Chapter 1: Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost (IC)

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mruozu
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Chapter 1: Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost (IC)

It all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye. Some of you were scooped up from your various chapters and placed into the hallowed and special positions within the Deathwatch. One of you had already taken part in the Achilus Crusade and wished to make a difference in the Jericho Reach. Another was sent by his Chapter to protect those with his specialty from almost certain destruction. Whilst another was seconded to the Deathwatch for his bravery on his homeworld. Regardless of your backgrounds and situations, you all fit the mold for the Deathwatch and were thus thrust into the Jericho Reach. The destroyers carried you from your various positions in the galaxy to Watch Fortress Erioch. You were brought before your new Watch Captain, Clades Spero, a tall imposing figure, with piercing white eyes and flowing long hair the color of snow. What you first noticed was the albinism of his skin. He had the purist skin tone you had ever seen in an Astartes. He eyed you all with curiosity and skepticism, his eyes peering deep inside you, down to the core. You all were quite puzzled by his Chapter Emblem, which was a skull with two crossing scythes in the background. “Welcome to the fortress,” Clades spoke in his deep, solemn voice.

The training mission, intense as it was against the captured Tyranids, was a breeze for you veterans and you were quickly assigned to work together as a Kill Team. Great praise was heaped on the Eagle Knight for his merciless assault against the Hormagaunt mob, slaying it in its entirety and not taking a single wound in the process. Before you knew it, you were sworn into the Deathwatch before the Omega Vault, your left shoulder pauldrons cleared for the Inquisitorial “I” and the Deathwatch skull and bones over the front. You were officially members of the elite Deathwatch and almost immediately given your first orders.

You brought great honor to the Deathwatch in the months that followed, performing recon missions on Tyranid-infested worlds, where the two devastators massacred the Warriors pursuing the lot of you, cutting them down in a hail of bolter fire, the ichor streaming over the battlefield. You bested the Tau on their own battlefields, Darius receiving special praise from the Watch Commander for his tactics in the face of grave danger. You even tousled with a small band of orks whilst recovering vital documents, Greeth having rescued you all from almost certain doom with his prowess in the art of the apothecary. All the while, you have been stationed at Watch Fortress Erioch, being sent out on missions and remaining in the quarters provided to you since you first set foot there. Other Kill Teams have been assigned to inquisitorial destroyers and have been sanctioned to other parts of the reach. The Watch Fortress is loath to send you away, for you have proven your metal and worth in these hard times, with so many enemies fighting at every direction.
These few months have given you all a chance to learn about one another, the strengths and weaknesses. As a Kill Team, you have shown great promise in your cohesion and ability to improvise. You all work well in the thick of it and none have been able to stand before you in the missions you have completed.

On a day when you have interested yourselves in the archives, the combat arena, or perhaps even scrounging up some vine for your own pleasure, Watch Captain Clades approaches you individually and asks that you find your way to Kill Room #3487. He will explain the details of your next mission to you all.

Edited by: mruozu on 12/11/2013 - 02:58
Nikello
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Macuilli Quiahuitl makes his way through the vaulted Gothic corridors of Erioch. At the direction of several Keepers, he finds the room selected by the Watch Captain. He steps across the threshold and takes a seat on the far bench.

The fluorescent lighting shines off of the freshly applied and polished jasper on the "I" of his left pauldron, which was broken off in the previous battle. His helmet is clipped at his waist. His hair is well-oiled and has been worked into a knot at the back. At the moment his face is free of paint.

As he waits for the rest of his killteam, he goes over his resin-work on his right gauntlet, inspecting it for cracks since drying.

drumandfight
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Fulrik takes a long pull from a brass and steel Stine. He had brought it with him from the Fang. Emperor damn him how he missed Fenris. He had brought the Ale inside of it from there as well. As it poured from the ice cold Stine and into his gullet, for a moment, he was back home standing on one of the many balconies of the mighty Fortress-monastery. The alcohol filling his bloodstream played against his senses like the strong cold winds and the smell of salt on the ocean back home.

Sharp pain in his upper back. The pain only irritated him. The knowledge that something holy had been made imperfect made him furious. "You bastard!" He turned and extend a meaty finger to the servitor. "If I told you once, I told you a thousand times, Fredd, the rune curves downward and then it curves out. NOT THE OPPOSITE." The servitor tattooing the Fenrisian script on his back stopped, and addressed the Space Wolf, bowing low. He hated that he had to speak in High Gothic to the servitor and wished that it had been programmed to speak Fenrisian, or at the very least Low Gothic. High Gothic always felt like sand and nails coming out of his mouth. Too ritzy.

"I apologize my Lord Astartes. These runes are difficult at best to apply. I have not been properly programmed to be fluent-"

Fulrik cut him off, "And you won't be! Not unless you are cast out from the Fang and find your way back, the entire time fighting off the Curse of the Wulfen and all the beasts of the wild intent on eating your liver from your still screaming body. This knowledge is for the Sons of Russ only. Do mine eyes deceive me? Are you an Astartes?? And not one of those pussy-foot, pansy-arsed, Codex-humping Ultramarines, or fair-haired makeup wearing Blood Angels. No, are you a real Astartes of the Space Wolves? Well? ANSWER ME, WARP DAMN YOU!"

The servitor took a knee and remained bowing, "No, my Lord. I am not. I will not fail in the further application of the story of your glory. I humbly beg your forgiveness."

Fulrik eased off slightly. His point had been made and there were more important matters to attend. First of all, the Fenrisian Ale was not going to drink itself. "Aye, aye. See that you don't, Fredd. See that you don't." The electro-needle buzzed again and Fulrik emptied his Stine.

Clades had just visited him. Fully nude save for the gargantuan Wolf Pelt half draped over his arms and the fang necklace worn about his neck, Fulrik simply listened to the Captain and nodded in understanding when the summons to the Kill Room was given. Time for work, he thought as a smile formed on his lips.

"Alright. That is enough. We will finish when we finish." The servitor stared at him blankly; he had used Fenrisian without realizing it. Flustered he simply pointed at the door. "Fredd," who Fulrik had affectionately named after a goat he had as a child back on Fenris, seemed to understand and left with an appropriate bow.

Fulrik throw the Wolf Pelt off of him onto a pile of similar pelts on his sleeping area. He began the task of donning his armor. He itched to kill some of the Emperor's enemies. Helmet at his belt and his hair pulled out of his face into a tight top knot, Fulrik made his way to the Kill Room.

Fixxxer
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It happens that Watch Captain Clades finds Samael in the middle of a painting project. Or perhaps 'painting' might be overstating the effort. Sameal stands before a large bit of fibercast, roughly shaped and scrounged from Emperor knows where. In his paint-stained hand, he holds a handle-less brush of sorts, more a mass of twisted fibers of unknown providence. Paint drips from both items and droplets litter the floor, walls and, amazingly, the ceiling of the chamber.

"Do you like it, Watch Captain?" he inquires, though it's obvious he doesn't actually require an answer. "I call it 'Home.'" The painting is not a thing of beauty. To label it as abstract would be doing it a great service. It appears that the image began life as a solid grey ball streaked with blue and green, which was then literally splattered with shades of red and orange.

"Fulrik says I need a hobby," he explains, though Clades is well aware this is only the latest in a series of failed misadventures. Samael had no head for reading. The clay sculptures he'd tried came out looking utilitarian at best. The kill team informed him that his attempt at writing poetry sounded 'like tyranids trying to mate with a modem.'

At the Watch Captain's order that he present himself to Kill Room #3487, his face takes less of a sullen, dejected hue and actually animates. Duty was one thing he didn't have to try at. "As you say, Watch Captain Clades," he confirms, dropping the sad brush into a paint bucket and wiping his hands on his already stained shirt as he strips down in preparation to don his armor and get to work.

Daner
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Darius was lathering his face with shaving cream and an ornamental brush when the Watch Captain Clades entered the room. "You're wanted in Kill Room #3487 brother" the Captain said as Darius glided a razor across his already smooth face. "I shall be there at once" Darius replied crisply, wiping his face clean and preparing to don his power armour.

When he entered the room he noticed most of his squad mates had already made themselves comfortable. He took a seat toward the front and sat intent, with his keen blue eyes forward.

mruozu
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Watch Captain Clades looks up from his seat at the long marble table, polished and jet black, as each of you enter into the Kill Room. He nods in recognition at each of you, staring you all straight in the eyes. As soon as you are all seated, he speaks in his solemn tone, "Apologies for interrupting your...tasks, but we have already retrieved news of another deployment for you all."

He stands and moves over to the end of the table, messing with the controls at the end. In the center of the table a hologram image pops up of a planet, with appropriate details about atmosphere, weather, population, etc, laid out to the right of the circling globe. "Octavian," he says softly. With this he looks down at the slate in front of him, providing him with the logistics of the new mission.

“The task set before you is to retrieve a one Inquisitor Alaunus, who we have lost contact with behind enemy lines. She has been holed up on the mining planet Octavian for the last several weeks, sent there to investigate a strange artifact uncovered whilst mining operations took place. However, during her stay, there was a sizeable Ork Incursion, we believe coming from leftover spores that were not properly taken care of on the exterior of the planet’s surface. An unexpected infestation on the planet itself, the Orks have begun to tear into the population once again, thinking that the planet is their own. The militia garrisoned there was unable to deal with the threat and in the past few weeks, the fighting has intensified, leading to the Imperial Guard having to deal with the situation in the days to follow. We have reason to believe that she will not last that long. This is where you come in." He pauses briefly and looks up at you all, blinking.

"You will be dropped in, behind the fighting lines and must traverse the landscape and find her. We will drop you as close to her last known location, near the largest of the mine shafts in the northern sector of the planet. The closest settlement to the mine shaft that Inquisitor Alaunus was investigating is called Palantine. She should still be located in and around the vicinity of either the mine shaft or the city. In addition to her rescue, it would be highly beneficial for the Watch Fortress and the Inquisition for you to retrieve the artifact that Inquisitor Alaunus was investigating. We have no further intelligence at this time regarding the size of the Ork host or where they have scouted. The Imperial Guard has requested some recon assistance with this issue before they send more troops to Octavian, but only investigate the situation if you can achieve full success of the rescue mission. That being said, be sure to tear into the Ork menace as much as you possibly can, so long as you complete the mission.”

It looks as though Clades brings a slight smile to his face for a split second at the mention of eliminating the Orks. “This is a mission direct from the Inquisitor of the Chamber. Failure is not an option, marines. Don’t let me down. Any questions?”

drumandfight
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Fulrik, who remained standing toward the back of the Kill Room with Greeth takes a drink from his Stine that he has since refilled and decided best to bring with him. He pours it back until it is gone and wipes his mouth with the back of his gauntlet.

"The Inquisitor, Alan-us," he says, tripping over the pronunciation of her name but not really caring. "She went to this planet in search of some artifact without aid? No bodyguard? No extra firepower of any sort? All alone?" He clips his Stine to a special mag-hook on his belt so it hangs just above the Bolt pistol on his left thigh, the Wolf engravings on it situated so that all can see. "Seems to me like a bit of an ovuhsight on the Inquisitor's part, if that is the situation. The artifact," he continues without waiting for an answer, "Do we have any 'dea what it is, Cap'n?"

He leans back against the far wall, his massive arms folded over his armored chest, comfortable but serious. He is in the zone and soaking up all the intel available.

mruozu
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Clades turns to speak in the direction of Fulrik. "She was sent with a small detachment of Imperial Guard troops, unbeknownst of the Ork incursion, as were all of those on Octavian as well. They well believed that the area had been cleared of any Xenos presence. But, as you know very well Fulrik, there are always Orks."

"As to the knowledge of the artifact, we have no intel regarding its' origin or otherwise. Alaunus was sent there to investigate that. She has not relayed any information regarding it as of yet, but she believed it was of great import to the Imperium, especially within the Jericho Reach."

drumandfight
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"There are always fucking Orks..." Fulrik smiles, "That is the good news at least. The other information, or lack thereof, no," he shakes his head, arms still crossed.

"No, I don't like it." He switches gears, "The Guardsmen she took with her, were they any good? Shock troops at least? Any chance they are still kicking?"

mruozu
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"Indeed," Clades says in response. He flips through his slate, looking over the details once more.

"It would appear that she took a small detachment of normal troops with her, relying on previous intel of no enemy presence. We wonder why she hasn't contacted us for the past few weeks, and fear the worst. If I had to guess, I would say those troopers sent with her are no longer "kicking" as you would say."

drumandfight
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"Aye, aye," acknowledges Fulrik with no further questions.

Nikello
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Mac raps a knuckle on the table, a thin diamond coating preventing the action from scoring the soft stone, "Have we any information on the tactics they have employed thus far? Their technological level? We may not have enough to put together their size, but knowing what weapons they have employed thus far would be a good place to start. There have been Ork infestations that have toppled garrisons while armed only with hatchets and crossbows. Have any vehicles been sighted?"

mruozu
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Clades addresses the Mac after answering Fulrik's questions. His eyes remain dull and sullen, as always.

"Tactics wise, they all have a common goal against the settlement of Palantine. But no leaders have been sighted. As of the last reports out of the garrison, the Orks had sufficient weaponry to combat the IG posted there. They were in for quite a fight with these Orks. Because of the industrial landscape of the planet, I would have to imagine that they have a fairly good technological level, one common to many Orks you have all slaughtered. No vehicles were sighted as of the last communication, but that was a few days ago as of now."

Daner
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Darius' interest is peaked by mention of a mysterious artifact. He makes no outward sign of this aside from perhaps sitting up a little straighter. "Do we know anything of this artifact or of the Inquisition's interest in it, Brother Captain?"

drumandfight
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Fulrik leans down to Samael and has a small conversation only meant for the Raptor. But from the sound of it, Fulrik is trying to hold back his laughter.

mruozu
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Clades glances over at Darius, a slight grin on his face, as he speaks. "As of right now, Darius, we have no intel regarding the artifact. Inquisitor Alaunus was supposed to contact us at first sight of the artifact, but we have received no communications from the planet for the past few days. The comms link might be down at the moment, although we have no way of knowing if that is the case, or if the militia has been completely wiped out."

He stops his speech for one second and thinks to himself. "One of you should more than likely take a Vox Caster with in order to remain in contact with the destroyer orbiting Octavian. It may also be in your best interests to repair the comms if they are destroyed, however they may be perfectly intact. Do not make it a top priority, for the bulk of an IG force will be making planetfall in the coming days anyway, but if you are so inclined and happen to be in the area, you may assist the IG in their failings."

drumandfight
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"I don't know who I feel sorrier for," Fulrik chimes in thinking out loud and heavily rolling his "Rs". "The dullards who plan IG ops, or the poor bastards they send in to carry them out."

Those who are paying close attention see him flinch, unconciously making a grab for his Stine only realizing a split second later that he emptied it prior. He makes a face as if he smelled sour milk and listens to the rest of the mission briefing.

mruozu
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"The tech level of Octavian is mostly similar to that of any standard mining world found in the Imperium. It retains the necessary features for mining minerals and ore needed most by the Imperium. The Orks could use many of the objects discarded by the settlers to make weapons for their vast hordes. On a scale of 1-10, the tech level of the planet would be at about a 6 or 7, with necessary equipment to run the mines in vast quantities, but lacking in the more distinguished and advanced technologies of some other worlds."

Daner
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"Well, let's get on with it. Sounds like we have an invasion to stop." Darius adds in. "Unless there is anything of greater tactical import, time is wasting and this Inquisitor's chances grow dim." he said, hiding his enthusiasm rather poorly.

mruozu
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"Darius makes a good point. Time is of the essence." Clades responds while standing up. He looks over the squad.

"However, please remember your primary objectives Kill Team. Rescue the Inquisitor at all costs. You have all proven yourselves quite worthy of the Deathwatch, and I expect nothing less out of you for this mission. Find yourselves to the armory to gather supplies and arms. Whomever is picked as the squad leader for this mission, you will take your oath on the destroyer before being dropped onto the planet. May the Emperor be with you."

With that, Clades makes the sign of the Aquila and exits the Kill Room, leaving you all there.

drumandfight
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Fulrik slaps his huge gauntlets down on Samael's shoulders. "Time to bring the Emperor's glorious light to those in the darkness, boys! Saving the women-folk is an added bonus."

With something resembling a bow, but not really, Fulrik smiles very wide revealing his animalistic long and sharp canines and makes toward the exit.

"Oh, and by the way, my nomination is going to the Vampire," he says, using his affectionate nick-name for Greeth. With that he smiles at the masked Flesh Tearer and heads to the armory.

Daner
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"I'd like to nominate Mac." says Darius, rising from his seat. "Meaning no disservice to you Greeth, but I do like someone who leads from the very front." he inclined his head to the Flesh Tearer. "Whichever way we go, lets get on with it quick. The Inquisition don't very much like taking delivery of corpses. Unless it's the kind they get to dissect.." he trailed off, his voice grew harsh in his last words, showing his plain dislike for the Inquisition.

"The sooner we're on that destroyer, the sooner we get to liberate that world by cracking Ork skulls." he finished crisply. He hoped at the very least, the promise of punishing Xenos would motivate his brothers into action.

Nikello
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Mac smiles at the Bloodraven, revealing the mother-of-pearl inlays in his teeth, "You honor me, Cacolotl. And I agree that we need to make this exercise as short and decisive as possible."

He extricates himself from the table and starts moving to the door, "If there are no objections, I urge that we get ourselves to the armory."

Fixxxer
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"I would follow any of you into the Warp," says Samael, with the deadpan, almost bored tone he always seems to use during the times when he is not in the thick of combat. "Make your choice and let us retire to see the quartermaster." Samael stands to make his point about swiftness of decision, apparently ready to follow Fulrik if things drag on.

drumandfight
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The group can hear Fulrik whistling in the distance, slowly fading as he heads farther from the Kill Room.

mruozu
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You all make your way to the armory in Watch Fortress Erioch, a room you have become accustomed to in the past few months. The Watch Fortress armory is quite a spectacle to behold. Within its confines you find a plethora of arms that you recognize and some that you don't, more than likely xenos technology. Walls upon walls are lined with bolters, chainswords, las cannons, lightning claws, and the like. Some twinkle in their newness, whilst others have seen countless battles. Servitors scurry about, requisitioning ammo and supplies for their Astartes masters for various missions throughout the Reach. You gather the items necessary for your mission and equip yourselves completely, ready to do battle at a moments notice. Another battle awaits you all.

Afterwards, you take part in the many rituals customary to your Chapters or proficiencies, prayers, drinking, and so on. Watch Captain Clades finds you all after this brief period and brings you to one of the many decks stationed in Watch Fortress Erioch. Here sits the destroyer that will take you bring you to Octavian. He looks at you all splayed out in front of him, eyes solemn and somewhat sullen as per his usual mood. He makes the sign of the Aquila and says a few words. He finishes with, "May all things that you do be in service to the Emperor, so that his glorious light blinds out the enemies of mankind and brings order to this twisted part of the galaxy." With that he leads you all towards the destroyer, in his full battle regalia, lighting claws flashing in the light of the deck.

The destroyer sits in front of you all, a hulking beast of the Imperial Navy, but this one is painted completely black and from prow to stern, the Inquisitorial symbol of the Deathwatch emblazoned on the starboard side of the ship. You all walk forward to it, some of you solemn, others jesting and swaggering, and make your way inside. Within minutes, it blasts out of the deck and onwards to the reach beyond. The jump to warp space happens quickly and jolts you all for the tiniest fraction of a second, the lot of you going about the ship and examining its important areas, while some quietly contemplate the mission ahead. It will not take long to reach your destination.

You come out of Warp Space and travel the remaining distance in an aura of stealth and secrecy, for that is your calling and your new focus. The ship eventually finds its way above Octavian and you are all called to the deck over the comms of the ship by Clades himself, ready to make your way planetside. You all walk to the deck and sitting in front you are various Drop Pods, painted black from head to toe.

Watch Captain Clades stands in front of one of the Drop Pods, awaiting Mac's oath before you all lay out justice for the Emperor.

Daner
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"Nothing personal Brother Greeth and I do not doubt your valor nor your ferocity in battle." Darius says honestly. "But you must admit, Mac is the best man for the job." he finishes in earnest.

drumandfight
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"Are you two still going on about that? Emperor save me from these women!" Fulrik laughs loudly. The laugh even more ironic and somewhat telling of his personality as he has a sturdy hair tie in between his teeth and is pulling his mane of red hair up into a top knot as he jabs at the others for being women.

When his hair is pulled up he walks over to the Drop Pod, standing to the side of Samael and holds his Soundstrike Fyrie Wyrm at the low ready. He triple checks to make sure the first missile loaded into the beast is a Frag and that everything is primed and good-to-go, muscle memory taking over. Almost obsessive compulsive. He does the same with his Bolt pistol. When that is finished, he begins making a preliminary check of Samael's gear, confirming everything is strapped in, latched on, and good-to-go. When he is finished he hits Samael on the shoulder pauldron to give him the affirmative and nods at him.

He then stands with his back as straight as a board, his chin held high and takes two deep breaths through his nose, exhaling through his mouth. He is getting jacked up. Primed and ready for war. He keeps an almost unconscious grin on his face, unintentionally showing off his elongated fangs in a feral grin.

He is set to destroy. He is ready for war. He is war.

Nikello
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Mac approaches Captain Clades, drawing his chainsword. His helmet is clipped to his belt, warpaint fresh on his face. He goes down on one knee, chainsword point down, head bowed.

"I am Macuilli Quiahuitl, Knight of Cuahtlan, son of the Jaguar, Guardian of Hidden Knowledge, the Shadow in the Woods. On behalf of our band, I make the Oath of Knowledge, that the spirit of the Jaguar may steady our hands and guide our blades in our battles against the Green Swine. In Tlatoani tlapiazque."

drumandfight
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When the fanfare is over, before stepping aboard the Drop Pod, Fulrik will make his way over to Macuilli and show him his helmet, fresh painted Wolf Fangs covering the front face portion in a violent snarl.

"Kiwi, what do-yuh think," Fulrik asks with the same half smile. "I am getting as good as you, no?"

Nikello
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Mac smiles as he dons his helmet, "Oh you're getting there, Cuetlachtli, you're getting there."

He steps into the Drop Pod, locking himself into the grav-harness. He voxes to the squad, "The Lord of the Astral Fire guides our journey, for our task is in His name. For the Clear Speaker, the Lords of the Tribes, and for the Imperium of Mankind. Trust that He will place us where we are needed, and the path shall be clear."

He chimes that he is ready through his suit telemetry, informing the nav-servitor to ready itself for launch.

drumandfight
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"Hahaha!" Fulrik's raucous laughter filled the air. He dons his helmet, feeling restricted inside of it but knowing its necessity in a Drop Pod launch. Even still, he could not wait to get it off. He turns to Samael again, "You ready, Sammy boy?"

In one hand Fulrik holds his enormous death dealing launcher casually on his shoulder. His other arm is extended, fist out toward Samael waiting for physical affirmation; their usual pre-battle ritual.

mruozu
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Clades looks around at you all, a slight smile twisting into position on his pure face. "We go where we wilt. We slay who we wilt. Let the Emperor judge the righteousness of our deeds." And with that, he turns away from you all and makes his way back to the command center on the destroyer, knowing that each and every one of you will make the Emperor proud.

Fulrik and Sam makes their way to the drop pod after embracing hands in a show of camaraderie and brotherhood. Greeth steps behind them, flowing silently into his position within the Drop Pod. Darius walks forward giving the Pod a once over, noticing the Deathwind Missile Launcher affixed inside and pointing straight out, ready to assist in any covering fire they might need. This bring a smile to his lips. Mac brings up the rear taking his own position in the Drop Pod. Once inside the panels rise up and lock into place, sealing the Kill Team inside. Your thoughts go back to a time before the Deathwatch, when your brothers stood beside you. When your sergeants yelled out commands to you, engorging you with the thoughts of blood and war. It's time again for war.

The excitement and longing is palpable within the small confines of the Drop Pod. None of you can wait to get tearing into the Ork menace. Nothing will make you happier than to see the green blood ooze onto the battlefield. Fulrik quips about how many Orks he will kill in comparison to the rest of the team. Mac laughs and shakes his head in response to the notion, knowing full well of his own capabilities. Ringing blares out over the noise of the deck opening up to allow for your violently quick descent into the battlefield. The countdown begins.

5...4...3...2...1

The Drop Pod erupts violently downward at speeds of over 12,000 kilometers an hour. You all feel the force as you enter the atmosphere of the planet in a matter of seconds. The last thing you hear before touching down is the unmistakable roar of Orks, silenced suddenly as the Drop Pod slams into the ground.

Fixxxer
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Samael veritably bursts forth from his drop pod, his heavy bolter ready to eviscerate, and hungry for the blood of the xeno. He is markedly more animated than he was in the safety of the Watch Fortress and the ship and anyone looking can see that he has attempted to paint a pair of fangs on his diagnostor helmet. He has done a really bad job. The paint was glopped on in places and wasn't allowed to set, so it has run quite a bit, first downward because of gravity and then back upward to the top of the helmet because of the G-force of drop insertion. If he is aware of the paint being messed up, Samael gives no indication. His thoughts are obviously one hundred percent on crushing ork bones under his feet.

Nikello
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As the Drop Pod doors blast out, Mac unlocks the modified grav-harness and bolts down the ramp. Revving his chainsword and giving his jump-pack a test-cycle, he bursts out onto the soil of Octavian. He pans Tonamaitl left to right, prepared to unleash righteous fire.

 

[Reaction: Parry, WS 65 (45 + 10 (Balanced) +10 (Oath of Knowledge)]

drumandfight
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Fulrik erupts out of his grav-harness, taking three bounding steps that clamber off of the adamantine floor of the drop pod and thud onto the soil of Octavian. Knowing full-well that his Brothers are covering their sectors he pays no mind to the rear and extreme sides of his position. He has Fyrie Wyrm primed and ready to unleash hell, scanning his sector meticulously. His gregarious, forthcoming attitude seems more reserved in the battle zone, oddly enough. His time as a Long Fang clearly shining through his personal deameanor. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he embraced it.

He transmits over the squad's Vox frequency, "Does anyone have any contact?"

mruozu
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As the Drop Pod doors fly outward and hit with a resounding clank on the black sand of Octavian, you hear a groaning sound coming from all around the Drop Pod.
"Wut da 'ell wus dat boyz?" One of the Orks musters from his mouth. The dust from the kicked up black sand settles, giving a better view of Octavian. Dense smog filters up into the sky and blots out most of the bluish hue. In the distance, enormous buildings reach upwards, their tops almost out of site. The smell of metal and oil fills the air, as the wind picks up all around you.

The Deathwind Missile Launcher chinks into order and scans the area, unable to fire at the moment due to close proximity. All around you Ork limbs lay on the ground, and green blood pours fourth from underneath the Drop Pod. You have landed in the middle of a small band of the Ork host. You immediately see, within 30m, Orks lying on the ground in various states of confusion and slowly getting up to form back together and attack whatever it was that just blew them all outwards. They stir and begin to stand back up and look over at the Drop Pod, still regaining complete consciousness and breathing heavily. One of them speaks out.

"Spez Mahreens..."

Nikello
Nikello's picture

"Brothers, attack. Let none escape." Mac rumbles over the vox. He guns his jump pack, launching himself into the air on wings of fire.

As he comes down into the mass of orks he turns the volume on his voice amplifiers to maximum and lets out a bestial jaguar yowl. His chainsword is revved and he swings into the nearest greenskin.

Daner
Daner's picture

Darius emerges from the drop pod before the dust can clear the air. Through his auto-senses he picks up the sight and smell of a vile Ork horde. He doesn't need his brothers' words through his helmet to know what to do, but it fills him with determination all the same.

He says no words of encouragement but opens up with his bolter into the center of the horde.

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 1

The split second after the Drop Pod doors open, you notice that you have all landed right in the middle of a confused and shaken mob of Orks. The green skins manage a few war cries, but the majority of them lay on the ground, shaking their head from side to side and trying to make sense of what just happened.

Darius steps out of the doors first, the sand giving way to his enormous, armored feet. Green skin blood sticks to the bottom of his armored feet, issuing forth from underneath the Drop Pod. It is somewhat unsteady and the wind picks up slightly, but he only has eyes for what sits in front of him. A second hangs in the air, open and fleeting. Complete silence.

Silently, Darius steps forward and fires from his bolter, offering no words through the vox, bullets streaming forward towards the horde in the northwest. Blood and yells issue forth from the area, piercing the silence, as a great mass of the Orks are annihilated in one fell swoop from the exploding bolt shells that pierce their thick mass.

Without missing a beat, Mac pushes himself forward. "Brothers, attack. Let none escape." He rumbles over the vox right before gunning his jump pack and taking off into the air in a flurry of fire and dust. As he comes down from his brief flight, landing down into the center of the mass in the northeast, he turns the volume on his voice amplifiers to maximum and lets out a bestial jaguar yowl. It pierces through the Kill Team's vox channel, igniting a fire in those about to ravage the horde in their own sections. He revs his chainsword and he swings into the nearest greenskin, green blood spraying onto his pristine armor.

Fulrik bustles quickly out of the Drop Pod, yelling "Contact front!" through the vox. He will take the north. He aims Fyrie Wyrm into his own quadrant of the ork menace and presses the trigger on the Launcher, howling inside of his helm almost as loudly as the howl of the missile flying from the tube. Pure joy is plastered across his face; the enemies were so numerous, that they sealed their own deserved fate, he thought to himself as the missile flowed forward. A split second later, a large section in the north explodes out, blood and limbs raining down in a glorious display of gore.

Greeth steps out quickly onto the sandy terrain, brazenly walking forward, "I do" he says to Fulrik. He revs his chainsword and ignites his jumppack, fire spewing forth from, soaring through the air in an arc, and landing on a confused ork's skull in the southeast of the Drop Pod's current location. The Orks wail all around him "Waaaaaaaagh!" but their screams of battle are futile as Greeth cuts into all of those around him, felling ork after ork in a blood frenzy.

The last out of the Drop Pod, Sam makes his way forward, carrying the Heavy Bolter solidly in his hands, an extension of himself in the purest form. To the southwest, he views the green skins in the sights of his helmet. Silently, and wish great purpose, he opens up on them, a furious supply of bullets tearing into the flesh of the green ones, making them more mulch than anything else. They crumple under his attack.

Greeth Voxes the squad while he careens through the air.

"There are heavy armored troops headed our way."

"Tear their flesh!"

A second later, Fulrik chimes in over the vox. "Greeth, Fall back; allow us to engage from a distance; then finish them close if need be." He knew the Flesh Tearer would be hard-pressed to listen to his tactics, but given the situation it was more tactically sound of a plan in his eyes. Even if he knew more than anyone else, the blood lust from battle.

Darius 14; Bolter [24/28]; facing NW 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the horde to the NE 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Soundstrike Missile Launcher; [15/16 Frag Missiles]; facing N [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 30m out; 5m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in the horde to the SE. [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [119/125 Metal Storm]; facing SW. [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out; 5m from Greeth

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 2

"Armor is my specialty, brothers" Darius calls in over the vox. Drawing forth his powersword, he ignites his jetpack and boosts over to Greeth's quadrant. He lands, flicks the switch of his bolter over to Kraken rounds, and opens up on the Meganob, just having fully stood up. The bolt round slams into his left arm and he makes a deep guttural sound, blood flowing down his arm sufficiently. Darius feels the Emperor's righteousness flow through him and lets off another round that finds the target and this time the Ork cries out in pain, for his arm feels ragged and limp, but still usable.

Mac remains in his position, slashing and hacking at the horde downing many of them in one sweep of his chainsword, revving through flesh and bone, green mists of blood spraying everything in the immediate area. He does this with precision and finesse, mulching them all down. Heads roll downhill from him. The scene an utter massacre.

Fulrik spins around quickly and takes aim through the hole in the drop pod. He thumbs a rune on the Wyrm and an anti-armor Krak missile feeds into the tube. "So the big boys want to play, eh?! Hahaha!" Sighting through the drop pod he lines up his target. Beautiful he thinks. He yells over the channel, "Krak out, Greeth!" He fires, watching the smoke trail intently as it heads toward the lumbering, armored Green filth. It slams into the Meganob's body, causing him to go to ground and fly back 3 meters from his current position. "Oof, deez boyz is tuff." He thinks to himself, as he crashes into the ground.

The Meganob stands back up and aims his Shoota at Greeth, knowing him to be the closest. "Buh bau lil puny spez mareeeen!" He yells before firing off his rounds. The blast from Fulrik must have jumbled his sense, because the bullets fly all around Greeth, missing him completely. The Ork slams his weapon on the ground, furious at his missed opportunity.

Greeth replies to Fulrik "I'm ALREADY in close combat, and the need is there!" Seeing the Orks near him start to scatter, he takes the opportunity and charges the the meganob who just got to his feet from the Drop Pod concussion, hoping to down it in front of its underlings. He slams his chainsword down into the Meganob's body, but it looks as though it barely fazed the green scum. The Ork laughs a little and takes his chance to attack back.

Meanwhile, the rest of the horde surrounds Mac, slicing their choppas down at him. They clink and chink off the armor and some barely even come to close to hitting the fluid Space Marine as he dances around, a symphony of gore and annihilation around him. The last Ork around him falling to his knees, before Mac takes his head off with a perfectly timed slash.

Sam brings his heavy bolter into position once again. With a calm demeanor, he takes aim and sprays the Metal Storm rounds straight into the remaining horde. He smiles underneath his helmet, remembering that this is what he was born for, this is what he is good at, this is his calling. The bullets spray into the horde and annihilate any last stragglers from the mob. They scream out and die in a glorious cacophony of murder.

The Meganob takes his swing down towards Greeth, aiming for his head, the power claw ignited with energy and a halo of electricity flowing around it. Greeth brings his chainsword up to catch the attack and fully blocks the blow, electricity flying and sparking around the two engaged in combat. He feels the full force of the weapon as it shudders through his frame. A powerful and dangerous weapon indeed.

Darius 14; Bolter [23/28]; facing SE 19m from the downed Meganob; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the NE; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Soundstrike Missile Launcher; [15/16 Frag Missiles; 7/8 Krak]; facing SE; 3/3 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 33m out from Drop Pod; 8m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in melee with MN #2; 4/4 FP Remaining [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [113/125 Metal Storm]; facing SW; 5/5 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out from Drop Pod; in melee with Greeth

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 3

Having seen the Meganob stand up and shoot at his fellow brother, Darius fires his jump pack on once again, facing the direction of the critically injured Meganob. He takes flight in a gliding arc, high into the air. Upon his descent, he yells into the vox, "Purge the alien!" He draws his Power Sword deftly from his side, charging forward into the monstrous Ork. He connects fully into the Nob's body, the attempts at parrying futile against the heated wrath of the Blood Raven. The Ork lets out a hollow cry as the impact shatters him, felling him into the ground. He makes contact with the sand and bursts into flames, screeching as the life runs completely out of him. His ammunition explodes as Darius stands straight in front of him, the blast not even making him flinch.

"Excellent work, brothers," Mac says through the vox as he mops up the rest of the horde around him, the stragglers dying by the might of his chainsword revving their flesh. He waits, noticing the fight to potentially conclude before he has the opportunity to join in. He takes a moment and finds the cartograph he requisitioned from the armory at Watch Fortress Erioch, flipping it on and taking a look at the schematics and the position of the group as of that exact moment.

Fulrik pulls his missile launcher down off his shoulder and mag-locks it into place. He pulls his bolt pistol out and moves forward in the direction of the melee. "Moving to assist the others. Watch my six, Sammy," he chimes over a private vox channel between the two Devastators.

Greeth, locked in combat with the menacing Meganob, attempts to feint with his chainsword, which would normally knock his foe off-balance. The subtle movements are caught by the Ork, who smiles broadly across his green-skinned face. "Noice 'ry puny spez mareen," he says. At that exact moment, Greeth comes back in a fluid motion, slicing across and catching the Ork full in the body, a low growl escaping from the mouth of the green skin. The Ork retaliates with two massive, furious swings of his power claw, but Greeth merely slides away from each attack, ready to strike again in an instant.

The smoke still rising from his heavy bolter, Sam wishes he had the opportunity to blast this vile xenos away in a firestorm of bolter rounds. Unfortunately, he has no good shot on the target and so instead takes in the surroundings for the first time since the bloodbath started. The sand picks up around him as he studies each of the cardinal directions. They surely landed exactly where the mission briefing suggested. To the east, a vile green tide makes their way across the sand and into the city of Palantine.

Darius 14; Bolter [23/28] and Power Sword; standing over the body of the downed Meganob; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the NE looking at cartograph; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Bolt Pistol [14/14]; facing SE - 35m from the melee; 3/3 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 33m out from Drop Pod; 8m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in melee with MN #1; 4/4 FP Remaining [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [113/125 Metal Storm]; scanning the area; 5/5 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out from Drop Pod; in melee with Greeth

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 4

Darius quickly looks over to the melee between Greeth and the slobbering Meganob, feeling the need to help his brother out. He turns his Jump Pack on and flies over to the flank of the Meganob, swinging his Power Sword down in a display of might and fury. The Nob notices another coming to join the fight. "Da 'ore da 'errier!" he says before bracing himself for the coming impact. Darius swings down, but catchs the armor full force, staying the blade and causing no harm to his enemy. The Ork laughs loudly once again.

Nikello fumbles with the Cartograph, attempting to find their current location and make sure they are on course. He can't quite figure out the contraption still and needs more time to work with it. He is fully focused on his task to ensure that his brothers didn't just land in the wrong position, or the opposite side of the planet.

Seeing an actual fight to be had, Fulrik cannot stand not being a part of it. Watching his Brothers face off in melee against such a brute is enough to pump him up even more so than he already was. The excitement plastered on his face was palpable. "I'm comin' for ya, you rusty Green pile of Grox shite," he screams amplified over his external vox. He bursts forward in a full run movement, bringing him close to the fight, ready to join in the fun.

Greeth replies to the Ork saying "O? how about this one," as he makes another feint, followed by a sudden attack. The feint trips up the Ork, making him lose his balance for a split second, however he recovers just in time to pull his head downward, the slash of the chainsword whirring over his head and just chinking the top of the armor.

Having had times to get the lay of the land himself, Samael is a little annoyed that the single lone enemy is still standing. He strides in the direction of the melee and voxes over "Stop toying with it and put it down! We have other concerns right now." He moves closer to the fight, but realizes that his heavy bolter is now ineffective against the foe, who seems to have Astartes ganging up on him left and right.

The Ork, having dodged Greeth's attack, lashes out in fury once again, bellowing outward in a feral Ork yell. "Waaaaaaaagh!" he screams once again, but due to his blind slashing, Greeth has ample time to move from side to side, escaping the blows.

Darius 14; Bolter [23/28] and Power Sword; in melee with MN #1; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the NE looking at cartograph; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Bolt Pistol [14/14]; facing SE - 5m from the melee; 3/3 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 33m out from Drop Pod; 8m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in melee with MN #1; 4/4 FP Remaining [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [113/125 Metal Storm]; 18m from the melee; 5/5 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out from Drop Pod; in melee with Greeth and Darius

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 5

"With motor skills like those, I do wonder how the Orks are not yet extinct. Let's give nature a helping hand brothers!" Darius spills out over the vox. He brings his Power Sword down in a more concentrated effort for this attack, piercing into the armor of the ork's right leg, a yell bellowing forth and spittle cresting down on Darius' helmet visor. The ork sags for a minute and then brings himself up fully, waiting for his opportunity.

Mac fumbles around with the controls on the cartograph, scanning the area around them and then taking his time moving the coordinates on the map. He can't quite find where they are located just yet. Hopefully, he thinks, nothing comes bearing down on us.

Fulrik stops short of the melee, watching his squad exchange blows with the hulking Meganob, watching as it laughs at them. "I'll give you somethin' to laugh about, ya pratt." He gets a bead on the Ork and squeezes the trigger. The Kraken round fires forth and explodes out of the chamber. It barrels towards the Ork's already slightly injured right leg. It pierces the armor and goes clean through the flesh of his leg. The flesh wound does nothing to repel the rage of the green skin.

"This is where you fall greenskin" Greeth speaks over the vox. He swings his chainsword downward and catches the Ork, clean in the left arm causing him to yelp out in pain. He becomes sluggish in his movements, but remains enraged all the same.

Sam, seeing an opportunity on the other flank of the hulking Nob, rushes towards him in a fury, hoping to bowl the Ork prone on his back. The Ork engaged in melee, sees the space marine coming towards him out of the corner of his eye and tenses up, planting his feet firmly in the ground. Sam knocks straight into him, but loses his footing partially before, sending him sprawling backwards and onto his back.

The Ork bellows out, "Ye thot ye c'uld noc me 'own, eh?" and sweeps downward with his power claw towards the prone marine. With quick instincts, Sam rolls to the side, the claw raking the ground, electricity flowing around it, barely grazing Sam's right shoulder pauldron.

Darius 14; Bolter [23/28] and Power Sword; in melee with MN #1; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the NE looking at cartograph; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Bolt Pistol [13/14]; facing SE - 5m from the melee; 3/3 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 33m out from Drop Pod; 8m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in melee with MN #1; 4/4 FP Remaining [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [113/125 Metal Storm]; prone in front of MN #1; 5/5 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out from Drop Pod; in melee with Greeth, Darius, and Sam

mruozu
mruozu's picture

Round 6

Fulrik roars over the Vox to Darius, "I have a clean shot, Blood Raven, disengage and let me end this!" He lines up a beautiful shot where he knows the Ork's heart to be, trusting in his Kraken rounds to penetrate the thick armor there. He waits for any type of response from Darius before pulling the trigger; discipline was proving to be a painfully annoying attribute.

Upon hearing his brother's call, Darius disengages with the Ork and backs off, maintaining caution in case the Ork swings at him one final time, but there is no time left for this green one...

The bullets fly towards the Meganob, past Greeth who tries to get in one final swing. They impact on the Ork and penetrate straight through to his heart, a final bellow issuing forth from the hulking monster. Bits of flesh tear off and leave gaping wounds underneath the Meganob's armor. He stumbles backwards in a daze.

Finally seeing the armored nob take damage Greeth presses the advantage with a savage onslaught. His fury of blows cuts straight into the stunned Ork's right arm cutting clean through and into the already damaged torso. Blood and gore drench the ground as the Meganob finally stutters, backs away from the group and falls down on his back, defeated.

The Battle is Yours, Astartes. The Emperor Protects.

Darius 14; Bolter [23/28] and Power Sword; in melee with MN #1; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode]
Mac 13; Chainsword; in the NE looking at cartograph; 5/5 FP remaining. [solo mode/team leader]
Fulrik 13; Bolt Pistol [13/14]; facing SE - 5m from the melee; 3/3 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #2 12; 33m out from Drop Pod; 8m from Greeth
Greeth 10; Chainsword; in melee with MN #1; 4/4 FP Remaining [solo mode]
Enemy Horde 7; Magnitude 10 (numbering in the hundreds); 30m out.
Sam 6; Heavy Bolter [113/125 Metal Storm]; prone in front of MN #1; 5/5 FP remaining [solo mode]
Ork Meganob #1 6; 30m out from Drop Pod; in melee with Greeth, Darius, and Sam

drumandfight
drumandfight's picture

Fulrik holsters his bolt pistol and his combat blade. With all three of his weapons safely stowed, the tall Space Wolf is finally able to remove his helm. He pants loudly as he does so, eager to get the damned thing off of his head. "Emperor-damned thing was dulling my senses," he exclaims as he clips it to his belt above his combat blade, opposite his lucky stine. He walks over to Darius and Greeth, nodding at the Blood Raven and slapping the side of his helmet playfully. "Well done, Darius." Disengaging from the enemy is never easy for an Astartes. In fact, it was counter-intuitive and the young Blood Raven had shown remarkable tact and discipline in doing so. There was a tactical advantage to engaging a melee specialist at range and Fulrik was glad to know cross-Chapter cohesion was still strong.

Making his way to Greeth, he nods and comments, "A fine job, Greeth. May I?" He pulls his long Fenrisian blade from its scabbard and moves over the downed Meganob. He brushes a braided strand of red hair out of his face with his bladed hand and grabs hold of the Ork's disgustingly large head in the other. Placing the near-hummingly sharp blade against its throat he twists and pulls with his left hand while simultaneasouly cutting through with his blade. In one motion, the head is severed from the body. Whistling, he continues his grisly work, removing what serves as the Ork's phallus with equal ease and stuffing it into the severed head's mouth. He laughs as he does so. Testing some of the steel on the Meganob's helmet to ensure it will maglock into place, he then places the decapitated head - freshly stuffed with its own penis - on a free belt slot toward the rear right of his body as a trophy.

"Haha! I bet that will piss them off." Pleased with his work he walks over to Sam and offers his hand. He wanted so badly to give him hell for failing to knock the beast down and in turn falling on his own arse, but resisted with every ounce of his being. The time for quips was later, for he feared Samael's pride may be in danger at the moment, and if truth be told he valued their friendship more than that. Moreso, however, he wanted to give the Eagle Knight hell for leading from the back.

Fixxxer
Fixxxer's picture

Samael tries not to show distaste at the grisly trophy. Instead, he points toward the settlement. "Whatever defenses they had have fallen," he comments. "It will be hell getting those green-skinned bastards out from their new holes."

drumandfight
drumandfight's picture

"Hell, I can handle. But I cannot understand, for the life of me," he turns to the Eagle Knight and takes a few steps in his direction, but speaks loud enough for all to hear, "why our Brother-Sergeant remained stationary while an enemy still strode among us. What in the Warp was so damned important?" It is clear that Fulrik is more than annoyed with their squad leader's apparent lack of interest in the vicious melee that just ended.

Nikello
Nikello's picture

Mac doesn't look up from the cartograph as he responds, "I had thought you would have killed the razorback sooner. If my faith in your abilities has affected mission success then you are free to watch me perform the ritual of the penitent rope when this mission is over."

He stops fiddling with the cartograph, and moves towards Darius, "Darius, the machine spirit as decided it doesn't like me, so I'm entrusting you with its care." He holds it out for the Blood Raven to take.

He looks out on the settlement of Palantine, "Most of the pigs have flooded the city, the civilians are already being slaughtered. The inner wall will fall before the dawning of the next day unless we can lure out their tanks and wagons."

He turns back to the squad, "The mining operation will ultimately be overseen by the great machines of the Mechanicus, and there may be survivors in the mineshaft, Inquisitor or otherwise. With the battle for Palatine, the Orks will have had little time to loot or sabotage the Mechanicus earth-movers. We can use them and whatever survivors we find to form a false armor formation."

He points back to the fires in the city, "The razorback leaders are known for being incredibly cunning, but they can't maintain an iron control on their smaller, dumber kin in the heat of battle if they're not in his immediate vicinity. If we make enough noise the smaller, stupider ones will seek it out en masse. With the help of whatever members of the metal-priesthood we manage to find, we can make noises loud enough to carry over the sound of the Ork's own guns," He pauses for a second, "But that would also require that we convince the defenders to silence their guns on cue to maximize the effectiveness of our noise-makers.

"However, that leaves out the Orks that are least likely to hear us, the artillery-swine. Which means they will have to be lured away individually," A smile creeps into his voice over the vox, "Which means we will have to seek out armored formations withing the city and make used of our enhanced mobility to distract them. Darius and myself will take on this task," he taps the grenades on his belt, "while the rest of you will take the opportunity to find and take out the Greenskin leader as the opportunity presents itself. Am I understood?"

He turns to look at Palantine, and before they can answer an affirmative he cuts in, "I need a vox-line to the defenders. It's time we told them the Emperor's Holy Astartes have arrived."

drumandfight
drumandfight's picture

"No." Fulrik is shaking his head, and his annoyance hasn't left his face. "And yes, you need to fukking whip yourself when we get back, you dolt. LOOK!" He points to the city currently under siege. "The Orks are hitting it from ONE direction. We can get in and make contact with the command and get word on the Inquisitor's whereabouts. You would have us drive the Ork horde into the mine when don't even DAMN WELL KNOW IF THE INQUISITOR IS IN THE MINE OR NOT." Fulrik is slowly losing his temper, but he begins to calm himself.

"You want to split the teams to remove the Ork leadership? OK. Yes, that makes sense. With your mobility and me and Sammy's firepower, that is a sound option. But we need intelligence first. And that means getting inside the city, or at the very least hailing them on the Vox first. But I will not allow us to cut off our only means to the mine before we know how tactically important of an asset it is or isn't yet. If the Emperor-damned Inquisitor is in the mine, or the little artifact she is so fond of, we may be buggering ourselves by doing so."

Fulrik stares the Eagle Warrior right in his facemask, not budging an inch. He decides not to mention that there appears to be no one left at the mines to work any of the machinery anyways.

Daner
Daner's picture

Darius takes the Cartograph and checks through it before interjecting, somewhat unconcerned with the argument.

"Not to be argumentative brother sergeant, but if we're going to lure the Orks, why not lure them into a geographically advantageous area where their numbers will not avail them? Why not draw them into a canyon or cavern. That way we can use ourselves as the bait instead of citizens. We fear no Ork. Once we have them where we want them we could use our boosted vox to call an artillery strike from the Imperial Guard. I'm sure they'd be greatful to have the Orks off their backs. At least enough to deploy some ordnance."

"Perhaps the cartograph will show us a suitable area".

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