The Sin of Pride IC

[Starbin]

Lor watched the interplay with the senior crew, snorting to himself. When he saw the Master of Whispers reach for a weapon, he suddenly felt a chill. Things had suddenly gotten 'real' as it were, and could quickly go south.

Glancing towards Praetus, he wondered what the cell would do if a fight broke out. On one hand, the Captain obviously was in charge of the ship, and seemed to know it. On the other, they worked for Holt ... did that circumvent the normal chain?

Lor hated chain of command issues ... growing up on Iocanthos, you tended to obey the closest warlord who could knife or shoot you. Beyond that, it was all about future survival. Here, well, things weren't as clear ...

But just when he thought violence was about to break out, the Captain moved away, muttering something that brought a smug look to his face. Feth me, that was close ...

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Gabriel frowned as the Captain and Master of Whispers whispered at each other like Hive world school girls. The fact that they appeared to be disagreeing with one another in front of these acolytes was bad enough; the fact that Master Holt had actually taken to touching his weapon was bordering on criminal.

While the Captain and Holt stepped away from each other, the Confessor knew that something had been lost here - a fracture in trust and authority that could not be allowed to go unaddressed. Fortunately, since the Inquisitor was not here, it could most likely be done without killing anyone. As the Captain began to speak again, Gabriel stepped forward and cleared his throat to draw the attention of the assembled personnel. "My Lord-Captain, perhaps it is best if Master Holt ensure his agents are presentable, and ready for their assignment. I believer you were going to provide your assessment of the exact composition of the response element. If I may pull you away for a moment, sir?"

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Gabriel is trying to provide an opportunity for both men to transfer their attention appropriately, as well as subtley reminding/enforcing both of their respective responsibilities. Let's see, Charm check (Skill 60 + 20 (Circ bonus) +15 (Morally Superior) +10 (Confessor): (1d2)[2] ... looks like 10 successes

JUST KIDDING!

Nope, nothing more than the Confessor trying to separate the boys w/o anyone loosing more face in front of the troops.

Lor stiffened as the Confessor approached, recognizing his voice as the one they always heard over the loud speakers. Best to not bring up the knife in his presence ...

[bluntpencil]

The Captain nods, taking the Confessor's advice seriously. He was right, after all, but the Captain still raised a hand, indicating that he had heard enough. Can't be having it look like he was following someone else's orders.

Again, he gestures at Praetus with his Captain's baton, making a grand gesture with his other arm.

"Of course, but the gentleman here hadn't finished answering me. I'm sure he's got more than one story to tell!"

Of course he hadn't something interesting to say. He could tell from the damned smell. They'd either been rolling around in their own faeces, or had been doing something of import.

[Starbin]

Mentally sighing, the Confessor stood at parade rest, waiting for the Captain to finish. While he might not enjoy his interactions with Kuchenko, he was too much of a military man to break rank and show dissent in front of the subordinants. He simply stared at Praetus, unblinkingly, waiting ... knowing the sooner the man answered, the quicker they could get back to work.

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Ah well, worth a shot

[DrK]

As the host of Armsmen, Arbites and ground crew all shuffled around nervously as the tension rose between the command crews. Into this a large helmeted pilot strides seemingly oblivious to the commotion a large set of 3 golden stars of a Lt. Commander marking his shoulder pads and Von Haust on his name badge. "Lord Captain Sir we are ready to depart. Best clear the landin deck. Confessor are you and some armsmen ready to board?"

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Regias coming down. Who is coming down to the planet?

[Starbin]

Still holding his parade rest, Gabriel spoke quietly. "One moment, Lt Commander. We will be with you once the Lord-Captain is satisfied."

[bluntpencil]

"Thank you, Confessor.

Good work on the attack run, by the way, Lieutenant Commander. Expertly conducted."

The Captain waits, although he obviously wishes to get to work too.

[Caimheul]

Praetus

"Riot Tro... I mean Acolyte Praetus Herran, Lord Captain. It's quite all right, sir, we're well supplied by the quartermaster. No need to worry yourself with us sir." Praetus responds to the captain falling back on old habits.

OOC:

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Well, I was originally planning on have Holt accompany them down, but I don't think that can occur now or else he'd be "derelict in his duty" in the Captain's eyes... So I'll have to go with plan B...

Master Holt Orthesian

Master Holt's sharp eyes bore into Praetus waiting for the captain to leave so that he can grill the acolyte as to the cells recent activities.

[Tome]

In the background, the ship's beleaguered Master Enginseer sends as many last-minute instructions to his subordinates as possible. So many repairs to make, and he has no doubt that someone is either going to steal the heretical Malgrysian technology for study or start ripping out necessary ship systems in their zeal to remove it. Fortunately he has nice, dependable, hopefully-far-too-lazy-to-actually-do-anything-before-he-returns underlings to assign to that task. Which just leaves the other items on the ever-mounting repair list to attend to. Speaking of tech-heretics and the continually growing repair list he now has prominently displayed in the middle of the sacred halls of the machine god, that appears to be the captain talking by the landing craft.

He coughs politely to attract the captain's attention. "C-captain, a moment of your time? If it's n-not too much trouble? Could you please not try and scuttle the ship again before I'm back to fix it?".

He wishes he could stay here and supervise the repairs, but he expects that without someone to tell them what's what half the away team is likely to end up dead try to open the doors and the rest will bring back nothing but live ordinance.

[bluntpencil]

The Captain nods at Praetus, then looks at Holt, with a look of appreciation for the Arbitrator on his face.

"He knows when to keep his mouth shut. He knows his game."

He then allows the Enginseer to inform of what needed organised regarding repairs. He didn't understand the most of it, but he trusted his men to do their jobs right.

[DrK]

As the Captain leaves the flight deck and the launch prep begins the acolytes, and some of the senior crew and the shuffling Master Enginseer slowly board the assault boat. For Lilliatas its a home from home. The grey blank walls. The grilled metal gratings on the floor to allow easy sluicing of vomit and blood. The smell of stale sweat, oil and human fear... Its your standard Guardsmen transport aroma. For Lor its the opposite - a tiny cramped steel cave with nothing but the smells of technology and fear.

Minutes after you are strapped into the grey metal chairs lining the walls or standing on the clip ropes attached to the ceiling the craft lurches forward. The internal vox crackling into life as Commander Regias's confident voice booms over them. "Launching in 3....2.....1...." the engine noise explodes into life revereberating around the cramped space as the vessel lurches and then rumbles down the launch tube as all the passengers are pressed back against the walls or their restraints.

Seconds later its over as thos standing begin to to float and spin slightly as the zero-G kicks in. The ones in the seats stuck down but still assaulted by a lack of gravity as dog tags, robes and other loose items begin to free float.

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A routine (+20) T or WP (you choose) test or be ill from the zero-gravity. Its not that normal for most of you.

The weightlessness lasts mere minutes before the heat begins to rise in the cramped chambers and gravity returns with a vengeance as the craft buffets and jumps around with brutal muscle twisting banging and droppinga round that throws and bashes you around. A faint crackle of "...pas.. atmos...try..." over the vox.

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Ag or S (you choose) test (+20) or (1d5)[4] wounds (ignores armour but not Toughness)

Again the discomfort is only brief as the craft hurtles through the thin atmosphere slowly levelling out into a flat descenet. The viewing slits opening slightly revealing the dead barrem greyish wastes of the world beneath that flickers past. The voice of the commander again coming through loud and clear. "Comms channel bravo. We are 3 minutes out. Are we going in hot or civil?" the question a good one.

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Are you going to land on a landing platform and walk in Or assault craft style breach the wall?

[Starbin]

Lor

Lor sat as still as possible, listening to the countdown with dread. Give him a fire-fight with hybrid freaks any day of the weak over this fuggin' crap. He glanced around at the others, wondering what they thought, but between helmets and the straps, he couldn't see them very well. As the pilot hit one, Lor took a deep, cleansing breath ... and that was a mistake.

The floor suddenly dropped away, and being strapped in, it pulled Lor with it. The sudden loss of gravity, coupled with a big, heaping intake of the smell of vomit and blood, didn't react well. The burning liquid Praetus had shared an hour earlier suddenly wanted out ...

With a gurgled grunt, Lor leaned forward as far as he could, trying to project his puke towards the floor. He stared at the floating globules with mixed fascination and disgust. "I don't remember eating that ..."

Suddenly, gravity returned with a vengeance, as the ship thrusted towards the planet. Slammed into his restraints, Lor caught something moving out of the corner of his eyes and dodged, first to the left, then the right. Once the ship leveled out, he leaned back, glad for the steadier motion of atmospheric flight over the zero-g drop ship antics of before.

Looking over at P, he grunted, "So now what?"

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Gabriel

The Confessor sat silent within his restraints, eyes closed in meditation. His face was calm and serene as the ship released into zero-g, the loss of gravity barely noticeable. As the minutes of serene silence continued, he opened his eyes mere moments before the turbulence began. With subtle movements, he leaned out of the way of the ammo boxes and various items that suddenly became indiscriminant weapons, striking all over the hold.

Within a few minutes, they were in stable flight, cruising across the planet towards their destination. Regias' question came back and Gabriel glanced at the others. "Is there an assessement available on the status of the ground site? Presumeably, we should treat this as a hostile insertion, if we do not have confirmation that our presence is unanticipated."

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Not sure what benefits we get with one, versus the other; however, rather than getting shot up by hvy bolter servitors waiting for us on the docking pad, Gabriel would rather expect the worst. Either way, we have a better shot at surprise with a 'hot insertion' ... dirty as that may sound

[bluntpencil]

Lorenzo grins. He's never done this before, and the free-fall is fun. His stomach lurches a bit, but all this does is kick the adrenaline in as he watches things float around, but wrinkles his nose as his helm amplifies the scent of Lor's vomit.

"First time too?!"

asks Lorenzo, obviously practising the squad's code-speak, and obviously enjoying himself way too much.

[Tome]

Lilitas

"Why is this so much worse when I'm not the one piloting" gurgles the guardswoman from her seat, as she desperately tries to avoid vomiting into her helmet. "I got that bloody pilot certification just so I wouldn't have to ride in the back anymore...".

The sudden presence of gravity slams her against her restraints, but it fails to even faze her in her grumbling. "You hear me in there?!" she yells in the direction of the cockpit, "I could fly this tub better than you grotsucker! Fraking flyboys, don't know how to fly a bloody transport if their lives depended on it".

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Victris

The master enginseer is noticeably more collected, steadying himself with his mechadendrites to avoid the inevitable jolt.

"Y-yes confessor, I believe you may b-be right. Our w-welcoming on t-the ground is unlikely to b-be any warmer t-than that in orbit, judging from the I-Inquisitor's attitude towards this w-world".

[Starbin]

When Bianco spoke, Lor simply rolled his eyes. "Third time, but they all fuggin' suck." At least Lil was enjoying the ride only slightly more than himself ...

[Caimheul]

Praetus

The former arbitrator's stomach rises into his throat, the combination of temporary weightlessness with the sight and smell of Lor's prior meal causes him to retch, his stomach attempting to empty itself. Luckily, he had thought ahead and skipped his last meal, as weightlessness tended to nauseate him. His face a greenish tinge he attempts to speak. "Fething flyboys are the worst, they seem to enjoy making us ill."
Status:

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Wounds: 15/15
Laspistol Charge: 15/15
Spare: 1/1
Shotgun: 14/14
Spare Shells: 46/46
Blazer Shells: 7/8
Fate: 1/1

______________________________________________
Master Holt

"Thrice damned space travel...." Master Holt mutters into the space sickness bag that was located in front of his seat, his shoulder still smarting from having been wretched against the straps from the turbulence. "The Inquisitor's position can always be used to justify our hostile boarding of a loyalist station, however the losses incurred during a polite landing on an enemy stronghold are irrevocable. I do not believe there was any evidence as to this area remaining loyal."

Status:

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Wounds: 8/9
Inferno pistol: 80/80
Hellgun: 30/30
Spare Charge Packs:2/2

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To see if Holt remembers anything about the station/base they are landing in/invading:
Total recall: (1d100)[14] TN 56

[DrK]

As the landing craft ducks, dives and weaves through the thin and dead atmosphere the smell within the the back of the shark grows worse and worse.

Holt thinks back to his knowledge of the base. Staffed by the Brontian Longknives under the care of the Adeptus its main purpose was to ascertain the world for mining rights and secondary to that to investigate the strange inverted xeno ziggaruts that dot the surface and had reportedly not been breached or explored by Mechanicus or the Longknives.

"2 minutes out." the call from the cockpit ahead as the research zone races into view.



"Aiming for the main dome. Taking fire... the craft rocks and wobbles as bangs and huge explosions shake and rock the assault boat. "Outlying perimiter guns... we're not taking hits." A crackle over the vox and then "Fury's gold and silver take out the turrets."

The Assault craft continues to shake and shudder as fire blasts past. Missiles streaking overjead and the terrifying thud thud thud of autocannon rounds slamming into the armoured prow. "10 seconds. Lock and load."

10 seconds later everyone is hurled forward as the retro's fire and there is a colossal BANG as the assault boat slams into "something". The two crewman leap up from their armoured assault seats, their heavy riot gear protecting them from any fire maybe. They slam the las ignition sequence in as the lascutters burn and the loading ramp glows a dull red from the barely deflected heat. Seconds later the ramp tumbles down into the still smoke filled heart of the research bay. The restraints on the chairs and the harnesses pop open. From the cockpit above you you can hear the "go go go" and from outside the hole you can hear an alarm sounding and panicked shouts...

[Caimheul]

Praetus

"Alright people, time to play baby sitter! Follow me!" Fitting action to words, Praetus hustles out into the newly formed opening, shield and shotgun at the ready.

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Awareness: (1d100)[74] TN 38

[Starbin]

Weapon in hand, Lor leapt up from his seat and took a position by the door, sweeping the scene as he prepared to cover the rest of the acolytes.

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Awareness check (TN 44, 54 vs sight & hearing): (1d100)[25]

Over the link, he called, "Lo, let Lil go first; stay behind Markus and watch his back."

[rb780nm]

Markus disengages the safety on his weapon and chambers rounds in cylinder. "Keep y' eyes open pencil-pusher - I like my back in its current state."

[bluntpencil]

Bianco unstraps himself and is, of course, far more positive than he should be. He gets behind his shield, pistol at the ready, still resisting the urge to spin it on his finger like the characters on 'Gunmetal City Arbitrators', the second-rate holovid show.

"Understood. I got 100% in Firearms Safety. Only 65% in Accuracy, but that's improving!"

He seems to like speaking in the group's code, practising it at every opportunity so as not to screw up when it's actually needed.

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Right, Forbidden Lore (Inquisition) roll:

(1d100)[98] TN 65 + Total Recall

Failed by 3 degrees. Probably didn't have clearance.

Scholastic Lore (Bureaucracy) roll:
(1d100)[50] TN 75 + Total Recall
A decent (2 degrees) success. Probably knows some inconsequential things about their electricity consumption and other such logistical nonsense.

What has Bianco come across as a pen-pusher for the Inquisition? Has he signed off on anything, or come across any data or files regarding this installation and its inhabitants?

[DrK]

The smoke and steam from the lascutter slowly clears and oozes down the heavy barrel and crate laden metal passageway. In the midst of the smoke Lor can make out the hurried forms of a handful of Brontian's chargiung down the corridor. One with traditional two handed sword in hand, the other clutching their las carbines.

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Smoke gives a -20 to ranged fire
They are 30m away - plenty of debris to hide behind should you wish.
With Lor's warning the PC's have the initiative.

One officer and 6 guardsmen

Shouts from withint the craft as the few enforcers shout to the Master of Whispers- Lord Holt. Rebels. Wait till the area is clear. No such warning is given to the Confessor or the hulking armoured tech priest...

[Starbin]

Lor watched the men running forward; to their death, of course, but they didn't know that. Yet.

"Incoming ... seven targets, one with rank. Permission to engage?"

Lor will wait long enough for an answer, firing whatever the response was.

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Half aim, called shot on officer's head ... going for maximum psychological effect. BS 42+10 (Aim) +10 (Accurate) +10 (Red-dot) +10 (Rng) = TN 82 : (1d100)[42]
Dam: (1d10+3)[7] = 16I, Pen 5, to head
Extra rolls for accuracy damage: (1d10)[5], (1d10)[4], (1d10)[10]
Initiative for next turn, if necessary: (1d10+10)[13]

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Gabriel stepped up, reaching for the huge heavy flamer he had brought. He waited until the others had fanned out before stepping forward. He looked for a suitable position to apply his weapon, knowing the adversary would simply wade into the flames.

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Move to cover and Brace this turn.
Initiative: (1d10+4)[10]

[Tome]

Lilitas

Lilitas is among the ones leading the charge. If she had her way, she'd have left them behind already, for her bloodlust drives her on faster than her feet can carry.

A murderous grin crosses the scarred face beneath her helmet, exulting in finally being allowed to fulfil her purpose. The enemies of man stand before her and she holds her weapons at the ready. The blood, the carnage, the bringing of death and the ending of lives - THIS is her mission from the God-Emperor! Not standing around looking scary while others prattle on about investigations and paperwork, but THIS! And at long last, she may do His work.

The first foes appear, and she charges towards them, chainsword and hellpistol at the ready. She could justify her decision to engage them in melee tactically, if she wished. The impeded visibility reducing accuracy and rendering hand-to-hand more effective. But she does not even attempt to justify this - she wishes to see them fall, to watch with her own eyes as she takes their lives in His name, for they shall be but the first to fall. "Emperor, bestow upon me Your righteous fury and Your furious strength!" she screams in prayer as feet strike solid ground, "Let me become the storm that blasts the enemy from Your sight!".

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Run action, advancing 18 meters towards the enemy! She could go further, but this still puts them in charge range next turn and should keep her a little safe from being counter-charged before then.

And yes, if you changed the prayer to "Blood for the blood god, skulls for the skull throne!" Lilitas' actions and thoughts would work perfectly well for a Khornate berserker. This is still a thing.

Initiative: (1d10+4)[6]

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Victris

The Master Enginseer, meanwhile, is neither hulking nor well-armoured. He is, in fact, something of a weedy little coward when it comes to open conflict.

As he demonstrates by scrambling behind the nearest bit of cover and cowering, clutching his boltgun in a way that demonstrates a complete unfamiliarity with it's use.

"Oh Omnissiah, why did I ever agree to this".

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Seriously, who are you referring to in your post DrK?

I'll roll initiative for him just in case someone needs him to unjam a gun or something.

Initiative: (1d10+3)[8]

[Caimheul]

Master Holt

The Master of Whispers receives the warning too late to alert the confessor or the explorator and with a sigh he seeks cover to the side of the freshly cut passageway.



================================================== ========

Praetus

"Damnable smoke no way to tell if they're friendlies... Emperor protect." Praetus says to over the team's frequency before switching to the frequency of the vox-hailers built into the shields that he and Lorenzo both carry. "IN THE NAME OF THE INQUISITION AND THE GOD-EMPEROR OF MAN, SURRENDER OR DIE!" he announces, his voice amplified by the vox-hailers as he runs towards the dim shapes.

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Full action run towards the figures! 18M alongside the sarge. Really hope they're corrupted with the trigger happy members of the group... (If it weren't for the fact that Praetus really stinks at shooting, I'd likely have opened fire too)

[bluntpencil]

"They're almost certainly ignorant loyalists. Stunning and capture would likely be pre... too difficult." says Lorenzo to his squad-mates, correcting himself with a sigh.

He aims his pistol, the red dot sight showing up in the smoke, guiding him onto his target.

His enthusiasm is somewhat blunted as he sees the aquilas worn by these guardsmen. Maybe this wasn't so f... screw it. He pulls the trigger anyway.

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Half-action aim, plus red dot, negates the smoke. TN 37
(1d100)[14] with Manstopper
(1d10+3)[6] Pen 3

[DrK]

Screams and shouts ring out as Praetus and Liliatas race forward into the smoke and fog dashing towards the misguided fools. The officer stumbles to the ground as a bullet glances off his forehead kickig him to the ground where he groans ad moans and a nother guard grunts as a round slices his leg from Lorenzo's shot.

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1 guy suffers 2 wounds
The officer is knocked prone by the critical shot

Even as 2 of the men drag the officer in to cover, massive sabre left in the hallway the other skid into what cover is there. Las carbines up and spraying fire at the acolytes...

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Guard 1 semi-auto at Praetus
(1d100)[41] TN 48
- damage (1d10+3)[7](1d10+3)[10](1d10+3)[13] as required

Guard 2 semi-auto at Lilitias
(1d100)[81] TN 48
- damage (1d10+3)[9](1d10+3)[12](1d10+3)[7] as required

Guard 3 semi-auto at Praetus
(1d100)[88] TN 48
- damage (1d10+3)[7](1d10+3)[12](1d10+3)[6] as required

Guard 4 semi-auto at Lor
(1d100)[98] TN 38
- damage (1d10+3)[7](1d10+3)[5](1d10+3)[10] as required

Go players go

One shot slams into Praetus's shield and helm, the las fire deflecting safely off the heat resistant ceramite inserts. THe rest of the las fire is wild. The stunend troopers confused by the motely crew of people who have assaulted them. Especially coming so soon after the destruction of the orbital station. The red flickering light flashes in the smoke as it sears above and around the acolytes.

[bluntpencil]

Lorenzo silently updates his accuracy rating score. He'd remember that later. That confirmed hit actually meant that he may no longer need remedial training. Maybe he could get into an 'Intermediate Firearms: Bolt Weaponry' course?

These thoughts keep his mind away from the doubts that swiftly flitted through his mind a moment ago.

So, eager to get into the intermediate bracket, he again takes aim and fires... unfortunately, he could probably do with the practice...

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Attack (1d100)[81] TN 37
Half-Aim and Red-Dot
Damage (1d10+3)[11] Manstopper Pen 3

[Starbin]

Lor smiled as the officer hit the ground. "Sorry, boss, I figured we wouldn't be doing this if they wasn't guilty. Time for another morale check."

Taking aim at the man who fired at him, Lor fired another shot.

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Half aim, called shot to head; TN 82: (1d100)[7]
Dam: (1d10+3)[13] = 24I, Pen 5, to head
Extra rolls for accuracy dam: (1d10)[2], (1d10)[6]

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Seeing the group had engaged the traitors appropriately, Gabriel leaned out from cover and fired the heavy flamer. Unfortunately for most of the attacking troops, they had moved to within the flamer's range ... would their cover be enough to save them?

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Fire Hvy flamer, spread to catch as many of the enemy as possible.
Damage: (2d10+4)[6][10](20): 20E, Pen 4

[Tome]

The Guardswoman puts on a burst of speed, slamming into the poor sod unlucky enough to be closest to the rampaging berserker. Her warcry is exultant and feral as she swings her weapon with zeal, enthusiasm and no small degree of skill. First for the slaughter, first to die for the Emperor!

Victris, meanwhile... continues to cower, though reassured that he won't be ejected from the safety of the armoured transport he at least attempts to hide it a little.

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Lilitas Charges the nearest enemy!

WS: 51 (Base 41 + Charge 10)
Damage: (1d10+8)[11] OR (1d10+8)[14] R, Pen 2

[rb780nm]

Emerging into the battlefield, Markus opens up with his spectre, spraying the mass of enemy combatants with bullets.

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FA on the bad guys with guns, spreading hit out.

(1d100)[40] tn 52 + 20(FA) - 20(Smoke) +10(range)

Damage
(1d10+3)[4]
(1d10+3)[11]
(1d10+3)[6]
(1d10+3)[13]
(1d10+3)[6]
(1d10+3)[11]
(1d10+3)[6]
(1d10+3)[11]
(1d10+3)[6]
(1d10+3)[6]