A strange light glittered in Smoop's eyes when the Doomed Youth approached. Somehow, all the fear and apprehension that had dogged her throughout the mission lifted, leaving only a clear path before her.
She lifted her laspistol, sighted along the barrel like she'd been (very briefly, and rather perfunctorily) taught, squeezed the trigger. The beam of coherent light took her by surprise, the crack and hiss of the shot almost simultaneous with the louder bang of superheated bodily fluids exploding from the chest of her target. Not even a person, barely that in life, far less in death. For Smoop, now, just a target. It pops up, you pop it back down.
Another one did pop up, just then. Smoop felt the impacts along her back, but no pain. She was vaguely aware of the aches from her previous injury, but the target's efforts failed to add to them. She tracked his movement as he tried to find cover, only to have it be made painfully and lethally known to him that cover and concealment were not the same thing, especially to a laspistol at close range. The small weapons might not look like much, but they had every bit the penetrating and damaging power of a larger lasgun. The knowledge was of little comfort or utility to the target, but then little would avail the heretics now.
She lined up a third shot. The one that Cheri had winged. All of a sudden, she didn't want to allow any of the targets to live to tell the tale. She just wanted them dead and gone.
Filly flicks the blood of her blade. There is no time to waste as she dives for cover. Poorly aimed gunshots whiz past her position.
Cutting apart one obstacle, another one runs up to block her passage. Her firearm peeks out of cover.
Filly shoots back, bullets clacking the hostile houses.
A base of fire is being set up. It's a contest of will, accuracy, and volume. Whoever blinks first is getting suppressed. And the Enforcer bets on bloody Legion winning.
Mikael first instinct was to rush towards their ambushers but Sophon voice made him stop before he took a single step, it was true after all, nobody else seemed to have the knowledge necessary to disarm the mine, no matter how he tried to spin an excuse on his head his earlier commitment to the Emperor role for him made the very notion of not doing his best leave a disgusting taste on his mouth.
With a grimace on his face he did as ordered and dove for cover, once in there he dismounted the bayonet and then lobbed a grenade at the enemies making sure none of his allies were in the blast radius, finally he prepared to lay suppressive fire on the nearest enemy.
The Penal Legion springs forth to bring the Emperor's gift of firepower to the heretic.
To the rear, Cheri starts forward, half walking, half crawling through rubble, and firing her pistol at the northern house, joining her fire to the rest of her squad, Nyla following just behind. Nyla hears a rustle of cloth and leather. She turns just in time to see a previously injured ganger rising to his feet. She snaps up her pistol and put a pair of shots into his shoulder and gut. Flesh, leather, and cloth intermingles and vaporizes under the heat, and he goes down, screaming. He lies still in the rubble, smoke and steam pouring from his body, dead or crippled.
To the south, Jerad, Filly, and Mikael move into the house below them. Filly and Jerad lay their weapons unto the southern house and let the heretic's have it, storms of light joining the river of tracers streaking across the street. Above them, Albert holds down the trigger of his stubber, and watches as rounds ricochet off the rockcrete, or in weak places or areas of thin metal sheeting ,punch through to the house inside. A brief muzzle flash issues from the house, and Albert grits his teeth as a round skims off his thigh plate painfully, but no other return fire issues.
Above him, Celine isn't even graced with even a token parting shot, as, under the substantially less deep, though no less spirited, base of fire, the enemy has also shirked from returning fire. Another couple shots just to be sure, and Celine slowly lowers her rifle, and takes a cautious look. No enemies, at least none visible. Beside her, Albert, after a last burst let's the firing stud of his gun release. He checks the belt. About 1/4th expended...after only a few seconds of fire. Maybe the drill instructor had been right about 'Short, controlled bursts'.
Silence falls over the battlefield.
Damnable cowards.
While Albert keeps overwatch with the stubber, the squad's lasmen begin probing the buildings ahead, sweeping them for hiding enemies and poking every suspicious pile of rubble with a bayonet, breaching every suspicious doorway with bated breath.
Clear. For now at least.
Albert packs up the stubber, and begins to move around the squad, checking for injuries and do his best at first aid. Not an amazing job, but it's better than nothing, and at the least Celine has some basic painkillers for her bruises, and Jerad has the wound on his brow cleaned. A check on Antonius confirms the inevitable.
Redeemed in blood, or in less poetic terms, dead on arrival.
Mikael sets the toolkit down beside the mine, opens it upon and sets to work. There is indeed an actual mine here, or at least something that looks like one. A cylindrical hunk of metal with what looks like a large pressure trigger on the top. Mikael doesn't recognize the pattern, perhaps because his training wasn't quite that good, perhaps because it's some local model. It hardly matters, it has to be defused, or at the very least marked.
Now to do so without blowing himself up.
(OOC: So, it turns out you have a bunch of people with Tech-Use, and only one with Demolitions. I'll allow those characters to give assistance, but it requires passing a +20 Tech Use test first. It also requires of course, being right next to Mikael while he is defusing an anti-tank mine, and thus sharing in the risk (Regardless if you pass the Tech Use test or not).
Your choice.
Also, there is the matter of Antonius' equipment:
-Lascarbine with 4 Charge Packs and a Bayonet/Combat Knife
-2 Frag Grenades
-1 Dose each Stimm, Slaught, and Frenzon
Divvy that up however you feel is necessary, if you do so at all.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 3/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 5/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 1/7 fatigue (-5 to all tests), Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
Mikael was sweating, he didn't have any experience with this kind of explosive, setting the tool kit at his side he takes a profund sigh, he will just let it to the Emperor, if he fails then it was never meant to be, if he succeds then the Emperor still has use of him.
((Sorry for making it so short, besides disarming the mine I don't know what else to write))
Slinging her lasgun to hang free, Celine moves to a kneel as she crosses her arms, hands fanning out to form the wings of the Aquila over her heart. Her previous expression, the primal, adrenal tenseness brought on by the rush and screaming sense of combat, fades into a solemn placidity as she faces towards Mikael, and the slumbering instrument of death that he is called on to subdue, at a remove. The world fades from her senses, her fatigue lies forgotten, as a lilting prayer resounds through the war-wracked street:
O God-Emperor, Grandest Overseer of the blessed
Watch over Your servant, as he goes to his duty appointed
Deliver him from peril, as he guards Your creations anointed
Shield him from evil, as he acts in Your name, heralded
So that we who have bled shall be redeemed
So that we who have fallen are exulted
So that we who have sacrificed are vindicated
So that we who have died shall be avenged
Ave Imperator
(OOC: With my current Fatigue penalties, and my luck with rolling thus far, I don't feel like Celine trying to assist with Tech-Use would be all that helpful, especially since there's other characters here who have better odds of pulling it off. So I am instead, both IC and OOC, praying for a miracle. Very meta, I know )
Mikael was sweating, he didn't have any experience with this kind of explosive, setting the tool kit at his side he takes a profund sigh, he will just let it to the Emperor, if he fails then it was never meant to be, if he succeds then the Emperor still has use of him.
((Sorry for making it so short, besides disarming the mine I don't know what else to write))
There's no immediately obvious way to open up the casing, and the pressure trigger is robust enough that you don't think you could damage or impair it without setting the mine off. The rubble is piled up around it in a way that makes it difficult to fully access the rest of the mine without tipping it over or putting weight on the pressure trigger. You just can't think of a way to safely disarm the weapon.
And while your death to prevent the destruction of a noble Imperial Tank would be quite fitting, then you'd be in no position to assist in future demolition situations. A waste of skill.
You take one of the flags from the small pouch you were given, and stick it firmly in the rubble, clearly in plain view. It will have to do. Even a tanker could see it, you hope.
(OOC: Failure with 3 DoF. You needed 4 DoF to accidentally blow yourself up)
There is no immediate answer, in the physical reality, or by feeling in your bones. All you feel is the rough, metallic soil through the soft armor of your legs, and the exhaustion and pain of the past few hours.
You stay like that for a minute, then two, your eyes closed and only your ears listening. Waiting for the explosion that makes your count of lost souls into three, and deprives the squad of their demolition expert.
Another minute. Nothing.
You finish your prayer and open your eyes. A small red flag flaps in the light wind atop the pile of rubble that the mine was situated in. Mikael is alive, though so far unsuccessful.
It's no miracle, but there are worse possibilities you could imagine.
And with that, the squad's business here is done, and they push forward to the next objective point, keeping their heads on a swivel for more mines or ambushes.
Celine, in the vanguard position, sweeps with pistol and sword. More piles of rubble, a half dozen corpses laid in a ditch, weeks or months old, a burnt out truck, abandoned on the side of a supply road.
Then, a hive drainage pipe. Normally, that wouldn't be cause for much remark in these circumstances, save to sweep it for any hiding enemies. There is a resident in this pipe though, and far from waiting to ambush, he pops out of the pipe and beckons with one arm, even as Celine cautiously crouches and covers him with her laspistol. The rest of the squad fans out, watching for ambush and covering the approaches with their lasrifles.
The man's hair is wild, overgrown, and his eyes stare across the short distance at the Penal Legionaries. The stained robes he wears identifies him as someone who is (Or at least, used to be) a priest of the Ministorum. From what can be seen under his robes, he is skinny and half starved.
"Hail, friends. I am Father Durdin. Judging from the uniforms... you are the Emperor's most holy Astra Militarum?" the Priest asks. Technically true, one can suppose. "The Emperor shall be thanked for your timely arrival if so."
After a pause for politeness' sake, he continues "I've been outside the Hive for many weeks now." Judging by his robes, probably true. "Trying to spread the truth of the Emperor's Light. I'm afraid while my spirit stands strong, my body grows weak. I apologize for asking, but pray you, could you spare a ration pack?"
(OOC: Well?
Next update Monday Night.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 3/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 5/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 1/7 fatigue (-5 to all tests), Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
Albert smiles as he seems to take a second to look around at the surroundings incase this was some kind of ambush before he starts to rifle through his various pockets and pouches to look for a ration pack that he could give to the priest, though he does make sure to look at the rest of the squad before he actually pulls out the ration to give to the priest.
Before the ambush Albert might of freely given the priest a ration pack without thought but now there was a hint of true caution in the back of his mind, whispering doubts over anything and everything he sees and if it's holding enemy soldiers or is as innocent as it seems.
Even as the priest kept talking Mikeal couldn't help but become distracted thinking about the mine and how agonizinglh close he came to dying.
He waited patiently for one of hus team leaders to speak and come to a decisión, he didn't really care if they gave him rations or not, the only thing he cared for was making sure he comoleted his rol in the Emperor's plan
Smoop kept an eye on her Auspex, set to wide-angle scan, her fingers constantly adjusting the dials and knobs on the battered, ancient device. Now and again, though, they strayed to brush her laspistol in its holster. The laspistol that she'd now put three kill marks on, carved lightly into the housing with her combat knife.
Penal Legionnaires weren't supposed to do that sort of thing. But she wasn't particularly concerned about that now. Not since she'd watched that boy die right in front of her. Barely joined the squad before he'd copped it. Not that she felt particularly much for him as a person. But the sight had flipped some switch in her, made her just not care any more about... certain things. She wasn't sure what those things were. Qualms, maybe. Squeamishness.
She'd turned around and shot two people, then another. She felt less about it than she'd expected to.
Didn't feel much when she went to Antonius' corpse and pulled the grenades and meds off him, either. She didn't bother with the longarm - her laspistol was serving her fine - but grenades might come in useful, and she might have need for the Stimm. The other stuff... well, she could throw it away if it came to that.
She wondered, eyeing Albert as he approached the priest, whether she'd ever be able to feel anything again. Or if she even wanted to.
Before the ambush Albert might of freely given the priest a ration pack without thought but now there was a hint of true caution in the back of his mind, whispering doubts over anything and everything he sees and if it's holding enemy soldiers or is as innocent as it seems.
The Priest, Father Durdin as he'd called himself, smiles brightly as you hand him the pack.
"You have my most sincere thanks, son of the Emperor." The Priest says earnestly, even though the field ration is only a Corpse Starch bar. The most you'd expect for that would be mute acceptance.
Then again, the man is starving. Lack can make even the worst meal a feast.
The priest slowly begins unwrapping the ration bar. "Like I said before, I'm glad to see the Astra Miltarum arrive to this wretched world."
In between bites of the bar, the priest continues. "There are heretics by the teeming billions here." He says, wiping crumbs from his beard. "Countless souls who've rejected the truth."
He pauses a moment, as if waiting for someone to speak or reject his words. He takes another bite, then speaks again. He gestures up to the Hive, to the spires towering above all of you. "The hive is sealed up. Barricaded and fortified."
Possibly useful information. A good trade for a Corpse Starch bar.
"Do you know why?" He asks, glancing around the squad members, his eyes wild with as much passion as he held for a meal at last.
A moment, as if waiting for you to tell him why. "Quiet and Pious. Waiting for the answer instead of searching for it yourself. A virtue to be sure." He says. He eats another bite from the bar.
"The Hive is sealed because they are in mourning for the Emperor." The Priest states.
What?
"The rest of this world denies the truth, you see." He says, gravely, as if he had not just spoken blatant heresy. "The arch Heretic Mother Kare claims on the vox the Emperor yet lives, or at least, remains in His deathless state. She denies that He will soon conquer death and walk among us again," He shakes his head, sadly. "To think a world's governor could be so misled. She has committed her armies to seeing the faithful of Lozepath put to the sword. I fear the taint of Chaos drives her hand, and can only pray I am mistaken."
"I will admit to my shame, I began to fear when I saw the scale of Mother Kare's army, and her guns have killed so many of us loyal to the Throne. But that's why you're here, no? Bless you for coming to defend our hive from the heretic armies encroaching upon it. May the Emperor's light shine on you for joining the purge of those who'd deny the truth of His rebirth." Durdin says, smiling widely. "Why else would the Imperium send you to our humble world but to save us from such heretics? I thank you all for coming to Lozepath in the faithful's moment of need."
The Priest, Father Durdin as he'd called himself, smiles brightly as you hand him the pack.
"You have my most sincere thanks, son of the Emperor." The Priest says earnestly, even though the field ration is only a Corpse Starch bar. The most you'd expect for that would be mute acceptance.
Then again, the man is starving. Lack can make even the worst meal a feast.
The priest slowly begins unwrapping the ration bar. "Like I said before, I'm glad to see the Astra Miltarum arrive to this wretched world."
In between bites of the bar, the priest continues. "There are heretics by the teeming billions here." He says, wiping crumbs from his beard. "Countless souls who've rejected the truth."
He pauses a moment, as if waiting for someone to speak or reject his words. He takes another bite, then speaks again. He gestures up to the Hive, to the spires towering above all of you. "The hive is sealed up. Barricaded and fortified."
Possibly useful information. A good trade for a Corpse Starch bar.
"Do you know why?" He asks, glancing around the squad members, his eyes wild with as much passion as he held for a meal at last.
A moment, as if waiting for you to tell him why. "Quiet and Pious. Waiting for the answer instead of searching for it yourself. A virtue to be sure." He says. He eats another bite from the bar.
"The Hive is sealed because they are in mourning for the Emperor." The Priest states.
What?
"The rest of this world denies the truth, you see." He says, gravely, as if he had not just spoken blatant heresy. "The arch Heretic Mother Kare claims on the vox the Emperor yet lives, or at least, remains in His deathless state. She denies that He will soon conquer death and walk among us again," He shakes his head, sadly. "To think a world's governor could be so misled. She has committed her armies to seeing the faithful of Lozepath put to the sword. I fear the taint of Chaos drives her hand, and can only pray I am mistaken."
"I will admit to my shame, I began to fear when I saw the scale of Mother Kare's army, and her guns have killed so many of us loyal to the Throne. But that's why you're here, no? Bless you for coming to defend our hive from the heretic armies encroaching upon it. May the Emperor's light shine on you for joining the purge of those who'd deny the truth of His rebirth." Durdin says, smiling widely. "Why else would the Imperium send you to our humble world but to save us from such heretics? I thank you all for coming to Lozepath in the faithful's moment of need."
Albert almost grimaces at the revelation of this priests madness or heresy as he carefully takes a few steps back to get back with the rest of his squad. His smile almost non-existent as he grips his heavy stubber with white knuckled hands.
After taking moment to calm down from his instinctive desire to storm off or kill the heretic he looks around at the others in his squad to gauge their reactions. If nobody moves to immediately say anything he states to the priest.
"Ah, yes we're part of the forces sent to kill any and all heretics on the planet. Would you be able to tell us about the loyalist forces nearby? The shut down of the hive has hurt communications between them and the Astra Miltarum and we don't know much about their situation or location."
While he dosn't know if anything will come of this questioning he feels the need to make up for feeding a heretic with as much information as possible. It might of just been a corpse bar but the priests back home had been quite clear about what happens to heretics or even those that simply provide them succor, and he has no wish to be damned in the emperor's eyes due to some generosity to a presumed priest.
"The faithful's moment of need is indeed as dire as it is horrifying to contemplate in its scale. So many lost souls..." The shadow of a grimace has settled over Celine's features, "We can only pray that in death, their souls may yet recognize how they have strayed from the God-Emperor's light and find salvation." The words flow out with a somber, steady pace as she clutches her blade in a white-knuckled grip. Waiting, desperate, for the call to strike.
(OOC: In charge range, taking a full action to Aim the attack beforehand if possible without alerting the priest.)
Smoop had her very best service smile on her face, the one she put on around Personages of Great Importance. The one she had on, in fact, when that pig put his hand up her skirt, what seemed like a lifetime but was only months ago.
She felt her mouth move as her feet took her forward, heard words spill from her lips as if under water. She couldn't make out what she was saying, only the general sense of something calm and soothing and quite unremarkable.
And then her hand went to her laspistol, and everything moved.
"Do you know why?" He asks, glancing around the squad members, his eyes wild with as much passion as he held for a meal at last.
A moment, as if waiting for you to tell him why. "Quiet and Pious. Waiting for the answer instead of searching for it yourself. A virtue to be sure." He says. He eats another bite from the bar.
"The Hive is sealed because they are in mourning for the Emperor." The Priest states.
What?
"The rest of this world denies the truth, you see." He says, gravely, as if he had not just spoken blatant heresy. "The arch Heretic Mother Kare claims on the vox the Emperor yet lives, or at least, remains in His deathless state. She denies that He will soon conquer death and walk among us again," He shakes his head, sadly. "To think a world's governor could be so misled. She has committed her armies to seeing the faithful of Lozepath put to the sword. I fear the taint of Chaos drives her hand, and can only pray I am mistaken."
"I will admit to my shame, I began to fear when I saw the scale of Mother Kare's army, and her guns have killed so many of us loyal to the Throne. But that's why you're here, no? Bless you for coming to defend our hive from the heretic armies encroaching upon it. May the Emperor's light shine on you for joining the purge of those who'd deny the truth of His rebirth." Durdin says, smiling widely. "Why else would the Imperium send you to our humble world but to save us from such heretics? I thank you all for coming to Lozepath in the faithful's moment of need."
Jeradresh nobly resisted the urge to furrow his brow at the ragged priest. Weren't they the ones attacking the hive? Jeradresh hated to admit to himself that he was confused, but then, he was often confused by the strange ways of the Imperium. Perhaps he was missing something? And who in the warp was Mother Kare? He'd heard that name mentioned a few times. Some local religious figure?
"...I beg many apologies for my ignorance, for I am but a recent convert to the Creed, and yet unlearned of much of the Emperor's word...but I thought the most holy God- Emperor was already dead, yes?" Jeradresh asked, putting as much pitiable meekness into his voice as he could muster. Best to be corrected by word than sword. "The Arch-Traitor who I shall not name mortally wounded Him, yes? He went to the Golden Throne, perished, and in death transcended to divinity? That...That is right, is it not? Is not whole point of Him ascending to the Golden Throne His ascension beyond the shackles of mortality? That is the why for all the skulls, yes? Representational, is it not?"
He tapped the winged skull on his cuirass pointedly. "Right? That is the a reason for these, yes? No...?" He trailed off. Politely, he cleared his throat. "And, if I may inquire further, who is Mother Kare? It is a name I have heard only in passing..."
Mikael felt his mind go back to the present and his brows furrow what the priest was saying was completly different to what his father had told him, so why was the priest telling lies then? Did he perhaps hit his head or something?.
Looking around at his squadmates and giving a shrugg to Albert he decided that perhaps this man was just a looney, there were some like that from time to time.
From a moment his mind was satisfied but the next a terrible thought went thought, what if this was a trap?
Suddenly hyper awareness of all his squadmates positions came to his head and he tensed looking around, the moment he catched a sign that someone was trying to shoot them he would block the shot? With what? Whith his own body of course, no sense in letting an oppirtunity to die for one of his squadmates go to waste.
"Ah, yes we're part of the forces sent to kill any and all heretics on the planet. Would you be able to tell us about the loyalist forces nearby? The shut down of the hive has hurt communications between them and the Astra Miltarum and we don't know much about their situation or location."
"I'm afraid I've left the Hive to try and spread the word of his revival to the rustics outside the hive, so that perhaps some of this world beyond the hive walls might be saved."
He shakes his head sadly. "I have not been kept aware of defense status. I do know that the faithful band who call themselves the Doomed Youth patrol these wastes, and..."
He shakes his head. "I cannot tell you more, only to proceed to the gates. There will be defenders there who will appraise you of the military situation."
"...I beg many apologies for my ignorance, for I am but a recent convert to the Creed, and yet unlearned of much of the Emperor's word...but I thought the most holy God- Emperor was already dead, yes?" Jeradresh asked, putting as much pitiable meekness into his voice as he could muster. Best to be corrected by word than sword. "The Arch-Traitor who I shall not name mortally wounded Him, yes? He went to the Golden Throne, perished, and in death transcended to divinity? That...That is right, is it not? Is not whole point of Him ascending to the Golden Throne His ascension beyond the shackles of mortality? That is the why for all the skulls, yes? Representational, is it not?"
He tapped the winged skull on his cuirass pointedly. "Right? That is the a reason for these, yes? No...?" He trailed off. Politely, he cleared his throat. "And, if I may inquire further, who is Mother Kare? It is a name I have heard only in passing..."
"A recent convert?" The Priest says, surprise evident in his tone. He smiles, teeth stained. "Ah, I think I recognize your accent. No wonder you are so misinformed."
Recognizes your accent? How would he know that?
It only takes you a second to realize the obvious answer. The kings to whom you'd previously sworn allegiance...their forces must one of this world's enemies. The forces of Rakatir had been said in the propaganda broadcasts to march far, and often against the hated Imperium of Man (How arrogant the courtly officials had thought the Imperium was, to claim such a title). You'd never heard the name Rorschah Mundi, but surely you had not heard all the names of places where Rakatir's sworn men had fought, only where they conquered, nor all those places where those sworn to the Four had given battle.
Why not here?
"The God Emperor was not killed by the Archtraitor, by Horus." He says sollumly. "But mortally wounded." He clarifies for you. "A death that would take many thousands of years, as he festered upon the throne of gold built to 'Save' him." He shakes his head. "But he died. It is not for us, his children, to know when." He shakes his head.
"Not when the most important revelation is that he will yet live again. In a few days time. Not even all the levies and guns Kare commands can prevent it." He smiles again.
Off in the distance, an explosion, though certainly an Imperial Guard shell, not a heretic one. A moment of silence, and you voice your next question.
"Lady Colonel Karepalet Baraneat, formerly of the RMCSDF." The Priest says. "I will not call her the Lady Planetary, nor any of her other stolen titles. What you need to know is that she is a Heretic who has stolen the throne of this world, and now marches her hordes of slaves, traitors, and heretics against the sole bastion of Orthodoxy that yet re-"
CRACK
The lasbeam from Nyla's pistol was aimed at the back of the priest's head. Perhaps it was a twitch of the hand at such blatant heresy, perhaps something else, but the beam misses the base of the priest's neck by half an inch, cuts across the right side of his head, vaporizing an ear and leaving a burnt, blackened trench across the side of his neck and jaw.
The man tries to say something, perhaps a cry of betrayal, or a last uttering of heresy before the end.
Celine doesn't give him the option, as she steps into sword range before the man can react and runs him through. The point of the blade thrusts between two ribs, into where his heart should be, and then out the other side in a rocket of gore and steel.
A word dies in the heretic's throat, and then his limp body slides off of Celine's sword, slumping to the gore soaked soil in a heap of flesh and bone. A moment of silence, broken quickly by some nearby firefight.
Well, that answers that question, at least.
And what would probably happen were you to ask it in more zealous company.
+++++++++++++++++
Even with the righteous killing of a heretic, there is no time to be idle.
No rest for the wicked.
The Penal Legion squad proceeds forward, prowling through the wreckage. Lasguns duel against Autoguns somewhere nearby, and the hammer of artillery is ever present, reminding everyone to keep on their toes. Regardless, it doesn't take long to find where the next mine probably is.
Emphasis on probably.
Another section of road, with the sides of the road flanked by the rubble of shattered buildings and broken infrastructure. On the path the squad had been asked to clear, and fitting the pattern of where the last mine had been. A chokepoint for even the hardiest vehicles. The enemy would be a fool not to put at least one mine here.
The question is where, precisely. Too much metal in the soil and surrounding buildings. Auspex isn't giving good readings, and the enemy wasn't courteous enough to make it's location obvious like last time.
The area looks clear at least, but so had the last one. And there's no guarantee it'll stay clear while a bunch of people in Imperial Uniforms sweep it.
Nothing can ever be easy in the Penal Legion.
(OOC: Awareness failure, 0 DoF on Nyla's part*. You can stick around to look for the Mine, but this risks a potential random encounter (Risk is less than if you'd failed by more), or you can press on and not risk it.
If you do stick around and look, who is actually looking for the mine, and whose on Perimeter security?
*6 DoF on Celine's but I'm taking the better of the vanguard and Auspex operator awareness results for mine sweeping.
Albert jerks in surprise at the sudden execution and his stubber raises an inch or two before he calms himself and lowers it back down. While he is disappointed in the lack of information gained, a heretic's death is always welcome, so he nods his head at Nyla and moves back into his position in the squad as they begin to move again.
As they continue to search Albert switches from overwatch to helping to directly search as they move from location to location, in sites with long straight sightlines he takes overwatch but in more narrow or twisted areas he help's search. As they arrive at this specific location along the roads, he moves to set up his stubber on one of the corners where he could use rubble as cover and get the best sightline possible of the unexplored sections of the chokepoint. Making sure to keep an eye out for ambushes or traps for himself and his squadmates if the squad stays here to look for the mine.
The priest's death was appropriate. What a deluded mass of heresy the man was. Filly could tell that his faith was fickle, easily twisting into dark corners unlike her own bright path toward salvation. She was indeed an island of purity in that company.
And all that light came to her in knowing the danger of what lay ahead. A porcupine path–the means of death unseen and seen. Nyla's failure does not impress her.
"Do it again," Filly lets out. A savage line of verbs, pronouns, and adverbs. Condemned they may be, but doom need not accompany them so soon. The mine had to be found.
The Enforcer takes up the bind spot in parameter security. Now two sets of eyes look for the glint of metal or the pinkish hue of skin.
The Auspex pinged and scratched and squawked, but the readings were far too noisy to be of use. Smoop cursed under her breath but very clearly at the conditions and not the device, lest she offend its machine spirit.
"You've been good at finding the enemy, so let's try you out on that instead," she murmured, setting the Auspex on wide-area scan. She may have failed to find the mine, but she wasn't going to let someone get the drop on the squad while they looked for the damned thing.
Intellectually, they know that an anti-tank mine won't be set off by a human being walking over it, the spirits that govern it's pressure trigger blind to the weight of a mere sack of flesh and flak.
Intellectual realities however, are for better men, and so with the inherent suspicion of soldiers the Penal Legions shuffle forward, shifting soil and debris out of the way with their bayonets. A slow process, even with the constrained circumstances of the crossroads, but most Legionaries do not want to end as a smear of red across the side of a crater.
At the edge of the crossroad, Filly, Albert, and Nyla set up in a rough triangle, each covering an approach, leaving only the way they'd came uncovered. Nyla's Auspex screen continues to beep and hiss, magnetic readings mostly, though the occasional ghost thermal from out beyond, though none vivid enough to indicate an enemy squad, or even a lone infiltrator or sniper.
For Albert and Filly's part, their false readings are aural. Dozens or hundreds of gunfights must be occurring in the rockcrete and steel jungle of the outhive as the Penal Legion pushes forward. The dense tangle of metal amplifies and distorts sounds, making it impossible to tell if that crack of a Lasgun was two dozen meters away, or two hundred. Every few seconds there is a great howling of artillery bombardment, then the distant patter of falling sediment and debris. And the screams, faint enough to seem ephemeral, distinct enough to slip in between the thunder of battle.
Best to try to sort out the near from far, and keep an eye out for visual contacts along the angles of approach.
The search for the mine continues. The remainder of the squad has spread out, both to cover more ground, and in the unspoken comfort that if one of them finds the mine in a self sacrificial fashion, it'll only be the one of them.
Cheri, shifting soil with a booted foot, for lack of a bayoneted rifle to do so, finds her latest bootfall strike something hard beneath the soil, near the center of the crossroad. Another metal panel perhaps? She backs off, then dusts off the object.
Gunmetal grey, which is either very good or very bad sign, depending on one's countenance. But more definitive is the writing along the top side. "This side up."
The Sergeant slowly backs away, then waves over Mikael.
Now to defuse it before someone happened onto them.
(OOC: You guys got fairly lucky on the Random Encounter chart, since I rolled twice (Since the initial search attempt failed) and you still got a null result twice.
Now, Disarming again. You can take extra time for a +20 bonus to the Disarming test, but this risks another roll on the Random Encounter chart (Again, penalized, so there's a decent chance you get null result again). Or you can do it at the normal +0 modifier and not risk the chart (Unless you fail and want to try again).
Once again, anyone helping out Mikael in defusing? As a reminder, assisting requires a +30 Demolitions (Ag) or +20 Tech Use (Int) test, with success granting Mikael +10 to his own defusing test
Taking a second to glance back to check on the rest of the squad Albert quickly snapped back around when he thought he heard something before realizing it was just one of the local insects that had been scuttling by. Letting his suddenly tense soldiers droop slightly Albert went back to watching over the street leading to the mine, not wishing to be ambushed again after the first time. As he keeps an eye out Albert runs through a number of machine prayers that he knew to help keep his Stubber's machine spirit happy and in perfect order for the trials ahead, while he wishes he could go through a full cleaning after the last firefight this was neither the time nor place to do so and so he must simply make due.
Mikael took a moment to prepare himself, the last time he tried to disarm one of the mines it didn't turn as well as he would have liked and worse, he nearly blew himself up.
Squearing his shoulders he prepared his tools and waited to see if someone of would like to offer help, hopefully the squad leaders will give him extra time to disarm the mine propely this time
"A recent convert?" The Priest says, surprise evident in his tone. He smiles, teeth stained. "Ah, I think I recognize your accent. No wonder you are so misinformed."
Recognizes your accent? How would he know that?
It only takes you a second to realize the obvious answer. The kings to whom you'd previously sworn allegiance...their forces must one of this world's enemies. The forces of Rakatir had been said in the propaganda broadcasts to march far, and often against the hated Imperium of Man (How arrogant the courtly officials had thought the Imperium was, to claim such a title). You'd never heard the name Rorschah Mundi, but surely you had not heard all the names of places where Rakatir's sworn men had fought, only where they conquered, nor all those places where those sworn to the Four had given battle.
Why not here?
"The God Emperor was not killed by the Archtraitor, by Horus." He says solemnly. "But mortally wounded." He clarifies for you. "A death that would take many thousands of years, as he festered upon the throne of gold built to 'Save' him." He shakes his head. "But he died. It is not for us, his children, to know when." He shakes his head.
"Not when the most important revelation is that he will yet live again. In a few days time. Not even all the levies and guns Kare commands can prevent it." He smiles again.
Off in the distance, an explosion, though certainly an Imperial Guard shell, not a heretic one. A moment of silence, and you voice your next question.
"Lady Colonel Karepalet Baraneat, formerly of the RMCSDF." The Priest says. "I will not call her the Lady Planetary, nor any of her other stolen titles. What you need to know is that she is a Heretic who has stolen the throne of this world, and now marches her hordes of slaves, traitors, and heretics against the sole bastion of Orthodoxy that yet re-"
Jeradresh's smile froze as the priest replied. What did the man mean he recognized his accent? Surely that wasn't possible, was it? The Blessed King Rakatir (And they were, unfortunately, blessed, even if by far less enlightened deities than the one who sat upon the Throne of Gold) did have their armies march against the Imperium of Man, but surely the man couldn't place his accent just from that. His refined accent might be more widespread than some, but there were or last had been many sworn to Rakatir's supposedly mighty banner, like the Asdelites whose lisp made them sound like country bumpkins or, Emperor's sake, actual country bumpkins speaking all manner of gutter tongues.
That the odds of the man recognizing his accent were low was a dread sign. Jeradresh swore his heart skipped a beat. That could only mean the priest knew he was one of Rakatir's bannermen, one oathed by blood to the the child-elect of the Quadrifex, the supposed Greater Gods of Creation. They wouldn't know how the God-Emperor loved Jeradresh, how the Inquisition had deemed him 'pure', or, at least, 'pure enough'. Just that he was no mere pagan, but a former Chaos worshipper. For a moment options spun through Jeradresh's mind: Hasty lies and denials of the priest being mistaken, perhaps a claim of having been a hostage or slave? Surely this was some mocking curse of the powers he had abandoned.
And yet the fire and brimstone he expected didn't come. The priest was, if anything, gentle as he spoke. Jeradresh shifted uneasily from foot to foot, unsure of how to take the man's apparent disregard for Jeradresh's background. The man was polite and though some of what he was saying confused Jeradresh, he wasn't hostile.
What were the chances that the priest would have encountered one of Jeradresh's esteemed cadre and lived to tell the tale? Too low by far. Surely, Jeradresh knew, this had to be some sort of sign from the-
The lasbeam from Nyla's pistol was aimed at the back of the priest's head. Perhaps it was a twitch of the hand at such blatant heresy, perhaps something else, but the beam misses the base of the priest's neck by half an inch, cuts across the right side of his head, vaporizing an ear and leaving a burnt, blackened trench across the side of his neck and jaw.
The man tries to say something, perhaps a cry of betrayal, or a last uttering of heresy before the end.
Celine doesn't give him the option, as she steps into sword range before the man can react and runs him through. The point of the blade thrusts between two ribs, into where his heart should be, and then out the other side in a rocket of gore and steel.
A word dies in the heretic's throat, and then his limp body slides off of Celine's sword, slumping to the gore soaked soil in a heap of flesh and bone. A moment of silence, broken quickly by some nearby firefight.
Well, that answers that question, at least.
And what would probably happen were you to ask it in more zealous company.
Jeradresh stared at the body, blood pouring onto the rubble.
"Oh." It was that sort of sign, then.
The former heretic hesitated a moment, then smiled broadly. "A good kill, my friends. I can scarce believe such heresy could spread to one of the priesthood of Terra. Let's keep moving, our objective awaits."
He spoke no further. The priest had been warning enough. Best to not draw any further attention by making a show of things. The God-Emperor might love Jeradresh, but he was in no hurry to test the love of the Emperor's subjects. They were every bit the savages Rakatir's propaganda had declared. So be it. He would survive, even if it meant learning the new cruelties of his newfound masters.
Jeradresh didn't do the body the dishonor of sparing him a second glance. The man had been kind, and that had been his mistake. Jeradresh regretted that the galaxy was too cruel for such weakness. He could only hope the God-Emperor's strength was enough to afford the man's soul the mercy he had been denied in life.
Mikael took a moment to prepare himself, the last time he tried to disarm one of the mines it didn't turn as well as he would have liked and worse, he nearly blew himself up.
Squearing his shoulders he prepared his tools and waited to see if someone of would like to offer help, hopefully the squad leaders will give him extra time to disarm the mine propely this time
"Don't rush it, do it properly," Jeradresh ordered, sparing the sergeant a glance in case she countermanded him. But he didn't expect anything, she seemed distracted. He hesitated a moment, then continued. "The Emperor...protects?"
He didn't much care for the odds of running into trouble the longer they stayed exposed out here, but he liked the possibility of getting multiple more years in the Legions because they couldn't disarm the mine even less. Or their demo-expert turning into red mist. They'd be down to hitting the mines with a shovel after that, and somehow he doubted anyone would be in a hurry to volunteer.
In the interim, he found himself a nice covered position and kept an eye out for enemies.
Mikael took a moment to prepare himself, the last time he tried to disarm one of the mines it didn't turn as well as he would have liked and worse, he nearly blew himself up.
Squearing his shoulders he prepared his tools and waited to see if someone of would like to offer help, hopefully the squad leaders will give him extra time to disarm the mine propely this time
The mine is buried, so he slowly and carefully works with his entrenching tool, digging out the rim of the mine and exposing the casing. Then he digs some more, exposing the whole surface of the mine.
A moment to think, observe the exposed mine.
Then, he spots it. On the left side of the casing, a small seam, one that hadn't been visible on the prior mine. The demolitionist crouches down beside the mine, takes out his combat knife, and pries at the seam. A little sweat later, and the panel pops out, exposing the guts of the mine.
Then, wire-cutters, miniature stab-light, and prayer.
There, the fuse line that connected the pressure trigger to roughly 8 kilograms of chemical high explosives less than half a meter from Mikael's torso. A moment to get in position, to reach precisely into the casing without disturbing anything else, to adjust the light to see into the casing properly. intake a breath.
Position the gloved hands holding the wire cutters, sweating running down painfully steady fingers.
Snip
A released breath.
Another moment, another breath.
Mikael is not annihilated by the furious energy release of a machine spirit denied it's purpose (and perhaps more pertinently, 8 kilograms of high explosive given an electrical shock).
The demolitionist surges to his feet, then packs up his gear. Job done, time to go.
The squad pushes forward. Judging from how far they'd made it so far, and the increasingly large Hive spires looming over them (Before it had taken up half the sky, now Hive Lozepath seems to be most of the horizon, a steel sky), they were more than two thirds of the way to the objective point.
More than two thirds of the way through mine clearing duty, and to either a rest, or whatever fresh spawn of the Warp command could think of. Joy.
More rubble, more fields of discarded trash, and churned up metallic soil, hammered into dust by days of artillery and air bombardment. Corpses, some recent, some not, some the broken clusters of infantry squads annihilated by Imperial or Rebel firepower, others simple piles and lines of bodies left to rot in ditches, behind bombed out buildings, and in the backs of broken, dying vehicles.
Exhausted, in pain, Celine stumbles forward at the head of the squad, the tip of her sword dragging along the soil as she advances. Perhaps it's the weapon's status as well hidden that makes her miss it. Maybe it's the pain and exhaustion. Maybe it's the close sound of gunfire, prompting eyes to the flanks and the buildings ahead, rather than directly in front of the squad.
Fortunately, a hiss of magnetic signal return on Smoop's auspex saves the squad from disaster. A call ahead, and Celine stops, eyes going to the ground.
A small bit of metal sticking out between two broken bits of rockcrete and the long abandoned wheel of a vehicle. Usually indistinguishable from anything else here, but an intent second look reveals it for what it is: Pressure trigger, this time of a smaller, frag mine variety.
The Vanguard carefully steps around the mine, as does the rest of the squad. No sense wasting time defusing a frag mine, though the small desolate corner of wasteland does gain a bit of color as a marker flag is shoved into the soil right next to it.
Then it's forward some more.
(OOC: Smoop passes Awareness test to notice Frag Mine random Encounter with 3 DoS)
Another couple dozen meters, to another series of buildings, though at least not bombed out this time. There had to be only a few hundred more meters to point Delta 9, where they could stop clearing mines and double back towards the waiting Armor.
Cautiously moving forward. Gunfire, distant rumblings, lasbeams, screams. But amidst it all, Smoop thinks she hears something. A high pitched, almost whistling noise-
The Auspex operator shouts a warning just a moment before a position along the road the squad is moving explodes in fire and heat.
Mortar bombardment.
(OOC: 2 DoS on Smoop's Awareness)
The squad ducks for what meager cover can be found. An old pipe, the curve of the road, a ditch. Another second, another round slams into the ground, this time a bare dozen meters away. What to do? Get prone and hope to outlast it? Find proper cover? Pray?
"Over here!" A voice shouts amid the tumult. Vaguely recognizable, and with few other options, the squad storms in that direction. A heavy mass hauler, tipped onto it's side. Behind it the remains of a rockcrete building whose purpose lies long forgotten, but right now serves as a shelter, it's heavy roof and three remaining walls protecting a half dozen Penal Legionaries of squad 123-F, and now Squad 123-B.
"Keep your head down!" The voice who'd shouted them over shouts, just ahead of another shell slamming into the ground outside. Sergeant O'Garan, who crouches in cover behind the cab of the mass hauler, daring a look outside after the detonation of the latest shell.
"There's a void-damned Sniper out there too." One of her squad says, as 123-B files in. Corporal Hansan. It's hard not to notice the Youth is standing over one of their squad, the crimson of the wound man's life boiling out from a hastily bandaged wound in the man's neck.
The rest of O'Garan's squad shelters inside the building, but there's enough room for both squads, and the heavy rockcrete walls look sturdy enough to offer some shelter for a rest, so long as one kept away from the windows.
Another shell hammers against the ground outside.
"Really coming down outside." Obed comments.
"What, are you comparing that to rain?" Nora comments from her own position watching one of the entrances.
"How would you know, Voidborn?" Obed snarks.
"We're stuck in bit of a depressure event here." O'Garan mutters towards the newly arrived 123-B soldiers, as the shelling let's up.
"A shit situation." Obed helpfully provides.
"Ye." O'Garan confirms. "There's a PDF Sniper out there that took out Enos." She gestures to the wounded, unconscious man. "Took a few pot shots to pin us down, then the shells started falling."
"Who knows if he's still here." Nora says. "Probably ran off already."
"And I suppose you wanna stick your head out to get it shot off?" Obed asks.
"Nah." Nora shakes her head.
"Doesn't matter, we stay put for now." O'Garan says. "Good to see you, 123-B. Good to see you...most of you made it this far. You still got that medkit?"
Still carried on Celine's back. Shame there's nobody skilled in it's use here, but it's probably better than no skill and no equipment other than a Physik Kit. O'Garan gestures at the wounded man, and the implication is clear.
"Heretic bastards." Hansan mutters, from over the wounded man. "So void-damned many of them. You run into any of the Berserkers yet?"
Berserkers? From the looks of confusion, the soldier takes that as a no.
"Crazy heretics dressed up in robes, like an Adept or priest? Just came right at us, screaming about the Emperor's resurrection and waving swords." Hansan says.
"Gunned them down." Obed says. "But they nearly got us. A few meters less space, and...."
And it'd be fanatics against half trained penal conscripts in a swordfight. Not a recipe for joyous times.
Outside, the last of the mortar shells detonate, but there's no telling if there's still a sniper out there.
"Not just priests out there. Plenty of Militia too, and a few of those SDF types." Nora comments, testily. "Looks like you had a run in or two yourself."
"What've you seen so far, if not those mad priests?" O'Garan asks. "Best to stay aware if we're going to hold this position."
A sensible enough question, though perhaps a better one would be how they're pushing forward.
(OOC: Everyone removes 1 fatigue for getting a chance to rest in a sheltered position.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 1/2 grenades, Frenzon Expended, 24/60 Shots in current power cell
-Mikael: 11/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue, Bayonet Fixed (-10 to shooting)
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, Stimm Expended, 26/30 Shots in current power cell
-Celine: 3/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), 26/60 shots in current power cell
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 0/7 fatigue, Stimm expended
-Cheri: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 fatigue, 26/30 shots in current power cell
-Albert: 7/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 147/200 Rounds in current Belt
)
