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post #51 of 54 (permalink) Old 05-05-14, 05:33 PM Thread Starter
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Softly, silent warning klaxons begin to beat, signaling the destination has been reached. The doors were shut some time ago as the pilot became aware of the fast approaching snow storm. Now, one of the Armsmen, Diaciltterin, nods at one of the others, grips the large handle and slides the armored side-door open.

Snow and ice filter in with the dark blue light of Chemorus Epsilon's morning hour. The drumming sound of the Hell Lander's large overhead propellers drowns out all other sound. As the aircraft makes a slight turn, an abundance of artificial lights set up on the ground comes into view. The Skitarii forces from Chemorus Alpha prepare to wage battle. Their many figures wander about in the camp below.

You were briefed before the flight. The Tech-Guard will be the main assault force on the cultist encampment, while the Armsmen and Saviors get behind enemy lines. Due to environmental conditions and coalition defensive measures, the size, population, and layout of the camp remains uncertain. The Skitarii have pushed the Coalition back to this base over the past month, however, and so now is the time to strike their heart and find out how strong it truly is.

Diatre has separated everyone into three teams of three. Two Saviors and one Armsman each.

You were assigned together, with the Armsman named Diabrttr, who showed 128 the plasma gun during the initial weeks of training. He was also the one present to bear witness to your duals together when Diatre was unable.

013 and 500 were teamed together with Diaciltterin, and 048 and 111 with Diattross.

The Hell Lander's foot rails press into the top layers of snow inside the makeshift landing pad, and everyone departs, and marches through the crunching snow toward the edge of the LZ.

A small unit of Skitarii approach the three of you and salute.

Diabrttr salutes back, before asking for a situation summary.

"They do not appear to have encircling walls. This will not be a war of attrition by any means. You could literally walk into their fortification whenever you like."

Diabrttr turns to each of you. The Armsmen have some kind of armor under their black cloak now including a fully enclosed helmet, making it harder to decipher anything about them, impossible, really.

He turns back to the tech-Guard.

"What?" he asks, confused.

The metal-man puts a seven fingered hand to his bronzed chest to express apology.

"It took us by surprise as well. Our calculations concluded that the levels of snow and ice on the ground made it impossible to erect adequate barriers. They have not been on this world long, they have no fortress. Still, you have been informed of their fighting in the snow dunes and are familiar with their attack on the Complex. They are rather formidable. We are certain the area is defended well, but we have yet to ascertain how, exactly."

"Perhaps they were merely relying on numbers. If most of them are already dead, this could be over in minutes. We will assume otherwise, of course. I don't like going in without a plan or solid idea of what we're approaching. What has the main assault force decided on?"

"The Tribune suggested allowing the Balisteria to bombard the area before approaching, but this strategy was countered by your Commander, who wishes the camp be taken without long range support."

One of the other Hypaspists with enthusiastic eyes and a twin barreled las-cannon for a left arm steps closer saying, "We march forth with the Machine God in our hearts, and enact out the will of the Omnissiah!" The flesh on his face is almost blue from the cold, but this does not seem to be affecting him.

The first continues, "Indeed. We have several Sagitarii squads with us for heavy fire support. We will exterminate any opposition we find, while you and your Saviors locate the enemy command and dismantle it. We have been successful in pushing their forces back to this point, we must simply have faith in our ability to finish them here, whatever defensive measures they may have in place."

Diabrttr doesn't seems a bit bothered by something that was said.

"Affirmative. Tell the Tribune he will hear from us once our task is completed."

The Skitarius seems to hesitate, but speaks up, "The Tribune is female, my lord."

Diabrttr stays frozen for a second, nodding at the Skitarius before turning and bidding the two of you to follow.

"Check in with Defevirian, while I inform the others."

Defevirian is the Armsmen medical Officer. You spot him not far away, and see 013 and 500 sent toward him as well as Diabrttr approaches Diaciltterin. Defevirian will likely speak if spoken to, but otherwise will mind his business and do his tasks, which are last checks on wounds received during training and administering stimulants and packs of energy rich dry-food.

"What are we up against?" asks 013, kindly. The hulking form of 500 looming behind him.

Okay, since its just the two of you now things may be kind of different. It may seem like I'm not giving you much to work with, but really the doors of freedom are still open. You guys will likely be leading me as much as I am you. I am pointing out whats going on around you, I want us to really focus on the two of you placing your feet fully into the boots of 128 and 272 respectively. Have conversation with each other, with Defevirian, with 013 and 500. Walk amongst the skitarii after Defevirian is done with you, perhaps talk with some of them. If you want to walk up to Diabrttr and diaciltterin, then do it and see what happens. This means there will be these main updates from me, and depending on what you guys do, lots of little posts from me. You have no idea what talking to any random npc may lead to, or what any action may lead to. If you guys decided to start shooting people, I will find a way to work with it. Its all about knowing your characters, and knowing what they would do. Since its just the three of us and I know you two are on board for the long haul, there's no rush, post when you can. I have lots of other stuff to work on during the mean time, as I'm sure both of you do as well.

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

Last edited by unxpekted22; 05-05-14 at 09:32 PM.
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post #52 of 54 (permalink) Old 05-31-14, 12:54 PM
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The klaxons inside the ship began to beat like a sleeping heart, signalling they had arrived. Diaciltterin slid open the side doors and ice and snow invaded their small craft once more, quickly covering the ground in a thin dusting of white. The mild light and the roaring noise of the propeller filtered through too, drowning out One-Two-Eight’s complaining that his hair was being ruined. Below, Two-Seven-Two could make out the scuttling forms of dozens of men and Skitarii.

They had been briefed before this engagement. The tech-guards from Chemorus Alpha would be the bulk of the assault, drawing attention and allowing them and the Armsmen to get behind enemy lines and eliminate threats. Not that Two-Seven-Two felt he needed the attention to be drawn from him. Still, he was mildly grateful to be fighting covertly rather than charging in headlong, all bravado and idiocy.

Daitre had decided that each pair of Saviours needed babysitting, and so he and One-Two-Eight had been assigned Diabrttr as their custodian. Two-Seven-Two still felt uneasy that after this long they still had to be monitored. Clearly Philitte, or whoever was in control here, still did not trust them enough for them to be left alone. Perhaps that was wise, Two-Seven-Two wouldn’t have said he trusted many of these other ‘Saviours’ either.

But then again Two-Seven-Two’s trust was earnt based on someone’s reliability and level-headedness, something few in this group had demonstrated, whereas he wagered all their commanders wanted to trust them to do was run at the enemy and die like good soldiers should, in ignominy. Perhaps, then, he and One-Two-Eight would be harder to trust, given that neither of them were content to sell their lives cheaply or without good justification. Their pragmatism made them dangerous, and that may well have been the reason they were still watched.

The snow crunched under their treads and the weight of their aircraft, as their three-man unit made its way through the camp. A small contingent of Skitarii approached them and saluted them, a gesture returned by Diabrttr and which Two-Seven-Two mirrored, more out of pragmatism than anything else. Thankfully, these tech-guard cut straight to the chase and informed them that their foes had no encircling walls. Either they were incredibly confident or incredibly foolish. Given their attack on Epsilon Complex, Two-Seven-Two knew they were bold, but to actually penetrate such a facility suggested they were hardly mindless fools.

Diabrttr turned to them, his black chitinous face unreadable. Such a trait made it very difficult to determine if he was looking to them to see what they thought or to see if they were as confused as him. The tech-guard mentioned that the snow had stopped them from erecting adequate barriers, but if they had been cornered here wouldn’t they have at least tried? Some growing feeling of unease was uncoiling in Two-Seven-Two’s stomach, and the mention that their Commander, whoever that was, insisting that long range be forgone did nothing to ease it.

It amused Two-Seven-Two greatly to watch Diabrttr get flustered at confusing the gender of the Tribune. He dismissed them to see Defevirian, the Armsmen’s medical officer. As they walked the pale ground Two-Seven-Two whispered to One-Two-Eight “No defences and no long range support. Something is very wrong about this.” Defeviran checked them over, administered stimulants and gave them their rations, some of which Two-Seven-Two ate and the rest he stored away. Defevirian checked Two-Seven-Two’s neck with particular interest. In the past week, the wound One-Two-Eight had given him had been monitored carefully. By this point it had healed and left a thin scar on his neck which Two-Seven-Two could feel whenever he rubbed his throat, a reminder of exactly how deadly his acquaintance was.

“What are we up against?” Thirteen’s endearing voice asked with childish ignorance. Two-Seven-Two was almost annoyed, assuming that Thirteen was asking about the face of their foe, which they had been briefed on. But he could be asking the enemy’s capabilities, a question to which Two-Seven-Two had no answer. As Defevirian finished his inspection and moved on, Two-Seven-Two was still unable to shake the feeling that something was not right about this mission. They had barely any intel and no direction except to blindly follow these Armsmen, who gave no indication what they knew, if anything. He would not be blind. With that thought, Two-Seven-Two made his excuses and left.

He walked with purpose through the camp. He wanted to find anyone or anything that could tell him what he wanted to know. There were hoards of Skitarii preparing for war, muttering prayers to some Omnissiah. The religious system of this society still confused Two-Seven-Two as it all focused on absent deities whose ‘actions’ appeared little more than blind luck. But, by now, Two-Seven-Two knew better than to voice such dissent. Something that had been made clear to him through the many murals depicting fantastical battles, which he felt were obviously embellished, was that despite being absent from their everyday lives, these absent gods were clearly very dear to these people, and as such were best avoided.

As he walked he came across the Skitarius that had briefed them. They would be a good place to start. “Hail!” Two-Seven-Two called, making a fist in his chest. It was a gesture he had seen several of these tech-guard make to one another and he assumed it was a gesture of respect. “I’ve been sent to review the intelligence you have gathered on our foes. We’d like this war over with as quickly and efficiently as possible, and we need intelligence for that.” His language was deliberately mechanical. Something else he had picked up, everything was a machine to these people. The closer something was to the mechanical, the more sacred it became.

Despite his attempts to endear the Skitarius to him, it seemed uneasy. That in itself was odd to Two-Seven-Two, since he had not thought it possible for a man who was more machine than flesh to display such an emotion. Yet, as it told Two-Seven-Two that he had already given their custodians all the information, he got the distinct impression that the Skitarius was afraid of him. “Peace comrade, I’m not here to interrogate you. Specifically, the information I was hoping for was any layouts of the compound you have. Additionally, I am curious to know what intelligence leads you believe our enemy is here and any reports of pervious engagements on this site.”

Two-Seven-Two paused for a second before adding “If you don’t have access to the information, I’d be happy to speak to someone who does.” The Skitarius acknowledged and asked for permission to be excused to the tribune’s council. Two-Seven-Two dismissed him with a nod, leaving him with the Skitarius’s enthusiastic companion. "We will bring glory to the Omnissiah this day, Savior!" he said, volume bordering on shouting. Two-Seven-Two nodded enthusiastically. It became obvious to him that this tech-servant had no idea that he didn’t remember anything about his previous life and therefore knew nothing about this Omnissiah or what he represented. He had been briefed on the nature of the adepts of Mars and their Machine Cult, but experiencing it was something quite different all together.

The longer he waited the more he began to absorb the rising atmosphere. He turned his back to the adept and watched the surround tents. Countless adepts were huddled around in covens, pouring oils and other liquids over their weapons and their bodies. His ear picked up their ecstatic mutterings about “the Omnissiah” and “the Machine God”. The more he opened his senses, the more he realised the extent of the rising noise. The pitch of the camp was approaching hysteria, and Two-Seven-Two could feel the fever sweeping over him like a river. It was such a paradox, these people strove to emulate machines but their behaviour was all too human. He wondered in that moment if it even mattered to these people if their foe was here, and if he found evidence that they might not be or that they were walking into a trap, he wondered if they would even listen…

My contribution to the Renegades saga. Check it out

My growing IIIrd legion stuff:

17th Millenial (Homebrew Fluff) - "Children of the Emperor, death to his foes!" (Project Log)

Also my 30k tacticas, for those of you interested:

Crusade Army List tactica - Individual Legion tactica

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And for two fucking grand, I could buy enough rum and hookers to 'artistically' recreate the better part of Pirates of the Caribbean.
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post #53 of 54 (permalink) Old 06-01-14, 10:11 PM
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One-Two-Eight was laying back, arms folded across his chest, eyes clenched shut, when the alarms began to blare. He sniffed, shaking his helmeted head, and shuffled awkwardly into a crouching position.

'What the fug is that?' He asked, to no-one in particular, and didn't receive any sort of answer. 'Well fug you all, too,' He added, after a brief silence, quieter and harsher.

One of the Armsmen, resembling a big, black beetle in his armour and cloak, stood up and slid open the access hatch. Snow, soft and flurrying, and sharp, cold shards of ice, filled the interior of the transport. One-Two-Eight stepped forwards, leaned out of the hatchway and looked downwards. From horizon to horizon, the world was blanketed in snow, everything glowing faintly in the moonlight. Beneath, brief, flickering impressions of figures - Men and vehicles, clad in bronze and scarlet - Or that's what One-Two-Eight believed - Were milling about a makeshift campsite. Slowly, tediously, the flier landed, settling softly onto a rough, untended ring of lights.

One-Two-Eight was amongst the first out, striding out of the vehicle with strong, purposeful steps. He crouched, taking a handful of snow in his gloved palm, and crushed it. Diabrttr, Two-Seven-Two and One-Two-Eight's watcher, led them across the landing pad. A group of Skitarii, the Mechanicus foot-soldiers, met them at the pad's boundaries. Diabrttr and Two-Seven-Two saluted, as did the Skitarii, though One-Two-Eight did not. He grinned wolfishly, teeth flashing as white as the snow around them, and grunted. The Mechanicus had saved him, back at the Epsilon Facility, but they were not his superiors - Indeed, in the weeks of training, One-Two-Eight had come to understand that the Mechanicus and the Imperium of Man had a symbiotic relationship, two vastly different groups, both in creed and function, of humanity that had banded together to ensure their survival.

As the flesh-spare Mechanicus spoke, Two-Seven-Two pressed close, and whispered, 'No defences and no long range support. Something is very wrong about this.'

One-Two-Eight pursed his lips. 'Spooky,' He hissed, feigning fear and interest. 'If you come any closer, friend, you'll be kissing me.'

He winked, shuffled back, and looked around. The Armsmen and Saviors had broken down into groups of three, one Armsman and two of the Saviors in each, and for a moment One-Two-Eight appreciated being thrown in with Two-Seven-Two.

He shuddered. 'Pull yourself together,' He said, to himself. 'You're becoming nice.'

One-Two-Eight absorbed the information that was needed, though his face remained slack, bored and cold. So, so cold.

'The Tribune is female, my lord,' The informative Skitarii said, and One-Two-Eight's interests suddenly ignited, tenfold. He stepped back into the ring, letting his bolter hang by its straps, and rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, sniffling.

'Check in with Defevirian, while I inform the others.' Diabrttr told them, and One-Two-Eight groaned.

One-Two-Eight didn't like Defevirian, not one bit. He was fine, the phantom aches in his body was gone, his wounds had healed. He didn't need Defevirian.

So, when he walked off, he veered away and gripped one of the Skitarii by his wrist, not roughly but rather tenderly.

'So, Mister Shiny, where can I find this Tribune of yours? Or am I going to have to saunter into the enemy camp without a good luck kiss?'

Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.

"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"

'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Yes, lord.'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
'No, lord.'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
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post #54 of 54 (permalink) Old 06-21-14, 04:15 AM Thread Starter
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Though you both stake separate paths through the massed ranks of Skitarii, you both find yourself at the camp's leadership. There is no tent, these people, their bodies imbued and improved with technology, have little need for such things.

A crunching of the snow behind you indicating something heavier than the troops you've been seeing, causing you both to turn. 013 has followed you, with 500 no where to be seen.

For the time being you both shrug it off and allow him to join you.

Before you, in a circle, stand the War Council for this particular Skitarii regiment.

There are six of them, but the female, bedecked in the brightest shade of red and colored with medals across the breastplate, stands out to you.

272's escort, bows and directs an open hand toward her. Her face is completely augmented, a rather flat slab of metal, smoothed and countered, with two scoped eye replacements, alight with a beating red similar to her garb. Large sword pommels strike out from her hips, their lengths hidden beneath her cloak. The other five warriors all hold the iconic power axe's of the mechanicum, their staffs firmly planted into the ground.

They all turn to see the three of you.

The tribune looks to you, emotionless, and speaks.

"What is this about? Are these the Saviors, where are their attendants?"

Whatever happens next is up to the three of you. No one has moved in any type of aggression towards you, but their does seem to be a lot of confusion.

You can never be prepared for the unexpected

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