[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death.
-
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The Long Night Part One: Embers in the Dusk: A Planetary Governor Quest (43k) Complete Sequel Up
- Thread starter Durin
- Start date
Zedman7054
Eternally 3rd
- Location
- United States
Avernus, so dangerous it's on the 'Do not attack' list twice. I mean, it's not unwarranted.
Daecl
CURSED BY THE DICE
[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death.
- Location
- Italia
[X] Push forward- You have come this far, you are not willing to falter on the final stretch. - One DC 230 roll, one DC 160 plague roll, then retreat. On survival earn honourbound favour from Eldar, on death earn minor favour
- Location
- The internet
[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death.
We've yet to get anyone even close to paragon Administration so I'm really curious what it looks like. It seems to be the hardest stat to get to paragon in. The only other stat we don't have any paragons in is Learning, and we're really close there. There just aren't all that many amazing feats to do in administration like there are in other fields.
I wouldn't be surprised if Transcendant Admin was something absurd like reduce all project times by 50% or something though given how absurdly difficult it is to get.
There is if they are x2, like I suspect.
- Location
- Philippines
[X] Push forward- You have come this far, you are not willing to falter on the final stretch.
Ironically going towards Isha is safer than retreating through the plaque infested gardens.
Isha may be able to counter nurgles plaque, if she is that important in the warp.
This scenario reminds me of Hercules reaching Meg, becoming a God before succumbing to Hades aging river Styx.
Ironically going towards Isha is safer than retreating through the plaque infested gardens.
Isha may be able to counter nurgles plaque, if she is that important in the warp.
This scenario reminds me of Hercules reaching Meg, becoming a God before succumbing to Hades aging river Styx.
- Location
- Australia
She is definitely able to counter Nurgle's plagues. He regularly force-feeds his plagues to her and she regularly heals herself of them.
[X] Push forward- You have come this far, you are not willing to falter on the final stretch. - One DC 230 roll, one DC 160 plague roll, then retreat. On survival earn honourbound favour from Eldar, on death earn minor favour
The most critical thing for me is that pushing forward is only slightly more dangerous than retreating. One roll to get in and find Isha, with failure not being instant-death. And if we make that roll we may get cures and or blessings from Isha. Consider the difference between a major and honour-bound favour. Consider the narrative weight of having successfully found Isha and what that might do for breaking through the Transcendence barrier.
We have much to gain for competitively little risk.
The most critical thing for me is that pushing forward is only slightly more dangerous than retreating. One roll to get in and find Isha, with failure not being instant-death. And if we make that roll we may get cures and or blessings from Isha. Consider the difference between a major and honour-bound favour. Consider the narrative weight of having successfully found Isha and what that might do for breaking through the Transcendence barrier.
We have much to gain for competitively little risk.
You make a good point.
Alright, that's decided it for me.
[X] Push forward- You have come this far, you are not willing to falter on the final stretch. - One DC 230 roll, one DC 160 plague roll, then retreat. On survival earn honourbound favour from Eldar, on death earn minor favour
Egging the House
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Egging the House
He'd been caught.
Caught red handed as he left through the kitchen, the blessing of Isha thrumming through his body and he'd been caught because of it, the Apex Daemon advancing on him with hunger in its eyes.
However! He had one last resort.
Reaching into his robes he withdrew IT.
The Daemon halted, looking from his hand to him then at the floor. Him, hand, floor.
"Do not do it." The voice the blubbering pile of faecal matter was using was…inappropriate for its appearance. The kind of voice and tone a responsible older sister or brother would use to chastise one of their younger kin. Warning, but cautious.
It knew what he was holding.
"Let me out then." Ridcully responded as was appropriate with , nagging while trying to move around the daemon, who blocked him, but was careful not to make any sudden moves that would cause him to loose his cargo.
"No! Do…not…do…it." The daemon emphasised every single word with dreadful cadence. "Do not even think about doing it. Do not even think about NOT doing it. Just put the…"bomb" down."
Well he had the proper response to that.
"SHANT!" and stuck his tongue out.
Whatever concepts made up the daemon seemed to make it bulge in fury as it rose into the air, booming "YOUNG MAN YOU WILL PUT DOWN THE BOMB, GO TO YOUR ROOM AND WAIT FOR FATHER TO COME BACK AND DISCIPLIN YOU RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR ON FATHER…"
Its rise into the air was just what the doctor ordered. Launching himself forwards, dodging the rain of slim the daemon deployed try and block his escape, the tendrils of its power trying vainly to bypass the Black Crystals while he went hurtling towards a window.
The Black Blade flashed, carving a tiny hole, big enough for him to hop through as he turned and gave a slight bow.
"Give my regards to your slimy father. NO WAIT" At that he grinned "I'll do it myself."
He smashed the bomb on the ground outside his window as the tendrils of filth made their way outside diving off the edge and landing on a thought as a portion of Nurgle's house burst into brilliant flames.
@Durin
This is very short and very shit, but I found the idea too amusing to pass up.
He'd been caught.
Caught red handed as he left through the kitchen, the blessing of Isha thrumming through his body and he'd been caught because of it, the Apex Daemon advancing on him with hunger in its eyes.
However! He had one last resort.
Reaching into his robes he withdrew IT.
The Daemon halted, looking from his hand to him then at the floor. Him, hand, floor.
"Do not do it." The voice the blubbering pile of faecal matter was using was…inappropriate for its appearance. The kind of voice and tone a responsible older sister or brother would use to chastise one of their younger kin. Warning, but cautious.
It knew what he was holding.
"Let me out then." Ridcully responded as was appropriate with , nagging while trying to move around the daemon, who blocked him, but was careful not to make any sudden moves that would cause him to loose his cargo.
"No! Do…not…do…it." The daemon emphasised every single word with dreadful cadence. "Do not even think about doing it. Do not even think about NOT doing it. Just put the…"bomb" down."
Well he had the proper response to that.
"SHANT!" and stuck his tongue out.
Whatever concepts made up the daemon seemed to make it bulge in fury as it rose into the air, booming "YOUNG MAN YOU WILL PUT DOWN THE BOMB, GO TO YOUR ROOM AND WAIT FOR FATHER TO COME BACK AND DISCIPLIN YOU RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR ON FATHER…"
Its rise into the air was just what the doctor ordered. Launching himself forwards, dodging the rain of slim the daemon deployed try and block his escape, the tendrils of its power trying vainly to bypass the Black Crystals while he went hurtling towards a window.
The Black Blade flashed, carving a tiny hole, big enough for him to hop through as he turned and gave a slight bow.
"Give my regards to your slimy father. NO WAIT" At that he grinned "I'll do it myself."
He smashed the bomb on the ground outside his window as the tendrils of filth made their way outside diving off the edge and landing on a thought as a portion of Nurgle's house burst into brilliant flames.
@Durin
This is very short and very shit, but I found the idea too amusing to pass up.
- Location
- Alice Springs, Australia
I was tempted to make it Avernus, Svartalfheim, Avernus, Vanaheim or Avernus but decided that it was a bit to much.
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
*looks at update*
Yeah, it was a good run. Let's not fail it, though.
[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death.
*looks at tally*
Why.
No, really- why?
Do we have some secret superweapon I was not aware of?
Did someone make an inisghtful and optimistic analysis of our chance of success?
Did someone make a fantastic omake that was made canon and gives Ridcully breathing space?
Yeah, it was a good run. Let's not fail it, though.
[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death.
*looks at tally*
Why.
No, really- why?
Do we have some secret superweapon I was not aware of?
Did someone make an inisghtful and optimistic analysis of our chance of success?
Did someone make a fantastic omake that was made canon and gives Ridcully breathing space?
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Are You Kidding I look like an Idiot?
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
Are You Kidding I look like an Idiot?
Munstrum Ridcully, the Seer of Gods, High Grandmaster of the Unseen University and hundred times winner of Avernus's grumpiest old man award knew he was not the most diplomatic of individuals, indeed the fact that he was aware of this had somehow made it worse by falling into that image.
However, even he knew when to hold his tongue in the centre of the Eldar's holdings, where he resided at their leisure…however, there are times when a human must stand up for what is right shoulder to shoulder with his fellows and demand justice for such awful misdeeds!
"Are you SURE, you can't redesign these!"
Standing next to him his silent companion, nodded emphatically clasping his much larger helmet under one arm, both seers writhing in righteous indignation, glaring down on the paralysed form of an unfortunate smith, caught between anger at Eldar craftsmanship being besmirched and respect for two incredibly potent seers.
Straightening they're back the Eldar, gathered them self. "What appears to be the problem sirs?" If Ridcully had eyes anymore he'd have given her a look that could melt a battlebarge's hull…possibly literally. Was the problem not obvious!
"Ok, smarty pants look at this."
And with that he picked up the helmet, snatched his hat off to the side and jammed the Ghosthelm firmly on his head.
Now the helm was a wonder. A magnificent example of its craft that he'd never seen before or since, able to shield and hide him from psycic sight, dimming the already miniscule presence he left in the warp until he may as well have been a fething blank for all the difference it made. There was just one little problem.
"We look like complete idiots." It was true.
The Ghost helm had been created in the eldar style, with a pointed head, eldar engravings and a long half arch coming out of the back. All in all, to Ridcully's blind eyes it was probably very pretty, and certainly was highly impressive on a psycic level, the issue was that it did not mesh at all with…well anything else.
It sat on his head, the ominous glowing eyes, black mask and arch looking completely out of place next to his robes and boots. The effect was even more pronounced on the astartes, who was able to fit the helmet over his...other helmet, but at the cost of looking like someone had rammed it in there with the chin poking the heavy engraved gorget.
With the demonstration the Eldar seemed amused, but the amusement was losing out to frustration surprisingly not with them. "I see the issue my lords, follow me."
With a surprising lack of expected back talk the Eldar lead them back into the forges, taking the Ghost Helms from their hands and placing them upon an altar, picking up a harp at the same time.
"Odd. I'd have thought you'd be insulting us a bit more?"
The Eldar rolled their eyes. "We've been making equipment for farseers since before your ancestors' ancestors' were anything more than thoughts in a long distant future. We know your needs. The Avatars however…well they're good, but they don't quite have the same experience. They're not as learned."
They started to humm, a soft melody to both helmets as they shifted and twisted. Wraith bone was a wonderous material, able to shift and mould itself according to an unseen pattern. The fundamental nature of the artifacts did not change, but their shape did, to an extent.
By the time he was finished they were left with an astartes helmet and a pointed hat. Both far more familiar to the Seers, unlikely to throw off their sense of self and identity.
Perfect.
@Durin
Gotta mesh with the style yo.
Munstrum Ridcully, the Seer of Gods, High Grandmaster of the Unseen University and hundred times winner of Avernus's grumpiest old man award knew he was not the most diplomatic of individuals, indeed the fact that he was aware of this had somehow made it worse by falling into that image.
However, even he knew when to hold his tongue in the centre of the Eldar's holdings, where he resided at their leisure…however, there are times when a human must stand up for what is right shoulder to shoulder with his fellows and demand justice for such awful misdeeds!
"Are you SURE, you can't redesign these!"
Standing next to him his silent companion, nodded emphatically clasping his much larger helmet under one arm, both seers writhing in righteous indignation, glaring down on the paralysed form of an unfortunate smith, caught between anger at Eldar craftsmanship being besmirched and respect for two incredibly potent seers.
Straightening they're back the Eldar, gathered them self. "What appears to be the problem sirs?" If Ridcully had eyes anymore he'd have given her a look that could melt a battlebarge's hull…possibly literally. Was the problem not obvious!
"Ok, smarty pants look at this."
And with that he picked up the helmet, snatched his hat off to the side and jammed the Ghosthelm firmly on his head.
Now the helm was a wonder. A magnificent example of its craft that he'd never seen before or since, able to shield and hide him from psycic sight, dimming the already miniscule presence he left in the warp until he may as well have been a fething blank for all the difference it made. There was just one little problem.
"We look like complete idiots." It was true.
The Ghost helm had been created in the eldar style, with a pointed head, eldar engravings and a long half arch coming out of the back. All in all, to Ridcully's blind eyes it was probably very pretty, and certainly was highly impressive on a psycic level, the issue was that it did not mesh at all with…well anything else.
It sat on his head, the ominous glowing eyes, black mask and arch looking completely out of place next to his robes and boots. The effect was even more pronounced on the astartes, who was able to fit the helmet over his...other helmet, but at the cost of looking like someone had rammed it in there with the chin poking the heavy engraved gorget.
With the demonstration the Eldar seemed amused, but the amusement was losing out to frustration surprisingly not with them. "I see the issue my lords, follow me."
With a surprising lack of expected back talk the Eldar lead them back into the forges, taking the Ghost Helms from their hands and placing them upon an altar, picking up a harp at the same time.
"Odd. I'd have thought you'd be insulting us a bit more?"
The Eldar rolled their eyes. "We've been making equipment for farseers since before your ancestors' ancestors' were anything more than thoughts in a long distant future. We know your needs. The Avatars however…well they're good, but they don't quite have the same experience. They're not as learned."
They started to humm, a soft melody to both helmets as they shifted and twisted. Wraith bone was a wonderous material, able to shift and mould itself according to an unseen pattern. The fundamental nature of the artifacts did not change, but their shape did, to an extent.
By the time he was finished they were left with an astartes helmet and a pointed hat. Both far more familiar to the Seers, unlikely to throw off their sense of self and identity.
Perfect.
@Durin
Gotta mesh with the style yo.
Surprisingly yes to all of these to varying degrees.
Chlof
Her Ladyship
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The image of the ghosthelm mixed with Ridcully's cotton puffball beard makes this entire endeavour worth it.
Doomed Wombat
Let's go Darling!
- Location
- Dancing on wires!
+ the Black Crystal crown stuck on top of the whole ensemble somewhere.
- Location
- Terror Australis
In order. Ridcully does have an enuncia panic bomb. We have the DCs for the next part and success is basicly a coinflip and his escape chance if he fails that one check is roughly another coinflip. Finally people are stacking extra omake bonuses on this.
So its more like a 1/4 chance of complete failure. Not great but possibly worth the risk.
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sabreFather
Dr Pepper is the flavour that I savour
- Location
- Land of Bears and Loggers AKA Oregon
Really, seeing a Space Marine wearing a Seer Helmet on top of his helmet is quite surreal. That's the kind of shit you expect from Ork Freebootaz and Team Fortress 2 players, not a Space marine.
[X] Push forward- You have come this far, you are not willing to falter on the final stretch. - One DC 230 roll, one DC 160 plague roll, then retreat. On survival earn honourbound favour from Eldar, on death earn minor favour
I've been thinking about it. We still have the bomb to get us out of a tough spot, and leaving without using it just doesn't feel right. It's worth a shot given this is likely the only time they're going to get information on Isha before an attempt at a rescue. Ridicully's life is worth risking to give a bonus to rescuing Isha. It's not worth it to the Trust, but it's worth it to the Galaxy. And hey, living on Avernus makes you want to fuck chaos more than even is rational, it applies as reasoning here.
I've been thinking about it. We still have the bomb to get us out of a tough spot, and leaving without using it just doesn't feel right. It's worth a shot given this is likely the only time they're going to get information on Isha before an attempt at a rescue. Ridicully's life is worth risking to give a bonus to rescuing Isha. It's not worth it to the Trust, but it's worth it to the Galaxy. And hey, living on Avernus makes you want to fuck chaos more than even is rational, it applies as reasoning here.
Damian45
Only Sane Man
[X] Fall Back- You have mapped out almost all of the path and confirmed Isha's presence, with the plague in you pushing forward leaves to great a risk of dying and losing all that you have gained. - Retreat, earn major favour from Eldar on survival and minor favour on death
Avernites on Other Fronts
- Location
- England
The Hercules drop ship shuddered from incoming fire and the glowing orange lights running down its long thin troop bay flickered. The glowing wards inscribed onto the plasteel walls by the Aeldari warlocks glittered, unfazed. The Helltroopers, some shuddering in there armour, some huddling inside there tanks, were fazed. The coms screens hanging from the ceiling in the dropships and in the fighting compartments of the tanks all switched from displaying the regimental flag and the company captains war weary visage, seated in the command seat of the lead tank, appeared on the slightly blue tinted displays.
"Well. We're finally fucking doing it I guess. There were always rumours this was why we were sent to Bloody Emperor damned Averneus in the first place, some inquisitor wanting storm troopers that could attack daemon worlds. Its so fucking bullshit that of course it's true. Listen, I'm not going to lie to you, and say that we're gonna scrape through this. This isn't orks, or humans or even fucking khornates we're fighting. Its worse than, and this one you believe, the wildlife. If even one of us makes it out of here alive, sane, and not horribly infected with some awful plague then the emperor really is watching from beyond the grave tonight."
The was a sudden smash that sent the troops scrambling for something solid to hold onto. Strapped into armoured vehicles which had designers who were serious about protecting those inside, the tankers got away with some small bruises and cuts. The captain started up again.
"As you know, when we get down there the main goal is to get ourselves to the front, pushing to expand the perimeter as fast as possible. They'll be all sorts going on once we hop out, and the situation for us is best described as a eternal fluster cuck so assume anything that isn't covered in pustules and open wound is a friendly. We're under the human side of the command structure this time, so expect to be yelled at by big colourful Astartes. The whole reason we're here is that we can keep up with those big bastards and cover them from all the small shit they shouldn't have to worry about."
Trooper armour rebreathers are very, very good, especially by imperial standards. Generally they rendered any non-direct chemical or biological warfare completely useless. You can walk through a city pumped full of enough nerve gas that even a miliseconds exposure would kill you without the slightest bit of fear. You can go into the void perfectly happily, and expect the armour to keep you alive for days. You can survive even Avernite plagues with only a moderate fear of infection. The eldar had took one look at it and nonchalantly said it would last one hour on the plague world. They had been content with this, but the high ups in the Avernite expeditionary force hadn't. They'd bribed, borrowed and in a single case outright stole enough psyker time to ward the assault forces armour. Estimated survival time, not counting damage done by active enemies, now measured 6 hours. Estimated average survival time for a helltrooper following first contact with the enemy was 14 minutes, but the officers figured those who lasted past that had the potential to do well, and succeed well beyond the Eldars estimate.
"Impalers will be ineffective against all but the weakest of the fucking zombie fucks, and anything bigger than a man will need heavy weapons fire minimum to take them down. I repeat, Impalers won't do shit to the big ones, so don't waste your short short combat effective life. Use your grenades, and incendiaries, try and hit them with a melta charge. Once they get up close you can cut them up with your shiny new power bayonet sure, but just cause you chop these maggot ridden bastards in half don't mean they'll die. Leave anything bigger than a Macharius to the Eldar or Astartes. Trust me. You can't take them."
Despite the protective gear, the helltroopers were beginning to smell the hellish daemon infested planetside they were approaching. The smell was reminicent of that of a deaths head blink spiders victim, a horrible sweet sickly poison. The worst part about it was the small bit of your mind that told you it smelled beautiful, that the sweetness was true, and the rotting, disgusting nature of it, the underside that made up almost all of it, was the lie.
"ETA 30 seconds. We get out as soon as we land, the Herc is a sitting duck on the ground. Good fucking luck boys and girls. Try not to show up the Astartes too much, eh?"
The smell got stronger and the battle got louder and the shaking got heavier and there was sudden deceleration and then a thunderous crash, as they hit the plague ridden earth.
The main door burst open and with a mighty cry of "For the Emperor" the power armoured forms of the infantry leapt from the front of the ship, and all the bravado left in them fled as soon as their boots hit the ground. The sky was a tapestry of explosions, as imperial and nurglite fighter craft engaged each other, the myriad of steel and pestiferous flesh craft engaged in thousands of dogfights, bombing runs and attempts to intercept landings. An imperial thunderbolt missed its mark with its lascannons, them harmlessly carving the fleshwall of a ruined building. The missed plaugefighter let loose a hail of pestilent auto-cannon rounds at its own mark, a Valkyrie. Its engines torn out by the tearing scream of the plaguefighter's weapons the Valkyrie twisted and tumbled down in a burning spiral, landing only a good grenades throw from the Hercules.
"Go, Go, GO, GO, GOO!" screamed the captain, almost tearing his throat. The roar of the tanks engines leapt up above the din of battle in the crampt bay of the hercules, and the payload leapt from its belly and into the fight. Ten seconds after the dropship had landed it was already in the air again, weaving it's way to the fleet, on its mission of picking up more soldiers.
The ground the tanks had rolled onto was burnt to ash, incinerated at the hand of the fleet above, and yet even in this burning wasteland pestilent buildings, plants and stenches were already rising again from the purged earth. The life of the plague god was hard to extinguish. Towering above the horizon is the "Hive". A monstrous pillar of flesh, leaking mutagenic chaotic ooze from its mighty orifaces, its circulatory system pumping the sewerage that was it's blood.
"Right guys, that's the target, now we just have to find those godddamn gloryhounds. They must be around here somewhere!"
Right on cue, a vanagrian guard droppod lands behind him in a cloud of put up ash, and a towering elite armoured librarian climbs out. In a deep voice modulated by his armour he asks, "What was that you were just saying?"
"Well. We're finally fucking doing it I guess. There were always rumours this was why we were sent to Bloody Emperor damned Averneus in the first place, some inquisitor wanting storm troopers that could attack daemon worlds. Its so fucking bullshit that of course it's true. Listen, I'm not going to lie to you, and say that we're gonna scrape through this. This isn't orks, or humans or even fucking khornates we're fighting. Its worse than, and this one you believe, the wildlife. If even one of us makes it out of here alive, sane, and not horribly infected with some awful plague then the emperor really is watching from beyond the grave tonight."
The was a sudden smash that sent the troops scrambling for something solid to hold onto. Strapped into armoured vehicles which had designers who were serious about protecting those inside, the tankers got away with some small bruises and cuts. The captain started up again.
"As you know, when we get down there the main goal is to get ourselves to the front, pushing to expand the perimeter as fast as possible. They'll be all sorts going on once we hop out, and the situation for us is best described as a eternal fluster cuck so assume anything that isn't covered in pustules and open wound is a friendly. We're under the human side of the command structure this time, so expect to be yelled at by big colourful Astartes. The whole reason we're here is that we can keep up with those big bastards and cover them from all the small shit they shouldn't have to worry about."
Trooper armour rebreathers are very, very good, especially by imperial standards. Generally they rendered any non-direct chemical or biological warfare completely useless. You can walk through a city pumped full of enough nerve gas that even a miliseconds exposure would kill you without the slightest bit of fear. You can go into the void perfectly happily, and expect the armour to keep you alive for days. You can survive even Avernite plagues with only a moderate fear of infection. The eldar had took one look at it and nonchalantly said it would last one hour on the plague world. They had been content with this, but the high ups in the Avernite expeditionary force hadn't. They'd bribed, borrowed and in a single case outright stole enough psyker time to ward the assault forces armour. Estimated survival time, not counting damage done by active enemies, now measured 6 hours. Estimated average survival time for a helltrooper following first contact with the enemy was 14 minutes, but the officers figured those who lasted past that had the potential to do well, and succeed well beyond the Eldars estimate.
"Impalers will be ineffective against all but the weakest of the fucking zombie fucks, and anything bigger than a man will need heavy weapons fire minimum to take them down. I repeat, Impalers won't do shit to the big ones, so don't waste your short short combat effective life. Use your grenades, and incendiaries, try and hit them with a melta charge. Once they get up close you can cut them up with your shiny new power bayonet sure, but just cause you chop these maggot ridden bastards in half don't mean they'll die. Leave anything bigger than a Macharius to the Eldar or Astartes. Trust me. You can't take them."
Despite the protective gear, the helltroopers were beginning to smell the hellish daemon infested planetside they were approaching. The smell was reminicent of that of a deaths head blink spiders victim, a horrible sweet sickly poison. The worst part about it was the small bit of your mind that told you it smelled beautiful, that the sweetness was true, and the rotting, disgusting nature of it, the underside that made up almost all of it, was the lie.
"ETA 30 seconds. We get out as soon as we land, the Herc is a sitting duck on the ground. Good fucking luck boys and girls. Try not to show up the Astartes too much, eh?"
The smell got stronger and the battle got louder and the shaking got heavier and there was sudden deceleration and then a thunderous crash, as they hit the plague ridden earth.
The main door burst open and with a mighty cry of "For the Emperor" the power armoured forms of the infantry leapt from the front of the ship, and all the bravado left in them fled as soon as their boots hit the ground. The sky was a tapestry of explosions, as imperial and nurglite fighter craft engaged each other, the myriad of steel and pestiferous flesh craft engaged in thousands of dogfights, bombing runs and attempts to intercept landings. An imperial thunderbolt missed its mark with its lascannons, them harmlessly carving the fleshwall of a ruined building. The missed plaugefighter let loose a hail of pestilent auto-cannon rounds at its own mark, a Valkyrie. Its engines torn out by the tearing scream of the plaguefighter's weapons the Valkyrie twisted and tumbled down in a burning spiral, landing only a good grenades throw from the Hercules.
"Go, Go, GO, GO, GOO!" screamed the captain, almost tearing his throat. The roar of the tanks engines leapt up above the din of battle in the crampt bay of the hercules, and the payload leapt from its belly and into the fight. Ten seconds after the dropship had landed it was already in the air again, weaving it's way to the fleet, on its mission of picking up more soldiers.
The ground the tanks had rolled onto was burnt to ash, incinerated at the hand of the fleet above, and yet even in this burning wasteland pestilent buildings, plants and stenches were already rising again from the purged earth. The life of the plague god was hard to extinguish. Towering above the horizon is the "Hive". A monstrous pillar of flesh, leaking mutagenic chaotic ooze from its mighty orifaces, its circulatory system pumping the sewerage that was it's blood.
"Right guys, that's the target, now we just have to find those godddamn gloryhounds. They must be around here somewhere!"
Right on cue, a vanagrian guard droppod lands behind him in a cloud of put up ash, and a towering elite armoured librarian climbs out. In a deep voice modulated by his armour he asks, "What was that you were just saying?"
Eh, can't think of a way to continue this. Open to ideas. No real story or characterisation here just some fluff on what the Avernites we sent to help the Eldar are up too. I thought having them join in an attack on a daemon world made sense, considering its what they're originally designed for.
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Chlof
Her Ladyship
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ridcully: I may be facing near insurmountable odds, but at least I can do so with dignity!
Eldrad slams ghosthelm on the table
Ridcully: fuck
- Location
- To the left. No, not there, the other left.
@Durin
The math doesn't seem too add up. With -10 from plague Ridcully has +153 to roll which means he needs 77 to pass DC230. Does he get bonus on the last stretch of does this simply mean that failure by less than 30 doesn't result in him being detected? Or did I miss something obviuos and I fail at math forever?
EDIT: Nevermind, I fail at math. I based the bonus on the results of previuos rolls which are incorrect.
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