompetence, disabilities mental and sometimes physical, petty cruelty, and a host of other degradations, all our recruits were wretches and ghouls barely fit to hold a knife much less be trusted to use it in battle alongside those they were technically supposed to call comrade. And turning them into Astartes only meant that when our lord chastised them, they could survive more damage and better learn how to replicate his growing tyranny.
You ask how it is possible we survived in the Warp, uncorrupted? For the same reason that any of us survive any conflict; training and preparation. It is because we had already been fighting a shadow of that battle for decades beforehand. Every second of every day, always prepared for an ambush or assassination attempt. Learning by trial and error to project an image of strength great enough to discourage the stupid and greedy, but not so great as to convince them they needed to band together to kill you. Never sleeping in the same place twice unless you'd recently purged it of threats and other inhabitants beforehand. Practicing the rites of maintenance on bolter, chainsword, and armor because you could never be entirely certain the Techmarines hadn't been turned against you for whatever flimsy justification, and learning field medicine because the Apothecaries were even worse. Always prepared to kill your 'brothers', especially if they were your subordinates, at a moment's notice because no one could be trusted and sometimes the only way to prevent a murderous free-for-all was to pick the most rabid one of the bunch and make an example of them. Never fully believing information you hadn't personally confirmed, not even if it came from friends.
If you cannot bring yourself to trust in our devotion to the Emperor and Imperium, this does not irritate me in the slightest. Terran loyalty, Luctusian brotherhood, and Imperial courage is a far more palatable distrust to me than the rotten festering ire of Nostroman malice and cowardice. To see it stand both against and beside us, to be used to strengthen instead of weaken and sharpen instead of dull, is the most glorious thing I have seen in centuries, second in all my life only to my first view of Holy Terra from space. A sign that even if the four of us die here and now, you will not carry on the failures that brought us to this.
But no matter where we proceed from here, trust in our hatred of the Enemy, and trust in our determination to never let them gain so much as a single iota of ground or touch even a single soul. Because no human words can adequately describe how much the four of us loathe Chaos and the Night Lords for what they did to Primarch and Legion, and for their fear that turned proud children of the Emperor into traitorous meatbags unfit to be called human."
Silence ruled once more as he left the hall and his students to their musings.
As he settled on the operating slab half an hour later for Valzadai to perform the next round of long-term Mist-exposure treatments, a thought occurred to Myrok.
He finally managed to place that odd feeling he'd been bearing this whole time.
Peace.
...
...
...
Emperor's shiny golden ballsack, the children were getting to him. He actually and unironically called it "Holy Terra". Severus was never going to let him live that down.
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Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Call me crazy, but assuming this is declared canon by the QM, I get the vibe that Myrok was one of the first Nostraman recruits to the Night Lords, who was probably a small child when Konrad Curze took over the planet, but still old enough to have some recollection of how things were before not-Batman took over.
Going from "good odds of being murdered, molested, or mutilated on any given day" to "no crime" probably gave a good impression of Konrad's intentions: to use fear to ensure that no one would be able to do whatever horrible things they wanted to do. But after becoming a Night Lord and participating in the Great Crusade for a while, especially once Nostraman criminals started to join the Legion, that idealism got ground down and the flaws in Curze's methods became very clear to him.
Okay, sorry for the delay in reacting to this, I was sleeping.
First of all @CanYouMeme this is really well written. The combat scene is cool and the speech at the end does a good job reflecting Myrok's personality and feelings in the 41st Millenium. There are a few nitpicks to make like how Myrok has never seen Terra but they are minor and It can easily be said that he was embellishing the speech a bit.
All in all this makes the two parts of In the Blood canon. As rewards, both Fretensis and Myrok get 100 XP on Fellowship, the creatures in the ravine grant you a new research option (If you can give me a name for them it would be appreciated) and in the next deployment that they are assigned together each gets a +1 to the rolls of their Weapons or Ballistic Skills.
Also the squad that tags along with Marcus is now 2-5 Squad.
Awesome. Thanks much, and I had fun writing this out. If you're interested, send me a list of tweaks and I'll edit them in if you want, I'm not fussed
Naming the spider monsters was something of a struggle for me, because while I'm keeping them as is it occurred to me that I've power-scaled them fairly high to the potential point of "Nobody's actually named these before because between their methods and their capabilities no Stalker, or average group of them, would have survived encountering them". That being said, there's an argument to be made for them being the stuff of hoary old hunters' tales and the rare super-badass survivor, so I went looking for Slavic names that might fit. Couldn't find anything there, and none of the generic "Spider Stalker" stuff I can think of sounds right to me.
All of that's basically a long-winded way of saying, someone suggest a cool name and we'll use that, 'cause I'm stumped.
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Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
2-5? Like from the 2nd Company?
Arachnator? (Arachnid + Venator [Latin for "hunter])
Paukvora (pauk [Serbian for "spider"] + potvora [Ukrainian for "monster"])
Mnoglaza (Portmanteau of Russian "mnogo glaza" meaning "many eyes")
Arachnator is nice but a bit cumbersome, and Mnoglaza works pretty well ("The eyes! THE EYES!"). But personally I prefer Paukvora, that's sufficiently Slavic, easier on the average English tongue, and kind of matches the sort of blunt hunter's labeling scheme I have half-formed in my head.
So yeah, @ThunderOwl , I'll pick Paukvora for the name.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Something to note: the "-a" suffix generally indicates plurality in Slavic languages, so an individual monster would be a "Paukvor" or you could encounter a whole nest of "Paukvora"
Yes. After all, Fretensis doesn´t have any troops under his direct command.
Paukvora it is then
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
I'm surprised he didn't bond with the Unassigned squads tbh. Those are the ones that have spent the most time on Luctus rather than elsewhere.
Turn 6 Deployment Results Part 1 (764-768 M41)
Brudenell System, Aetelian Sector 765M41
"You´ve done what?" Harker doesn´t shout, but his voice comes out as a low hiss that would unnerve a normal man. Unfortunately, Thief-Taker General Keith Fullerton of the Thief-takers, Brudenell´s law enforcement, lacks the common sense of a normal man.
"I saw an opportunity and I took it." Fullerton replies, the handsome noble puffing his chest as he speaks, pride dripping from every word. "They were retreating in a panic, and with this force being the mustering of the whole cult, we are going to crush them decisively."
"General Fullerton." You interject, no less unhappy with the man in front of you. "While we´ve managed to curtail the heretic's operations, they noticed our presence and concentrated forces, so you were explicitly commanded," You emphasize that word by tapping the table where a map of the area is placed, making the other PDF officer around the area step back." to wait for our arrival so that we could launch a coordinated assault. Instead, you´ve decided to send your men in pursuit of a foe falling back into a fortified position."
Far from being chastised by your words, Fullerton waves off your words. "Please, nothing this rabble could make deserves to be called a fortification. I assure you, my people are putting them down as we speak."
Just as he says those words, a commotion erupts outside the command room they are currently in. You and your honor guard grab the hilt of your weapons, only to relinquish them when an enforcer covered in dust and blood pushes through the guards ouside, the pins on his breast marking him as a captain.
"What is the meaning of this captain!? Shouts Fullerton, his face acquiring a red tint.
"Sir, the heretic's retreat was a trap! They turned back to attack us once we reached their stronghold, alongside a force that ambushed us behind." The captain speaks quickly, bloodshot eyes opening even more wide that they were when he sees you and the Inquisitor.
"How did you manage to escape, Captain?" Harker demands to know, hand resting on the handle of his plasma pistol.
The captain takes a deep breath and points a finger at the map, splattering it with blood. "There is a series of alleways here. Me and my men broke through the heretic´s encirclement and took it towards here."
Harker nods, as if taking the explanation at face value, but he still appears suspicious of the survivor. "Did you see them taking prisoners?" The captain looks puzzled at the question. "Did they take prisoners captain?!"
"Y-yes, some people from the 6th Platoon!" A cult taking prisoners when they are backed against a corner can only mean a thing. They are about to commence a ritual. You and Harker exchange a worried glance, having seemingly reached the same conclusion.
"We mobilize immediately." Announces Harker to the rest of the room, turning his head around to the bloodstain captain. "Resupply and treat your wounded, you´ll guide us through those alleys. The rest, muster whatever forces we have available after that disaster and quarantine the area, be ready to shoot down anything that isn't us."
As every officer moves to obey the Inquisitor's orders, Fullerton speaks up, seemingly unaware of his blunder judging by how his mien hasn't lost it´s confident expression. "Then with your leave Inquisitor, I have troops to lead."
He takes a step towards the exit, but Martellus and Lepidus bar his way. "Thief-Taker General Keith Fullerton." Starts Harker, his gaze almost burning through the Brudenellian face. "You´ve disobeyed an inquisitorial mandate and endangered Imperial Rule through your actions. With the authority granted to me by the Holy Ordos, I sentence you to death." You look at Martellus and point with your head at the dumbfounded Fullerstone. Your Chapter Ancient punches through the man's rib cage, bursting through his chest with his heart in hand. Everyone except Harker shouts in alarm as Martellus retires his arm, letting the corpse fall to the floor. The inquisitor moves towards the corpse and removes the pins of rank, before throwing them at one of the nearby officers, who barely manages to catch them. You are already leaving the room while this happens, opening a commlink to your 3rd Captain."
"Gallienus, the cultists are trying to enact a ritual, double time it towards our position."
In the end, both you and Harker agreed that the main priority had shifted from eliminating the cult to stopping whatever ritual they were assembling. Speed is the key to your success in this, so you had ordered Gallienus to engage in a frontline assault to divert most of the cultist defenders away from the ritual chamber while you infiltrated the hab-blocks they were using as their main base.
As you creep through the corridors of the cultist base, having infiltrated through the roof of the hab-block, you can feel faint whispers echoing through your skull. Smooth, velvety voices that talk sweet nothings into your psyche.
You´ve worked so hard, Severus, why don´t you take a rest?
Don´t you deserve rewards, Severus, after centuries of thankless toil?
Glory can be yours, you just need to seize it. No more slaving away under others people's thumbs.
You shake your head in amused contempt. Something like this might be useful when corrupted the weak-willed, but you are an Astartes, and your mettle is far beyond this paltry trick. You glance back at your men, seeing that they are as unaffected by whatever witchery the cultists are using as you are. Then the building shakes as explosions echo through the structure. You and Harker exchange looks before speeding up your pace.
The ritual chamber takes up a whole level of the hab-block, haphazardly expanded with the demolition of various walls in order to widen the space. An altar has been made out of table and various silks, which are drenched in blood. Bodies are carelessly dumped into a corner, clad in thief-takers uniforms and all sharing insensate grins and slit throats. Their vitae is spilled on the floor, and the sheer number of victims has made it so that it reaches the ankles of the gathered cultists. As you breach into the room, you feel the eyes of the gathered cultist focus onto you. The cult leader, a man dressed in the tailored suit of the planet´s nobility finishes slashing the throat of a sergeant with a blissful expression and points his dagger at you, even as two of his acolytes drag a blonde private towards the table and tie her to it, even as she still struggles against her captors
"In the name of the Dark Prince, kill them! I must continue the summoning!!" He shouts, but you and your men are already attacking his followers before the words finish leaving his mouth. You and your honor guard are at the front of your offensive, your men putting their new weapons to use as they cleave mutants with clawed hands and crab-like pincers. The marines of 10th company follow suit, guns blazing in full auto as they open fire onto the rushing crowd. Harker does the same, measured shots of plasma mixing with the far more abundant bolt shells of your men and las and stubber rounds from the heretics. The cultist leader tries to carry on the ritual, but his would-be victim manages to slip out of her bonds and tackles him, both of them struggling to control the knife. A more elegantly dressed cultist with a shivering blade tries to lunge at you, but Spatha grabs her mid leap and throws her backwards. You and your honor guard tighten ranks, the most mutated cultist pressing you on.
Your foes moan and laugh in delight as you cut them down, and something in those sounds of masochistic ecstasy ignites a cold fury in your hearts. You rend apart bodies with your slashes, you stab chests and stomachs, you pulp skulls with the haft and your fist and your boots. The mutants that get within reach of you die and soon you are moving away from your marines, the mass of bodies slowing them down in a manner that does not apply to you. Soon the cultists notice your separation and try to rush you, the leader Spatha pushed away before making a second attempt at striking you down. She thrusts at your neck with prodigious speed, but you catch the blade with the teeth of your weapon, lashing out in return with a kick between the legs. You feel her pelvis turn to mush by your strike, before she falls to the ground dead with shredded organs.
"Rally to the Chapter Master!" Shouts Alesios beside you and soon you are once more surrounded by the honor guard, even if by then the fight is decided already. No matter what "blessings" the Chaos Gods might have granted these wretches, none of them are enough to overcome the fact that their opponents are Space Marines. Soon enough the sounds of battle quiet down, and the only ones standing are those loyal to the Imperium. Your marines move around the floor, making sure that no enemy is playing dead. As for the ritual, it is thoroughly stopped, with the would-be sacrifice stabbing in a frenzy the cult leader, who judging by the ruin his chest has become has been dead for at least a some time
"Private?" You call out to her, but the woman does not listen, still sinking the knife in the corpse's flesh. You move towards her and place a hand on her shoulder. "Private!" She startles, and out of reflex she twists out of habit and stabs you. The knife´s point hits the armored leg and dents, the knife´s edge chipping on impact. Blue, manic eyes meet your eye lenses as she comes to the realization that she just tried to shank a Space Marine. They widen in panic and she drops the dagger as she falls on her ass and crawls back, especially since Thrax is already moving towards her with an activated chainglaive. Before he can do anything, Harker approaches, plasma pistol still cooling from the recent shootout.
"I´m Inquisitor Abraham Harker of the Ordo Hereticus." He introduces himself, and the already tense young woman pales in fear. "State your name and rank."
"Private Seras Wensterra, 97th Thief-Taker regiment, sir!" She shouts hurriedly. Harker offers his hand to get her on her feet, which Wensterra accepts gingerly after looking at it like it was the barrel of a bolt pistol.
Once she's standing Harker speaks again, augmentic eye shining blood red in the low light of the chamber. "Private, your comrades seemed strangely accepting of their demise." He jerks his head towards the other Thief-takers corpses and their wide smiles. "Do you have any idea as to why only you showed an appropriate reaction to the situation?"
Seras hesitates for a moment, but being surrounded by you and your men prompts her to speak after glancing nervously at you. "There were these… voices in my head. They told me to relax, to be calm, that…that I should be happy. But they felt wrong, vicious and cruel, so I didn´t listen to them."
Harker nods at her explanation, a calculating expression on his face. "You were wise to do so. Still, You shall accompany me to my vessel, to be stringently tested." The woman is smart enough not to protest, but her face adopts the look of someone coming to terms with their imminent demise. Harker then turns his attention to you. "I shall return to my ship now Chapter Master. Please finish clearing out this location, and if you find more survivors, round them up and sent them to me."
"I will do so, Inquisitor." Harker makes the sign of the Aquila and leaves, forcing Westenrra to march in front of her. You turn towards your men, and start assigning them the remaining sectors of the building to clear our.
After saying your goodbyes to Harker and explaining the situation to the local authorities, you meet up with Gallienus aboard the Luctusian Dusk to hear a more complete report of the situation.
"Casualties have been light." Your 3rd Company Captain tells you, casually leaning against a wall. "The cultists were clever, dropped the roof over us with demolition charges, but most of us crawled out fine from under the rubble."
"Cicero is dead." You point out, getting a shrug in return from Gallienus.
"Well there isn´t much one can do when a piece of rubble the size of a Rhino falls onto someone." Gallienus smirks as if amused. "Catilina might be happy for that, they've never gotten along."
You clench your fists at the casual disregard he's showing for the dead of a brother. You understand that he doesn't mourn it, no Astartes has ever died on his deathbed, but you expect it to be taken with the seriousness he demands. "I doubt your fellow captain takes delight in this, and I expected you not to take Justinian's death so lightly."
"Don´t be so sure Chapter Master, Aelius is kinda spiteful when you ain't looking." Your eyes narrow and he raises his hands in surrender. "Is not like solemnity is going to bring him back, so I try to take the situation with humor Chapter Master. Of course I´m not glad that he's dead."
You think about saying something else, but decide not to. While you may disapprove of it, it is not something worth discussing further.
-Cult in Brudenell destroyed.
-Relationship with Abraham Harker improves to Good-
-3 Marines slain, Chaplain Justinian Cicero Slain, 1 Crozius Arcanum destroyed, 8 progenoids gathered.
Seibourc System, Aetelian Sector 768M41
Amidst his fellow noble sons, Corporal Antoine Marais of the 95th Seibourc Royals checks the charge of his lasguns power pack, as he huddles in the sandbags placed in the middle of the spacious square. It is the sixth time he does so in the last 5 minutes, but he can´t help being nervous. This was his first deployment and instead of some distant battlefield it was right at home. Warp be damned, he could see his house lands (Two hab-blocks rented to menial workers.), from the position his regiment had taken. Besides, the greenskins were relentless and despite every single regiment from Seibourc rushing back home, they were still losing terrain to the crude xenos.
Still, he supposed things would be better, now that the Angels of Death had come. According to his captain, they had saved the regiment ten years ago during a particularly disastrous campaign in Armeria, and if the tales he tells are true, they are impressive enough to turn this campaign around and give them victory. It also helps that they seem to have brought plenty of armored support, their tanks taking a significant amount of space. Right now, he could see Colonel D´Albret speaking with the Captain of the Space Marines, the skull of a particularly large ork hanging from his belt, and another marine with a white helmet who holds a bolt pistol as if he was ready to draw it any second, who was flanked by two other marines with white helmets that stood stiffly behind him. He could not hear from this distance what his superior was saying, but he had not such problems with the Space Marine words.
"THEIR RAPID ADVANCE PROVES THAT THEY ARE USING SOMETHING TO DISRUPT COORDINATION AND EFFECTIVE REACTIONS BETWEEN REGIMENTS!" There's a pause as the colonel said something. "UNDERESTIMATE THE ORKS AT YOUR OWN PLEASURE COLONEL D´ALBRET, FOR ALL THEIR CRUDENESS THEY ARE STILL CAPABLE OF FEATS OF CUNNING…"
The one with the white helmet interrupts him by raising his pistol and firing into the seemingly deserted corner of a nearby building. Everyone nearby, including Antoine, startles and points their lasguns at the direction he's shooting at, only to see an ork with face paint and a purple bandana drop dead with multiple holes on his chest. Antoine feels sweet pouring down his brow as he looks at the Greenskin that was about to sneak up on them, the dead xeno laying only a scant few meters away from him.
"CASE IN POINT, ORK KOMMANDOS!! TO ARMS MEN OF THE IMPERIUM!" As if answering the Captain´s words more hidden orks start appearing seemingly out of nowhere, shootas firing wildly as the men of the 95th quickly bring to bear their own weapons. From the nearby streets comes the sound of roaring engines, weapons discharges and battle cries.
"DA GIG IZ UP BOYZ!" Shouts a huge ork with an eyepatch and his whole face painted purple as waves around a huge gun in one hand. "TIME FOR ZOME TAKTIKUL KRUMPING!!
Orks come out in droves, rushing forth with the ever present cry of WAAAGH! bursting forth from a thousand throats. Their vehicles barrel towards the front, spewing clouds of smog as promethium burns in oversized engines. Bullets from cobbled together guns fly in such quantaties that they are almost visible to the eye in clouds of deathly steel. A terrifying spectacle in Marais mind, making his lasgun shake in his hands as he fired at anything green he sees.
"The Emperor protects!"
"Keep firing boys, keep firing!"
"They are everywhere, God-Emperor, they are everywhere!"
The camouflage orks are behind their lines, adding to the confusion of the battlefield as they shoot at officers, medics, vox-casters. Despite the efforts of his compatriots, Antoine can see that they are unable to stop the greenskin charge. Soon, the orks reach the lines and start hacking away with their crude cleavers, red blood staining the Seibourcian white uniforms. Marais fixes his bayonet on the lasgun, spearing through the throat the ork that reaches his position. Then pain flashes in his chest as something punches through his flak armor. The lasguns falls from his fingers as he falls to the floor. He moves a weakening hand to his wound, where blood pours at a rapid pace from a hole the size of his fist. He can faintly hear the rest of his squad dying as orks overwhelm his position. As his vision blackens, he sees an ork with more crude metal than flesh looking at him as he guffaws, gun barking a continuous staccato. The last thing he hears before everything fades to black is the sound of stomps from something heavy and the roar of a heavy bolter.
—--
Something that Quintus had always been proud of, in his own way, whats his capability to focus. The skill to set aside everything that wasn´t relevant to his needs or objectives. It was something he had developed in his youth in Terra, where the kids from other gangs or even your own could take advantage of any distraction to pull a fast one on you.
He was getting a lot of use out of that capability now.
He focuses on the situation that the pic-cast and the sensors in his armor tells him, not on how his true eyes are closed so that he doesn't have to see his own coffin. The orks are overwhelming the regiment's position, with only the efforts of 7th Company standing in the way of their position being completely overrun. A shell from a looted Leman Russ pierces through a nearby Predator, causing a fire inside the vehicle and sending Siracusa running towards it. He sees an Ork Mek and aims his Heavy bolter towards it, bolts flying as ravaged nerves send electrical impulses to an arm that's no longer there. The ork falls dead, and Sertorious shifts his frame to search for more clustered enemies, in order to put the firepower of his weaponry to better use.
"STAND AND FIGHT, GUARDSMEN OF SEIBOURC!! DO NOT FALTER!!
He can´t help but find it impressive how even in the cacophony of the battlefield he can hear Logos clearly. The captain of the 7th is currently making his way towards the Meganob in charge of the assault, hacking away at the lesser xenos in between as if he was removing overgrown vegetation. He fires, careful not to hit his brother and clears a path for him, scores of orks dying in a volley of explosive impacts. A rokkit passes near his frame and he guns down the Tankbusta who fires it, reducing the ork into a gory pulp. He hears more of his brothers rallying to him, clustering around his armored form. A voice then cuts through the din of combat, the voice broadcasted directly to his nervous system.
"Warboss assassinated." Reports Secutor with a calm tone. "Bolter fire proved insufficient, we had to take him down with a lascannon. Concealment has been broken, we´re currently moving towards the extraction point." It was good that Secutor was proving himself as captain, thought Quintus as he stomps forward, ignoring how the stumps on his legs moved as they floated in amniotic fluid. He would have chosen Lanista for the position, but he could admit it was more due to personal preference than any unfitness Secutor could have as an officer.
"THE WARBOSS IS DEAD!!" Shouted aloud Constantinus. "FIGHT ON!!"
Constantinus' cry might not have motivated the demoralized men of the 95th, but their Commissar executing six men who tried to flee convinced them to keep fighting. They still fell in droves at the hands of the orks but every blow and bullet that the greenskins used to kill them was one not aimed for his brothers, so in Sertorius' mind they were still fulfilling their role. He saw Valzadai fall, the Nob Kommando spraying him with bullets before his apprentices shot him dead in retaliation, before dragging the cursing Chief Apothecary away from combat.
Sertorius acts a spearhead as he advances, lashing out with his claw against any foe that tries his luck against him in melee while he fires his bolter to thin out the enemy ranks. The nowalijki of the 7th are close behind him, taking down both infantry and vehicles with blades, bolts and heavy weapons. A Wartrukk aims at him, before a brother from 7-3 blows it up with a lascannon shot. His sensors detect the sound of Whirlwinds and Razorbacks firing, although some of them also received impacts of their own.
Ahead of them, Constantinus is locked in combat against the Meganob in charge. The towering greenskins attempts to burn the Captain alive with some crude parody of a combi-flamer, but the Terran marine cuts through the weapons nozzle, splashing both of them in flaming promethium.
"YA STUPID GIT, YOU´ZE WREKED MA SHOOTA!" Roars the ork, more annoyed that pained by his burning skin and flesh. "I´MMA KRUMP YA FOR DAT!!" He swings his Killsaw with surprising agility at Constantinus skull, but the captain of the 7th sidesteps the blow deftly before at the creature´s arm, severing muscle, tendons and blood in a shower of blood. Without pausing the Space marine moves his chainsword upwards and severs the greenskin head, making it fly a meter or two outwards with the strength of the movement before catching as it falls to the ground with his offhand and raising it above his own.
With all of their closest leaders dead and their Warboss slain, the bellicose xenos loose their nerve and flee, taking horrendous casualties in their rout as the Imperial forces fire at their backs. When no xeno remains alive in the are, Sertorius lowers his weapon, and releases a sigh that his vox-caster translates into a burst of static. He stands there, waiting for his brothers to return him to the ship so that slumber lets him ignore the ruin his body has become.
-Seibourc front Stabilized, Warboss Slain.
-Contact gained: King Louis LXIV Du Soleil (Good). Relation with Colonel Jacques D´Albret improves to Honored-
-6 Nowalijki slain, 12 Progenoids recovered.
-1 Predator destroyed, 1 Predator gravely damaged, 1 Whirlwind Slain, 1 Whirlwind Lightly damaged.
-2d20=7, 11. Sertorius Lucidity set to 82.
Sampanan-Dalana System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum 767 M41
As the Fear of Judgement enters Warp translation, Marcius Hostilius stands from the command chair in the bridge, an expression of thunderous anger on his face. None dare speak as the Master of the Fleet leaves the bridge in a hurry, teeth gnashing in barely restrained fury. Showing commendable instinct everyone he comes across in the ships corridors, be they marine or serf, moves out of his way without a word.
The officer reaches his destination, the training cages in the old battle barge. He initiates the combat routines of a servitor after stepping into one of the training cages, venting his anger with training. So focused he is thrashing the servitor, he doesn´t notice when the Master of Sanctity enters the room.
"I don´t think that servitor can grant you much of a challenge Hostilius." Marcius turns away from the pile of blood, metal and oil and looks at Falce with a sullen expression. Undeterred, Falce keeps speaking. "I might be able to provide a more fulfilling training."
Hostilius glares at him for a moment before conceding. "Step in. At least you´re on my level unlike Pluvia." Falce doesn't react to his comment, entering the cage and grasping his crozius. Both of them are armed and armored, with only the lack on helmet and the inactive weaponry indicating that this is not a serious duel. Both of them set their stance into a guard, Hostilius pointing his chainsword downwards while Falce raises his mace upwards. They spend a second studying each other's form before the Master of the Fleet lunges forward with a thrust into Falce´s stomach.
"You´re clearly upset about our retreat." Points out Falce as he bats aside the point of the sword with his crozius, before aiming a kick to his opponent's knee, which Hostilius moved his leg away from, unbalancing the Chaplain and allowing him to position his blade on his neck.
"Of couse I am." He spits bitterly. "It is shameful that we had to flee from a mere deserter." They both take a step backwards and reset their guard. Once again it is Hostilius who acts first, this time by slashing from the left upwards.
The Master of Sanctity catches his forearm before he can gather momentum. "With how he has subordinated those other pirates, it would have been folly to attack, especially with the Fear of Judgement still damaged." He points out after headbutting Hostilius, breaking his nose as the man falls onto his back. Flace points his crozius at his prone form, before moving it and offering Hostilius his hand.
"You think I don´t know that?!" Snarls Marcius as he bats aside the hand and stands up on his own. "That's why I ordered the retreat in the first place!"
"Then there is no use in dwelling on it." Says Falce, unfaced by the other marine tone. "Save your anger for when we face that traitor again, when we return with the appropriate forces to put him down. Best of three?"
Hostilius grumbles as he sets his nose right, before positioning his chainblade back into position.
-Admiral Saakarbal still at large, his forces increased with vessels from local pirates.
-Relationship with the Imperial Navy remains the same.
Q.M Notes: I´ve decided to split the update again. As last time, the informational will be updated with the second part. Speaking of which, would you prefer that I keep splitting the deployments in 2 as I´ve been doing these two turns or go back to update them all at once?
Slaaneshi Cultists Perception 3+1(Important Ritual)=4d10= 10, 2, 3, 4= 2 Successes
6th Company Agility roll 6+1=7d10 (SC 3)= 10, 2, 4, 1, 4, 8. 5=2 Successes
Gallienus Agility roll 7d10 (SC 3)= 2, 3, 8, 3, 2, 7= 2 Successes
Severus Agility roll 9d10(SC 3)= 9, 6, 9, 6, 6, 4, ,8, 1=5 Successes
Slaaneshi Cultists roll 3-1(Forsaken)=2d10=8, 3= 1 Success
Enforcer Leader Intelligence roll 2d10= 4, 1= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Enforcer Leader Willpower roll 1+2(Inquisitorial Intimidation)-1(Intelligence crit fail)=2d10 (SC2)=7, 3= 1 Success.
6th Company Agility roll 6+1=7d10 (SC 3)= 10, 2, 4, 1, 4, 8. 5=2 Successes
Gallienus Agility roll 7d10 (SC 3)= 2, 3, 8, 3, 2, 7= 2 Successes
Severus Agility roll 9d10(SC 3)= 9, 6, 9, 6, 6, 4, ,8, 1=5 Successes
Slaaneshi Cultists roll 3-1(Forsaken)=2d10=8, 3= 1 Success
Enforcer Leader Intelligence roll 2d10= 4, 1= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Enforcer Leader Willpower roll 1+2(Inquisitorial Intimidation)-1(Intelligence crit fail)=2d10 (SC2)=7, 3= 1 Success.
"You´ve done what?" Harker doesn´t shout, but his voice comes out as a low hiss that would unnerve a normal man. Unfortunately, Thief-Taker General Keith Fullerton of the Thief-takers, Brudenell´s law enforcement, lacks the common sense of a normal man.
"I saw an opportunity and I took it." Fullerton replies, the handsome noble puffing his chest as he speaks, pride dripping from every word. "They were retreating in a panic, and with this force being the mustering of the whole cult, we are going to crush them decisively."
"General Fullerton." You interject, no less unhappy with the man in front of you. "While we´ve managed to curtail the heretic's operations, they noticed our presence and concentrated forces, so you were explicitly commanded," You emphasize that word by tapping the table where a map of the area is placed, making the other PDF officer around the area step back." to wait for our arrival so that we could launch a coordinated assault. Instead, you´ve decided to send your men in pursuit of a foe falling back into a fortified position."
Far from being chastised by your words, Fullerton waves off your words. "Please, nothing this rabble could make deserves to be called a fortification. I assure you, my people are putting them down as we speak."
Just as he says those words, a commotion erupts outside the command room they are currently in. You and your honor guard grab the hilt of your weapons, only to relinquish them when an enforcer covered in dust and blood pushes through the guards ouside, the pins on his breast marking him as a captain.
"What is the meaning of this captain!? Shouts Fullerton, his face acquiring a red tint.
"Sir, the heretic's retreat was a trap! They turned back to attack us once we reached their stronghold, alongside a force that ambushed us behind." The captain speaks quickly, bloodshot eyes opening even more wide that they were when he sees you and the Inquisitor.
"How did you manage to escape, Captain?" Harker demands to know, hand resting on the handle of his plasma pistol.
The captain takes a deep breath and points a finger at the map, splattering it with blood. "There is a series of alleways here. Me and my men broke through the heretic´s encirclement and took it towards here."
Harker nods, as if taking the explanation at face value, but he still appears suspicious of the survivor. "Did you see them taking prisoners?" The captain looks puzzled at the question. "Did they take prisoners captain?!"
"Y-yes, some people from the 6th Platoon!" A cult taking prisoners when they are backed against a corner can only mean a thing. They are about to commence a ritual. You and Harker exchange a worried glance, having seemingly reached the same conclusion.
"We mobilize immediately." Announces Harker to the rest of the room, turning his head around to the bloodstain captain. "Resupply and treat your wounded, you´ll guide us through those alleys. The rest, muster whatever forces we have available after that disaster and quarantine the area, be ready to shoot down anything that isn't us."
As every officer moves to obey the Inquisitor's orders, Fullerton speaks up, seemingly unaware of his blunder judging by how his mien hasn't lost it´s confident expression. "Then with your leave Inquisitor, I have troops to lead."
He takes a step towards the exit, but Martellus and Lepidus bar his way. "Thief-Taker General Keith Fullerton." Starts Harker, his gaze almost burning through the Brudenellian face. "You´ve disobeyed an inquisitorial mandate and endangered Imperial Rule through your actions. With the authority granted to me by the Holy Ordos, I sentence you to death." You look at Martellus and point with your head at the dumbfounded Fullerstone. Your Chapter Ancient punches through the man's rib cage, bursting through his chest with his heart in hand. Everyone except Harker shouts in alarm as Martellus retires his arm, letting the corpse fall to the floor. The inquisitor moves towards the corpse and removes the pins of rank, before throwing them at one of the nearby officers, who barely manages to catch them. You are already leaving the room while this happens, opening a commlink to your 3rd Captain."
"Gallienus, the cultists are trying to enact a ritual, double time it towards our position."
Infiltration Force
-Chapter Master Severus (Master-Crafted Chainblade, Master-Crafted Volkite Serpenta, Artificer Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Cameoline clock)
-Honor Guard (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, 4 Power Swords, 2 Chainglaives, Chapter Standard)
--Chapter Champion Spatha (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Power Sword, Bolt Pistol)
-Squads 10-1 through 10-4 (Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Bolters, 10 Stalker Bolters.)
-Inquisitor Abraham Harker (Carapace armor, Power Sword, Plasma Pistol)
VS
-Cultist Champion (Robes, Mutations, Daemonically-possesed blade.)
-Cultist Blessed Blades (Carapace Armor, Corrupted Swords)
-Mutated Cultists (Robes, Various Mutations)
-Cultist Enforcers mobs (Flak armor, Lasguns)
-Cultist Mobs (Assorted Clothing, stubbers, various melee weapons.)
Mist Shrikes Victory: 20 successes
Cultist Victory: 40 successes
Cultist Ritual Completion: 8 Successes from Cultist Demagogue
Skirmish Diversion
--Captain Gallienus (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Iron Halo, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Apothecary Soran (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Chaplain Justinian Cicero (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Rosarius, Crozius Arcanum, Bolt Pistol)
-Techmarine Noricum (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Mechadendrites)
-3rd Company Tactical Squads (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters)
-3rd Company Devastator Squads (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Heavy Bolters, Missile Launchers)
-3rd Company Assault Squad (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Jump Packs, Bolt Pistol, Chainswords)
VS
-Cultist Champion (Flak armor, Mutated reflexes, Laspistols, Bolt Pistol)
-Mutated Cultists (Robes, Various Mutations)
-Cultist Enforcers mobs (Flak armor, Lasguns)
-Cultist Mobs (Assorted Clothing, stubbers, various melee weapons.)
-Defensive Emplacements (Heavy Stubbers, Missile Launchers.)
Mist Shrikes Victory: 15 successes
Cultist Victory: 50 successes
-Chapter Master Severus (Master-Crafted Chainblade, Master-Crafted Volkite Serpenta, Artificer Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Cameoline clock)
-Honor Guard (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, 4 Power Swords, 2 Chainglaives, Chapter Standard)
--Chapter Champion Spatha (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Power Sword, Bolt Pistol)
-Squads 10-1 through 10-4 (Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Bolters, 10 Stalker Bolters.)
-Inquisitor Abraham Harker (Carapace armor, Power Sword, Plasma Pistol)
VS
-Cultist Champion (Robes, Mutations, Daemonically-possesed blade.)
-Cultist Blessed Blades (Carapace Armor, Corrupted Swords)
-Mutated Cultists (Robes, Various Mutations)
-Cultist Enforcers mobs (Flak armor, Lasguns)
-Cultist Mobs (Assorted Clothing, stubbers, various melee weapons.)
Mist Shrikes Victory: 20 successes
Cultist Victory: 40 successes
Cultist Ritual Completion: 8 Successes from Cultist Demagogue
Skirmish Diversion
--Captain Gallienus (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Iron Halo, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Apothecary Soran (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Chaplain Justinian Cicero (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Rosarius, Crozius Arcanum, Bolt Pistol)
-Techmarine Noricum (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Mechadendrites)
-3rd Company Tactical Squads (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters)
-3rd Company Devastator Squads (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Heavy Bolters, Missile Launchers)
-3rd Company Assault Squad (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Jump Packs, Bolt Pistol, Chainswords)
VS
-Cultist Champion (Flak armor, Mutated reflexes, Laspistols, Bolt Pistol)
-Mutated Cultists (Robes, Various Mutations)
-Cultist Enforcers mobs (Flak armor, Lasguns)
-Cultist Mobs (Assorted Clothing, stubbers, various melee weapons.)
-Defensive Emplacements (Heavy Stubbers, Missile Launchers.)
Mist Shrikes Victory: 15 successes
Cultist Victory: 50 successes
Gallienus Ballistic Skill roll 6d10= 6, 2, 10, 9, 3, 5= 4 Successes
Chaplain Cicero Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 6, 4, 3, 8= 2 Successes
Apothecary Soran Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 3, 7, 1, 2= 0 Successes
3rd Company Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 7, 9, 1, 6=2 Successes
Cultist Champion Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 5, 7, 6, 9= 3 Successes
Mutated Cultists Strength roll 3d10= 4, 2, 10= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcer Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 10, 10= 4 Successes, Critical Success, Extreme Success
Successes needed decreased by 4
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 2 =0 Successes
Defensive Emplacements Ballistic roll 2d10= 7, 1= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes= 8/15
Cultists=9/46
Chaplain Cicero Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 6, 4, 3, 8= 2 Successes
Apothecary Soran Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 3, 7, 1, 2= 0 Successes
3rd Company Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 7, 9, 1, 6=2 Successes
Cultist Champion Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 5, 7, 6, 9= 3 Successes
Mutated Cultists Strength roll 3d10= 4, 2, 10= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcer Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 10, 10= 4 Successes, Critical Success, Extreme Success
Successes needed decreased by 4
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 2 =0 Successes
Defensive Emplacements Ballistic roll 2d10= 7, 1= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes= 8/15
Cultists=9/46
Slaaneshi Sigils Fellowship roll 4-1(Forgotten)=3d10= 4, 4, 2= 0 Successes
Severus Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)= 5, 5, 9, 3, 7, 6= 3 Successes
Honour Guard Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)= 8, 3, 8, 1, 6, 2= 3 Successes
Claudius Spatha Willpower roll 4d10 (SC 1)=8, 8, 2, 4= 2 Successes
10th Company Willpower roll 4d10 (SC 1)= 9, 9, 2, 8
Abraham Harker Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)=9, 4, 3, 2, 3, 5= 1 Success
Severus Weapon Skill 6d10 roll= 7, 1, 4, 10, 2, 8= 3 Successes
Honour Guard Weapon Skill roll 5d10= 6, 5, 5, 9, 1= 1 Success
Claudius Spatha Weapon Skill roll 6d10= 3, 3, 3, 7, 7 6= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 8, 2, 2, 9= 2 Successes
Abraham Harker Ballistc Skill roll 2d10=1, 10= 1 Success
Cultist Demagogue Willpower roll 4d10= 1, 5, 5, 3= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Successes needed increased by 1.
Cultist Champion Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 3, 3, 8, 9= 2 Successes
Cultist Blessed Blade Weapon Skill roll 3d10= 7, 6, 1= 1 Success
Mutant Cultist Strength roll 3d10= 10, 6, 2= 3 Successes
Cultist Enforcers Ballistic Skill roll 2d10=8, 6= 2 Successes
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 3= 0 Success
Mist Shrikes: 10/20
Cultists: 8/40
Ritual: 0/9
Severus Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)= 5, 5, 9, 3, 7, 6= 3 Successes
Honour Guard Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)= 8, 3, 8, 1, 6, 2= 3 Successes
Claudius Spatha Willpower roll 4d10 (SC 1)=8, 8, 2, 4= 2 Successes
10th Company Willpower roll 4d10 (SC 1)= 9, 9, 2, 8
Abraham Harker Willpower roll 6d10 (SC 1)=9, 4, 3, 2, 3, 5= 1 Success
Severus Weapon Skill 6d10 roll= 7, 1, 4, 10, 2, 8= 3 Successes
Honour Guard Weapon Skill roll 5d10= 6, 5, 5, 9, 1= 1 Success
Claudius Spatha Weapon Skill roll 6d10= 3, 3, 3, 7, 7 6= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 8, 2, 2, 9= 2 Successes
Abraham Harker Ballistc Skill roll 2d10=1, 10= 1 Success
Cultist Demagogue Willpower roll 4d10= 1, 5, 5, 3= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Successes needed increased by 1.
Cultist Champion Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 3, 3, 8, 9= 2 Successes
Cultist Blessed Blade Weapon Skill roll 3d10= 7, 6, 1= 1 Success
Mutant Cultist Strength roll 3d10= 10, 6, 2= 3 Successes
Cultist Enforcers Ballistic Skill roll 2d10=8, 6= 2 Successes
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 3= 0 Success
Mist Shrikes: 10/20
Cultists: 8/40
Ritual: 0/9
In the end, both you and Harker agreed that the main priority had shifted from eliminating the cult to stopping whatever ritual they were assembling. Speed is the key to your success in this, so you had ordered Gallienus to engage in a frontline assault to divert most of the cultist defenders away from the ritual chamber while you infiltrated the hab-blocks they were using as their main base.
As you creep through the corridors of the cultist base, having infiltrated through the roof of the hab-block, you can feel faint whispers echoing through your skull. Smooth, velvety voices that talk sweet nothings into your psyche.
You´ve worked so hard, Severus, why don´t you take a rest?
Don´t you deserve rewards, Severus, after centuries of thankless toil?
Glory can be yours, you just need to seize it. No more slaving away under others people's thumbs.
You shake your head in amused contempt. Something like this might be useful when corrupted the weak-willed, but you are an Astartes, and your mettle is far beyond this paltry trick. You glance back at your men, seeing that they are as unaffected by whatever witchery the cultists are using as you are. Then the building shakes as explosions echo through the structure. You and Harker exchange looks before speeding up your pace.
The ritual chamber takes up a whole level of the hab-block, haphazardly expanded with the demolition of various walls in order to widen the space. An altar has been made out of table and various silks, which are drenched in blood. Bodies are carelessly dumped into a corner, clad in thief-takers uniforms and all sharing insensate grins and slit throats. Their vitae is spilled on the floor, and the sheer number of victims has made it so that it reaches the ankles of the gathered cultists. As you breach into the room, you feel the eyes of the gathered cultist focus onto you. The cult leader, a man dressed in the tailored suit of the planet´s nobility finishes slashing the throat of a sergeant with a blissful expression and points his dagger at you, even as two of his acolytes drag a blonde private towards the table and tie her to it, even as she still struggles against her captors
"In the name of the Dark Prince, kill them! I must continue the summoning!!" He shouts, but you and your men are already attacking his followers before the words finish leaving his mouth. You and your honor guard are at the front of your offensive, your men putting their new weapons to use as they cleave mutants with clawed hands and crab-like pincers. The marines of 10th company follow suit, guns blazing in full auto as they open fire onto the rushing crowd. Harker does the same, measured shots of plasma mixing with the far more abundant bolt shells of your men and las and stubber rounds from the heretics. The cultist leader tries to carry on the ritual, but his would-be victim manages to slip out of her bonds and tackles him, both of them struggling to control the knife. A more elegantly dressed cultist with a shivering blade tries to lunge at you, but Spatha grabs her mid leap and throws her backwards. You and your honor guard tighten ranks, the most mutated cultist pressing you on.
Gallienus Toughness 4d10 (SC 2)= 6, 2, 6 ,4= 2 Successes
Gallienus Ballistic Skill roll 6d10= 2, 7, 5, 6, 7, 10= 5 Successes
Chaplain Cicero Toughness roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 3, 1, 6, 9= 0 Successes
Apothecary Soran Toughness roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 7, 9, 3, 2= 0 Successes
3rd Company Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 10, 10, 6, 5=5 Successes, Critical Success
Successes needed reduced by 2
Cultist Champion Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 10, 2, 8, 7= 4 Successes
Mutated Cultists Strength roll 3d10= 10, 5, 2= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcer Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 9, 2= 1 Success
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 9 =1 Successes
Defensive Emplacements Ballistic roll 2d10= 1, 6= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes= 8+10= 18/13
Cultists=9+9= 18/46
Mist Shrikes Victory
Gallienus Ballistic Skill roll 6d10= 2, 7, 5, 6, 7, 10= 5 Successes
Chaplain Cicero Toughness roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 3, 1, 6, 9= 0 Successes
Apothecary Soran Toughness roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 7, 9, 3, 2= 0 Successes
3rd Company Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 10, 10, 6, 5=5 Successes, Critical Success
Successes needed reduced by 2
Cultist Champion Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 10, 2, 8, 7= 4 Successes
Mutated Cultists Strength roll 3d10= 10, 5, 2= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcer Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 9, 2= 1 Success
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 9 =1 Successes
Defensive Emplacements Ballistic roll 2d10= 1, 6= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes= 8+10= 18/13
Cultists=9+9= 18/46
Mist Shrikes Victory
Severus Weapon Skill 6d10 roll= 5, 6, 9, 6, 10, 6= 6 Successes
Honour Guard Weapon Skill roll 5d10= 9, 5, 3, 9, 10= 4 Successes
Claudius Spatha Weapon Skill roll 6d10= 8, 4, 1, 3, 9, 10= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 5, 6, 6, 9= 3 Successes
Abraham Harker Ballistc Skill roll 2d10=5, 4= 0 Successes
Cultist Champion Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 2, 2, 3, 10= 2 Successes
Cultist Blessed Blade Weapon Skill roll 3d10= 9, 8, 5= 2 Success
Mutant Cultist Strength roll 3d10= 6, 9, 3= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcers Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 10, 4= 2 Successes
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 3= 0 Success
Cultist Demagogue Strength roll 2d10=1, 5= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Defiant Sacrifice Strength roll 2d10= 4, 2= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes: 10+16= 26/20
Cultists: 8+8= 16/40
Ritual: 0/9
Mist Shrike Victory
Honour Guard Weapon Skill roll 5d10= 9, 5, 3, 9, 10= 4 Successes
Claudius Spatha Weapon Skill roll 6d10= 8, 4, 1, 3, 9, 10= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill roll 4d10= 5, 6, 6, 9= 3 Successes
Abraham Harker Ballistc Skill roll 2d10=5, 4= 0 Successes
Cultist Champion Weapon Skill roll 4d10= 2, 2, 3, 10= 2 Successes
Cultist Blessed Blade Weapon Skill roll 3d10= 9, 8, 5= 2 Success
Mutant Cultist Strength roll 3d10= 6, 9, 3= 2 Successes
Cultist Enforcers Ballistic Skill roll 2d10= 10, 4= 2 Successes
Cultist Mob Weapon Skill roll 1d10= 3= 0 Success
Cultist Demagogue Strength roll 2d10=1, 5= 0 Successes, Critical Failure
Defiant Sacrifice Strength roll 2d10= 4, 2= 0 Successes
Mist Shrikes: 10+16= 26/20
Cultists: 8+8= 16/40
Ritual: 0/9
Mist Shrike Victory
Your foes moan and laugh in delight as you cut them down, and something in those sounds of masochistic ecstasy ignites a cold fury in your hearts. You rend apart bodies with your slashes, you stab chests and stomachs, you pulp skulls with the haft and your fist and your boots. The mutants that get within reach of you die and soon you are moving away from your marines, the mass of bodies slowing them down in a manner that does not apply to you. Soon the cultists notice your separation and try to rush you, the leader Spatha pushed away before making a second attempt at striking you down. She thrusts at your neck with prodigious speed, but you catch the blade with the teeth of your weapon, lashing out in return with a kick between the legs. You feel her pelvis turn to mush by your strike, before she falls to the ground dead with shredded organs.
"Rally to the Chapter Master!" Shouts Alesios beside you and soon you are once more surrounded by the honor guard, even if by then the fight is decided already. No matter what "blessings" the Chaos Gods might have granted these wretches, none of them are enough to overcome the fact that their opponents are Space Marines. Soon enough the sounds of battle quiet down, and the only ones standing are those loyal to the Imperium. Your marines move around the floor, making sure that no enemy is playing dead. As for the ritual, it is thoroughly stopped, with the would-be sacrifice stabbing in a frenzy the cult leader, who judging by the ruin his chest has become has been dead for at least a some time
"Private?" You call out to her, but the woman does not listen, still sinking the knife in the corpse's flesh. You move towards her and place a hand on her shoulder. "Private!" She startles, and out of reflex she twists out of habit and stabs you. The knife´s point hits the armored leg and dents, the knife´s edge chipping on impact. Blue, manic eyes meet your eye lenses as she comes to the realization that she just tried to shank a Space Marine. They widen in panic and she drops the dagger as she falls on her ass and crawls back, especially since Thrax is already moving towards her with an activated chainglaive. Before he can do anything, Harker approaches, plasma pistol still cooling from the recent shootout.
"I´m Inquisitor Abraham Harker of the Ordo Hereticus." He introduces himself, and the already tense young woman pales in fear. "State your name and rank."
"Private Seras Wensterra, 97th Thief-Taker regiment, sir!" She shouts hurriedly. Harker offers his hand to get her on her feet, which Wensterra accepts gingerly after looking at it like it was the barrel of a bolt pistol.
Once she's standing Harker speaks again, augmentic eye shining blood red in the low light of the chamber. "Private, your comrades seemed strangely accepting of their demise." He jerks his head towards the other Thief-takers corpses and their wide smiles. "Do you have any idea as to why only you showed an appropriate reaction to the situation?"
Seras hesitates for a moment, but being surrounded by you and your men prompts her to speak after glancing nervously at you. "There were these… voices in my head. They told me to relax, to be calm, that…that I should be happy. But they felt wrong, vicious and cruel, so I didn´t listen to them."
Harker nods at her explanation, a calculating expression on his face. "You were wise to do so. Still, You shall accompany me to my vessel, to be stringently tested." The woman is smart enough not to protest, but her face adopts the look of someone coming to terms with their imminent demise. Harker then turns his attention to you. "I shall return to my ship now Chapter Master. Please finish clearing out this location, and if you find more survivors, round them up and sent them to me."
"I will do so, Inquisitor." Harker makes the sign of the Aquila and leaves, forcing Westenrra to march in front of her. You turn towards your men, and start assigning them the remaining sectors of the building to clear our.
Justinian Cicero Toughness rolls 4d10 (SC 1/2)= 4, 1, 8, 2= 0 Successes
Soran Toughness rolls 4d10 (SC 1/2)= 6, 6, 2, 10= 4 Successes
Mist Shrike Toughness rolls 4+1=5d10= 8, 10, 7, 5, 3= 4 Successes
Gallienus Willpower roll 5d10= 4, 10, 2, 10, 4= 4 Successes
Mist Shrikes Willpower roll 4d10= 5, 2, 4, 4= 0 Successes
Soran Toughness rolls 4d10 (SC 1/2)= 6, 6, 2, 10= 4 Successes
Mist Shrike Toughness rolls 4+1=5d10= 8, 10, 7, 5, 3= 4 Successes
Gallienus Willpower roll 5d10= 4, 10, 2, 10, 4= 4 Successes
Mist Shrikes Willpower roll 4d10= 5, 2, 4, 4= 0 Successes
After saying your goodbyes to Harker and explaining the situation to the local authorities, you meet up with Gallienus aboard the Luctusian Dusk to hear a more complete report of the situation.
"Casualties have been light." Your 3rd Company Captain tells you, casually leaning against a wall. "The cultists were clever, dropped the roof over us with demolition charges, but most of us crawled out fine from under the rubble."
"Cicero is dead." You point out, getting a shrug in return from Gallienus.
"Well there isn´t much one can do when a piece of rubble the size of a Rhino falls onto someone." Gallienus smirks as if amused. "Catilina might be happy for that, they've never gotten along."
You clench your fists at the casual disregard he's showing for the dead of a brother. You understand that he doesn't mourn it, no Astartes has ever died on his deathbed, but you expect it to be taken with the seriousness he demands. "I doubt your fellow captain takes delight in this, and I expected you not to take Justinian's death so lightly."
"Don´t be so sure Chapter Master, Aelius is kinda spiteful when you ain't looking." Your eyes narrow and he raises his hands in surrender. "Is not like solemnity is going to bring him back, so I try to take the situation with humor Chapter Master. Of course I´m not glad that he's dead."
You think about saying something else, but decide not to. While you may disapprove of it, it is not something worth discussing further.
-Cult in Brudenell destroyed.
-Relationship with Abraham Harker improves to Good-
-3 Marines slain, Chaplain Justinian Cicero Slain, 1 Crozius Arcanum destroyed, 8 progenoids gathered.
Seibourc System, Aetelian Sector 768M41
Amidst his fellow noble sons, Corporal Antoine Marais of the 95th Seibourc Royals checks the charge of his lasguns power pack, as he huddles in the sandbags placed in the middle of the spacious square. It is the sixth time he does so in the last 5 minutes, but he can´t help being nervous. This was his first deployment and instead of some distant battlefield it was right at home. Warp be damned, he could see his house lands (Two hab-blocks rented to menial workers.), from the position his regiment had taken. Besides, the greenskins were relentless and despite every single regiment from Seibourc rushing back home, they were still losing terrain to the crude xenos.
Still, he supposed things would be better, now that the Angels of Death had come. According to his captain, they had saved the regiment ten years ago during a particularly disastrous campaign in Armeria, and if the tales he tells are true, they are impressive enough to turn this campaign around and give them victory. It also helps that they seem to have brought plenty of armored support, their tanks taking a significant amount of space. Right now, he could see Colonel D´Albret speaking with the Captain of the Space Marines, the skull of a particularly large ork hanging from his belt, and another marine with a white helmet who holds a bolt pistol as if he was ready to draw it any second, who was flanked by two other marines with white helmets that stood stiffly behind him. He could not hear from this distance what his superior was saying, but he had not such problems with the Space Marine words.
"THEIR RAPID ADVANCE PROVES THAT THEY ARE USING SOMETHING TO DISRUPT COORDINATION AND EFFECTIVE REACTIONS BETWEEN REGIMENTS!" There's a pause as the colonel said something. "UNDERESTIMATE THE ORKS AT YOUR OWN PLEASURE COLONEL D´ALBRET, FOR ALL THEIR CRUDENESS THEY ARE STILL CAPABLE OF FEATS OF CUNNING…"
??? Agility roll 3d10= 9, 1, 5= 0 Successes
7th Company Perception rolls 5d10= 2, 2, 6, 1, 6=1 Success
10th Company Agility rolls 6d10= 9, 8, 8, 5, 5, 10= 5 Successes
Ork Boyz Perception rolls 1d10= 4= 0 Successes.
Ork Nobs Perception rolls 3d10= 5, 4, 6= 1 Successes
7th Company Perception rolls 5d10= 2, 2, 6, 1, 6=1 Success
10th Company Agility rolls 6d10= 9, 8, 8, 5, 5, 10= 5 Successes
Ork Boyz Perception rolls 1d10= 4= 0 Successes.
Ork Nobs Perception rolls 3d10= 5, 4, 6= 1 Successes
The one with the white helmet interrupts him by raising his pistol and firing into the seemingly deserted corner of a nearby building. Everyone nearby, including Antoine, startles and points their lasguns at the direction he's shooting at, only to see an ork with face paint and a purple bandana drop dead with multiple holes on his chest. Antoine feels sweet pouring down his brow as he looks at the Greenskin that was about to sneak up on them, the dead xeno laying only a scant few meters away from him.
"CASE IN POINT, ORK KOMMANDOS!! TO ARMS MEN OF THE IMPERIUM!" As if answering the Captain´s words more hidden orks start appearing seemingly out of nowhere, shootas firing wildly as the men of the 95th quickly bring to bear their own weapons. From the nearby streets comes the sound of roaring engines, weapons discharges and battle cries.
"DA GIG IZ UP BOYZ!" Shouts a huge ork with an eyepatch and his whole face painted purple as waves around a huge gun in one hand. "TIME FOR ZOME TAKTIKUL KRUMPING!!
Defense Force:
-Captain Constantinus Logos (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Chief Apothecary Valzadai (Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Apothecaries in Training Sarjanovic and Bienat (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Techmarine Siracusa (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Mechadendrites)
-7th Company Marines (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Bolters, 8 Melta guns, 8 Plasma guns, 8 Lascannons)
-Tomb-Captain Sertorius
-2 Predators
-2 Razorbacks
-4 Whirlwinds
-95th Seibourc Royals (Flak armor, Lasguns, Rocket Launchers)
-Defensive emplacements (Heavy Bolters)
-Colonel Jacques D´Albret (Carapace Armor, Las Pistol, Power Sword)
-Seibourc Commissar (Carapace Armor, Bolt Pistol, Chainsword)
-15 Chimeras
VS
-Ork Kommando Nob (Dakka Shoota, Choppa)
-Ork Kommandos (Big Shootas, Burnas, Rockit Launchers Choppas)
-Ork MegaNob (Mega Armor, Killsaw, Shoota Skorcha)
-Ork Mekk Boyz (Cybork Body, Power Claw, Custom Shoota)
-Ork Boyz (Shootas, Choppas)
-Ork Tankbustas (Rokkit Launcher)
-Ork Burna Boyz (Burnas)
-Ork Lootas (Deffguns)
-Gretchin hordes
-5 Wartrukks.
-10 Looted Leman russ
-20 Gunwagons
Successes needed for Imperial Victory: 40
Successes needed for Ork Victory: 40
-Captain Constantinus Logos (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Chief Apothecary Valzadai (Prototype MK.VI "Corvus" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Apothecaries in Training Sarjanovic and Bienat (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Chainsword, Bolt Pistol)
-Techmarine Siracusa (MK.VII "Aquilla" Power Armor, Bolters, Mechadendrites)
-7th Company Marines (MK.VII "Aquila" Power Armor, Bolters, 8 Melta guns, 8 Plasma guns, 8 Lascannons)
-Tomb-Captain Sertorius
-2 Predators
-2 Razorbacks
-4 Whirlwinds
-95th Seibourc Royals (Flak armor, Lasguns, Rocket Launchers)
-Defensive emplacements (Heavy Bolters)
-Colonel Jacques D´Albret (Carapace Armor, Las Pistol, Power Sword)
-Seibourc Commissar (Carapace Armor, Bolt Pistol, Chainsword)
-15 Chimeras
VS
-Ork Kommando Nob (Dakka Shoota, Choppa)
-Ork Kommandos (Big Shootas, Burnas, Rockit Launchers Choppas)
-Ork MegaNob (Mega Armor, Killsaw, Shoota Skorcha)
-Ork Mekk Boyz (Cybork Body, Power Claw, Custom Shoota)
-Ork Boyz (Shootas, Choppas)
-Ork Tankbustas (Rokkit Launcher)
-Ork Burna Boyz (Burnas)
-Ork Lootas (Deffguns)
-Gretchin hordes
-5 Wartrukks.
-10 Looted Leman russ
-20 Gunwagons
Successes needed for Imperial Victory: 40
Successes needed for Ork Victory: 40
Constantinus Logos Weapon Skill rolls 6d10=2, 9, 7, 5, 2, 10= 4 Successes
Valzadai Ballistic Skill rolls 6d10= 7, 8, 10, 4, 10, 1= 5 Successes
Tomb-Captain Sertorius Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 3, 6, 5, 9= 2 Successes
7th Company Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 9, 9, 9, 7=4 Successes
Colonel D´Albret Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 7, 7= 2 Successes
95th Seibourc Royals Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 7, 1= 0 Successes
Predators roll 4d10= 6, 1, 5, 2= 0 Successes
Razorback roll 4d10= 7, 6, 9, 4= 3 Successes
Whirlwind roll 4d10= 9, 10, 2, 6=4 Successes
Chimeras roll 2d10=8, 5= 1 Success
Defensive emplacement roll 2d10=9, 7= 2 Successes
vs
Ork Meganob Weapon Skill rolls 5d10= 8, 7, 7, 7, 2= 4 Successes
Ork Kommando Nob Ballistic Skill rolls 5d10= 1, 5, 6, 7, 9= 3 Successes
Ork Mek Boy Ballistic Skill 4d10= 7, 1, 5, 3= 0 Successes
Ork Kommandoz Ballistic Skill rolls 3d10= 8, 10, 9=4 Successes, Critical Successes
Success needed lowered by 1
Ork Boyz Weapon Skill rolls 2d10= 10, 5= 2 Successes
Wartrukk Rolls 3d10= 3, 9, 10= 3 Successes
Looted Leman Russ rolls 3d10= 2, 10, 3= 2 Successes
Gun Wagons rolls 3d10= 8, 5, 2= 1 Successes
Imperials= 27/40
Orks= 19/39
Valzadai Ballistic Skill rolls 6d10= 7, 8, 10, 4, 10, 1= 5 Successes
Tomb-Captain Sertorius Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 3, 6, 5, 9= 2 Successes
7th Company Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 9, 9, 9, 7=4 Successes
Colonel D´Albret Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 7, 7= 2 Successes
95th Seibourc Royals Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 7, 1= 0 Successes
Predators roll 4d10= 6, 1, 5, 2= 0 Successes
Razorback roll 4d10= 7, 6, 9, 4= 3 Successes
Whirlwind roll 4d10= 9, 10, 2, 6=4 Successes
Chimeras roll 2d10=8, 5= 1 Success
Defensive emplacement roll 2d10=9, 7= 2 Successes
vs
Ork Meganob Weapon Skill rolls 5d10= 8, 7, 7, 7, 2= 4 Successes
Ork Kommando Nob Ballistic Skill rolls 5d10= 1, 5, 6, 7, 9= 3 Successes
Ork Mek Boy Ballistic Skill 4d10= 7, 1, 5, 3= 0 Successes
Ork Kommandoz Ballistic Skill rolls 3d10= 8, 10, 9=4 Successes, Critical Successes
Success needed lowered by 1
Ork Boyz Weapon Skill rolls 2d10= 10, 5= 2 Successes
Wartrukk Rolls 3d10= 3, 9, 10= 3 Successes
Looted Leman Russ rolls 3d10= 2, 10, 3= 2 Successes
Gun Wagons rolls 3d10= 8, 5, 2= 1 Successes
Imperials= 27/40
Orks= 19/39
10th Company Agility rolls 6d10=2, 3, 7, 6, 5, 9=3 Successes
Secutor Agility rolls 4d10= 6, 8, 6, 9= 4 Successes
Ork Warboss Perception roll 5d10=6, 5, 6, 9, 4= 3 Successes
Ork Nobz Perception roll 3d10= 2, 6, 10= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill 4d10= 10, 8, 7, 1= 3 Successes
Ork Warboss Toughness roll 6d10 (SC 3)= 1, 10, 4, 8, 4, 2= 2 Successes
Secutor Agility rolls 4d10= 6, 8, 6, 9= 4 Successes
Ork Warboss Perception roll 5d10=6, 5, 6, 9, 4= 3 Successes
Ork Nobz Perception roll 3d10= 2, 6, 10= 3 Successes
10th Company Ballistic Skill 4d10= 10, 8, 7, 1= 3 Successes
Ork Warboss Toughness roll 6d10 (SC 3)= 1, 10, 4, 8, 4, 2= 2 Successes
Orks come out in droves, rushing forth with the ever present cry of WAAAGH! bursting forth from a thousand throats. Their vehicles barrel towards the front, spewing clouds of smog as promethium burns in oversized engines. Bullets from cobbled together guns fly in such quantaties that they are almost visible to the eye in clouds of deathly steel. A terrifying spectacle in Marais mind, making his lasgun shake in his hands as he fired at anything green he sees.
"The Emperor protects!"
"Keep firing boys, keep firing!"
"They are everywhere, God-Emperor, they are everywhere!"
The camouflage orks are behind their lines, adding to the confusion of the battlefield as they shoot at officers, medics, vox-casters. Despite the efforts of his compatriots, Antoine can see that they are unable to stop the greenskin charge. Soon, the orks reach the lines and start hacking away with their crude cleavers, red blood staining the Seibourcian white uniforms. Marais fixes his bayonet on the lasgun, spearing through the throat the ork that reaches his position. Then pain flashes in his chest as something punches through his flak armor. The lasguns falls from his fingers as he falls to the floor. He moves a weakening hand to his wound, where blood pours at a rapid pace from a hole the size of his fist. He can faintly hear the rest of his squad dying as orks overwhelm his position. As his vision blackens, he sees an ork with more crude metal than flesh looking at him as he guffaws, gun barking a continuous staccato. The last thing he hears before everything fades to black is the sound of stomps from something heavy and the roar of a heavy bolter.
—--
Something that Quintus had always been proud of, in his own way, whats his capability to focus. The skill to set aside everything that wasn´t relevant to his needs or objectives. It was something he had developed in his youth in Terra, where the kids from other gangs or even your own could take advantage of any distraction to pull a fast one on you.
He was getting a lot of use out of that capability now.
He focuses on the situation that the pic-cast and the sensors in his armor tells him, not on how his true eyes are closed so that he doesn't have to see his own coffin. The orks are overwhelming the regiment's position, with only the efforts of 7th Company standing in the way of their position being completely overrun. A shell from a looted Leman Russ pierces through a nearby Predator, causing a fire inside the vehicle and sending Siracusa running towards it. He sees an Ork Mek and aims his Heavy bolter towards it, bolts flying as ravaged nerves send electrical impulses to an arm that's no longer there. The ork falls dead, and Sertorious shifts his frame to search for more clustered enemies, in order to put the firepower of his weaponry to better use.
"STAND AND FIGHT, GUARDSMEN OF SEIBOURC!! DO NOT FALTER!!
He can´t help but find it impressive how even in the cacophony of the battlefield he can hear Logos clearly. The captain of the 7th is currently making his way towards the Meganob in charge of the assault, hacking away at the lesser xenos in between as if he was removing overgrown vegetation. He fires, careful not to hit his brother and clears a path for him, scores of orks dying in a volley of explosive impacts. A rokkit passes near his frame and he guns down the Tankbusta who fires it, reducing the ork into a gory pulp. He hears more of his brothers rallying to him, clustering around his armored form. A voice then cuts through the din of combat, the voice broadcasted directly to his nervous system.
"Warboss assassinated." Reports Secutor with a calm tone. "Bolter fire proved insufficient, we had to take him down with a lascannon. Concealment has been broken, we´re currently moving towards the extraction point." It was good that Secutor was proving himself as captain, thought Quintus as he stomps forward, ignoring how the stumps on his legs moved as they floated in amniotic fluid. He would have chosen Lanista for the position, but he could admit it was more due to personal preference than any unfitness Secutor could have as an officer.
"THE WARBOSS IS DEAD!!" Shouted aloud Constantinus. "FIGHT ON!!"
Constantinus Logos Weapon Skill rolls 6d10= 8, 10, 7, 8, 3, 2 =5 Successes
Valzadai Ballistic Skill rolls 6d10= 1, 4, 2, 7, 3, 5 = 0 Successes
Valzadai Toughness rolls 6d10 (SC 3)= 2, 7, 5, 3, 10, 10= 5 Successes
Tomb-Captain Sertorius Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 7, 7, 5, 5= 4 Successes
7th Company Weapon Skill rolls 4d10= 3, 1, 7, 10=2 Successes
Colonel D´Albret Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 3, 7 =1 Success
95th Seibourc Royals Willpower rolls 2+1(Commissar)=3d10 (SC 2)= 8, 9, 8= 3 Successes
95th Seibourc Royals Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 2, 2=0 Successes
Predators roll 4d10= 1, 3, 5, 7= 0 Successes
Razorback roll 4d10= 4, 9, 6, 7 =3 Successes
Whirlwind roll 4d10= 5, 3, 1, 7 = 0 Successes
Chimeras roll 2d10=8, 5= 1 Success
Defensive emplacement roll 2d10= 7, 9 =2 Successes
vs
Ork Meganob Weapon Skill rolls 5d10= 5, 8, 9, 6, 7 =4 Successes
Ork Kommando Nob Ballistic Skill rolls 5d10= 3, 9, 5, 3, 2= 1 Successes
Ork Kommandoz Ballistic Skill rolls 3d10= 4, 1, 6=0 Successes,
Ork Boyz Weapon Skill rolls 2d10=10, 1=1 Successes
Wartrukk Rolls 3d10= 4, 5, 3= 0 Successes
Looted Leman Russ rolls 3d10= 4, 4, 10 =2 Successes
Gun Wagons rolls 3d10= 8, 9, 7= 3 Successes
Imperials= 27+18=45/40
Orks= 19+11=30/39
Imperials Win
Valzadai Ballistic Skill rolls 6d10= 1, 4, 2, 7, 3, 5 = 0 Successes
Valzadai Toughness rolls 6d10 (SC 3)= 2, 7, 5, 3, 10, 10= 5 Successes
Tomb-Captain Sertorius Ballistic Skill rolls 4d10= 7, 7, 5, 5= 4 Successes
7th Company Weapon Skill rolls 4d10= 3, 1, 7, 10=2 Successes
Colonel D´Albret Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 3, 7 =1 Success
95th Seibourc Royals Willpower rolls 2+1(Commissar)=3d10 (SC 2)= 8, 9, 8= 3 Successes
95th Seibourc Royals Ballistic Skill rolls 2d10= 2, 2=0 Successes
Predators roll 4d10= 1, 3, 5, 7= 0 Successes
Razorback roll 4d10= 4, 9, 6, 7 =3 Successes
Whirlwind roll 4d10= 5, 3, 1, 7 = 0 Successes
Chimeras roll 2d10=8, 5= 1 Success
Defensive emplacement roll 2d10= 7, 9 =2 Successes
vs
Ork Meganob Weapon Skill rolls 5d10= 5, 8, 9, 6, 7 =4 Successes
Ork Kommando Nob Ballistic Skill rolls 5d10= 3, 9, 5, 3, 2= 1 Successes
Ork Kommandoz Ballistic Skill rolls 3d10= 4, 1, 6=0 Successes,
Ork Boyz Weapon Skill rolls 2d10=10, 1=1 Successes
Wartrukk Rolls 3d10= 4, 5, 3= 0 Successes
Looted Leman Russ rolls 3d10= 4, 4, 10 =2 Successes
Gun Wagons rolls 3d10= 8, 9, 7= 3 Successes
Imperials= 27+18=45/40
Orks= 19+11=30/39
Imperials Win
10th Company Agility rolls 6d10=2, 3, 7, 6, 5, 10=4 Successes
Chasing Ork Agility 4d10= 10, 4, 8, 3= 3 Successes
Chasing Ork Agility 4d10= 10, 4, 8, 3= 3 Successes
Constantinus' cry might not have motivated the demoralized men of the 95th, but their Commissar executing six men who tried to flee convinced them to keep fighting. They still fell in droves at the hands of the orks but every blow and bullet that the greenskins used to kill them was one not aimed for his brothers, so in Sertorius' mind they were still fulfilling their role. He saw Valzadai fall, the Nob Kommando spraying him with bullets before his apprentices shot him dead in retaliation, before dragging the cursing Chief Apothecary away from combat.
Sertorius acts a spearhead as he advances, lashing out with his claw against any foe that tries his luck against him in melee while he fires his bolter to thin out the enemy ranks. The nowalijki of the 7th are close behind him, taking down both infantry and vehicles with blades, bolts and heavy weapons. A Wartrukk aims at him, before a brother from 7-3 blows it up with a lascannon shot. His sensors detect the sound of Whirlwinds and Razorbacks firing, although some of them also received impacts of their own.
Ahead of them, Constantinus is locked in combat against the Meganob in charge. The towering greenskins attempts to burn the Captain alive with some crude parody of a combi-flamer, but the Terran marine cuts through the weapons nozzle, splashing both of them in flaming promethium.
"YA STUPID GIT, YOU´ZE WREKED MA SHOOTA!" Roars the ork, more annoyed that pained by his burning skin and flesh. "I´MMA KRUMP YA FOR DAT!!" He swings his Killsaw with surprising agility at Constantinus skull, but the captain of the 7th sidesteps the blow deftly before at the creature´s arm, severing muscle, tendons and blood in a shower of blood. Without pausing the Space marine moves his chainsword upwards and severs the greenskin head, making it fly a meter or two outwards with the strength of the movement before catching as it falls to the ground with his offhand and raising it above his own.
With all of their closest leaders dead and their Warboss slain, the bellicose xenos loose their nerve and flee, taking horrendous casualties in their rout as the Imperial forces fire at their backs. When no xeno remains alive in the are, Sertorius lowers his weapon, and releases a sigh that his vox-caster translates into a burst of static. He stands there, waiting for his brothers to return him to the ship so that slumber lets him ignore the ruin his body has become.
7th Company Toughness roll 4+2+1(Two Apothecaries in training)=7d10= 9, 9, 10, 2, 5, 4, 7= 5 Successes
Siracusa Intelligence roll 5d10= 2, 8, 1, 4, 4= 0 Successes
Ostia Intelligence roll 5d10= 7, 4, 4, 5, 5= 1 Successes
Siracusa Intelligence roll 5d10= 2, 8, 1, 4, 4= 0 Successes
Ostia Intelligence roll 5d10= 7, 4, 4, 5, 5= 1 Successes
-Seibourc front Stabilized, Warboss Slain.
-Contact gained: King Louis LXIV Du Soleil (Good). Relation with Colonel Jacques D´Albret improves to Honored-
-6 Nowalijki slain, 12 Progenoids recovered.
-1 Predator destroyed, 1 Predator gravely damaged, 1 Whirlwind Slain, 1 Whirlwind Lightly damaged.
-2d20=7, 11. Sertorius Lucidity set to 82.
Sampanan-Dalana System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum 767 M41
Is Sakaarbal flotilla alone? 1d100=66, No he isn´t
Identity of the other forces 1d6= 2. Other human pirates
Number of fleets 1d4= 4
Himilco Sakaarbal Fellowship roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 5, 8, 10, 10= 5 Successes, Critical Success.
Sakaarbal has convinced the other pirates to fight under his banner
Mist Shrikes Disengaging 1d100= 78
Pirate fleet Noticing 1d100= 19
Identity of the other forces 1d6= 2. Other human pirates
Number of fleets 1d4= 4
Himilco Sakaarbal Fellowship roll 4d10 (SC 2)= 5, 8, 10, 10= 5 Successes, Critical Success.
Sakaarbal has convinced the other pirates to fight under his banner
Mist Shrikes Disengaging 1d100= 78
Pirate fleet Noticing 1d100= 19
As the Fear of Judgement enters Warp translation, Marcius Hostilius stands from the command chair in the bridge, an expression of thunderous anger on his face. None dare speak as the Master of the Fleet leaves the bridge in a hurry, teeth gnashing in barely restrained fury. Showing commendable instinct everyone he comes across in the ships corridors, be they marine or serf, moves out of his way without a word.
The officer reaches his destination, the training cages in the old battle barge. He initiates the combat routines of a servitor after stepping into one of the training cages, venting his anger with training. So focused he is thrashing the servitor, he doesn´t notice when the Master of Sanctity enters the room.
"I don´t think that servitor can grant you much of a challenge Hostilius." Marcius turns away from the pile of blood, metal and oil and looks at Falce with a sullen expression. Undeterred, Falce keeps speaking. "I might be able to provide a more fulfilling training."
Hostilius glares at him for a moment before conceding. "Step in. At least you´re on my level unlike Pluvia." Falce doesn't react to his comment, entering the cage and grasping his crozius. Both of them are armed and armored, with only the lack on helmet and the inactive weaponry indicating that this is not a serious duel. Both of them set their stance into a guard, Hostilius pointing his chainsword downwards while Falce raises his mace upwards. They spend a second studying each other's form before the Master of the Fleet lunges forward with a thrust into Falce´s stomach.
"You´re clearly upset about our retreat." Points out Falce as he bats aside the point of the sword with his crozius, before aiming a kick to his opponent's knee, which Hostilius moved his leg away from, unbalancing the Chaplain and allowing him to position his blade on his neck.
"Of couse I am." He spits bitterly. "It is shameful that we had to flee from a mere deserter." They both take a step backwards and reset their guard. Once again it is Hostilius who acts first, this time by slashing from the left upwards.
The Master of Sanctity catches his forearm before he can gather momentum. "With how he has subordinated those other pirates, it would have been folly to attack, especially with the Fear of Judgement still damaged." He points out after headbutting Hostilius, breaking his nose as the man falls onto his back. Flace points his crozius at his prone form, before moving it and offering Hostilius his hand.
"You think I don´t know that?!" Snarls Marcius as he bats aside the hand and stands up on his own. "That's why I ordered the retreat in the first place!"
"Then there is no use in dwelling on it." Says Falce, unfaced by the other marine tone. "Save your anger for when we face that traitor again, when we return with the appropriate forces to put him down. Best of three?"
Hostilius grumbles as he sets his nose right, before positioning his chainblade back into position.
-Admiral Saakarbal still at large, his forces increased with vessels from local pirates.
-Relationship with the Imperial Navy remains the same.
Q.M Notes: I´ve decided to split the update again. As last time, the informational will be updated with the second part. Speaking of which, would you prefer that I keep splitting the deployments in 2 as I´ve been doing these two turns or go back to update them all at once?
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Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Shame about Cicero. We don't have many Chaplains right now. At least overall casualties are low.
Low fatalities. This is good.
I'm guessing these were for...
This. Fucking Hell, what do we have to do to keep our vehicles from getting destroyed all the time?
Where the fuck was the Imperial Navy to help? Even if we showed up with our entire fleet, it looks like Saakarbal would have outnumbered us 2 to 1.
The 1d6 determined who was around. A 5 or a 6 would have been Imperial Navy, a 4 or 3 Orks, 2 human pirates and 1 would have been Eyes of the Mutator.
Yikes. Still, could have been worse. At least we got out without further damage and got some intel for the Navy.
Brudenell:
-Huh. Guess that private might become an acolyte?
-Willpower roll is concerning.
-RIP Cicero. Can we please equip our named characters with our best armours next turn?
Seibourc:
-Our armoured vehicles are cursed.
Sampanan-Dalana:
-Could have been worse. Human pirates organizing is bad. But! At least for now they don´t seem connected to the Eyes. And should we manage to capture some of their ships we can use them ourselves or maybe trade them in them in for escorts.
-Huh. Guess that private might become an acolyte?
-Willpower roll is concerning.
-RIP Cicero. Can we please equip our named characters with our best armours next turn?
Seibourc:
-Our armoured vehicles are cursed.
Sampanan-Dalana:
-Could have been worse. Human pirates organizing is bad. But! At least for now they don´t seem connected to the Eyes. And should we manage to capture some of their ships we can use them ourselves or maybe trade them in them in for escorts.
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Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
I think it'll be alright. The Slaaneshi Sigils from earlier in the update also got 0 successes in Fellowship, so this will probably not be a "suddenly traitors" situation or anything. I'm confident Falce and his assistant Chaplains will be able to handle things.
I'm cool with either, personally. I guess it depends on if the sections are long and detailed enough that it'd cause the update to be notably delayed if it all had to be ready at once.
Constantinus Logos moves from glory to glory. At this rate he might just become chapter master someday. Can you imagen that?
IMO it still would be prudent to be extra sure nothing bad is going to happen