TO BURN, VENT, OR TAKE AS PRIZE (Warhammer 40k Naval Quest)

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HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP, THE VALIANT, AND HER CREW LISTS
  • Informational
    • Cruise Start Date: 3.004.755.m41 | CRUISE COMPLETE
    Shiptime: 180 Days
    Current Date: 3.412.756.m41
    Current Location: The Tempestos Ring
    Current Status: Under Repair and Refit for Duty


    CHRISTENING: The VALIANT
    CLASS: Falchion Class | KEEL LAID: 02.0011.231.m41
    COMPLICATION: Haunted (-10 to max morale, +6 to detection, enemies get -10 to boarding/hit and run attacks)
    MACHINE SPIRIT TEMPERAMENT: Wrothful! (+1 speed, +7 to maneuverability in combat, -1 speed, -5 maneuverability, -5 detection while out of combat)

    --

    HULL INTEGRITY: 36/36 | VOID SHIELDS: 1 | ARMOR: 18
    TURRET RATING: 1 | SPEED: 9 (7) | MANEUVERABILITY: +24 (+12) | DETECTION: +30 (+25)
    CREW QUALITY: Elite (40%) | CREW: 99/100 | MORALE: 87/90
    SUPPLIES: 12 Months (at 6 months go on short rations)

    --

    Dimensions: 2.2 Kilometres in Length | 0.3 Kilometres abeam at the Fins
    Mass: 6.5 Megatonnes (approx) | Crew: 27,871 Souls (may the God Emperor Protect)
    Acceleration: 4.6 Gravities (Constant)



    DORSAL CANNONS

    Mars Cannons
    The Jumping Bastard, Long-Lolly, Big Lass, Old Contemptible, 'Nought More, Domination, Obliteration, The Silly Lad, Gigatech, Omnisiah's Child, Emperor's Fist and The Smiling Jack
    Range: 6 | Strength: 3 | Damage: 1d10+3 (Crit: 5)

    Ryza Cannons
    Furious Sun, The Sisters
    Range: 5 | Strength: 5 | Damage: 1d10+6 (Crit: 4)
    If this weapon deals the Destroyed critical hit, it destroys two components rather than one

    TORPEDOES
    Speed: 10 Void Units per Turn | Damage: 2d10+14 (Crit: 10) | Terminal Penetration: 3
    Rating: +20
    Maximum Range: 60
    14 Torpedoes


    Space: 34/34 | Power: 42/45

    Jovian Pattern Class 2 Plasma Drive: Blessed be her Fury, for she Driveth us to Salvation.
    (Space: 10 | Power: 45 Generated)

    Stelov I Warp Engine: Blessed by her Swiftness, for she Taketh us to the Foe
    (Space: 9 | Power: 9 | This Component is Best Quality, reducing it's Space and Power requirements by 1.

    Weir-Miller Pattern Geller Field: Blessed be her Aegis, for she Hold the Darkness at Bay
    (Space: 0 | Power: 1)

    Single Layer Mars Pattern Void Shield Array: Blessed be her Sneer, for she Winks upon Death
    (Space: 1 | Power: 5)

    Command Bridge: Blessed be her Ire, for thou shall smite her enemies from this sacred place.
    (Space: 1 | Power: 2) | Special: +5 to Command Checks and +5 to BS checks. If unpowered, roll 1d10. On a 1-3, this bridge is not unpowered)

    Vitae Pattern Life Sustainer: Blessed be her Breath, for thou shall sup from her teat and live evermore
    (Space: 2 | Power: 4)

    Voidsmen Quarters: Blessed be her Arms, for the encircle your Earthly Body.
    (Space: 3 | Power: 1)

    Deep Void Auger Array: Blessed be her Eye, for she Sees All
    (Space: 0 | Power: 7)

    Prow Mounted Voss Pattern Torpedo Tubes: Blessed be her Fist, for she striketh the foe!
    (Space: - | Power: 1) | This component is included automatically and cannot be removed.

    Dorsal Mounted Mars Pattern Macrocannon Batteries: Blessed be he Sword, for she sweeps away the Shield
    (Space: 2 | Power: 4)

    Dorsal Mounted Ryza Pattern Plasma Battery: Blessed be her Lance, for she driveth into thy Enemy's Belly
    (Space: 4 | Power: 7) | This component is of best quality, adding +1 Strength and +1 Damage. Praise the Emperor.

    Munitorium: Blessed be her Quiver, for it is Ever Filled with her Hate
    (Space: 2 | Power: 1) | This component is of best quality, reducing Space and Power Requirement by 1. Hail to the Omnisiah!
    VOLATILE: IF THIS COMPONENT IS DAMAGED, IT EXPLODES, DEALING 2D5 DAMAGE TO THE SHIP IGNORING ARMOR AND SETTING A NEARBY COMPONENT ON FIRE

    COMPLIMENT

    Bridge Crew
    Captain: Commander VYNN
    First Officer: Lieutenant Yorke ZELLA
    Chief Surgeon: Doctor Jonathan BALTHEZAR
    Helm Officer: Lieutenant, 2nd Class, Privata SONJA Blitzkovatch
    Ship's Master: Xandi ES
    Gunner's Mate, 1st Class: Sujek KHAN
    Gunner's Mate, 2nd Class: Khotar VROOK


    Guildsmen and Civilian Officials
    Cartho-Artifex: Sir Jividias VONT (the Younger)
    Chief Purser: Mrs. Sydwynn Carter
    Head Confessor: KURGHAN Malik

    Midshipmen
    Mr. Tommen Blakely (aged 13)
    Mr. Vindalin Cork (aged 15)
    Mr. Dashire Rainwild (aged 14)
    Mr. Bower Xon III (Aged 12)
    Mr. Ted (Age 13)


    The Priesthood of Mars
    Chief Enginseer (aka Enginseer Primus): Isabella "ISA" Turantawix


    Navis Nobiline
    Warp Guide: GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma (Guiding Light of the Astronomicon, The Daring One, Mistress of the Stars)
    Warp Secondus: SEVERUS GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, Husband to GALE
    Warp Tertrius: MARY GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, eldest daughter to GALE
    Warp Quaternus: TOMMEN GALE of the House Nobiline Majoris Stikellan-Vorin-Ma, younger son to GALE

    The Crew

    Boatswain Frik (MIA, ship-date 112 at warp, no body found)
    Able Voidsman Darya Ivanova
    Able Voidman Sa'adah Sanguhamat (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless His Soul)
    Able Voidsman Nasir Naaji
    Voidsman Akulina Ignatov (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless Her Soul)
    Voidsman Irina Kuznetsov (Died of Infection, ship-date 108 at Warp, consigned to the Void, God Emperor Bless Her Soul)
    Voidsman Lev Volkov
    Voidsman Mikha'il Abdulrashid
    Voidsman Isra Saqqaf
    Voidsman Asim Ahmad
    Voidsman Happy Jack Sheng

     
    Last edited:
  • Informational
    • CHAPTER THREE: THE FLAMES OF PERDITION ITSELF (1.6)
  • Threadmarks
    • Author's Note: My most recent novel, All the King's Horses, is up on amazon! It's a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek: The Next Generation and the World of Darkness. If that sounds like your kind of ludicrous, check it out!


    "And they have a Mars pattern plasma drive, and just by peering at it from a distance, just from the design of the baffle-vents on the port and starboard vanes, I could see that it's easily from the 30th, maybe the 31st, nine thousand years, nine thousand years, Vynn, and they have the poor dear trussed up in Eldar gravisails and who knows what else half-handed Rogue Trader frippery, pushing the poor spirit to drive the ship forward while having to be touched by xenos hands, ugh! It makes me shudder to even think of it," Isa says, shaking her head, whilst you did the more important task of freeing her from the confines of her robe whilest kissing the seam on her neck, finding yonder joint that you knew always made her croon so.

    She kept up at it, even once your hands had found other places that made her croon so. While your fingers worked, it was all 'Eldar this' and 'Eldar that' and strings of nearly incomprehensible techno-lingua that, for all the orgasmic panting betwixt the syllables, retained a certain level of utter irate indignation that reminded you a touch of the time you had once suggested to an Adeptus Sororitas, before you had fully been converted by your master's missionary, that if the Emperor had been in such pain for so long, maybe he just needed to get off the Throne and stretch a bit. However, even Isa's remarkable irritation gave way on the second...nay, third by your count, and afterwards, she reclined against you, panting, with a rosed glow.

    Which, you supposed, was the best time to bring up your idea.

    "You want me to slice into the datacrypt of our ostensible ally, to decipher what mischief she's up too, so you can lay a trap for a ship that may not even be after the same thing - all on a hunch and a bit of womanly intuition?" Isa asked, her fingers tracing the lines of your tattoos with slow, languid movements, while her mechatendrils wrapped about your ankle and shoulder and thigh and squeezed. "You are aware of the risks - not merely political, but theological?"

    "Well..." You coughed. "No, I admit. I mean, yes, I figure Astra might be a mite short with us, if she caught us..."

    Isa shook her head. "Oh, yes, just open my cranium to substrata gremline codebeasts that have been lurking in the datacrypt since Mars fell and let them interplex my vocodor - nevermind." She says that with some affection, upon seeing your look of confusion. "...if I get a chance to sabotage the xenostech-"

    "Just look," you say, seriously. "No cutting rigging."

    Isa pouts. "Fine." She lays her head upon your chest, sighing. "You know, you're lucky I'm an iconocaust, Vynn, most Priests give over on this pleasure by the time they hit their third decade in the Order. I'll have you know, I almost considered the Communion of the Enclosed Vita, for the simple convenience of it. You should bless the Omnisiah I never did, or you'd lose your third favorite meal!"

    You scoff. "Second!"

    Isa snorts, then leans in, and whispers in your ear. "You lie, but you lie sweetly, my barbarous hamhanded oafish loutish-"

    "Ack!" You claps your hand to your breast, wounded unto death.

    The blade of your knife plunges with a thock into the cloth map, pinning it to the lacquered wooden table in your stateroom - transfixing the Soul Catcher's Roil upon the faded parchment. KIllick, who has just brought in the tea for the gathering of bridge officers, cries out in abortive alarm, then sets the tray down with a clatter, clucking and grabbing at the knife, worrying at it, muttering: "Oh damn all dramatic Captains to the firey pits of damnation itself, this was ten thousand throne finishing it was, oh dear, oh no, oh fie...fie on all you lot..." as you, ignoring him, proclaim: "The Roil, gentlmen! That is where we shall take our prize!"

    Mr. Es, Mr. Khan, Mr. Vrook, Lieutenant Sonja, and Lieutenant Zella all looked at you - while Jon sat in the smoking chair by the fire, dragging upon a cigarillo and looking thoughtful. The masters are all rather pleased, and Sonja nods, but it is Zella that you find most curious. He has a somewhat downcast expression to himself. Lessened. Chastened, as if he has received some terrible news. You notice, too, that he is not favoring his left hand, which causes you to exclaim. "Good Emperor, what happened to you, Zella?"

    "Oh, tis nothing," he rumbles, trying to conceal the bandaged hand behind his back. "I, that is..." he stammers, his metallic jaw clicking.

    "The good Lieutenant made an error in spatial judgment - caught for a glass while it fell from the table during whist," Jon says from his distant roost, making Zella hunch slightly. "Overreached, tripped, and placed his palm such upon the glass so as to compress it with his weight, shattering it and lacerating his palm quite badly. Fortunately, I was there to stitch him up proper." He puffs upon his cigar. "Quite a fortunate happenstance, was it not, Lieutenant?"

    "Yes. Quite fortunate." Zella still seems reduced, but you clap your hand upon his shoulder.

    "Never fear, Zella! We'll get you prize money a plenty to get your mind off that!" you say, though this doesn't seem to cheer your mostly augmetic first officer up overmuch. But you continue: "My darling Isa, that is, er, the Chief Enginseer, did a bit of a poke and a pry through the datacrypt upon the Perdition, quietly, discretely, like." You nod. "She retrieved information - they're trying to cobble together some xenos tech, whatever it is, doesn't matter, what does matter is that the End of Days is hunting the same thing, I'm sure of it, for the first third of it was upon Jakaros, the second upon the world here in the Wailing Star...and the third? The third, my fellows, the third is upon the Roil herself - specifically, a moon, rumored to be in orbit round one of their Jovians...and you know what this means..."

    Sonja pieces it immediately together and beams. "We'll have the well gauge if we get there first! And banding to go with it, that'd be quite famous..."

    The rest of the crew nods and you set them to making ready to sail and to vox the Perdition to begin preparations for sailing in fleet. But as you roll up the map and frown at the rather deep cut in your table your theatrics had placed there, Jon taps out the cigarillo on the ash tray and asks: "Might I bother you for a clarification, Vynn?"

    "Oh?"

    "What, precisely, is the well gauge?" he asks.

    You chuckle. "While in orbit around a body - be it solar or planetary - being in a high orbit gives one a certain number of kinetic and logistic advantages, offset by the rapidity of the enemy's faster relative motion to the planet. The closer they are, you see, the swifter they circumnavigate the globe around which you whip about. But with the well gauge, you can dictate a great deal about the nature of the engagement. It's why a high orbit is the vanguard place, the point of honor, for invasion and fleet action alike." You beam.

    "And banding?"

    "Oh Jove himself, reaches cross the vasty milky broth of our fair galaxy and grants us a boon! Jovian worlds have great vast cores of liquid hydrogen, rotating at tremendous speeds, creating magnetic fields the likes of which only the God-Emperor's ever seen!" You beam. "Enough hard radiation to cook an egg, scramble a vox...and blind an auspex from everything save for the plume of a battleship herself." You clap your hands. "If we get there first, we have a perfect site for ambush!"

    "How honorable..."

    "Quite!" you say.

    Jon pauses, then puffs upon his cigarillo. "Vynn, might I ask...have you ever heard of the regulation stating a captain suspected of heresy can be removed from the service lawfully by their underlings?"

    You chuckle. "Aye, yes, yes, it's a common enough regulation, rare enforced..." you shake your head. "Why? Worried about one of our officers mistaking these tattoos for the sigils of the Enemy, ha ha!" You laugh at the absurdity of that idea.

    "How oft does such a move lead to the underling being, ah, disciplined, if they were found in the wrong?"

    "Well..." You suck on your lower lip, growing concerned by this line of inquiry. "Well, Jon...well...it depends, I suppose. In the darkest black, log books can be doctored and a crew's rumors carry shorter than you might guess. If the Captain dies mysterious or just plum vanishes and wasn't so popular among the crew, well, such things happen, the log books say whatever the current acting captain says, and the Admiralty shrugs it off, unless they have connection or peerage or some kind of lever and...and...Jon, you're not seriously intimating that I'm in some kind of accusational danger from Zella, are you?"

    Jon blinks, then shakes his head. "No, no, not in the slightest!" and quite suddenly the room, which had gained a dark and morbid character during this grim little conversation, seemed brighter and more cheery as Jon explains: "Zella was simply regaling us with a story about his service during the war against the T'au. They had convinced one of the captains of the flotilla that their heathen religion was better than the one she had been born with and it was quite a scandal..."

    You chuckle. "Oh, if you think that is a scandal, have I told you of-"

    You catch the sight of motion. "AH!" your las pistol springs into your palm and plants three cherry red craters into the wall before the hullghast, which you had spotted, reached the protection of Jon's lap, which the terrible blighter was using to its full and hideous advantage, writhing and wriggling to plant Jon between you and the barrel your pistol, which you hastily aimed at the ceiling rather than your dear friend. "Blast and damnation, I nearly got it!"

    "VYNN!" Jon roars at you - but you can see half of your hat in the creature's maw.

    In a black mood, you begin to draft your orders for the sail...

    TO THE ROIL, MEN! TO THE ROIL!

    How shall we sail?
    [] Sail direct! (Highly dangerous, highly swift)
    [] Sail via the normal lanes (slower, safer)

    Does Vynn suspect Zella?
    [] Surely, Jon would not have lied
    [] Maybe talking to Zella would not go amiss...

    That damn Hullgaunt!
    [] Lay out a trap. Maybe one with barbs and toxins...
    [] Soak your hat in grog, maybe that will work where meat has failed
    [] Lay in wait with your pistol
     
  • Threadmarks
    • [x] Sail direct! (Highly dangerous, highly swift)
    [x] Surely, Jon would not have lied

    No, I'm sure Jon wouldn't have. 🤦‍♀️ On the other hand, the matter seems to be settled right now, so I don't see any particular reason to go upsetting the cart again.

    [x] Soak your hat in grog, maybe that will work where meat has failed
     
    [x] Sail direct! (Highly dangerous, highly swift)
    [x] Surely, Jon would not have lied
    [x] Soak your hat in grog, maybe that will work where meat has failed
     
    Somehow this quest has turned me into the voice of reason (or at least the voice of caution). We've already had one close call with the Warp, and morale isn't great. I don't think I want to risk a mutiny quite yet.

    [X] Sail via the normal lanes (slower, safer)
    [X] Maybe talking to Zella would not go amiss...
    [X] Soak your hat in grog, maybe that will work where meat has failed
     
    [x] Sail direct! (Highly dangerous, highly swift)
    [x] Surely, Jon would not have lied
    [x] Lay in wait with your pistol
     
    [X] Sail via the normal lanes (slower, safer)
    [X] Maybe talking to Zella would not go amiss...
    -[X] Check the records of the game room at that time before speaking with Zella. Certainly Jon has not lied but Zella is acting off of his usual self and knowing why will make a good talking point while hunting something wild on the ship. A good hunt always lifts a man's spirits.
    [X] Soak your hat in grog, maybe that will work where meat has failed
     
    I'm gonna need some rolls, cause I feel lazy!

    I need about 15 rolls of 1d100!

    Lower is better, in case you want to blow on your dice.
     
    CHAPTER FOUR: THE END OF DAYS (1.1)
  • Threadmarks
    • "How much longer did she say?"

    "Oh, another two days."

    The entire ship heeled hard upon her side as the hissing sibilant voices of the warp snapped off all at once while you and Jon were flung from your chairs,your regicide board crashing down onto the hardwood that spread beyond your carpeted deck. With your elbow smarting and your hair mussed and your eyes blazing with fury you sprang to your feet, snatched the vox from the wall and bellowed into it. "What in the shriveled desiccated scalp of our most holy majesty happened?"

    "We're determining that, sir!" Sonja's voice is clipped.

    When, a mere four days before, you had been told the auguries by Gale, you had near cut a caper right there in her living room with her children watching and her sighing dramatically. But what could you hope for, to hear that it would take you a scant six days to reach the distant system of the Void Dancer's Roil. Six! You could hardly have believed your luck. Still, you knew it was better to rely upon luck, and so you had set the crew to praying extra, battened down the hatches, double checked your stores, and set Zella to handling the rest of the busywork. You had Isa check upon the torpedoes, had Mr. Khan lead the armsmen in drills, and made sure to school the mids on what to do if there was any hot, close action. You had shown them the tricks that the little ones could use: Dirks in the ankles, las pistols having no kick made for a good first weapon in battle, where to best take cover if the bridge be boarded, how to lead men during a battle if the chaos and confusion of things required it, though you had to admit, the idea of Mr. Cork leading anyone made you purse your lips and frown.

    The Valiant and the Perdition had then slipped, together, into the howling scream of the Warp...

    And for four days, all had been well. Oh, yes, the Valhallans continued to complain about the heat...and you had begun to soak your hat in grog...and the hullghast had finally seen fit to stop eating them and instead was merely sucking the grog from them, and all you need do was wipe them clean and it was handled quite handsomely...and there had been a single report of a ghostly figure in the bilge decks, but Jon had investigated and proclaimed the entire area to be becalmed in a bilious gas that upset the black humors of a man, and he gave every man jack down there an injection that they were still whining about...but all in all, you had never asked for a more pleasant sail.

    And now...

    You strode upon the bridge to find that Sonja and the mids were at work checking the chron - first by identifying local pulsars and comparing them to expected positions. The sun, though, was what caused you to exclaim. "Where on Terra are we?"

    Lieutenant Zella, frowning, stepped to you. "Captain, we're in the Void Catcher's Roil."

    "Catcher or Dancer?" you ask.

    "It's Catcher, sir," he says, and you shrug it off, taking a look again at the sun. To be frank, it was far too large. It was a bright, cheerful, G-class star. Yellow as burnished gold, warm as the gentle arms of a beautiful maid servant, with a Goldilock you could swim in, ah, you did so love to see a G-class, lovely classes, the finest of all stars, pretty as a picture. Some may have preferred K-class, but you always found the orange color to be eminently unlucky and ever so unseemly. And the less said about Bs and As those bright hot blue buggers the better...

    "Why are we so bloody class, Zella?"

    "The Navigatrix says the auguries were off - we fair near overshot. She dropped us out, but none too gently, and nearly into the moon. We're in orbit around Thalestar's Tears, the second planet of the system," Sonja says to you, then calls to the logbook. "Mark time! Three point nine eight two point seven five five!"

    "Mark time, three point nine eight two point seven five five!" the logbook calls back, scribbling hurriedly.

    You chuckle. "Near enough to Emperor's Day..." you say, stomach half rumbling at the idea of some cake. But then you focus. "The Perdition?"

    "We're getting their vox - they ended up in the asteroid belt," Sonja says.

    You purse your lips. "Give me a parallax on this system, Sonja, I want to know if our quarry's here..."

    Sonja nods, then frowns. "We are receiving another vox...intermittent...scratchy..." She frowns. "Mr. Tom! Would you be so kind as to train our scopes on that Jove over there, be a good fellow."

    The next hour reveals to you the shape of the system - with some additional intelligence being tightbeamed from the Perdition. The system, you knew, was most interesting because of the missing ship that had been lost here, the Spiteful or the Spireful, you're not entirely certain due to the somewhat shoddy handwriting upon the map. The ship, a firestorm class frigate, had been lost with all hands in the year 749 - a full six before now - and the system had not seen human eyes since to anyone's knowledge. But you did have the astronomic information that the Spiteful had astropathed back to fleet headquarters upon first sounding the system, and all that information remained true: There was a single cheerful yellow sun, a small gas giant in orbit around it (a hot giant, they called it, a capture from beyond the solar system, a rogue world flung free in some ancient catastrophe or mischance and caught by this system however millions of years later.) Then there was the planet round which you currently orbited (in a high vanguard orbit, thanks to the skillful handling of your crew, you made a note to commend them for their good work.) It was one of those blighted places that could be like Terra save for certain mischances - in this case, whatever benighted forms of life that had evolved down there without the Emperor's guidance had decided that a thick and noxious soup of chlorine was the best substance to belch into the atmosphere, the great rudesbys.

    Roughly three AU past Thalestar's Tears (and the source of the planet's single moon) was the asteroid belt.

    And here, here was where a new detail had been added to the roster of the system's oddities: The Perdition reported that the asteroid belt contained a slowly expanding debris field - by the age and the extension, their astromancers pegged her at nearly five hundred years old, maybe more, maybe less - of xenos ships: A single elegant eldar craft and sixty seven smaller xenos crafts of unknown design. Jon, who had come to the bridge in his stork-like, curious way, had ruminated on this: "Like carrion birds about a mighty eagle, born down by sheer numbers..." he pursed his lips, then shook his head. "Alas...the Eldar, the Aeldari they prefer you know, can be allies, from time to time, when one is hunting chaos. A shame, though. But not so much a shame as I am to shed a single salty tear for the arrogant fellows."

    "Oh, I could be convinced..." you murmur, thinking of Anja, oh, Anja, fiery Anja, furious Anja the Ranger, oh...

    But beyond the asteroid belt was the great Jovian that had made you so very eager before: Banded by rings and sporting seven moons and thirteen moonlettes, it was a terrible ocher beast, a fearsome fellow, even from twelve AU. The majority of the moons were airless rocks. But one...one made you take a second glance, for it was a difference, a difference that could not be chalked up to merely missing a few derelict ships in the vastness of the void. According to the logs reported by the Spiteful, the second moon of the Jovian had been logged thus: Martian in scale and gravity, an atmosphere of purest air, three continents visible, twelve islands, primarily jungle and forest in character across all landmasses, significant reefage visible in oceans, life forms abundant, easy habitability, nominal colonization target, in the Emperor's Name This Do I Swear.

    And now?

    And now, from a distance, you could see the very same thing! The healthy blue glow, the sheen of the atmosphere, all of it.

    But...

    Through the scopes, across the vastness, you could see a smear of purple-white light that remained suspended above the world. It was nearly invisible, nearly impossible to see, but you were skilled at spotting such things. When the spectromagus was set to ciphering out what the chemical compositions were, it produced the following results: Solid Uranium, the chemical components of human blood, an error code, and finally, a gouting gushing of smoke and flames, which provoked a furious Isa, when she was called to the bridge, to exclaim: "Of course you nearly slew the poor dear, you set it to analyzing warpfire!" which caused you to clap your hands.

    "A storm!"

    "A warp storm..." Zella growls. "Byt how?"

    "I take it such things are uncommon?" Jon asks, scratching at his chin. "I am entirely uneducated upon the matter."

    This, for a reason that left you entirely baffled, caused Zella to choke, but you smiled and clapped your hand upon Jon's shoulder. "Oh my dear, a storm is common enough within the warp. But in realspace, there are but two things that could create and sustain a warp storm. The first being a daemonic incursion..."

    "Ah..."

    "...which we can rule out..." you murmur. "What incursion would be...Mr. Tom, give me your estimate! How high up!"

    Mr. Tom, proving why she was going to go far, piped up immediately. "Ten thousand kilometres, easily."

    "Precisely my estimation!" you exclaim, turning to Jon. "What daemon would sit ten thousand kilometres in orbit, without a soul to sup or mortal to seduce. No, no, Jon! The only explanation..."

    "The Spiteful!" Sonja exclaims as well, her hand going to her breast, making the sign against evil. "Those poor souls..."

    "A warp engine implosion," you say. "And if a vox comes from yonder world, survives mayhap. A fire could have striken the poor ship, the crew had to abandon her..."

    "Sir, we have cleared up the vox transmission," Sonja says, her voice attentive as she looks up from her console.

    "Play it, Mr. Sonja, if you please."

    "Yes, sir."

    The crackling vox began to garble out words: "Tho'sha kolev ah gue'la que!"

    You frown. "What heathen gibberish..."

    Zella's hands clench. "The T'au!" he says the word with harsh diction and you snap your head to see Jon is nodding.

    "The closest translation I believe is: Beginning flank attack against the humans," he says.

    "Bloody T'au..." you mutter. "Sonja, any plume?"

    "No, sir," she says. "But there's so much hard radiation and the dust and..." She shakes her head. "I've tight beamed the Perdition."

    You nod and consider - but when the Perdition's vox arrives in its slow, sluggish, crawling way, they say they have not spotted any plume either.

    "Your orders, sir?" Zella asks.

    T'AU? IN IMPERIAL SPACE (FOR ALL SPACE IS HIS MAJESTY'S ON EARTH, WHETHER HUMANS LIVE WITHIN IT OR NOT)? NOT ON VYNN'S WATCH!

    [] Approach on silent running, with the Perdition joining for a direct approach
    [] Approach on silent running, with the Perdition taking an elliptical approach to provide long ranged fighter cover while remaining safely away
    [] Dispatch strike craft from the Perdition for a scout while attempting to snoop upon the T'au vox communications
     
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    • [X] Approach on silent running, with the Perdition taking an elliptical approach to provide long ranged fighter cover while remaining safely away

    The Perdition is an Orion class Star Clipper, fitted for fighter support - when we fought it earlier it didn't fire a single shot, and it may well not even have any direct-fire weapons. Orions are also fragile and under-armoured. Against the kind of firepower the Tau can bring to bear, it's best off staying well out of range.
     
    DragonCobolt said:
    "I take it such things are uncommon?" Jon asks, scratching at his chin. "I am entirely uneducated upon the matter."
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    Click to shrink...
    For some reason, I don't believe him. :V
    "The closest translation I believe is: Beginning flank attack against the humans," he says.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    A simple doctor he!
    Who just happens to know enough Tau to translate on the fly, and enough about the Eldar to know they can be trusted slightly less far than one can throw them...

    [X] Approach on silent running, with the Perdition taking an elliptical approach to provide long ranged fighter cover while remaining safely away
     
    [X] Approach on silent running, with the Perdition taking an elliptical approach to provide long ranged fighter cover while remaining safely away

    This is probably a trap (I say for, like, the fifth time, and I was wrong most of the previous times).
     
    CHAPTER FOUR: THE END OF DAYS (1.2)
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    • To ready a ship for silent running was no mean feat - and to do so in thirty four minutes short was a spectacular example of the sailor's arts at work, and you felt your breast swelling with pride as the crew managed to damp down upon every emission possible aboard ship. The waste heat radiators were reeled in and the cisterns were converted to mist radiators - a risky ploy, but one that you knew would work, would work well, and wouldn't lead to your deaths by desiccation in a few days, due to the resplendent amount of drinkable water located upon the moon around the Jovian planet. Windows were shuttered and the auspexes were tugged in. No active sensoria, no pings, no calls, nothing but the passive abilities of the scopes and the young eyes of your mids.

    And then...

    You waited.

    The time passed in a dreary tedium - a creeping, crawling on hands and knees affair, with so many aspects of the ship shuttered and set to quiet slumbering, there was nothing to do but to wait and to watch and to try and glean more from the scant hints brought to the scopes. You were too tense to engage in your usual preferred pastimes - music sounded discordant, Regicide unseemly, even the tender caress of Isa felt more distraction than delight at the moment. ANd so, instead, you sat in your quiet, darkened state room, in the blood red lumination of the low power lighting and you read from your copy of the psalms. Ancient words, written about far different sailors, ringing true across the millennia, echoing inside of your mind.


    They that go down to the sea in ships
    and occupy their business in great waters;
    these men see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep.

    For at His word the stormy wind ariseth which lifteth up the waters thereof.
    They are carried up to heaven and down again to the deep;
    their soul melteth away because of the trouble.
    They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits' end.
    So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble,

    He delivereth them out of their distress.
    For He maketh the storm to cease so that the waves thereof are still.
    Then are they glad because they are at rest;
    and so He bringeth them unto the haven where they would be.

    It is not thought of prize money or glory or death - but rather a ferocious attentiveness, an awareness as you like, of the totality of your ship, of your crew, of her arms, of the enemy, of the dangers that lurk ahead. It has become not a question of where to go and what to do, but rather, how to strike and how to parry, how to protect and how to attack. It brings your thoughts to your youth upon the world of Aquios. A death world that had once been drowned in ice, then became drowned in water due to the complexities of celestial mechanics. You have memories of struggling in the water, breath clasped tight to your lungs, your teeth clenched, spear in hand, driving into the weak flesh of a hurrigale...some would call it savagery and thoughtless. But your mind had whirled with numbers and factors then...toughness of blubber...beats of the heart before breath needed to be taken again...the nature of a hurrigale...

    Not thoughtless.

    Not savage at all.

    And so, you thought, with your hat in hand, dangled above a hullghast, who was growing quite tipsy on grog, as your ship fell closer and closer to battle - unable to listen in on the vox communications that slipped from the moon without risking laying out a boom with an auspex and threatening, perchance, to signal to the Enemy you were approaching.

    "And on top of it all," you say to the empty room. "It is so bloody blasted hot." You fan yourself - but the air is relentlessly hot, hot due to the waste radiators being drawn in...

    With the hullghast safely reduced to that most dire of alcoholic stupors, you tried to sleep...tried to read...tried to pray...tried to prepare...

    And, at last, after a week of slow approach, you had come to the Jovian system. There had been no sign on the scopes of plume nor thrust nor ship nor sail, but neither had there been a sign at all of the T'au. You strode upon the bridge at the third bell of the second watch - sweltering under your great coat. Sonja herself looked pure misery, even with herself stripped down and laid about with wet cloths, placed there by Jon after her heat stroke, but she remained attentive to the auspexes and the scopes, while the rest of the bridge crew were quietly murmuring into the voxes. You could see that Mr. Khan and Mr. Vrook were directing the second shift gun crews up - the order had been to keep at least one crew on at all times, and damn the grumbling.

    "Well, Lieutenant Zella," you say quietly to your first officer, who looks as unperturbed by the heat as everyone else. "Any news from the Perdition?"

    "No sign - which, I suppose, means that all is well..." he says, sounding entirely unconvinced.

    You nod, frowning. "If Astra reneges on this, I will thrash her, I swear..." you say - though you don't have a doubt that the Perdition is upon a stately elliptical loop. They will be there.

    "Sir!"

    You and Zella hurry to Mr. Blakely's post in the auspex pit, but he's already shaking his head. "No, sorry, sorry..." he says, looking flustered.

    "What is it, boy!" Zella barks.

    "I thought...I thought I saw a plume - a short one..." he says, tapping upon the lecturn and murmuring a soft prayer to the machine spirits. Soon, the image of the moon swells large on the forward vista plates, grainy and green in hue. He points. "Round the equatorial orbit, sir."

    You frown. "Precisely where you'd...be...in station...they're hiding behind the moon...I'm sure of it. Using it as a shield from our scopes and our fury."

    Zella nods.

    You ready to give the order - the first order to begin battle with the End of Days...

    YOUR ORDERS, CAPTAIN?

    [] "Burn hard along the equatorial - we'll come at them retrograde!" (prow to prow, coming directly at one another)
    [] "Take us in the high orbit! Lets keep the well gauge." (A higher orbit, port to starboard, moving in the same direction.)
    [] "Damn the expense! Prepare for a plane change maneuver, lets get at their bellies!" (Polar orbit, coming in prow to belly. Highly risky.)
     
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    • [X] "Damn the expense! Prepare for a plane change maneuver, lets get at their bellies!" (Polar orbit, coming in prow to belly. Highly risky.)
     
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