14th Black Crusade - IC

[DrK]

The 14th Black Crusade is about to begin.
The Limoges system must fall.


http://www.fantasyflightgames.com/ffg_content/black-crusade/25_The-Ragged-Helix-Lin-Bo.png

The reaver vessl Skin Flayer slowly glided through the mass of spinning rocks and planetary debris that dominated the Diskouri system. At its heart the dying sun - a black hole - slowly consuming the system and all within it.

The 1200m long raider vessel fired thrusters nosing through the maze of rocks and twisted ice guided unerringly by the psychic screaming of the Beacon of the Dammned - the Warlord Vaal's twisted mirror of the Astronomicon to guide heretical vessels, xenos and the boldest or Rogue Traders to the mass of mines, forges, slave habs and floating ship yards on the small moon Iniquity that orbited a dyig gas giant.

From your positions on the observation deck it didn't look like much. A small ball of inhsopitable rock shrouded in crackling lightning storms and toxic acidic clouds through which the occasional ragged mountain peak was visible. Around the moon, hanging in orbit like a string of broken and blackened pearls were the Reaver shipyards. Hundreds of kilometers of twisted metal, broken hulks and small rocky asteroids laced together into a vast maze of pressure habs and shipyards servicing the Reaver fleets that call this place - fleetingly - home. A swarm of gun cutters, shuttles and star fighters flit around the upper atmosphere of the moon descending to the facilities beneath or just hoppig from one clan's shipyard to the next. A flicker of weapons fire and the faint yellow pin prick of a dogfight between shuttles getting a small cheer form the half dozen other passengers of not allowed in the observation dome.

As you slowly and smoothly move up to the nearest shipyard huge sets of chains are carried out by automated drone shuttles shackling the giant raider to the conglomeration of rock and metal watched by dozens of huge marocannon and lance turrets. A twisted and crackling voice blasts over the vox broadcast into the observation dome. "Welcome to Iniquity. Where even the Gods themselves fear to tread..."


All of you heard rumours that the Warlord Karlaad Vaal seeks conquest and soldiers and tha has brought you...



OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=14206771#post14206771)

[Henry the 57th]

Karesh Vul slowly scans the crowd around him, looking for notable persons... or threats.

Awareness: [roll0] vs. 57

[Lucretia]

Phinneas wasn't drawn by the tales of money, lucre, glory. Those sorts of things were what once defined him, several thousand lifetimes ago. But as the pale silver mist of warpstuff filtered out between every joint in his metal body, he contemplated why he had answered the call for Vaal. The beautiful mimic-mask firmly over his face, the thick fur of his mantel brushing against the sides of both face and head, and then the shimmering robe spun for him from the silk of the Q'Sal glottalwyrm -- renown for living in the throats of prey and spinning glorious tapestries within -- Phinneas strode off the voidship.

Somewhere, Farius was here as well. Phinneas had made contact with the Slaaneshi during the trip, reminiscing about the time Farius had corrupted the entire settlement Phinneas had been staying at. It had been an interesting experience. It had piqued Phinneas' curiosity about a specific Chaos God for the first time, although that had been a fleeting whim.

Firmly gripping the long piece of polished femur, emblazoned with silvery runes which danced and changed for each man who looked upon it, Phinneas reached out into the void to pluck a string of Fate. He wanted to take a roster of which psychically active and trained individuals had answered the clarion call as well.

v. 80, Psy Power for Glimpse <- Success
v. X for Psyniscience -- + 3 bonus DoS <- 8 DoS

X is 45 if Glimpse failed, 70 if Glimpse Succeeds.

Using the warp staff more as a cane, the elderly healer continued to walk about, searching for any sort of barter-market that had been erected by the local scum of Iniquity to try and skin early arrivals before someone else did.

Gotta try and find those markets! :smallbiggrin:

Because I'm attempting to consolidate posts, I'll just make more rolls here.
[roll2] Best-craftsmanship Backpack <- Failed
[roll3] Synskin <- Failed
[roll[1d100 Good-craftsmanship Photo-contacts <- I'm an idiot.
[roll[1d100 Psychic Hood <- Still an idiot.

Continuing thereafter, he took stock of the area around him, attempting to get his bearings and join up with Farius if at all possible, or one of the many companions he had made over his vast lifespan.

[roll4] v. 80, Psy Power for Glimpse <- Success
[roll5] v. X for Awareness-- + 3 bonus DoS <- 10 DoS

X is 45 if Glimpse failed, 70 if Glimpse Succeeds.

[Henry the 57th]

Even as Vul scans the crowd, he will also be keeping an eye out for items he desires.

Doing Infamy tests early is probably a good idea.

[roll0] vs. 31 for Psychic Hood, trade Legion Bolt Pistol <--- Failed

[roll1] vs. 11 for Staff of Change, trade Force Sword

[roll2] vs. 31 for Reaper Autocannon, Trade Legion Bolter.

[roll3] vs. 11 for Best Craftsmanship Conversion Field, Trade Legion Power Armor <--- Failed

[DrK]

The packed space docks was thonged with armoured reavers, chains of slaves being dragged to a short life of toil, crazed preachers of the dark gods, warp ravaged mutants begginf for scraps and hundresd of minor traders and petty merchants dealing all manner of things.

The aged and mostly bionic psyker had limped down the boarding tube and entered the brutal sights and sounds of the swirling markets. Seraching the skeins of fate he had identified several other strong psychic presences but all blotted out by the vast beacon of sacrificial psychic energy coming from the dark mirror of the astronomicon from the planet below. Though a great clawed hermaphroditic shadow in the warp and a flavour of sickly sweet musk gives suggestion as to the nature of the creature within the power armour of the slaneesh devotee.

A glance at a chrono shows tht you have some time before the appointed hour for the transport that was promised to take you to the Warlords Citadel on the planet below.


On the reaver space dock that you are occupying you can feel a large number of minor wyrds - psy rating 1+2
~4 more powerful psykers (psy rating 3-5)
At least 3 demonic entites (including the noise marine)



Sadly the traders you meet are unwilling to part with the sheer black material. The mocking voice of "What need has a walking corpse of my wares" still ringing in your ears. As Phineas casts out with his warp senses he finds a familar prescence. The massive bulk of terminator armour and Vul within.

It had been frustrating for Vul. Even as he strode through the crowd, humans debasing themselves before his glorious form. One or two even reaching out to touch his near divine presence. He had found what he wanted. The hulking mutant - red eyed nd tusked who ran the armoury stall honoured to trade with such an esteemed figure Vul and happy to part with heavy autocanon.


what weapons are you carrrying/ equipped with?


A search for potent psionic artifacts had been a blessing and a curse. One - the sorcerer Vissiliich had what he sought. A flame topped Staff of change that he carried like a scepter of office. His "temple" a linked seires of hab blocks where the faithful gathered to hear the mysteries of the Changer and his "students" honed their petty psychic abilities. But his guards.. they were there too. Hard faced reavers with large weaons and twitchy hands. The sorcerer had granted audience to Vul but had then laughed mockingly spitting literally at the offerde sword in exchamge for his prized staff. Dismissed from Vissilichs temple of change he was standing outside when the clanking of feet announced the arrival of Phineas.


He said "no" to the trade

[Henry the 57th]

Vul considers what he saw of the temple while examining his new weapon.

Chainfist on my right hand, sword, flamer, and combi-bolter attached to my body. I just tie the extra crap to me - my SB and TB together are literally off the chart, so it's no problem weight-wise.

How many guards and stuff did I see? What were they armed with? And also, was I alone in the chamber with him? Because I think I may have some ideas...

[DrK]

Vul stares at the Temple. Retreatcing his steps and what and who he saw... The inner chamber where he was granted audience a mockeryy of an Imperial shrine save for the burning and debased figures on the atar where dozens of acolytes had been scurrying about under the wtachful eye of the guards.

The guards had been mostly dressed in rags of carapace and flak with a motley collection of bolt weapons with an occasional fancier weapon in their hands. A selection of chain and power weapons at their waists.


Its like an imperial cathedral.
You weren't alone.
There were ~20 guards that you saw and a few worshippers/ minor psykers.

[Lucretia]

Thanks to faulty fences, I failed to see if I can get the other items. So! [roll0] v. 26 for Psychic Hood
[roll1] v. 31 for Good-craftsmanship Photo-Contacts

I'll post momentarily.

EDIT: Chaos doesn't want me to have things.

Phinneas looked around. For some reason he wasn't in the market anymore. That was surprising. He was also surprised by the vision of the merchants, who could apparently see through solid material. Despite having on a mask, a robe and being a mechanical effigy, they called him a corpse. That was quite impressive.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul considers Vissiliich.

Human or Astartes? Armor? Armament? Did he seem powerful, or just a glorified thrall-wizard who got lucky?

[Lucretia]

Consider coming over here (http://edupad.ch/am9s12ycd6) so we can communicate swiftly about things like position. :smallsmile:

I believe Phinneas is outside the temple where Vul is. I'm predicating this post on that assumption.

"I mustn't believe, for it would be folly to presume, but who favors the bold as salaciously as luck? Is that you, Karesh Vul?"

[Henry the 57th]

Vul looks over his shoulders for a moment. "Oh, hello Phinneas. How have you been?" he says, in a manner that clearly indicates his thoughts are mostly elsewhere.

[Lucretia]

"Ah! By a starling's down, it is you. I am must befuddled by my location, for you see, I was but a moment ago down by the markets. Now it would seem I have appeared... here. Before this magnificent tribute to... what is this, a temple to Tzeentch? There are a psykers within. A school, perhaps? I must have been clouded in my thoughts, peering ahead into the future only to find myself in the presence of a temple devoted to He who weaves that which i looked for." A little dry laugh. "I have been fine, old Vul. It is exciting to see you again -- you also received the call for this warlord's soiree, hmm? I wonder how that will play out."

[Henry the 57th]

"Fine, I'm sure. Vul says, absentmindedly. "Now, how to get that Staff..."

[Lucretia]

"Hire them away," Phinneas said, no hint of a smile beneath the mask. "Staff are notoriously flighty, like grox are when thrown from a voidship. You shouldn't, of course. It's just rude. Those grox were on their way to feed in the nebula. You can't beat nebula-grazed grox."

[Henry the 57th]

"Ah, pardon me. Did I say that out loud? No, I'm not referring to human staff. I refer to a Staff of Change. The ruler of that temple has one. I want it."

[Lucretia]

"So do I, and so does anyone with a lick of psychic sense. Do you think that is unknown to He who wields it now? They will have set precautions, found guards, created traps. It would take a great dearth of sense to simply carry such a fine artefact about without some safety net to prevent its theft. Even for a sorcerer as yourself, this task may not be feasible at this time. Perhaps later, when the streets are not flooded with warriors recently called to satisfy the bloodlust of a warlord?"

[Henry the 57th]

"Who said anything about theft? You know I don't like to leave living enemies behind. I'm considering calling a duel."

[Lucretia]

"I would still call it theft. But you surely recall my peculiar notions of recompense? If you call for a duel, you may very well be the one on the floor being picked over. I doubt they would allow me to heal you. Tell me, what sort of potency did the wielder of the staff have?"

[Henry the 57th]

"I trust in my armor, my weapons, and my skill to defend me. And as to his skill, that is what I am considering."

[Lucretia]

"You surely know how easily armour falls before the power of the mind, my dear fellow. And there are eldritch forces which could render your weapon useless. But if you must go down that path, I will help you as best I can. It is my way, if you will have me."

[Henry the 57th]

"One thing I've learned these ten long millennia is that steel is far more reliable than sorcery, particularly when it comes to defending myself." Vul nods. "Of course I'll have you. I am still considering whether or not I should do it or not."

Can't really say much more until I learn some more about this sorcerer guy and decide what I want to do.

[Lucretia]

Don't worry. I'm just having fun establishing Phinneas and his speech patterns. He tends to vacillate between generic old man and dude who uses words like vacillate. :smallbiggrin: :smallwink:

"I will keep my robes, all the same. I only wear this flak cloak as a reminder of my past. An infantryman had lost his leg, was bleeding. The only screaming tourniquet was being used on someone more important, some sort of commissar perhaps. I went to him, I healed him. Staunched the wound, stymied the flow, used the power of Chaos to bind him back. He would be without a leg -- I could not regenerate flesh to that degree, although I once learned that particular talent and forgot it again about four millennia ago -- but the infantryman would survive. I took him from the battlefield, cast nary a glance over at the impending wall of orks, and saved the man's life. He gave me this cloak as a payment for my services to him." Beneath the mask, Phinneas remained impassive and disinterested.

"He went on to become a renegade of Chaos, someone useful against the Anathema. He's dead now. His children are dead, his bloodline is dry. But he was useful. It is funny, I think, how even the least among us might become the tool of Chaos' will. But it is that paradoxical nature that lends itself to our Masters. But enough from an old man. Shall we find somewhere to discuss the future that isn't directly outside the den of our foes?"

[DrK]

The busy bazaar moves and shuffled around the heavily armoured terminator. The cathedral at one end of the hab chamber facing the market and seperating a pair if the ship docks.



In side the space dock its like a busier, dirtier and more dangerous deep space nine. With the temple just in the middle of the markets.

Sorry Lucretia if I moved you - it's a habit I've picked up over the years to skip things along. Please say if you would rather I didn't.
The corpse comment was linked to the 4 bionic limbs nothing more. A back handed reference to the emperor.



Staring at the temple Vul considers the magus within. He seemed confident for a human. And garbef only in his robes though possibly with many trinkets an talismans if unknown nature.


He is human
Appeared to have no armour or other weapons
Seems pretty confident.

[Lucretia]

Can I attempt psyniscience to determine a ±1 range of the magus' psy rating? Even with the necroastronomican nearby, I should be able to see someone if they've got a modicum of power.

And please do not control my character unless he is incapacitated, possessed or if I have been away and non-responsive. :smallredface:

His entire body is mechanical, not just the limbs, which is why I was surprised. That, and he's got on stuff that covers his body, so really his hands would be the only bit that was uncovered and mechanical. He has on the mask, the cloak which covers Arms, Torso and Legs, the robe, et cetera.

Phinneas considered his options, attempting to gauge whether he could analyze the potency of the magus within. He also wondered whether he could find Farius. That powerful daemon could be of immeasurable value in not only this venture, but in the venture to come.

[DrK]

As Phineas surveys the temple he can see and feel the flicker of psychic impressions within. A multitude if petty talents and minor stress but only two minds of consequence, like flow lamps hidden amongst guttering candles. Powrrful, maybe as powerful as himself or his ancient terminator armoured companion.


Some 1-2 rated impressions.
One ~4
One ~5

You sensed some demons earlier as you docked. One could have been him.

[Lucretia]

So, if he were a daemon, that would change the level of bound/unbound/daemonic, right? But it wouldn't disguise his psy rating?

Phinneas looked at his friend. "The bearer of the staff may be a daemon. There are only two within the temple who seem to be as versed in the psychic arts as we are."

[Henry the 57th]

"A daemon, eh? Well, that would explain why that runt dared to laugh in my face." Vul extends his own powers to take a look.

Psyniscience to evaluate the psychic presences in the temple: [roll0] vs. 27

Also, I see into the Warp. Did my sight reveal anything unusual about the man, besides the fact that he's a sorcerer?

[watupwithdat]

Farius had been wandering around the place, surveying and looking for anything that caught his interest. Less did now than what had before. But there was of course plenty of that which still did, one strong force being the sonic weaponry of a Noise Marine he had gotten his hands on a while back. He more or less loved this particular weapon, and he loved the ear-bursting and eye-popping death it brought to those he chose to use it against. At this moment he did not know in particular what it was he was looking for, such things came to him when he saw or experienced it. Would probably not be good to linger too long, he still had to meet up with an old acquaintance he had attempted to start on the path of the Prince of Pleasures. One with the powers of sorcery, at that. Those intruiged him, and he always liked when he was able to sway one to his cull. What was it he said he had been looking for now again? Some hood? Farius' memory wasn't as it had been. He let out a eerily-sounding laughter over his own ability to remember other peoples' expressed interests and wants. He was better at figuring out such things as he observed and talked to someone. Or just making them think they want something.

On the "shopping list":
Hallucinogen Grenade (+0 scarce, +10 single = +10) [roll0] vs 41
Best Craftmanship Conversion Field (-30 extremely rare, +10 single, -20 best, +30 trade legion power sword = -10)[roll1] vs 21
Best Craftmanship Legion Plasma Pistol (-20 very rare, +10 single, -20 best, +30 trade bolt pistol = +0)[roll2] vs 31
Psychic Hood (-30 extremely rare, +10 single, +20 trade legion combat knife = -20)[roll3] vs 21

[Lucretia]

"It's only a faint possibility. He could also be in control of a daemonic weapon, or perhaps has a daemon on retainer, so to speak. Converting a Staff of Change into a daemon weapon would be... creative. A bit disrespectful, perhaps, but definitely creative. I know another who is on their way to meet with the Warlord. Perhaps he will be of assistance in taking this staff as well. Should the duel fail, of course, I would very much prefer you didn't die. And if you can weaken the wielder of the staff, we may be able to finish the job. Contingencies are always a good thing."

[watupwithdat]

Nothing of interest. Nothing at all. Just a lot of potential convertees. He had stopped and swayed a few minor crowds of lowly folk to the hedonistic ways of the Prince of Excess, but he had other things to do and tried not to linger too much and made his way to where he thought the psyker might be.

On his way he found some kind of peculiar sequence of hab blocks, that had obviously been taken over by followers of the Changer. No doubt it was the work of some sorcerer-lord on a whim, or atleast the remenants of a cult that's been left behind from one. He felt an urge to desecrate it to his own Dark Lord, but again, he had other things to do. As he walked along the structure he saw a terminator-clad sorcerer and a smaller robed human in the distance. Maybe the sorcerer-lord and an apprentice he had thought of before? Oh, no. It's not I see now. It was Phinneas, the psyker he was looking for. Fitting the Changer had a temple or some such dedicated to him just here. This was chance. He continued getting closer, overhearing them discussing something. Something about a staff. This place's staff? He could easily sway them with a few words, he assumed. "Phinneas." he said, the external vox screeching in a strange way for a slight moment as he pronounced the "ph". "What is going on here?"

[Lucretia]

"How darling, just the marine I was thinking of. Vul, this is Farius. Farius, Vul. I am Phinneas. Who is your companion, Farius? I am unfamiliar with him."

I presume the minion is with you?

[Henry the 57th]

"Charmed. I'm Karesh Vul, and that's our business."

[watupwithdat]

"My companion?" Farius thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, him?" he said as he turned and pointed to the flak armour-clad humanoid who always treads around 4 meters behind his master. "I forget about him, which is a good thing. That is my... 'bodyguard' you could call it." He laughed the same eerily-sounding laughter as before, the same strange screeching happening at one point during the short laughter. "I do not think I need protection of course, but he insists. I thought you had noticed him before, or maybe all that sorcery and magic captures your attention too often?"

He's been with him all along, even during the time they've hung out last. :smalltongue:
Farius looked at Phinneas' acquaintance. "Oh, I am sure it is. But a friend of a friend is a friend, don't you think? I am sure I can provide help for whatever you might need." the Slaaneshi champion said, the external vox not even imparting a single crackling or unsettling screech like it had before.

+20 WP test to activate pheromones: [roll0] vs 67
Charm test on Vul, no idea what kind of modifers and such: [roll1] vs 75 (55 base + 20 unholy icon) 2 DoS

[Mekboy]

Such a petty mess of a world. It seemed a shame to sully her boots with its soil. Nevertheless, this was the world with the lure of bloodshed on a epic scale. Karlaad would no doubt need powerful friends in the conquest of the hated Imperium, and so here Alicia was. The stink of the uninspired masses filled her nostrils. As wonderful as it would be to bless these walking sacks of excrement with a demise at her hands, to do so would be a waste of time. Far more important to plan to take the head of one great foe than many pieces of dross. And there were a few pieces of equipment that she would like to get her hands on first.

As she wandered the mess of markets, an idea came to her. Naturally, others would want to share in the glory of this crusade. Potential rivals, or maybe even equals to fight alongside. Best to keep an eye out.

Awareness for other notable persons [roll0] vs 30

Try and get a single demolitions kit (trade in starting medikit if possible) - [roll1] vs 24

Try and get 2-4 demolition charges - [roll2] vs 19

Try and get 2-4 frag grenades - [roll3] vs 49

[Henry the 57th]

"There is a Staff of Change in there. I want it."

[watupwithdat]

"A Staff of Change? I am unfamiliar with that particular item, though I rarely discuss staves with folks. It sounds like something connected to the Changer." Farius was more likely to have seen one than actually hear someone talk about it. And if he had heard the name before he'd forgotten it as it's not an item he'd be interested in acquiring he was sure. "And who do we have give us this staff of the Changer?" He was curious what methods a sorcerer in terminator armour used. It was unlikely he needed a terminator armour if he was the scholarly type. I cannot remember one of Tzeentch's to be a non-thinker. A brute. he pondered to himself. Maybe one of the Plague Father's? They have... hostility to one another, even though they are the same kind. He couldn't identify any specific markings on his armour, assuming he could even glean the meaning of the esoteric markings. Which he likely could not. He was no scholar or knower of the occult himself.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul's armor is painted in the colors of the Black Legion, and a pendant with the Eye of Horus on it dangles prominently from his neck. Beyond that, he has no obvious markings.

"A foolish little human with the nerve to mock me. Also, he may or may not actually be a daemon. I do believe I am about to go in there and challenge him to a duel if he refuses to just hand it over. Would you care to accompany me?"

[Lucretia]

"If not he," Phinneas began, the same disinterested, dispassionate tone as he always had, "please do consider joining myself in this venture. I believe it will be rather intriguing. Should the duel fail, a full on assault may be in order -- and I would hate for that to happen, being a healer, but following Vul has never given me cause for pause. I hope you will join our little adventure."

[watupwithdat]

"A human who's a daemon?" he replied with some vague sense of ironic interest in his voice he was not sure was picked up upon. He wondered if the human's form was similar to his own, which most definately had aspects of the daemonic, though he did not think he was one himself. If he was, that would have been an interesting experience to say the least. "I wonder what he experiences as one in that case. We could experience much together." He did not even consider that what he just had said could be construed as disturbing heard by a someone else. "I will in fact accompany you for this staff."

[Lucretia]

"How perfectly marvelous. Oh, and as to your earlier comment, concerning the name of your guard or his existence -- I'm afraid, in my old age, I've forgotten more than most have ever learned. You'll have to forgive my lapses in the little things."

Phinneas glanced around the way. "If only we had some sort of cannon fodder..."

[Henry the 57th]

"That would be nice, but we don't. My current plan is simply to walk in there, weapons primed and power ready, and simply demand it. If he refuses, then I challenge him to a duel. Tzeentch would look very poorly on him if he refused to duel a sorcerer."

[Lucretia]

"I wasn't aware you knew the mind of the Changer of Ways," Phinneas remarked in the same monotone he always spoke in. "We will support you however we can. I hope this won't kill us all. I would rather like to see the end of the Anathema. There is a circular closure to it."

[Henry the 57th]

"When one has lived 10,000 years in the employ of Chaos, one learns a thing or two. Besides, such a display of weakness would no doubt see him shortly overthrown by his ambitious underlings anyway. The disciples of Tzeentch are hardly a loyal lot."

[Lucretia]

"Of course. My own experience pales in comparison to yours. If you believe that to be the case, then carry on. As I said, we will support you -- unless Farius has had second thoughts, or unless you wish to search for some other accomplice."

[watupwithdat]

"Oh, I can observe in any case. Maybe the owner can be reasoned with, as well. Maybe he just needs the right words to gift you this item you seek." He paused a moment. "As for cannon fodder..." Farius looked around in search for a crowd of easily swayed people. There didn't seem to be any, sadly, and he doubted he could lead a mob in there. They'd probably just close the place. He was a little disappointed. "... I cannot help you with that." he concluded.

[Henry the 57th]

"Excellent. Come on then."

Vul simply strides right in to the the Temple autocannon and chainfist in hand, taking the shortest possible route to the chamber of the master, brushing past any demands to stop with the simple statement that he's going to go and see the master.

When he gets to the chamber where the sorcerer resides, he levels the autocannon at him as his chainfist comes to life, crackling and whirring menacingly.

"I suggest you reconsider your earlier position."

Intimidate: 1d100 vs. 60

I am standing at the maximum possible distance where I can still see him, and aiming my autocannon as I would for a full action. He makes any funny moves, and I open up on semi-auto.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas had followed behind the terminator, the clang of bone on metal accompanying every other step. He loved his cane. It was a joy. Vul lacked tact. It was an interesting approach, though. Phinneas waited to see the response before he would act -- although, as perceptive as he was, it was unlikely he'd have to before he could react. He wasn't particularly agile, but such things didn't matter.

[watupwithdat]

Farius looked around. This place was a little too boring for him. It needed something more. Tortured screams? Maybe something delicious to eat? Blood on the walls? Of course, he didn't really eat for the taste. His taste for food disappeared long ago. But he did like to eat a lot of rare and expensive food for the sake of it.

"Fascinating." Farius uttered as stood a bit to the side of the brutish sorcerer in terminator armour. This wyrd was different from others he had met and acquainted over the years. He acted more like a warrior than a sorcerer.

[DrK]

The trio stride into the temple and can see the magos standing at the far end of the vaulted ceiling. The walls burning with black waxy candles rendered from the blood of slaves and decorated with friezes glorifying the Lord of Change.

The congregation quitens as they sense the mood of the trio entering the temple to the changer. The guards shifting uneasily as they too can sense the mood.

Stopping at the entryway to the main chamber the posse of heroes is some 40m from the puplpit with the magus and ~10 form the back edge of the congregation that is hearing the glories of the Great Changer. Guards - only 5 in this room scattered about. 2 by the pulpit, 2 by you at the door and one drifting off to the left hand side.

"I suggest you reconsider your earlier position"


As the words of the Terminator, amplified by the suit's vox caster echo around the hall the meaning of what is to come are made clear. The raised autocannon being matched by a trio or raised bolt guns, a plasma gun and a melta gun fomr the guards as they return the favour aiming at the interlopers. Some of crowd scream and flee, others freeze waiting and watching or in some cases even baring their teeth as those who would threaten their master.


5 guards
2 near you by the doorway (~3m) one with a bolt gun, 1 with a plasma gun
1 on the left ~15m away with a bolt gun
2 by the pulpit ~30m away. One with a melta gun, the other with a bolt gun

The "congregation" is a crowd of ~60 people that equates to a magnitude 40 horde (+30 modifier). There may be a few "specific" bad guys in the crowd but at the moment they don't stand out from the herd.



The magus registers the words and pales slightly before his confidence returns. A shout of "Anameus! Assist me" followed quickly by a pair of narrowed eyes and whispered. "No. It is mine. My children agree." As he gazes down at the mob his fear abating slightly, but still there but resolve is still present.

[Henry the 57th]

"Then die."

Semi-Auto Burst at Mr. Sorcerer: [roll0] vs. 70 (40 + 20 (Aim) + 10 (Twin-Linked))

Edit: 3 DoS, Unnatural Ballistics Skill makes it 5, so 3 shots.

Edit 2: No, wait. If I'm 30m away, it's Short Range and vs. 80, which gives me another DoS, meaning 4 shots.

[Mekboy]

With a few choice insults and threats to the traders foolish enough to dissapoint, Alicia stalks away from the markets, resolving to return. There had to be some way of ensuring this mass of plebs knew and feared her name. She grinned. One which would result in a few more choice skulls for her rack.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas raised his warp staff up about six inches before dropping it back down. He invoked the Cavalcade of Horrors, attempting to saturate the area with the corrupting influence of Chaos.

[roll0] v. 102
[roll1] + 25

EDIT: So, that means Blood weapons from the stone and wood within 3d10 meters of the psyker. If there're any pictures or statutes, they appear to be crawling blood. I'll roll the distance in the OOC thread.

Also, every enemy within 40 meters of me takes a -16 to all Willpower tests. Also, if they fail a Willpower test, they get 1d5 corruption points per DoF.

[Mekboy]

Suddenly, Alicia was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of gunfire. Not some piddly little thing either. That sounded like heavy ordnance. Taking a moment to trace the source of the sound, Alicia felt her smile grow wider. Gunfire from the temple of change. Truly Khorne does favour me today. Drawing her chainsword, she broke into a sprint.

Weapons: Power fist on bionic arm, chainsword in other hand. Wearing carapace armour minus helmet. Gotta feel the wind in your hair and the blood on your face. :smallbiggrin:

[DrK]

In seconds its carnage! Phinease reaches into the depths of the warp as horrific demonic shadows begin to climb the walls reaching out and tearing at all within reach. The very walls and statues bleeding black tears of blood from the unleash psychic energy.

The massive chatter of the autocannon is met by the horriffic squelching sound as one of the worshippers throws himself forward. The rounds tearing the human into mangled chunks of meat. The magus smiling benovelently at the sea of willing shields at his feet.

THe horde howl as the threat to their beloved Lord is revealed and draw an assortment of sharp things and cryde autoguns chanting cries to the dark gods and their master.


Each time they get to 10CP 1 magnitude will die


The guards that had been aiming at you hurriedly squeeze off rapid fire shots, superheated plasma and molten fire at the hulking terminator. Bolt rounds crashing into the door and slamming into the stonework and flesh. The boltgun wielding guard closest to the door however swings his weapon towards Farious and see's the true horror of the Debouached One's Chosen. A scream and he flees running towards the pulpit and the safety of his friends...


Bolter 1 (pulpit): 2 hits on Phineas 9 and 12 (PEN 4) - arm and body
Bolter 2 (left): 1 hit on Vul 12 (PEN4) "ping"
Plasma (door): 2 hits on Vul 18 and 10 (PEN 10) body/body
Bolter 3 (door): [roll0] corruption and runs towards the pulpit in fear
Melta (pulpit): Shoots Vul (head) 14 damage PEN 12



The magos reaches out and a glittering arc of fire coalesces around Vul's head setting his very brain and mind afire - the force of the attack leaving him reeling, blood leaking from the veins in his arms.

Mindscourge 19 damage ignoring armour
3 WP/Fel/Int damage for >6 rounds (probably fight over by then)

[Lucretia]

Phinneas' shimmering robe prevented the bullets from reaching his mechanical body, and he considered momentarily what to do next. With the potent psychic amulet in the room, even his lightning couldn't reach the sorcerer. Of course, Phinneas didn't mind. He was there for moral support, mostly. While some of the psykers may have realized what he had done, it certainly wouldn't be evident to the masses what had gone on.

It wouldn't do to try and use his healing now, not with the stifling effect of that amulet. Phinneas took this opportunity to walk away from the horde, putting Vul in between himself and the mass of zealots.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul laughs maniacally as the petty attacks of his foes simply bounce harmlessly from his armor. He lets the autocannon drop, grabbing his heavy flamer instead. He levels it at the pulpit and lets loose with a full blast.

This should automatically hit the crowd, the boltgun and meltagun guy by the pulpit, and the sorcerer.

The crowd cannot dodge, and takes [roll0] magnitude damage.

Everyone else must make an agility test or be hit for normal damage. Anyone who fails to dodge must also make a second agility test or be set on fire

[watupwithdat]

This happens after Vul's and Phin's turns, but before all the enemies act.
Farius watched how the brute sorcerer unleashed his autocannon on some poor shield of flesh. It was almost beautiful, he thought. But it really wasn't. It was not elegant, and the sound the weapon produced did not interest him. Then the walls began to bleed. Oh, the Dark Prince must have granted my wishes! he excitedly thought as his interest in this encounter was piqued. The Prince of Excess obviously sanctioned this assault on the Lord of Lies' follower, and Farius leveled his favourite weapon at the Magus, his favourite weapon being a Blastmaster he had worked rather hard to acquire from a Noise Marine of the Emperor's Children -- he even had to kill for it.

Then it happened. He fired the Blastmaster. A pulse of discordant riffs and the loud muffled noise like the shrieks of sadistic glee that accompanied Daemonettes as they charged into battle, somehow intertwined and focused at Farius' foes. It was a sight to behold, and even more so to hear. Farius was exalted he could share this with everyone in the room. He had long ago made it possible to tap his own vox into the sonic weapon, and had found that with his daemon-infused vocal chords, he was able to produce terrifying sounds. That fact had delighted him, and made him love this weapon even more. If one could love a weapon. If he could love.


As Farius got 15 initiative he goes after Phin, which I believe is second of all (not counting Vul). Everyone's fear tests will be affected by this, an additional -10 on the test.

Half Action Aim.
Half Action Semi-auto
BS test: [roll0] vs 75 (55 + 10 Aim +10 Short Range)

All on Magus.
Damage rolls, 1d10+12E, Pen 6, Devastating (1), Storm
[roll1] and [roll2] for 1 DoS Edit: ZH in OOC if it hits
[roll3] and [roll4] for 3 DoS
[roll5] and [roll6] for 5 DoS

Fear (3), -20 on the Fear test, until the start of his next turn.

[DrK]

The crazed shimmering robes vanished behind the flame wreathed terminator. Even as the dark cloud pulled more blood from the walls it began to exert a baleful influence.

The blastmaster strum struck a chord as the shifting demonic cloud pulsed in time with the music. The guard with the melta gun fainting clean away from the horrifying noise, the bolter on the left of the room dropping on all 4 fours and vomiting. The fleeing man curling up in a ball as the delightful music and Farius's warped presence shattered his mind and the seeping chaos in the room shattered his body. The energy directed at the magus was immense, shattering the puplit around him as he manage to dive for cover.


Fear related corruption
Bolter (1) [roll0]
Bolter (2) [roll1]
Bolter (3) [roll2]
Melta [roll3]
Plasma [roll4]
Psyker [roll5]



Even as the vast stream of sound engulfed the room flames also washed over the temple dousing many of the followers in liquid promethium as they burned sending up a fat greasy cloud of smoke that began to fill the room.

In response the magus sought to shift and fade from reality to avoid the stream of weapons fire...

Unfettered flicker [roll6] + infamy re-roll if necessary [roll7]

His transubstantial body sinks through the flame covered floor vanishing from sight.

The man with the plasma gun ducks towards a pillar screaming in fear. As he ducks behind the pillar his fractured mind shatters under the impact. THe chaos filled room oozing insanity causing tentacles and writhing things to leech from his body as he melts away...


Fail fear.
Melted with 8d5 corruption


The man with the Bolter near the pulpit glances at where his master has vanished and races towards the bulkhead door behind the heavy curtains. Reaching it and pulling it open. EVen as he does so in his fear induced state the terror of the demons in him the cloud of corruption flows down the wall engulfing him and devouring him alive as his body melted and sloughed away into a festering pile of liquid effluence.

6d5 corruption. Didn't bother rolling

The psyker in the midst of the carnage, revealed just in front of the stage some 37m away stands there shaking slightly, clutching his focus staff rises up above the burning horde a look of rage on his face as he directs the psychic scream at the colossal Terminator

The scream turns inward as everyone can feel a vile power, something horrible being dragged through to this realm as the psyker's body seems to glitter and glow with unholy power. Blistering light of blue fire pulsing and flickering within him as he saturates the room with an unholy and harrowing presence.

Only Vul can see the true horror of what he has become - the massive winged warp shadow with a long beak and piercing eyes that gaze from the warp seeking to pierce Vul's dark soul


Pushed psych scream (PR8)
[roll11] 55-16+20+10-20= 49
-Damage [roll12] Warp and shocking
- Phenomone [roll13]

PossessioN!



Even as he vanishes his miniosn still press the attack. The horde surging forward - crazed fury in their eyes as they literally swamp the heroes with knives, chainblades and autopistols

Run 24m at the party getting to within ~6m

[watupwithdat]

This happens on round 2, before above IC post takes place.
Farius was displeased. He got no pleasure out of seeing the magus avoid his sonic barrage. It made him want it even more, and the shrieking he conveyed into his vox to feed his weapon got even more intensive, as he once again let out a barrage of pulsing cacophony of bass riffs at the magus.

Half Action Aim
Half Action Semi-auto
BS test: [roll0] vs 75 (55 base + 10 aim + 10 short range)

[roll1] and [roll2] for 1 DoS
[roll3] and [roll4] for 3 DoS
[roll5] and [roll6] for 5 DoS

Fear 3 until the start of his next turn.

I'll determine Kurin's action after the enemy (apart from the Magus, as Kurin goes before him) have all tested for Fear and acted.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul deactivates his chainfist and reaches down to grab the fallen autocannon. At the same time, he lets loose another fiery blast on the frothing horde of maniacs.

[roll0] Magnitude Damage.

"You all should know - that man is now possessed by a Lord of Change, and it seems curious rather than hostile. Please don't attack or offend it." Vul says to the others.

Even as he does so, he calls upon the power of the Warp to beseech the forming daemon, drawing only sparingly of the Great Ocean's power in the prescience of such a mighty creature.

Unfettered Thought Sending: [roll1] vs. 127 (57 + 20 + 10 + 40)

Hail to the great Lord of Change. I am Karesh Vul, sorcerer of Chaos. What do you seek here?

[Mekboy]

Reaching the entrance to the temple, Alicia surveyed the scene. A charred mess of cultists swamped around the monolithic forms of two space marines and a familiar looking form. As warp-witches went, Phinneas was one of the better ones. Even the least practical berserker knew the benefits of having a healer close by. Talking could be done later. There was blood to shed.

Charging the cultist horde. WS 53 +30 for charging +10 for hatred +10 for best quality weapon, -10 for fighting with two weapons and -10 for the chainsword for making a lightning attack. I've got adroit (WS) so I get an additional degree of success, and my powerfist removes one extra point of magnitude because it's a power weapon.

Lightning attack with chainsword: [roll0] vs. 83 Miss
Swift attack with power fist: [roll1] vs 93. 7 degrees of success, so 3 extra hits. 5 hits in total, including the +1 for using a power weapon.

[DrK]

The onrushing horde of cultists can't sense the great demonic presence descending or even see the guard melting and flowing as ravening chaos tears apart their bodies into small masses of withering flesy lumps.

Even as they run they are greeted with flame, a vast sheet of it washing over them killing a doze by their count. However they still close upon you before the clatter of feet as a red armoured figure leaps into their midst with the buzz of a chainsword and the crackle of the powerfist that was soon sheathed in hissing and fizzing blood...


Filler post
Between 2 flamer blasts (22 Mag) and the powerfist (5) the horde is down to 13 magnitude

The twi guards who got ~8 DoF have now melted into corruption goo.

Post was just to quickstar the IC once more.

[Lucretia]

Before the gout of flame erupted from his compatriot's weapon, Phinneas moved another few meters, trying to shake off the Changer of Ways' influence upon his psychic potential.

Then Vul mentioned that there was a greater daemon possessing one of the lesser psykers in the room. Phinneas turned around and waited to see what would happen, now eight meters behind Vul -- and positioned so that Vul was in between himself and the daemon!

Next round, I'll be back to Psy Rating 5. Woo!

[watupwithdat]

The cowardly magus had managed to avoid all of Farius' barrages of boneshattering pulses of discordant sound, and then escaped as well. He was furious now, and his shrieking into his vox feed would not stop now. The blastmaster shifted a little down, straight at the incoming horde of frenzied cultists or whatever they were. Farius did not care. He only wanted to destroy and debase at this point. He had also barely registered the terminator-clad sorcerer's outcry of some kind of daemon, and at this moment he paid no attention to the notion, perhaps he was refering to Farius. Another thing he hadn't really paid much attention to was the fact that him unleashing his horrifying weapon coupled by his frightening visage had resulted in most of the guards in the room keeling over vomiting, fainting, running away in terror or the like. If he had noticed, Farius would have found it wonderful.

Half Action Aim
Half Action Semi-auto
BS test [roll0] vs 85 (55 +10 aim +10 size +10 short range)
[roll1] & [roll2]
[roll3] & [roll4]
[roll5] & [roll6]

Result: 4 magnitude damage, as I'm assuming they take damage from any hits.

Kurin delayed Swift Attack on anything that comes close to Farius, as usual.

[DrK]

The horde was effectively shattered. Flames washing over them burning them. A new figure, clad in red tearing throgh them with fist and chain. The noise blaster washing over them liquiefying bodies and popping heads like gunja fruits.

The horde more or less destroyed, the few survivors no threat and easy to tear apart as they posed no risk to such heroes some attention can turn to the psyker in the centre of the room. Light literally streaming from his eyes, skin and hair. His skin and clothes crackling and near burning from the energy barely contained within his pallid human frame.

As the psyker contine to glow Vul can see the colossal shadow of a winged figure extending from the figure into the warp radiating power. A terrible voice, too deep to come from such a frail creature rings out...

"Little mortals. Strange to see some once more after such a long time away..." the psyker looks quizzicaly at the hulking terminator as a massive crackling of energy and noise hammers at Vul's mind. "Little wyrd. What do you do here? Did you summon me, Are you responsible for this thinning of the void?"

The psyker looks about sniffing the madness and looking at the writhing masses of chaotic flesh before laughing out loud. "It is good to be back in the real little people. Whisper your secrets to me and I may not steal your souls to be my playthings."

[Henry the 57th]

Vul casually finishes off the remainder of the horde with his flamer.

Not even going to roll, as there is literally no way it could fail to reduce the Magnitude to 0.

He proceeds to put his flamer away, transferring his autocannon to his free hand.

Vul stares at the daemon's eyes, ignoring the insignificant mortal flesh. I am here to claim an object of some power. I am sure you know of a Staff of Change, yes? And no, I bear no responsibility for your summoning. That was the man who's flesh you now wear. The fool attempted to reach much farther into the Great Ocean than he was prepared to deal with. And I have many secrets to share. But you of all beings should know - all knowledge has a price. I will share my secrets with you, but I would ask a small boon in return.

[DrK]

hand.

Vul stares at the daemon's eyes, ignoring the insignificant mortal flesh. I am here to claim an object of some power. I am sure you know of a Staff of Change, yes? And no, I bear no responsibility for your summoning. That was the man who's flesh you now wear. The fool attempted to reach much farther into the Great Ocean than he was prepared to deal with. And I have many secrets to share. But you of all beings should know - all knowledge has a price. I will share my secrets with you, but I would ask a small boon in return.

The psyker survyes the burning room and sniffs the air filled with molten flesh. The howling cavalcade of the warp shimmering at even this shadow of a greater demon in the Real. Both Phineas and Vul seeing the waves of shimmering warp energy shuddering and whispering around the possessed mortal.

THe psyker clucks slightly, an amused sound like no mortal throat can make before speaking loudly towards Vul. "Little wyrd. You are so bold for one so small. What trinket, what boon do you seek of me - it had better be worth the secrets I crave."

[Henry the 57th]

Vul actually shrugs a little. I have fought the Long War for 10,000 years now, and bargained with many a daemon. A certain degree of boldness is, perhaps, an inevitable result.

A mighty lord of Chaos, Karrad Vaal, assembles the forces of the Dark Gods for a crusade against the forces of the False Emperor. I am here to join him. When I discovered that a Staff of Change lay in this temple, I knew it must be the will of the Gods that I should find it and take it to war. However, the one who holds the Staff is a weakling and coward. When his pitiful attacks failed to harm me, he sent his servants to fight me while he fled. Time is short. War calls, and I must go soon to lay waste to the pitiful slaves of the corpse-Emperor. Therefore, the boon I ask of you is this: find him, kill him, and bring me the Staff of Change. A difficult endeavor for one bound to the crude and heavy materium, but surely not for a daemon of your status. If you will do this, I will tell you anything you wish to know that I know.

[watupwithdat]

A little bit before they getting their conversation on fully:After Farius unleashed his barrage of rippling sound at the horde and they are reduced to next to nothing, he instead focuses his attention on one of the guards vomiting on the far right side under the bleeding walls. He does not even try to aim, and just barrages the guard as his shape suddenly become bloated and warped, before completely turning into a chaos spawn, a thing Farius had seen plenty before, and exploding in a cloud of gore due to the discordant riffs tearing the form apart. It's at this point Farius' bloodlust ended, and he became aware of the psyker with illuminated eyes fixed on Vul, talking to him, but the sorcerer not responding himself. Daemon? He remembered what he thought he had heard Vul exclaim before. There must have been a possession, as the psyker was not acting like this before.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas watched the possessed psyker silently, the face behind the mask blank and passive.

Did the psyker not take his corruption for failing that willpower save? His mortal shell may have died before the daemon manifested.

[DrK]

A mighty lord of Chaos, Karrad Vaal, assembles the forces of the Dark Gods for a crusade against the forces of the False Emperor. I am here to join him. When I discovered that a Staff of Change lay in this temple, I knew it must be the will of the Gods that I should find it and take it to war. However, the one who holds the Staff is a weakling and coward. When his pitiful attacks failed to harm me, he sent his servants to fight me while he fled. Time is short. War calls, and I must go soon to lay waste to the pitiful slaves of the corpse-Emperor. Therefore, the boon I ask of you is this: find him, kill him, and bring me the Staff of Change. A difficult endeavor for one bound to the crude and heavy materium, but surely not for a daemon of your status. If you will do this, I will tell you anything you wish to know that I know.

The demon in man's flesh capers slightly clapping a hand as the noise blaster's focused array of destruction vapourised what once had been a human.

Flicking his head back up the "psyker" cackled again as Vul spoke. "little mortal. Does the Master march to the Dog's bark. Does a Star take heed of the rocks that orbit it.

You were outwitted. You in your might, he in his cunning. No wonder he has found favour with the Changer of Ways. All muct change, all must evolve to improve. Think on this.

His eyes shifted slightly as a slight air of menace entered them... Now if we are to speak of Boons... We should speak of thoise that may allow you to continue your sluggish mortal lives. THe beacon below. It hurts us tainted and flawed by its devotion to my debauched cousin. It should burn with the pure blue fire of the Changer.

The psyker leans forward, hunching its shoulders ina birdlike manner, perched on one foot and leaning forward. "On the speck of dust beneath is a trader with a book. The book has the ritual. If you can do this "small boon" then I may think on a reward for you"

As he finishes speaking all of the acolytes can feel the images of a decrpit bazaar underneath a soot laden rusted glass dome. The small book trader - a crazed half naked man with cloven hooves protective of his small stall of "religious tomes" that is ignored by most.


Anyone can make an opposed (+20 WP ) test if they want to resist getting the image of the stall on the planet below.

Resist against [roll0] TN89+45+40 = 174 (+2 DoS from Unnatural WP)

[Lucretia]

Phinneas, a machine, did not receive the mental image. He did, however, make note of the various things the greater daemon wished for. He also found the analysis of the magus' actions to be quite interesting. Vul seemed to have a bit more Khorne in him than a psyker ought to.

The elderly healer continued to stand where he was and wait. That's all there was to do.

[Henry the 57th]

Why must daemons be so pointlessly enigmatic? Vul thinks to himself.

For the first time, he responds aloud. "A greater level of detail would be valuable. There are many domes here, and countless such stalls with maddened wretches. How far is it from here?"

[DrK]

The psyker still his odd pose rocks back and forth cackling loudly. "If you cannot find that then your life is of little value to me.

It stretches slightly. "I shall explore my new body. Speak quickly or depart my presence. My patience thins". As he speaks he hops over to one of the spawnified guards, plucking a few bits of flesh and beginning to chew on them.

[Henry the 57th]

"I will depart shortly. I need a mere moment or two to check for anything worthwhile." Vul moves towards the pulpit. If the daemon doesn't stop him, he will examine it for any texts or artifacts left behind. Also, if the daemon isn't holding it, he will pick up the former psyker's staff.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas glanced around, drawing successfully on the warp -- how interesting, his command of it had returned -- but seeing no objects of power. If there were any, the Lord of Change would most likely obtain them later. A pity, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Wandering back outside, the healer considered his next move. With nothing else to do, Phinneas decided to wait until Alicia came and said hello, if she ever would, and then would head to meet with the Warlord. He couldn't recall the man's name. Troubling, but unsurprising. It took a while for Phinneas to remember names, let alone learn them.

[Mekboy]

This was kinda being written as all this conversation was going on, so the start relates to when the psyker starts talking.

Breathing slowing, Alicia crushed the last pitiful wretch with a flex of her gauntlet. While it was satisfying to lay into the mindless cattle, the experience had been too short. The daemon's words interrupting her reverie, Alicia started to pay attention to the other figures dotting the temple.

The monolithic terminator was, from the daemon's words, a witch. Though she would never admit it, Alicia was impressed. The majority of brain-jobs she'd met (and usually consequently killed) were cowardly little things, barely fit for the battlefield. This one was a true warrior, almost worthy of the blood god. And answering Vaal's call to war. As her eyes alighted on the twisted form of the second astartes, she set her features into a sneer. A Slaanite. One of the decadent slaves to the Dark Prince. And he's brought his pet. No doubt more competition. And of course there was Phinneas. An oddity. The craven witch that she somehow found herself liking.

Standing tall (or at least as tall as one can beside two corrupt astartes), Alicia stays silent while the daemon and the sorceror converse. No doubt he had the greater experience with such entities.

[watupwithdat]

A sorcerer seemingly demanding something from a greater daemon, the daemon calling said sorcerer a failure and then sending one to do its bidding. Farius thought the whole situation was peculiar. He looked around the room and realized that most of the guards had mutated into chaos spawns as well. He could not figure out why. Was it the work of the greater daemon or one of the psykers he came there with, he wondered. He was more used to people just keeling over dying from shock when he was in his trance of destruction, not turning to mutated spawns.

[Henry the 57th]

As he walks towards the pulpit, a sudden flash of inspiration strikes Vul. He stows away his autocannon and removes his helmet, revealing his face. His visage resembles Warmaster Horus to an enormous extent. In fact, one might call him the spitting image of his gene-father were it not for one noticeable detail - his eyes are purple with the energy of the Warp and constantly emit a very soft glow.

Vul kneels beside several of the human corpses, avoiding those with notable mutations. He consumes the flesh of numerous humans, using his Omophagea to learn fragments of what they knew in life. As soon as he is done consuming the flesh of mortals, he replaces his helmet and strides quickly to the pulpit, pausing to pick up the psyker's staff on the way. Once there, he examines the pulpit for anything on or inside it.

Using the Omophagea implant, I can get some of the info the cultists knew. What do they know that I do not?

[DrK]

The room is still and quiet save for the sound of eating as the khornate woman stands beside the Astartes apparently watching the possessed psyker eating the fallen.

Slowly Vul lumbers up to the point by the pulpit. A staff fallen on the floor, tiny, like kindling in his hands. Behind the pulpit several worn tomes wrapped in human flesh with fairly heretical teachings within.


He has a nice good quality staff that he used as a psy-focus with some nice pictures carved on it.


Stopping the Terminator slowly removes his helmet, a delicate task and also begins to eat the dead. A swirling mix of memories flooding into him. Begging in the tiny squalid under deck regions of the station, the territories of the different reaver bands that occupy the sprawling tens of kilometres of space piers, the feeling of warp jumping aboard a reaver ship, the bliss of obscura and the many repeated memories of being in the Temple hearing the Master Vissilch spread his holy words...

The peons amongst the horde have very little in the way of useful memories. They have for the most part live short squalid lives amongst the space docks and the passing Reaver vessels.

Are you guys wantng to do anything else aboard the space docks or happy to head down to the planet beneath?

[Henry the 57th]

Vul takes every single tome and object from the pulpit, leaving nothing behind, in case the coward should return. No point in leaving anything he could use. Vul muses to himself.

How many books do I get? Are there any other objects? And does the pulpit itself look at all funny in the Warp?

[Mekboy]

As the sorcerer loots the collection of arcane lore, Alicia shakes her head sadly. If only she'd been able to find those demolition charges...

Turning away from the terminator, she remembers her old companion. "Phinneas. It has been a while. What brings you to this world of cattle?"

[Lucretia]

Phinneas gestured with his cane towards the ceiling. "The fates guided me here, to heal the wounds of this man's war. If those I save wish to compensate me, then they shall. If not, then I shall continue to hold the perpetual spark in my heart, the spark of knowledge. Knowing I saved one to go and fight another day. I believe your Lord of Blood is fond of individuals dying on the field of combat? But in truth, I am here because I am here. There is no greater or more profound explanation than that.

"And what of yourself, Alicia Kalt? What brings you here?"

[DrK]

Leaving the Temple filled with with death and (literal) chaos the party still gently conversing left the Temple. The bazaar outside is quieter, many people having fled the are as sounds of heavy weaponry and the whispers of Astartes had whipped through the busy flea market.

Helped by Vul's newly acquired emories of te layout out of the space port Vul was able to lead them slowly towards the planetside edge as the sceams began from the first looters rushing into the temple... A cloud of psychic energy swirling around the Temple visible to both of the psykers.

Soon enough passage is booked upon a decending ore barge. One looks at the Acolytes enough to convince the small time barge captain to allow the to travel and part with some of his stronger spirits and within 30 minutes of leaving the temple the ramshackle collection of metal and rock stretches across the void like a ragged line above you. The planet approaching fast below as you whip through the thick toxic storm filled clouds. An age seems to pass as you drop through the dense clouds before the Captain fires the retrothrusters and the heavy squat barge flares out under the cloud. A vile and ugly bowl filled valley with decaying hab blocks, sprawling and cracked hab domes filled with slaves and a large central dome of soot smeared armourglass housing hte main body of the town. On the edges amidst the slave blocks are the smoke churning Dark Forges of the dark magos. THe hint of a massive towering edifice on the mountains is all you get as you plummet past the famed Citadel of Skulls. Lord Val's home.

The spaceport - rusting freighters, cracked pads and a few huge cargo loading bays is busy andbustling but nothing compared to the throng pushing and queing to get down the covered tunnel and into the main part of the town. Skaarsdelve maybe a small hell but its the only place to be on Inquity with its slave pits, pleasure palaces, bazaars and gladiator pits. And ruling it lord Karrad Vall. HIs summons merely saying to come to SKaarsdelve for the Greater glor of the Dark Gods...

Welcome to the city.

[Henry the 57th]

"Out of the way. Out of the way." Vul says as he walks towards the exit of the port, brushing aside lesser beings and simply crushing underfoot anyone stupid enough to fail to comply with his wishes.

As Vul walks towards and out of the exit, he keeps a careful eye out for two things - the psychic hood he desires, and the stall he saw in the daemon's projection.

I have no idea if I can do this here, but I'm making an Infamy test for a Psychic hood:

[roll0] vs. 36 (Trade Legion Bolt Pistol and Staff) <--- Fail

Awareness test for the place we're looking for:

[roll1] vs. 57

[Lucretia]

Phinneas followed in the wake of the terminator, also looking for such a hood. He hadn't seen the stall, so he couldn't search for it. His psychic powers were also being taxed, sustaining both his awareness and the cavalcade of horror, but the value was remarkable in having such things.

[roll0] v. 36 (trading sword + laspistol + laspistol clips)

[Mekboy]

"Promises of glory and conquest. Warlord Vaal calls for powerful allies. Very much the same reason as your companions here, I would assume"

That was meant to be posted before leaving the temple

Striding alongside Phinneas in the wake of the terminator, Alicia keeps her eyes out for the supplies the station had lacked.

If possible, I'd like to add a backpack to the things I'm looking for. [roll0] vs 59.

[DrK]

The heretics push up through the crowd of heretic soldiers, slaves and mutants filling the partially shielded concourses. Cracks and holes in the concrete and glass walls and roofs letting in small amounts of toxic gases or leaving pitted holes from acidic rains that drip on the ground where people fear to walk.

The main hab dome is a large structure and an intricate warren of maze like tunnels, corridors, stairways and skyscraper like hab quarters built into the support struts where mutants and serfs scurried around. THe grease and filth covered floor is packed full of people in a great bustle. The glass dome smeared and filty giving only the faintest orange light that is supplemented by numerous flickering and broken glow globes.

Heavily armed "enforcers" the mark of the Warlord Vaal upon their chests wander in groups of 3 or 4 staring defianltly at man, mutant or astartes that crosses their path, many of the enforcers ex-Astartes themselves. Everywhere you cans ee armed heretics come to answer the Warlords call. Some bear ritual scars, others tatoos or crude mockeries of Imperial uniform but all have come for the Warlord.

Elsehwhere the inns and gambling dens are full with shouts, cheers and brutal knife or gun fights exploding onto the broad avenues. The gladiator pits are packed with blood soaking into the metal gratings and the pleaseure palaces groan with the decadent pleasures within. Its a town packed like a promethium charge ready to go off.

As Vul walks the streets, people moving out of the way of his vast bulk the scene becomes familiar. A crack in the galss dome dripping toxic rain. THe gap betwene 3 buildings and finally - there - tucked behind a pile of traders with a host of crude melee and chain weapons a tatterred book stall. The owner sitting in his own filth engrossed in tatted strips of papyrus covered in flowing demonic script.


You can see the books seller.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas was as passive and silent as ever while he followed behind the terminator. "An interesting world we've been called to. I am riddled with fear to think of what may happen should we attempt to pursue the goals of our secondary benefactor." His voice was monotonous, however -- his being riddled with fear seemed rather jaded.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul is adjusting his new trophy rack. "Then I should hope you get over that fear quickly, for there is the image from the daemon's vision." Vul points to the book stall.

Without further comment, the massive sorcerer simply strides up to the stall, brushing away those before him and crushing those too slow or stupid to remove themselves from his path. Once at the stall, he gazes at the books with his Warpsight, looking to see which books have the aura of magic about them.

"Which of these books has a Tzeentchian ritual in it?" Vul asks the trader.

[watupwithdat]

Farius always found it fascinating when walking among people how they almost equally drew closer to him like a calming lantern in the night as they bowed away out of fear of his horrifying visage. He thought of it as a wonderful contradiction.

It seemed Vul had lead them to the stall in the brief vision he had seen during the conversation with the daemon, but he was unsure what exactly they were doing there. Farius had not been very focused at the time, and had missed most of the details. He assumed that the sorcerer-warrior knew atleast.

"Fear? I am sure it is nothing to be fearful of, Phinneas."

[DrK]

The sage looks up from the scroll he was reading intently. His two eyes jagged pitted pus ridden scars in his face as his head tilts towards you. A look of faint concentration on his face.

As he examines you both a faint wave of excitment passes over him... "I can feel them breathing. Can you feel the? Brushing so close, I can almost touch them.."


Just to double check Lu' from your earlier post you implied that you were still sustaining Cavalcade of Horrors, is that still the case?


He gestures at the stall. THe books and tomes piled haphazardly together. Some metallic tomes, some paper, some skin or other such materials and many a tangled mix of languages in no particular order. "I have rituals, rituals to kill, rituals to cure, rituals to hurt. But rituals of the changer, no I have none of those at all?" his voice curiously sing song in in its tone.

[Lucretia]

The elderly fellow just stood and waited for the trader to reply, considering the words of Vul and Farius. He hoped they were correct.

Glancing around, he sent out a psychic wave to see if there were any other psychically active individuals nearby.

[roll0] v. 75 for Glimpse -- Passed
[roll1] v. X, 45 if the above failed, 60 if the above succeeded. 3 BDoS -- 7 DoS total.

EDIT: To the above question -- I am sustaining two powers, yes. Thus why my Psy Rating here is effectively 3 instead of 5. :smallsmile:

EDIT2: My apologies, I had misunderstood something. My Psy Rating is currently 3, not 5. The above has been edited to reflect this.

[Henry the 57th]

"Really? Because I heard otherwise. Perhaps you should check again." says Vul, tapping his inactive chainfist dangerously on the stall.

Intimidate: [roll0] vs. 70

4 DoS, with Unnatural Strength from being an Astartes.

[DrK]

Even as the masked Phinease stands silently he can sense a dark and rolling field of warp energy flowing around the strange blind sage in front of him and other wisps of psychic energy flowing off people in the crowd nearby.

Though still above the dome the beacon of thousands of souls being sacrificed was like a constant roar in the sky above him, a single line of raw psychic energy beaming into void.

[Mekboy]

An expression of utmost contempt on her face, Alicia leans down to the filthy little creature. "Maybe finding one will mean you'll live past the next few minutes..."

Intimidate:[roll0] vs 80 (assuming I'm stronger than him for Pity the Weak - 50+10(unnatural str) +10 (trophy rack) +10 (PtW)).

[Lucretia]

"You have a most peculiar way of introducing yourself to our brethren, old friend," Phinneas said as he walked to the side of Vul and at the sage. "We don't mean to take the tome from you, friend. We only wish to see it, to confirm it exists."

[roll]1d100]/roll] v. 75 for Glimpse.
[roll0] v. X. 75 if the above failed, 90 if the above succeeded. This is a Deceive test.

[DrK]

The blind sage hunches down slightly droolinga dn whispering to himself. "She will hutr me if they take things. But she'll hurt them worse she will." he continues muttering until Phineas moves to speak with him.

"They can't take the books. They are hers and she loves them. A book for a book. A tooth for a tooth. Eyes for eyes... he cackles off into madness at the last, his scareed sockets still weeping pus.

[watupwithdat]

Farius found the old man distasteful, the pus from his eye sockets reminding him of those dedicated to the filthy Nurgle. It was not beauty, in the least. He had to suppress an urge to destroy the old man, sparing him from his existence. And the riddles. Farius was not usually one to think through a problem, so riddles he did not bother with. That was for those of the Lord of Lies.

He turned around a bit, gesturing to Kurin, allowing him to stand down for now and have some of his rations the mutant had obtained before-hand. Farius thought this was a good moment as any, as he did not think Kurin actually needed to be there in the first place.

[Henry the 57th]

"Oh goodie. A lunatic slave of one of Slaanesh's daemons." grumbles Vul. With the mutant now apparently worthless to him, he shoves the drooling fool aside and simply takes the stall apart with his power, seizing every book and tome on or in it.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas turned and looked at Farius. "Would you agree with me that it is doubtful this poor man is a servant of your Dark Master, Farius?"

[Mekboy]

Prodding the gibbering old man with her boot, few times, Alicia rolls her eyes. "A fine little waste of time indeed." Straightening up, she glances around at the assembled group. "Any ideas as to the 'she'?"

[Henry the 57th]

"Slaaneshi daemon, almost certainly. The Lord of Change referred to it as "my debauched cousin", and this thing called it "she". Slaaneshi daemons most frequently appear feminine and are the daemons who are described as such most often. Keeper of Secrets level is most likely, if it can bother a Lord of Change."

Forbidden Lore (Daemonology), to see if I know anything about Slaaneshi daemons in these parts: [roll0] vs. 32

[Lucretia]

Phinneas knelt down and placed a mechanical hand to the mutant's forehead, channeling the quixotically healing powers of Chaos into the fellow.

If the rations Kurin had were within 10 meters of Phinneas, they would have spoiled. All food and water went bad near the elderly healer. It was the 'tax of healing,' as he called it.

I have dropped Preternatural Awareness, putting me back to PR5.

[roll0] v. 102. 91 or above is an automatic failure.

Presuming it doesn't fail, [roll1] + 5 damage is healed. I doubt he's actually injured, but it's more just the exercising of such a maneuver.

EDIT: Huh.

The power didn't take, however. Phinneas nodded to himself and stood. Chaos wouldn't see this man healed today.

"It bepuzzles the mind to think such a man would be a devotee to Slaanesh. I remain unconvinced."

[watupwithdat]

"Quite. He is not one of the Prince of Excess', the old man lacking in every aspect I can tell. It's tragic, really." he answered Phinneas wholly convinced.

[Henry the 57th]

"And why is that? Do you know any other "she's" that a daemon would describe as a "debauched cousin"?"

[Lucretia]

"You are taking the words from a greater daemon of Tzeentch and applying what you believe is logic to them in order to draw a conclusion," the healer said dryly. "There are nondaemonic forces which this poor man may have been referring to. And among the daemonkin, I have no doubt some are debauched and others not without having to be aligned with the Prince of Excess."

[watupwithdat]

"I could imagine one such Keeper having fun with this man, however. But if he was one of my kind, nigh-perfect followers of the Dark God of Perfection, I would destroy his form where he lies." Farius exclaimed with a genuine sense of conviction, his voice now almost booming with an eerie tone and his visage seemingly growing more intimidating.

[Henry the 57th]

"Then there are two questions worth asking you: why do you think this is not a Slaaneshi daemon, and what do you think it is?" says Vul as his telekinetic hands gather up the last of the tomes and objects into a neat stack, the one the mutant was reading on top.

[DrK]

Books, tomes and scrolls go everywhere as the Terminator barrels into the stall.His telekinetic powers far finer than his natural ones encased in the massive ceramite armour.

From stacking them up and knocking them over Vul does not have an idea whats in any of the books really, his knowledge of demon lore on this world limited to his awareness of the beacon and the daemonettes that feed it with human sacrifice

Even as he shoves the man aside Phinease kneels down besode but apparently the psychic healing recoid from the miasma of psychic energy gripping the crazed sage.

His face turns a shade darker as the terminator starts moving things as he scrambles onto the top of the neat stack knocking them alll flying. A cry of "no. my children. My children. and a wailing, She will know you have touched them. SHe will know and you will suffere 1001 torments! Prince of Pleasure help me frok these ugly ones who would steal the writings of your glory!"

[Henry the 57th]

"1000 and 1 torments? Please. I've heard that line more times than I care to remember. At least show some originality in your pathetic threats." Vul says casually as he draws his force sword, his chainfist whirring to life. "And now, little man, you die."

Half Action: Aim

Half Action: Standard Attack

Force Sword: [roll0] vs. 70 (80 if he counts as prone)

Chainfist: [roll1] vs. 70 (80 if he counts as prone)

[watupwithdat]

The sorcerer-warrior was surprisingly impatient. Quite uncharacteristic of one of his kind. If his threats did not bear fruit, he would kill you. How tactless, Farius thought.

Then there was the outcry for the Prince of Pleasure by the old disgusting man. Farius was surprised. He could not believe they had worshipped the same Dark God. But of course, he was likely to just think he did, seduced by a daemonette into doing her bidding or similar. Countless ways. Farius had no inclination to sooth the man or the sorcerer, though. If there was violence, so be it. The sorcerer-warrior should accomplish it, and take the blame if he was surely one important to a Slaaneshi daemon. With a gesture, Kurin readied himself from his short break eating what seemed like spoiled food, in case of something happening. No matter. He had probably eaten worse before.

[Lucretia]

Phinneas nodded once while the combat began. "It would seem my caution was for naught. Although I am thoroughly depressed that this poor fellow worships Slaanesh -- the standards must have been lowered. Tut tut." Still in the same monotone.

[DrK]

As the force sword begins to clear the scabbard and the chainfist comes whistling down the man looks up directly at Vul and howls a long worldless howl.

His sack cloth ripping away to reveal the full body tatoos or writhing chaotic runes and icons of blasphey of gods of slaneesh commiting depravities upon mortals. Its a horrific sight searing into all of your minds as the icons twist and writhe upon his flesh in a display of true horror...


Could you please all test against Fear 3 as he displays Icons of Blasphemy
- Obvioulsy Fabrius is immune having his own personal zone of terror in his beautifaul mind. And possibly admiring the Slaneeshi works of art. If he dies he may make a fine wall hanging.



Even as the blasphemies are revealed the psyker shrugs off the his mind's shackles and reacehs into the deepest depths of his madness as he unleashes the pent up agony of 4 decades of torment and suffering - the hellshriek blasting everything within 33m in a vast wave of psychic soul rending energy...


Hellshriek
Focus Test [roll0] TN ? + 55 +10 =
- Infamy re-roll if >60 rolled [roll1]
-- Phenomomonon [roll2]
-- Perils [roll3]

Does [roll4] Damage with Concussive(1) And warp quailties


Even as he howls his madness the souls of those nearby are wracked with energy and the winds howl and whip up scattering papers and other materials widely in a huge gust that sends bystanders clutching their shattered minds toppling to the ground.


Easy (+30) Str or Agility or knocked over

[Lucretia]

[roll0] v. 62 for Fear. Farius' radiant presence gives us a bonus to fear tests.
[roll1] v. 45. Overloads on a 1-3.
[roll2] v. 55 to avoid being knocked down.

Unaffected by the Icon of Blasphemy, Phinneas used the psychic hood to nullify the effects of the hellshriek. "That was rather rude of him," the healer said of the blind mutant.

I am not in 7 Critical Damage, in fact, nor am I suffering blood loss or 5 permanent toughness damage. I forgot I had the psychic hood.

Also, Host of Fiends is still active.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul laughs hysterically as his trusted armor once again comes through for him, his enemy's puny scream merely glancing harmlessly off the surface, leaving him standing and intact. He laughs even harder when he sees the markings of the Dark Prince covering his foe's body. He laughs so incredibly hard that he seems to be feeling the caress of the Warp itself. He starts singing, loudly and off-key, as he unleashes his vicious weapons. "Kill, crush and maim and die and death are all arroooound"

I'm still attacking, and hitting with both weapons.

[Mekboy]

Alicia collapses at the sight of the horrific runes, mind cracking under the strain. Seconds later, the psyker's shriek tears into her.

[roll0]rounds unconscious, 1 critical damage to wherever the hellshriek hit.

[Lucretia]

Lots of discussion still going on in the OOC thread, but Phinneas gets to act this turn, so I'm going to go ahead and write out my actions. However, mutations can take time, so whether he has infernal will and wings immediately should be the subject of consideration.

i.e. he shouldn't have those mutations yet. :smallwink:

[roll0] v. 102, automatic failure on a 91-100.

Neural Storm.

Phinneas stepped backwards two meters, stepping so that the prone form of Alicia was between himself and the mutating figure before him. Pulling on the capacitors within his body, the elderly healer attempted to let out a string of bio-lightning.

Two crackling streams of white lightning cracked across from his outstretched hand to the blind mutant, taking but a moment and a crack of thunder to get there. Phinneas' mastery of the warp allowed him to augment the bio-lightning further, giving him the ability to induce twitches in the body. With any luck, the rapidly mutating mutant would also be stunned by the lightning.

Two toughness tests. He used his reaction this round, so unless he has Step Aside, I believe he's been hit twice in the tummy.

[watupwithdat]

Farius had been wrong. He was convinced of the elderly blind man being a worshipper of the Prince of Chaos when he saw the man's body, full of glorified chaos writing dedicated to his Prince. It was beautiful, and he felt a want for it. But it was in no way close to Farius' own warp-infused flesh, in part of the chaotic divine. The others seemed to react to it though in various ways. The sorcerer-warrior went almost insane while the human kneeled over.

Then a blast of corruption hit him, and knocked him down to his knees, his power armour's mechanical joints unable to keep him up. And then a vicious warp effect went through him. It was almost overwhelming, but Farius sustained himself in the chaos and corruption, instead finding solace in it, a way of getting closer to the Prince of Excess.

Lightning, or something. He was not able to see it, but he could hear it crackling. Was it Phinneas? Was it Vul or the old man? He managed to look up briefly and saw it leaving the hand of Phinneas. It looked bleak for the old Slaaneshi worshipper now.

[DrK]

Total carnage breaks out! Even as the venerable terminator goes for his sword the blind sage senses the attack and unleashes his psychic counter and his own fearful body. Farius, Kurin and Alicia are bowled over by the combination of horror at the blasphemies of the Prince of Depravity and the force of the psychic attack and beyond in a vast circle the interior of the bazaar nearby is a see of bodies thrashing around the ground, vomiting in horror, fleeing or weeping over the shattered remains of their bodies. Only the massive frame of Terminator armour and the deep psychic mysteries of millenia of practice shield Phinease and Vul from harm as they stand firm in the face of the wave of destruction.

The carnage was not over as the terminator struck - the sage howling as the force sword carved a deep gash into his chest before the killing will of a vengeful astartes poured down the blade and the sage burned! His flesh crackling and crisping as he slid off the blade amidst the spectral gale. Already summoned by Phineas the Host of fiends soared through the gap in the warp that Vul had created their whispers and ephemereal claws savaging and twisting the nearby traders, heretics and mercaneries as they tore at the psyches of those nearby - those who were not fleeing in terror.

Even as the sage tumbled backwards afire bolts of lightning struck him slamming into his body - his skin crisping as vile corruption tried to call free. Wings sprouting from his spine as flesh ran like wax in the lightning storm before all that remained was a charred skeleton.

In the chaos of shouting and alarm both Vul and Phineas could see enforcers shouting and firing into the air. Numerous other fights breaking out nearby as people sought to settle old scores or loot in the chaos and the area began to descend into something akin to a Hive World block War. A series of maintenance tunnels - dank, dirty and unused a tempting place to run to once their colleagues had recovered amidst the blood and scattered books and Tomes...


As chaos reigns in the immediate vicinty are you staying and talkig to guards? Killing the guards? Or going to grab stuff, your friends and then run and hide till things calm down?

[Henry the 57th]

Vul laughs hysterically as the mutant before him dies. "Blue mutant, red mutant, one mutant, dead mutant." He giggles insanely.

"Maim, kill, burn! Pain, still, turn!" Vul laughs, as he charges a random stall, it's owner now gone. "Die die die. Fly fly fly." He smiles, smashing into the flimsy structure with his chainfist. Wood, metal, and plastics fly through the air as the ancient weapon carves into the pathetic little booth. A small wooden stool sits behind it. Gleefully, Vul steps on the stool like it was an insect, laughing more as it crunches beneath his boot. Splinters dig into the ground and fly through the air, merely bouncing harmlessly from Vul's ancient armor.

"Ha ha ha ha ha! You were red, and now you're dead." Vul says in a singsong voice, looking down at the stool. He backhands another stall unlucky enough to be near him with his chainfist, again destroying it easily. "Tee hee." Vul says, as burning splinters fly through the air.

As Vul looks around for something else to hit, all of a sudden his mind seems to come back to him. "What the hell am I doing?" He listens and observes for a few seconds, before most everything comes back to him. "Time to go." Vul says, rushing back to where the party still is, sheathing his sword.

He gingerly reaches into the Warp, calling on a small amount of power to aid him in moving things with greater delicacy than his own armored gloves can manage.

Fettered Precision Telekinesis: [roll0] vs. 62

If that doesn't take the first time, he tries again and again until it does: [roll1], [roll2], [roll3], [roll4], [roll5]

Once his power is flowing again, Vul first spitefully seizes the charred skull of the mutant. "So you thought you'd kill Kerash Vul, did you? How about now?" he chuckles and he lifts the skull up and impales it on his trophy rack.

Next, he seizes every tome from the stall and stacks them together again, lifting the stack to float beside him. "We had better head to those tunnels." Vul says, pointing. "I think we could use a rest."

[Lucretia]

"That is my trophy," the healer said softly, channeling the power of the warp and trying to heal the three of their group who had been hit.

I'd keep trying until the power worked, so I'm not going to bother rolling for the focus test. I can pass it 90% of the time, and I can't cause perils or phenomena from it.

Healing for Farius: [roll0] + 5
Healing for Alicia: [roll1] + 5
Healing for Minion: [roll2] + 5

[Henry the 57th]

"Are you challenging me?" Vul says, in an equally soft tone.

[watupwithdat]

The cogitators in the power armour monitoring Farius' biometrics and status seem to come alive with a furious screech to those able to hear it, as it gives Farius' nervous system a microshock enabling him to regain control of his temporarly stunned body, and he is able to stand up again. He could see and hear the sorcerer-warrior destroying the stall, trampling things asunder and... Singing? It was strange, Farius thought, and he let out a short laugh over the spectacle. It would seem the disgusting worshipper of the Prince of Chaos had perished now, atleast. It was a disappointment someone seemingly well-versed in the powers of his Dark God had died, but it was a failure in itself to die -- meaning he did not deserve those powers in the first place.

His skin crisped after the bio-lightning of Phinneas and the chaos writings now all but indecipherable, Farius was uninterested in the body and ignored it.

"Do we want to linger? The man seems to have started quite something in this block. And thank you Phinneas." Farius knew how to be pleasant to the ancient man, when he wanted to.

[Lucretia]

"I'm merely pointing out that you've done yourself a dishonor. That is all, Son of Horus." Once he was finished healing, Phinneas moved towards the tunnels.

Half action willpower test, -10. [roll0] v. 52

Phinneas nodded at Farius' thanks, although he was facing the tunnels when he did so. "It is not the Will of Chaos for you to die today, old friend."

[Henry the 57th]

"I am curious as to why a healer wishes to wear the remains of those whom he has killed." Vul says, moving towards the tunnels.

[Lucretia]

"You misunderstand. You have claimed something which is mine. Whether I want it or not, you have stolen from me. And you have placed it, as though it is your trophy, upon your rack. That is all. Think nothing of it, Son of Horus."

[Henry the 57th]

"If you wish it, you can have it, though it is clear that you merely struck the final blow." Vul shrugs, telekinetically offering Phinneas the skull.

[Lucretia]

"Again you misunderstand. But as I said, think nothing of it, Son of Horus."

[Henry the 57th]

"I'm mostly doing it to spite him, you realize. Honor means little when vengeance is the goal." Vul shrugs, replacing the skull on his rack. "Will everyone recover, old friend?"

[Lucretia]

"I have done what I can. I can push the body farther than I have, but it is a danger to the recipient, and I would never do so unless it were a matter of life and death. They will survive another hour, at the very least. Should we avoid additional brawls, they may yet see the day's conclusion. I very much doubt most of the citizens caught in the Hellshriek will be so lucky."

[watupwithdat]

Their little scabble over a sizzling head bothered Farius little. He strode on after the elderly healer, who had mended the few cuts and bruises he had sustained from the blast before, towards the pathway. Kurin followed behind still shaken up a little from the hit he had sustained, his toughness not one of an Astartes, but still quite considerable due to his mutations.

[Henry the 57th]

"I think we've seen enough fighting today." Vul says drily, striding along with the rest, books and tomes floating alongside him. "First the Temple, and now here. We could do with a rest."

[DrK]

As the party - now remarkably more chipper with the power of chaos running through their veins and healing the torn and ripped muscles that had been lacerated by the hellshriek.

The maintenance corridors. Quiet save for the occasional whump rat. dead boy or twitching heretic overcome by some sort drug use led through to one of the one of the smaller domes that ajoined the main central one. The stench of blood and sweat rose as you entered the better lit areas and the roar of a crowd was like a physical wave. A great throng of several thousand crammed around the fighting pit in the centre of the hab dome. THe trio of imperial slaves battling in the pit projected on several giant hololiths as they fought with crude weapons of boe and steel.

THe edge of the small habdome was ringed with inns and drinking dens where people drank themsleves insensible, gambling of all forms changed hands at high speed and a long line of armed mercaneries slowly shuffled up to a small plinth where a tiny man - barely 4ft in stature but gowned in magnificent robes and with a head crowed with glorious horns scribbled and typed on a series of datapads. 4 traitor Astartes - one in the red of World Eater, the other 3 in livery of small and long forgotten chapters - surrounding him. Hands resting on weaponry and eyes behind mk6 and mk7 helmets scanning the crowd restlessly.

The books that you are carrying still floating along on a wave of telekinesis. A disparate mix of tomes and scripts written in a wide range of languages- from purest high gothic to foul xeno script, flowing eldar runes or pidgin dialiect of feral worlds - at a glance from the 50+ scraps of paper, slate and metal its hard to know is the correct one.

Linguistics or suitable scholastic lore tests please.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul speaks to one of the mercenaries in line. "So, what's going on here?" He says, indicating the line and the little man at the end of it.

[DrK]

Vul speaks to one of the mercenaries in line. "So, what's going on here?" He says, indicating the line and the little man at the end of it.

The mercanery turns with a curse on his lips that dies away as he stares at the massive hulking monster of a terminator. Dripping to one knee he bows slightly. Great One. We sign onto Lord Vaal's service. So that he can muster his host to wage war on the Imperium.

On the back of his neck, visible now from his bowed head, you can see Chapter ciphers of some kind. He was once a chapter serf and knows the way to greet Astartes.

The other nearby humans in the crowd agent back allowing Vul and his collegues to push to the front should they wish.

[Henry the 57th]

"And what does one get out of this, beyond the chance to wage war?" Vul scrutinies the tattoos. "I see you were once a serf to the False Emperor's dogs. Tell me, whom did you you serve, and what opened your eyes to Chaos?"

[Mekboy]

Regaining consciousness, Alicia struggled to her feet, trying as best she could to banish the horrfying image of the tainted runes from her mind. The witch had eliminated her before she could land a single blow - how very embarrassing. For not the first time, she was glad Phinneas was around. With a curt nod of thanks to him, she glared at the marines, daring them to comment.

By the time the group reached the habdome, Alicia's normal arrogance and swagger had returned. Distaste evident on her face, she quite happily shoved her way to the front of the queue.

[DrK]

"And what does one get out of this, beyond the chance to wage war?" Vul scrutinies the tattoos. "I see you were once a serf to the False Emperor's dogs. Tell me, whom did you you serve, and what opened your eyes to Chaos?"

The man still bowed on one knee looks up at the hulking terminator. "I was serf to the 4th Company of the Howling Griffons. The cruiser was abandoned in the warp and I saw the majesty of the true powers. I fled the chapter, but before I left - I sabotaged the geller field aboard the vessel before leaving on a salvation pod wherea demon of the warp did bid me flee and helped me to safety. They feasted on Astartes flesh that day. 40 Astartes and over 8000 serfs died because of my hand".

He continues to stare at the terminator. "The Warlord seeks trie believers with special skills to act as the forerunners to sow chaos and dissensiona nd sabotage in the system before the main fleet with the thousands of cannon fodder to take what remains in the meat grinder of open warfare. I am honoured that you will fight alongside us Great One.

Alicia

The crowd lets you through before the 4 astartes at the plinh stare down at you. Faces hidden and impassive behind powere armoured suits scarred by centuries of battle. The stunted dwarf like man looks up, eyes piercing blu, intense and bright with intelligence. A long tail with a scorpon like tip hanging frmo his waist under the neat robes and a quill and pot of ink on the desk amid neat scrolls and a stack of data slates.
"You wish to join the Warlord's Crusade? Do you have any skills or will you join the hordes in the Reaver holds.... his voice dies away as he sees the rest of acolytes tagging along with Alicia. His eyes roving over the astartes and humans alike.
"Interesting. We can always reward and find uses for ones such as yourselves."

[Henry the 57th]

Vul uses his free gauntlet to run one finger relatively gently over the man's chest. "Little man, a word of advice: make no assumptions about sorcerers." Vul grips the man's chin lightly between two fingers. "We are notoriously... fickle creatures." Vul releases him and gives him a brief pat on the head before following Alicia.

This should be amusing. Vul thinks.

After the little man speaks, Vul says, "So, tell me, what are you prepared to give up in order to obtain the services of a sorcerous Terminator veteran of 10,000 years of war for your crusade?"

[Lucretia]

Phinneas closed his eyes, gripped the warp staff, and with an exertion of psychic power, transported several years away, returning to where he had been ten Terran cycles ago. His influence on the events of the present was effectively ended, and nothing remained of where he had been standing. The motion was silent and pleasant, a returning, and most likely didn't alert anyone in the party.

[DrK]

After the little man speaks, Vul says, "So, tell me, what are you prepared to give up in order to obtain the services of a sorcerous Terminator veteran of 10,000 years of war for your crusade?"

The piercing blue eyes meet stare at the helm of the Terminator armour. The hulking terminator on the same level as the man's head as he is sat on the raised plinth. He answers calmly. "If you are an enemy of Lord Vaal then you shall not leave this hab block alive. If you are an ally then then you have come to join his crusade against the hated Imperium.

Boasts do not interest my Lord. Only results. Those who suceed will be rewarded. THose who fail and do not die in their own failure will be cut adrift lest they fester like a rotting tumour in the Domain of Lord Vaal.

[/COLOR]

[Henry the 57th]

This insignificant bug dares to insult me? Vul thinks, his face hardening beneath his helmet. He keeps his anger and urge to murder the little bastard from his tone, though.

"And what if I am undecided as to whether I wish to participate or not? I have no opposition to this crusade, but I do not work for nothing."

[DrK]

The glorified scribe continues to regard the sorcerer with something less than enthusiasm. "Those who are loyal to the Warlord are rewarded greatly. Those who assist him in taking the system will be rewarded even more so."

He looks at Vul and nods his head to the 4 impassive astartes standing like statues on the plinth beside him. "Ask your brothers here if you wish."

Returning to the matter at hand he flings a dataslate towards Alicia and Vul. "THe chartist vessel Rite of Fortune is docked here but will be shipping her berth in 3 days. Consider carefully whether you want to be on her or not. If you leave with her she will take you to Port Last Hope, the Castellan class transfer station orbiting Limoges V. From there if you are "competent" you can make your way into the system. When we arrive with the fleet there will be a reckoning and anything useful you hvae done will be rewarded. Others have received the stewardship of entire wolrds Sorcerer. The Warlord's generosity and power knows no bounds."


Was anyone else looking through the books by the way or just Vul?

[Henry the 57th]

"Very well then." Vul looks at the Astartes. "What are you getting out of this, brothers? Astartes are hardly known for guarding humans." Vul looks at the World Eater pointedly. "Especially you, Eater of Worlds. While I realize your Legion has never been the same since the... "incident" on Scalathrax, you are still known far and wide for your ferocity and dedication to Lord Khorne. I would not expect to find you preserving, rather than taking, life."

[DrK]

"Very well then." Vul looks at the Astartes. "What are you getting out of this, brothers? Astartes are hardly known for guarding humans." Vul looks at the World Eater pointedly. "Especially you, Eater of Worlds. While I realize your Legion has never been the same since the... "incident" on Scalathrax, you are still known far and wide for your ferocity and dedication to Lord Khorne. I would not expect to find you preserving, rather than taking, life."

Two of the astartes - armour scarred and amrked with chapter symbols that are not immediatly obvious say nothing. THe World Eater however looks down at Vul and snarls his voice barely intelligible. "I guard who Vall says and I get to kill those who oppose Val. It is simple for guarding sometimes Vaal providesthousands to die by the chain and the axe. he nods, gauntleted hand slapping the blood splattered hilts of his weapons.

The other marine shrugs slightly. His armour emblazoned with a series of crosse blades and his voice sounding gaunt and strained with age. "You speak of 10 millenia. How much of thta has been locked in warp storms or striding demonic worlds where time flows like burning promethium. Since my Crusade into the Eye I have never entered the depths of the Vortex and I have experienced over 1000 years in the "real". After so many days without break or succour the stability and order is like an old friend. I yearn to see the Imperium destroyed but for that to happen there must be unity in chaos. And in unity there is needs order. Order needs stability and stability needs scribes." THe last a contemptous snarl directed at the little runt of a mutant. The scribe for his part offers a quick bow to the aged astartes.

"We all have a place in the dreams of conquest. And mine is the petty organisattion that the Lords Astartes have no time for."

[Henry the 57th]

"Very well then. I will be there in three days." Vul looks at his companions. "And you?"

[Mekboy]

Alicia grins. "But of course. Vaal is in need of such skilled individual as us. I would so very much hate to dissapoint."

[Henry the 57th]

Suddenly, something strikes Vul, and he looks at the older Astartes. "Are you of the Iron Warriors?"

[DrK]

Suddenly, something strikes Vul, and he looks at the older Astartes. "Are you of the Iron Warriors?"

The Astartes chuckles slightly. Like a bucket of gravel shaking. "I am not. You have spent too long in the depths of the Vortex. When you were you last out of the Vortex Codicer?"

The runt tailed scribe looks at Alicia and Vul. "Just make sure you turn up at the space dock. Berth 18 before the vessel leaves. You don't want us to find you still here after that."

As you're left to your own devices Vul and Alicia return to Fabrius and Kurin and the large stack of scrolls, tomes and books.


What are you up to for the next 3 days?

[Henry the 57th]

"It is merely that your desire for unity and stability is a sentiment often heard of that Legion." Vul turns and walks back.

Vul will spend the time looking for someone who can read the books, and also for a psychic hood.

[DrK]

The Astartes part ways with the acolytes with wary, if respectful nods. THe scribe already ignoring them and going back to his data slates and scrolls as the queue of renegades and heretics seeking a place in the holds of the reaver fleets continues to grow.


I'm just assuming Fabrius/Kurin are going along with Vul and Alicia


Hours later

THe sage's shop front was a small affair with two rough looking mutants on the door though neither dare even twitch as the acolytes barge past. Inside there is a dry smell of must, paper and drying chemicals and the braziers on the walls glow with flickering purple-blue flames.

The owner wears long blush robes that seem to shimmer against the albine white skin on his bald head or his long thin 6 fingered hands. Your reflection glitters back at you a hundred fold in his insectoid compound eyes. Let us see what your finds contain he hisses, eyes gleaming with avarice...

Long hours pass as the man goes through all the books and tomes slowly making careful notes. His mouth drooling as he reads through things with studied concentration. As the hours fade by he looks up... What were you looking for... he licks his lips nervously. There are no rituals of warp in theses pages though the are fasciniating. Name you price and I shall give it for these fine works. I supsect you have no use for them now. His compound eyes glittered and it seemed obvious he was being evasive...

[Henry the 57th]

Vul looks the little man in the eye, red lenses glaring down at him. "You wouldn't lie to me, now would you?" His telekinetic fingers gently stroke the man's neck.

[DrK]

THe combination of hulking lethality of the terminator and the prressure of unseen psychic forces gripping his neck leaves the man qualiing in terror. "You don't realise what you have. Its worth, Its danger. Its incalcuable." He throws himself forward on the floor begging for his life.

You have two here. One is a fragment of The Furies of Prosepero. Vaal would kill you for merely seeing it. For endangering his beacon." He pauses and you cans ee sewat pouring off his head. The other is a piece of de Orbis mysteriis. Its too powerful. With this ritual and the right conditions you could drag an entire planet into the warp! An entire world plucked and hrled into the screaming vortex!"

[Henry the 57th]

"If they are so dangerous, pray tell why you were attempting to take them off my hands moments ago? Scheming against Vaal, are we?" Vul chuckles. He looks at the tomes, then back at the man. "Elaborate. What do the rituals do, and what do they require? More precisely, how does this tome endanger the beacon, and what conditions would be needed to drag a world into the Screaming Vortex? Go into as much detail as you can - I want everything. Cooperate, and I'll consider showing you mercy for attempting to deceive me."

[DrK]

"If they are so dangerous, pray tell why you were attempting to take them off my hands moments ago? Scheming against Vaal, are we?" Vul chuckles. He looks at the tomes, then back at the man. "Elaborate. What do the rituals do, and what do they require? More precisely, how does this tome endanger the beacon, and what conditions would be needed to drag a world into the Screaming Vortex? Go into as much detail as you can - I want everything. Cooperate, and I'll consider showing you mercy for attempting to deceive me."

The man holds up two of the books. One - a tattered sheaf of paper barely legible held together by scripts of leather and written in something that looks like dried blood.

THe other book is a glittering tome with blue steel and inlaid jewels and gems. He gestures to the fancy tome first. "Vaal will kill you for this. The ritual within The Furies of Prospero could destroy his beacon. His dark mirror of the False Emperor's astronomicon. With the proper rites and rituals and sorcerous implements you could destablise it or even reconcsecrate the beacon to the changer cheating the debauched Prince of his glories." The slight wry grin on his face may suggest that he is not altogther saddened by that idea.

His hands begin to tremble however as he points at the loose leaf of scrolls - his voice becoming grander and speaking in a far more refined and cultured tone "The soul of charity - a gift to the Blood God, the soul of law - to the Changer who detests all things in stais, the soul of piety to the Deabauched one who despises depriving the flesh and the soul of securityto the Grandfather who brings low all in time." he pauses, a wild look in his eyes. "THe ritual. It will bring an entire world. An entire planet with all of its teeming souls into the vortex where they may be consumed as a sacrifice of unparalled scale." Before Vul can make demands of him he holds up a hand in a fearful cringing manner. "I cannot say the details Great Warrior. it will take days to decipher it and calculate the planets that could be targetted and the details required. Please. I cannot say yet...

[Henry the 57th]

"How many days, and what equipment is necessary?" Vul says in a soft tone.

[DrK]

"How many days, and what equipment is necessary?" Vul says in a soft tone.

He looks slightly panicked. "A week.. 2 at most Great Warrio. I would need some books for reference. Some charms and some divinations.."

[Henry the 57th]

"And are these portable?" Vul says, not raising his voice, but inwardly feeling intensely amused at the man's fear.

[Mekboy]

Three days waiting. She'd barely stood it on the ship - at least then she wasn't surrounded by human vermin constantly. This would be exasperating. Best try and make the most of it. First of all, she'd need somewhere befitting her to sleep. Secondly, the blessing of the gods. And maybe something to replace the battered old carapace she currently wore.

I'll try and find a temple of khorne, then try and trade my carapace armour and get power armour ([roll0] vs 29) then try and find somewhere to stay, at least of good quality.

[DrK]

"And are these portable?" Vul says, not raising his voice, but inwardly feeling intensely amused at the man's fear.

A large gulp and then the albino pales slightly - an impressive feat for an albino - as he can sense the demand that Vul may be about to insist on. "Er. They could be. Why? I will be of no use in the coming crusade. I am feeble, weak and craven at heart..."


Three days waiting. She'd barely stood it on the ship - at least then she wasn't surrounded by human vermin constantly. This would be exasperating. Best try and make the most of it. First of all, she'd need somewhere befitting her to sleep. Secondly, the blessing of the gods. And maybe something to replace the battered old carapace she currently wore.

I'll try and find a temple of khorne, then try and trade my carapace armour and get power armour ([roll0] vs 29) then try and find somewhere to stay, at least of good quality.

Alicia sadly finds little armour left in the Blood God's Temple - the devotees of the Blood God sacrifing slaves, prisoners and each other on the floors of the gladiatorial slave pits. The quarters you can easily find a small cell festooned with dried blood peeling off the wall with a cot and a small anteroom littered with blades for practice or torture as you want.


Emperor Ing's Nurgilite will be joining us and the Tzeentchian Heretek of unbetownist so when they have posted we can board the false chartist vessel and set sail to the Port Last Hope at the edge of the Limoges system.

[Henry the 57th]

"Because I don't have two weeks to wait. I leave in mere days. And I need those rituals. And I can hardly leave you here, now can I? As you pointed out, Vaal would kill me if he knew what I have. And, in my experience, beings like you will inevitably sell me out to him when they think it will be to their personal advantage. So that's why. I need you to come and finish your work with the rituals, and because I don't trust you not to sell me out the moment I'm off-planet. Of course, you could always opt to take the other option that ensures your silence. That being that I kill you on the spot and find someone else to help translate the rituals." Vul pauses for a moment. "I'll give you a sporting chance. Give me an arguement for letting you stay here. Or, failing that, find someone with similar abilities who is more warlike to take your place."

[DrK]

"I'll give you a sporting chance. Give me an arguement for letting you stay here. Or, failing that, find someone with similar abilities who is more warlike to take your place."

He looks panicked and flustered before hitting on the glimmers of an idea. "The voyage from the vortex to Limoges will be several weeks Great Warrior. Would I be permitted to remain aboard the Chartrist Trader?" he looks nervous and terrified at the idea of going to actual war. "You have no need of me in the LImoges system. I can decipher everything before then."

[Henry the 57th]

Vul thinks for a moment. "If you can provide some proof that you will not sell me out the moment I am gone."

[watupwithdat]

Farius had little interest in whatever quest the sorcerer-warrior was on. When he thought about it, he could not really put his finger on why he was in the the warrior-witch's company in the first place -- he only encountered greater daemons and enabling the killing of high regarded slaaneshi worshippers it seemed. Farius did not need that before the campaign had even started, and went his own way and waited the days until the vessel would depart for conquest.

And there ends the saga about Farius.

Now it is the saga of Qaeviir which will begin shortly.

[Henry the 57th]

Whatever happens with the little man, Vul resolves to seek out a second opinion on these rituals. Just to be sure.

Watup, that's your cue. Enter stage right.

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir had been travelling a nearby system in search for interesting things to study when the rumours of Vaal's call for manpower had caught his attention, and on a whim left for the Diskouri system. The opportunity to take part in and study the fall and corruption of a whole system felt like a good endeavour for Qaeviir to focus his mind on, as he had never experienced such a thing before. And conflict had a tendency to unearth things as a secondary effect, things potentially previously undocumented.

The Archivist-Savant had been present in Skaarsdelve for a full day, searching for various potential artifacts of arcane lore, interesting texts and looking for various other things that he could pass time with delving into, when he heard by the winds of rumour someone looking for one with his particular skills. Some sorcerer in Astartes terminator armour, evidently. Qaeviir was a little intruiged on the prospect of what one of the Traitor Legions wanted from one such as he. He had not interacted personally much with that kind, and only a few times home in Tarnor by the medium of a translator. The chains which was the decree of no speech had annoyed Qaeviir to no end while there. But now he was able to loosen those chains, atleast.

It was then the rumoured Astartes sorcerer, he assumed, appeared in his proximity. Telling by the unnatural speed of the terminator-clad warrior, he was definately utilizing the warp for greater mobility to counteract the drawbacks of such a bulky armour. Swift as Karanak? It seemed likely. He was loath to use that name for the spell, though. He was surprised a sorcerer would need to be both so heavily armoured and having such an extensive arsenal of weaponry. But he was not too familiar with all the different kind of Astartes psykers there was, or how they fought. Perhaps he was not very proficient when it came to drawing on the immaterium.

A moment later the sorcerer approached Qaeviir, who stood still, warp staff in hand, waiting for the sorcerer to speak.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul has spent several hours seeking out a separate scholar to examine the texts he seized from the mutant psyker's stall. It proves somewhat more difficult than anticipated, but in the end, a small man proved willing enough to point him in the direction of a man rumored to have come from mysterious Q'sal. That was good enough to investigate, as least.

Vul soon finds the man walking up to and staring at him, as though he knew of Vul's coming in advance. If he is from Q'sal, perhaps he did. Vul muses.

He looks down at the little man, his Warpsight indicating to him that this one possesses psychic power. As if the Warp Staff he holds didn't make it obvious enough.

"I am seeking someone to translate certain texts on my behalf. Rumor has it that you have skills in that area."

[watupwithdat]

Certain texts? Qaeviir wondered what kind of texts an Astartes needed help with. This one's not a scholar, then. The conclusion seemed obvious looking at the towering Astartes.

"I have some skills in that area, correct." Qaeviir signed with his free hand. He waited for some kind of reply for a few seconds before he realized his mistake. The habit of using the sign language of Tarnor was very ingrained in his being, not surprisingly, and he sometimes forgot that people who understood it was rare outside of Q'Sal and that he needed to speak to be understood. "I have some skills. In that area. Yes." he spoke aloud with a little uneasiness. Years upon years of silence had taken its toll on his ability to form flowing sentences. "What do you know about these. Texts?" he continued, as he let his left arm relax by his side having no need for it to form signs at the moment, the fingers moving a little as he spoke aloud.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul watches as the psyker makes several hand gestures, then stop. Perhaps his mouth is mutated shut? he wonders. It wouldn't be the first time Vul has seen something like that.

That particular theory is almost immediately disproved when the man starts talking. His hesitation, and the fact that his fingers twitch slightly as he speaks, make it plain he is somewhat more used to such sign language than actual speech. Is this something normal on Q'Sal? Vul thinks.

In lieu of speaking aloud, Vul simply projects his voice into the psyker's mind.

Perhaps you would be more at ease speaking in this manner?

[watupwithdat]

"I would prefer if you did not. Contact me telepathically. Until I allow you to." Qaeviir bluntly said as his fingers slowly tapped and wrapped around the shaft of the warp staff. He did not fear the hulking sorcerer in the least, as he was quite confident in his abilities, albeit not as experienced in actual physical combat as he understood the warrior to be. "Speech is enough." In a way Qaeviir actually prefered speech over his currently very miniscule telepathic ability, an area he had not spent much time developing. Being able to speak, without fear of death, was in a way exhilarating to him.

"What do you know about these texts?" he repeated, not very patient when it came to him being the one asked to help. He could spend his time doing something else, though he was genuinely curious about the texts.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul pulls out the two texts the man had highlighted earlier. "I hold in my hands what I believe to be copies of The Furies of Prospero and De Orbis Mysteriis. I want confirmation of their identities, as well as identification of the Warp rituals within."

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir's eyes sharpened behind his elaborate mirror-mask when he heard what the sorcerer thought the texts contained. He had heard about them from a few colleagues and rivals alike home on Q'Sal, but never seen or read any copies of them himself. He was unsure about the exact purpose of The Furies of Prospero, but De Orbis Mysteriis he knew was something immense. A ritual to move worlds, they say. He wanted his hands on those texts, he had decided there and then. That familiar thrist for knowledge had awakened in this dull landscape.

"I'm a little familiar with those. I could do that, yes." He paused a short moment. "But if you know about us. You know I do not do charity." he said as he gestured with his hand, the meaning very likely lost to the Astartes. If the Astartes would part with the rituals after they had been deciphered and identities confirmed, Qaeviir would see that as an acceptable compensation. Though it seemed unlikely the Astartes would part with them at this moment.

[Henry the 57th]

"And what do you want in return?" Vul asks. Besides your life, that is. He thinks to himself.

[watupwithdat]

The Archivist-Savant was quiet for a few moments, seemingly in thought. Of couse, he had already decided long ago what he wanted in return. "The contents of these texts I will share with you. At the best of my ability." Qaeviir said, subtly signing as he spoke. "In return I would like to keep them once your use for them is no more." The flow of his sentences slightly improved the more he spoke. "Assuming you in fact plan on using them. If not there will be no issue with this."

[Henry the 57th]

Vul tries to avoid laughing. He really does. Unfortunately, the urge overwhelms him, and he laughs. From his throat comes a deep, grating noise that sounds like it has not been heard in a very long time.

After his brief fit is over, Vul looks the psyker in the eye. "Little man, what do you take me for? Do you believe that I have survived 10,000 years of warfare against the False Emperor by giving away such rare artifacts to everyone who claims they can help me with them? No. I have a better idea: I will retain the originals. I will permit you to make a copy, after I have verified that you are not attempting to deceive or shortchange me."

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir was not surprised that the Astartes had refused. He expected it. And he had learnt much from the way the Astartes had refused. Knowledge he could use to his advantage at a later point. But he would not let this opportunity go to waste.

"Then I shall study these texts. You can refer to me as Magister Immaterial Qaeviir." He paused, his fingers still. "However, I had planned on venturing to this Vaal's world conquering endeavour. In three days time. Unless you are too, we will have little time."

[Henry the 57th]

"I am Karesh Vul of the Black Legion. And I also plan on going on Vaal's little crusade. I look forward to warring against the Emperor's slaves." Vul grins under his helmet as he relishes the idea of the pain and terror to come, his chainfist sympathetically switching from off to idling.

[watupwithdat]

"Then our paths intertwine." Most fortunate, but being from a planet dedicated to the Weaver of Fates it was nothing Qaeviir spent a second thought on. "Until departure in three days, then, Karesh Vul of the Black Legion." he said as he began to move in the direction he had been going before the Astartes appeared. He would need to attempt to find some supplies to help him better decipher the texts, as well as aid him during the times ahead quite possibly containing warfare.

[Henry the 57th]

"I will see you then." Vul says, going his own way.

[DrK]

The two days pass in a lur as the acolytes watch blood sports played out on in the fighting pits, observe the sacrifices of dozens Imperial slaves - savants reading the future from their thrashing death throes.

A couple of days later amidst the bustling chaos all of the acolytes are approached by a tall Astartes. His battered power armour with the a set of crossed swords on it. "It is time to depart. Captain Ramala Yang is not a patient manner. The Last Hope of the Dammned has some cover as a free trader and Captain Yang makes the occasional foray into the Vortex to increase his profit margins or to supplement his income with trade in xenos or "heretical" artifacts."

He leads you to a small ground hoverer and whisks you towards the space port where a series of 4 large arvus landers waiting on the cracked and broken concrete discs battered by the winds and the toxic fogs.

As Alicia, Vul and Qaeviir are pointed aboard one of the landers they can see in the dim darkness of the cargo hold a pair of massive figures. One some sort of heretek with mechandrites poking through the hulking tactical dreadnaught armour, the other an Astartes with an ancient Reaper Autocannon strapped on his arm. "May we meet on amidst the burning ruins of the Capital in the Limoges system".

On a plume of fire with gravity tugging at the acolytes in the cargo hold the argus lander rockets towards the ring of metal and rock like a thin bracelt around the planet. A decript vessel - small at ~1.2km long awaits you. Streaks of rust and corrosion decorating its hull and a yawning opening under the bulbous prow a welcome hole as you and your new companions plunge into the breach.


http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20101221173552/warhammer40k/images/9/96/BFGFireShip.jpg

The auto-landing systems guide the lander in as the doors close behind you and the faint green lights of pressure air equalising kicks in. As the doors open and the lights beyond show the darkened cavernous landing bay littered with crates fuel drums and half dressed brutish looking crew scrounging about. The crew look up at the acolytes as they come down the ramps. A savage looking one with a pair of chain axes across a broad back and a torso covered in savage looking tatoos looks at you all. A mix of fear and wary agression on his thuggish face festooned with hooks and rings piercing his lips, ears and nose.
"You the "special" passengers eh? Captain says he wants to see all of you in the observation dome eh. Lay down the rules of the beast. You disobey you breathe in the void. Even you three in big suits. You not be enough to kill all of us eh?"


There we are. Feel free to introduce yourselves to Ing and Unbetwonst in the shuttle :smallsmile:

The cargo vessel to take you to the Limoges Transfer Station is a rickety old trader vessel of dubious quality and at least 2500 years old.

[Henry the 57th]

"Then lead us to him." Vul says to the lackey before him. Looking towards the two in monstrous Terminator armor, he says, slightly more respectfully, "Greetings. I am Karesh Vul, sorcerer of the Black Legion."

[watupwithdat]

This vessel wasn't the best piece of craftmanship Qaeviir had seen during his lifetime. Maybe it had been once, but it evidently was not anymore. Most wonders being created on Q'Sal would be more interesting than this.

The tone of the crewman annoyed Qaeviir. The savage did evidently not know of the powers one such as Qaeviir could manifest to end his life. Or perhaps he knew and felt compelled to overcompensate to act tough. Qaeviir subtly signed a brief insult, as to not let it slide fully. It was enough to calm him down.

The company he now kept was strange though. As a follower of Tzeentch he was outnumbered. The human who had been in the sorcerer's company was obviously one of the blood god's, and he felt a strange urge to eradicate her. It was not natural he figured, his mind rational. The two others had the taint of the plague god about them he could sense, even if he would not be able to see it. By the natural order, they were his enemies, but Qaeviir was not that petty. He would have no issues with destroying them if the Great Conspirator willed it, though.

[DrK]

Even as the acolytes - and Grazz't a scared book trader - followed the rough looking crew they were led through the darkened corridors of the Last Hope. The vessel humming and groaning as plasma reactors fire up. Many of the corridors filled with refuse and broken shards of metal, chain and other "ship bits" mixed amongst the discarded clothes and crude lean to's where the crew bunk down where they can like some sort of hideous 3-dimensioanl shanty town maze complete with open sewage filled pipes, leaking oil and smoke filed corriodors where other crew roast bilge rat, ship board creepers and possibly the dead over open flames to sell or barter from their fellows.

Surrounded by a jostling crowd of crew dogs toting guns, barbed spears and boarding pikes you are led upwards and into a lrge trasnport tube that shudders and groans as it flits upwards. Stepping out into a wide receiving room you can see the well guarded door watched by a half dozen heavy set men in battered carapace with chain blades at their waists and hellguns in their fists. They nod in a familiar manner to the guttural brute who has brought you up before one presses the code on the door and watches it as it swings open allowing you onto the bridge.

THe doors hiss open and a stagnants smell pours out as you can see through the thick cloud of obscura and lho smoke some of the bridge crew pouring over the navigation plotting table and others watching the cogitator banks that glitter with hundreds of status lights.

Striding the centre of the room on a small raised dais - the glittering reddish glow of the dying Diskouri system behind him is the Captain Ramala Yang. Dressed outrageously in the remnants of an Imperial Colonel the heavy metallic cranial plating suggests some injury earlier in his career though the powerfist on his left arm looks well used. His piercing gren eyes stare you down and draw attention to the small horn protruding from his his skull.


http://www.darkreign40k.com/drjoomla/images/stories/sabbat_worlds_commander.jpg

His voice is little more than a croak when he speaks. THe last hope. She is mine. We are like lovers. I will kill the man or woman who steps between us. Treat her nice and we will get along. Now who you be and how do you be planning to board the Limoges transfer station?

[Henry the 57th]

Vul meets the man's gaze. "I am Karesh Vul, sorcerer of the Black Legion. I have some ideas as to how to enter the station, but as you have more experience in this field, would you have any suggestions for a group as..." Vul gestures to his fellow Terminators, the Khornate, and the masked psyker. "Unsubtle as ourselves?"

[Unbeknownst]

Mortia stood by passively, waiting to make her way onto the ship. Until her thoughts were cast astray by a fallen Astartes."I bid thee warm greetings Karesh Vul of the Legions. I am called Mortia. I am, I suppose, a Priest of Technology for Grandfather Nurgle, for it is he that brought me life." She replied, her suit corrupting the sound of her voice 'till it was nothing more that a buzzing groan.

"Krrrk Krrrk Krrrk. Yes, Unsubtle. That is a choice word." She chuckled.

[watupwithdat]

"Magister Immaterial Qaeviir to all in this vessel, I am." Qaeviir said bluntly, not very comfortable in this ship for the moment. But he was more interested in delving into the texts the sorcerer had than anything else at this point, especially not bothering with details as how they're to reach a destination they're supposed to be taken.

[DrK]

The Captain glances at the Astartes and the humans with distaste. A life in the void leaving him with a dislike of groundsiders. "THe station won't like your sort. And even the arbites little pop guns will break you when enough are fired.

I can get you on the station. A debt to Vaal I owe and I'll deliver you. Even it means locking you in transport crates and smuggling you into the low holds on the station. Once you're off my ship you're on your own."

He eyes all of you, particularly the terminators and the astartes. "While you are on my vessel I am the God you shall worship. My word is law and you will obey. I we attack you shall attack. If we are boarded you will fight for us. Accept now or you can leave by the nearest bulkhead." His glitering eyes hold thinly veilened malice as he does not like having so many well armed passengers aboard.

[Henry the 57th]

"Your terms are... acceptable." Vul says, cautiously. For now. he adds mentally.

"How much contact does this system have with the greater Imperium? Because it strikes me that, unless in regular contact, it is unlikely that they could tell one Astartes from another, if you catch my meaning."

[Mekboy]

Sorry I haven't posted for the last couple of days.

Alicia gives the two newcomers an appraising look. Wonderful. Another psyker. Looked like he'd never seen a day of combat. The Dark Gods do test us so. And one of Grandfather Nurgle's festering devotees. At least she looked like she could actually hold a weapon. Sneering, she nodded her head a carefully calculated fraction of an inch in greeting.

The captain on the other hand, he looked like a true warrior, with the scars to prove it. Meeting the Captain's stare, she introduced herself. "Lady Alicia Kalt. Blessed of the Skull Lord."

Although the captain's terms weren't too far from what was expected, their existance still grated. Even still the strong are constrained by their lessers.

"Very well, captain", she said, tone making it clear the dislike was mutual.

[Emperor Ing]

The doors hiss open once again. While the heretics were originally greeted by a rotten, stagnant spell, this one reveals itself as a horrific miasma billowing into the bridge of the ship, one that not only offends sense but the very souls of all those unfortunate enough to be in its presence. The mortal manifestation of this horror is shown to be yet another Astartes.

This one shows itself clad in a mark of Power Armor unidentifiable. Any marks or parts that would make it identifiable have given way to welts, rust, and boils that appear as though the armor were actually diseased instead of just a stylistic decision on the part of the armorer. The paint is long corroded off, now just little more than a rather disgusting mix of rust red, the dark crimson of ancient blood, and a bile green. The helmet appears more as an armored respirator stylized into a helmet, the wearer gazing at his surroundings through dispassionate narrow slits for eyes.

The announcement of his coming is heralded by the miasma, as well as the thud of heavy, armored boots, and the dragging of what appears to be an armored, reptilian tail along the floor. Strangely enough, the Astartes appears to move with a spring in his step, completely ignoring the heavy, nearly destroyed plasma cannon he's carrying.

Caaptaaain... A horrifying, gluttoral voice speaks forth, the product of long-corroded vocal chords straining to form words, addressing the captain.

Yooour ship...is a maaagnificeeent teeemple to peeestilence and...decaaay. This...pleeeeases Faaather Nuuurgle. I fiiind your teeerms....aaaacceptablllle.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul regards the newcomer, slanting his head slightly to the side. "And you are...?"

[Emperor Ing]

Even after stopping the tail continues to apparently slither behind the Astartes. It's easier to see the corroded vents on the armor now. He turns to the Sorcerer with a dispassionate gaze. Yooou...will caaaall meee...Neeephthysss. Nephthys...Suuupair.

[Henry the 57th]

"Vul. Karesh Vul. Sorcerer of the Black Legion." Vul glances at the captain, then back at Nephthys. "I suppose you rather put the kibosh on any hopes I entertained of posing as one of the False Emperor's lapdog Astartes. Not even an illiterate underhive scum could fail to notice that you are no Angel of the Emperor. Let us hope that the good captain's plan works, then."

[watupwithdat]

A disease-ridden follower of the Lord of Flies? Qaeviir was less than excited to be in the presence of such a creature. "We're done then. Show me to my quarters. I have work to do." He shifted the face of his mask in the direction of Vul. "Text. Orbis. Sorcerer of the Black Legion." with his free hand reached out. He made it obvious he wanted to start delving into the de Orbis Mysteriis, disregarding the other text for now. Then he remembered something important he needed to know of the captain and looked at him again. "How long until destination reached?"

[DrK]

The Captain looks down at the acolytes with a viscious grin. "You no worry. I will make sure your crate slides onto station without notice. And you. Diseased one. If you want to see the bilges you are welcome. You'd be comfortable."

He glances down at one of the read outs. We should be 2 weeks in travel. 10 days in the warp and 2 days in and out of the warp transit points. We make our sacrifices eh? And still the Navis he does not want to traverse in system. Crew will show you to your quarters. Don't cause troubel."

Apparently dismissed unless you object several crewmen grudgingly lead you back into the maze of corridors, gantrys and crawlspaces that is a cargo hauler. At one point a breathtaking array of catwalks suspended some 300m above the packed cargo hold. A bewildering array of cages and small atmospheric habitats housing four score of xeno life forms beneath your feet all stored and enclosed for transport in the profitable Beast Trade.

The rooms are small but serviceable. Sonic showers, a canteen serving mildly edible slop and starch rations and single small viewing dome at the port most cabin where you can see the scarred hide of the ship and the void beyond...


2 weeks on the ship...
I'll roll for some warp "events" to see if anything untoward happens.
Would the party like a pirate encounter or happier to just move on to the limoges system?

[Henry the 57th]

"Very well." Vul hands the little man the text. "But I'm not letting you out of my sight." Vul looks to the little man he brought along. "You can get started on The Furies of Prospero." Vul hands him that text, leaning down so that their heads are level. "And don't even think of trying to deceive me again, or I won't be so merciful." Vul whispers in his ear.

[DrK]

The acolytes are led back to the suite of small chambers where a selecn of half a dozen loutish thugs linger giving advice that until the Last Hope of the Dammned has made the warp transit it would be better to stay in your cabins or your small viewing chamber.

Soon enough with a gentle shudder the maneuvering thrusters fire and the battered old trader vessel backs away from the string of space ports hanging over the despotic chaos haven. The view swings round, the ribbon of space ports over the storm wracked world transforming into a void teeming with chunks of rock and small planetoids wrapped in the dying stars' deadly embrace.

With deft pulses of the thrusters the wallowing ship threads between the megatoone mountains of rock and ice slowly and inexorably accelerating into clear space - the screaming vortex having an effect even here in real space as a vivid swirl of vibrant colours against the backdrop of the spinward star systems.

About 3 hours later the Captain's harsh voice overlays the shudder of the plasma drives, the whine of the air recirc and the faint hiss and sttaic crackle of the aging vox systems. "Prepare for jump. Eyes on the monitors" Even as he speaks the displays scattered around the ship activate as they show a shadowy airlock somewhere on the vessel. A terrified guardsman shackled and chained on the floor as the Captain and the bridge crew stand beside a cloakd tall and gangly figure that must be the Navigator. A strange emblem on the cloak - a curved black blade against a purple background suggesting a Navis family of some kind. Over the silent monitors the door slides open slightly and with a last anguished silent howl the guardsmen vanishes sucked into the void. The pict pans around to an external shot of the hull and the guardsman thrashing and dying an slow and agonising death. Blood boiling away from the body - but sustained by some sort of last act of defiance the guardsmen pulls on his chains that had been wrapped around a small sensor pole. The faint BONG of steel on hull sounding over the vox as the last act of a dying man leaves a shivering sudden cold feeling on the 12000 blighted souls of the Last Hope. The omen is a poor one as the Navis bows his head, a spit on the deck visibly hissing over the images.

Despite the poor omen the Captain's voice barks once more. "Secure for warp transit". The words sending a slight tinge of dread down the spines of most. The crackle of a geller field leaves Vul's warpsight blurred and twisting as all of the psykers can sense a bending of reality as the geller field wraps around the hull. A faint hum and a shiver across the hulls as with a squeal that seems to reach into your very soul a vast tear in space opens up and the vessel plunges into the warp. Even as it does metal shutters slide across all the viewing windows as for a second - a brief fraction of a second - you get a glimpse of the swirling rainbow coloured streams of raw energy that is the immaterium. Vul getting a glimpse of the myriad demoninc forms within!

The vessel twists and turns. Rocking gently buffeting in the warp eddies and the warp squalls as the crew settle in for their journey - this one a relatively short jump of 10 or so days - or so the scuttlebutt aboard the vessel suggests.

Life aboard the vessel is relatively quiet. A few dingy markets lining the squalid holds that contain little of worth - save for those used by small time tarot readers and petty sorcerers that Vul and Qaeviir take advantage of in their brief appearance form their chambers. Both seeming paranoid of the others and unwiling to discuss the ritual.

THe 3rd day of journey is a 6 hour torment of terror! A warp squall bearing down upn the Last Hope with a vengeance as the vessel quivers and twists. The grav plate straining to keep the crew on the floors as the it bucks and twists like an old fashioned water vessel. The movement made worse by the blindess and lack of any reference to the madness of the warp outside the hull. As the vessel twitches in the grip of the storm the crew speak darkly of the curse thatthe sacrifice has brought upon them. A curse that seems firmly fixed in their minds as they survive the storm only to stumble into another. A great rift like a vast vortex in the immaterium. The Navis deep in the vessel knows his job and the engines strain and howl at the tugging of unseen eddies before they escape the rift. Biut all of the crew are drawn and pale and up and down the ship in hidden corners and iron hovels the rough voidsmen pray to the ruinous powers, petty tribal Gods or even make the isgn of the Aquilla as they seek divine protection from the savagery of the voyage.

It is with relief that the vessel quivers and rocks, the Captain's voice booming out in the welcome words "Prepare for real space transit". A massive jolt as the vessel seems to slam into a solid wall of reality that leaves the bulkheads groaning and screaming and rivets bending. Small water pipes spraing water as they fracture and glow bulbls crackling on and off. THe shutters retract and you can get your first glimpse of the Limoges system in the distance...

Any chance to look at anything immediatly cut short by "Enemy sighted. 390'00 miles and closing. Battle stations. Ready weapon batteries. Raise shields. Warrants unlock the arms lockers. Its time for war boys!" Even as he shouts over the vox one of the guards near your quarters strides in - a cruel smile on his face.
"Captain's Orders. You do some work. She's a penal transport bound for St Annard. Rich pickings and thousands of slaves. Best grab your guns."

[Henry the 57th]

Battle? Vul thinks to himself, with considerable enthusiasm. And with the False Emperor's dogs too? Glorious!

Vul takes his tomes, stowing them carefully, before seizing his Reaper Autocannon in his left hand, his Chainfist whirring in his right.

To the guard, he says, "I need no instructions to slay the weakling slaves of the dead Emperor. Lead on."

Vul moves as quickly as he can towards where the guard leads, eager to slake his bloodlust on the slaves of the Emperor.

[Mekboy]

As much as being ordered around like some menial lacky chafed, Alicia was elated. Days of weapon drills in the small room had put an edge on an already prodigious appetite for bloodshed. Her weapons were already carefully arrayed on the bunk. Jamming the bolt pistol and demo charges into her webbing she set off at a brisk pace.

[Emperor Ing]

Nephthys is more or less always ready. Truth be told nobody on the crew probably saw the Plague Marine without full armor and a bolter. When the crew member comes to rouse the ancient warrior from his rest, he already finds him ready to battle, bolter in hand.
Briiing meee....to the cleeeean ooones.

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir wasn't eager to hurry into battle. He'd rather continue delving into the new arcane lore he had acquired. He still needed to figure out all the specifics and the meaning of the different "ingredients" the de Orbis Mysteriis ritual demanded, and whom these four souls could be. It assumably represented some kind of social status, profession similar, he thought.

The Magister Immaterial stood up from the desk he had been working at, took his warp staff and calmly followed the hurrying guards towards wherever they were gathering.

[Unbeknownst]

Mortia sighed inwardly. She was not overly fond of combat as it had a bad habit of scratching and pitting her meticulously slaved over armor. But, it did always have the perk of letting her test her new toys. So, she somewhat annoyedly followed her escort.

[DrK]

The next 2 hours are fairly scary for the acolytes as the noise level on the Last Hope becomes near deafening. The whine of the engines, the clanking of chains and screams of slaves as cannons are slaved and rotated around, 20 ton shells loaded into tubes and then the colossal boom as the macrocannon batteries fire and the corresponding shudder of the kilometre long vessel. Return fire starts to strike the Last hope and the howl of the void generators and sudden flickering darkness as the power surges leaves you uneasy... though less uneasy then when explosions rung out and the vessel twists and distant screams and shouts and decompression alarms sound!

The crew standing in the forward assault sections grin at you with shark like teeth and clashing weapons as they ready for the assault. THough the toll of 2 hours of slow maneuvring and heavy bombardment fire takes it toll on them as well as you can see many of the drinking from small flasks at their waists.

Eventually the claxons start to wail within the boarding tube and a nearby crew dog shouts "10 minutes till we are on them!"... Sure enough the engines pulse beneath you and then with a shuddering crash that throws near enough everyone to the ground the megattone warships crash and grind together. A flare of light at the frint of the tube as the las cutters blast into the enemy hull and then screams, smoke and gunfire as the boarding party surges into the Penal Transporter!


You can move into the enemy vessel.

I wa sgoing to assume you didn't want to be first through the breach?

If you are activating psychic powers - what have you got running? ANd check for perils.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul allows several minions to exit the boarding craft before he does. Terminator armor was originally designed for close combat inside ships, but Vul hasn't survived 10,000 years of war by being first into the teeth of enemy guns. He carefully pinpoints the areas where enemy fire comes from, if any does. After a little bit, Vul steps out of the craft himself, weapons at the ready. If no need of his presence is immediately evident, he heads toward the nearest chapel to smash the hated symbols of the False Emperor into the dust.

Vul has been maintaining Warptime the whole time, as usual. There's no reason to drop it.

[watupwithdat]

They had all looked so afraid, the Magister had thought while observing the guards during the long wait. If they only knew of the real horrors "out" there. Qaeviir knew. He had seen. This was nothing. He kept calm through it all, and he kept calm while slowly walking behind the vanguard rushing into the penal transport. A bit in front of him he could see Vul advancing rather slowly after the vanguard as well. He had imagine one with such large terminator armour would charge headfirst in. Seems I was incorrect.

Such chaos this was. He had little need of conflict, but here he was. He gripped his staff harder, closed his eyes and observed the flow of immaterium around him, opening his mind to the myriad of possibile futures the next moment could be. As he kept on walking forward he opened his eyes again and just observed for any hostiles that might be a threat to him. Then he remembered the ritual and what was needed. Souls. Here should be quite some. Then another realization. He had no way of keeping them with him. They had to work from the shadows. And there was plenty of souls on the moon and planet. No matter.

Half Action, Unfettered, Precognition, +10 Psyniscience Focus power test [roll0] vs 90 (anything over fails)
+8 to Evasion tests, Free Action Sustain.

Although, I guess he will retry the round after, as it's not yet structured time: [roll1]

[Mekboy]

As the raiders began cutting into the hull, Alicia felt a touch she hadn't felt in a long time. Whispers of unspeakable violence and bloodshed edged into the back of her mind. Alicia grinned, giving in to the voices of chaos.

As the hull gave way, she hurled herself through the breach, an inarticulate snarl of rage on her lips. Blood would be spilt and heads would be taken.

So yeah, Frenzying. And she'll try to be one of, if not the first, through the breach.

[Emperor Ing]

Nephthys strides slowly and purposefully, bolter in hand, towards the breaches. The hum and buzzing of his conversion field providing a shield against enemy fire while power armor and Nurgle's corpulence protected his flesh. He will only stop when the followers of the False Emperor enter his sights.

[DrK]

Bullets and grenade blasts rock the boarding collar as screams and the splatters of blood fill the smoky air as the first few of the reaver crew are mercilessly cut down by concerted fire from the defenders.

Alicia bursting through the breach is buried in the screams and blasts and falling bodies as her lips are splashed with fresh blood from the man next to her being torn to pieces by the hail of shotgun fire...

To her left the corridor is filled with a surge of crew from the Penal transporter running and firing to within ~10m of her. A motley collection of shotcannons, autopistols and crude hammers anr welding torches in their hands. A peaked hat of an officer behind them waving his power blade some 15m away

To her right ducking behind an improvise barricade of bulkheads and steel plating is a collections of 5 shield and shotgun toting Arbites of the Penal Transport divison. A senior arbite behind them as he speaks into a microbead - his jaw tight with rage or fear!


As only Alicia was "leading the charge" then rest of you are at least 6m back from exiting the boarding collar.

Initiative "good guys" [roll0]



http://images.wikia.com/warhammer40k/images/e/e5/Adeptus_Arbites_Patrol.jpg

[Henry the 57th]

Vul takes a look at the puny mortals packed so tightly together. So weak... So fragile...

Vul holsters his autocannon, bringing out his heavy flamer instead, images of screaming, burning Imperials dancing in his head.

[Mekboy]

Alicia gleefully leapt forward, piling into the mob of crewmen. Their deaths would make the officer's so much sweeter. Another head for the rack.

Attacks against the horde:
WS: 53 +10 (frenzy) +10 (hatred) +30 (berserk charge) +10 (best quality weapons) -10 (two weapons)
Power fist: [roll0] vs 103 7 degrees of success(4 extra hits) and power weapon (+1 hits), therefore 6 hits.
Chainsword: [roll1] vs 103 8 degress of success (4 extra hits), therefore 5 hits.

Total of eleven hits, which will pretty much certainly do damage (14+2d10 or 8+3b1d10.

[watupwithdat]

A chokepoint. was Qaeviir's first thought when he saw the scene infront of him. He purposedly stayed a bit behind the guardsmen and power armoured heretics, as to use them as a shield for himself. He had no plans on running out into some kind of potential pincer. The enraged khornate woman warrior did not appear to have such considerations for herself, though.

The Magister moved up a bit, see if he could catch a quick glimpse of whatever force they had to bear on the right flank. He could not offer much in direct fighting prowess, but he had his mind, and his mind was powerful.

With his back to the wall obscuring him from the mob the khornate woman just charged in a rage, he could see several arbites and one who he assumed was their superior behind a makeshift barricade. They did not seem to react to the presence of the Magister, curiously, though that could just be because of what else had caught their attention.

[Unbeknownst]

Clomping just a couple of meters forward so that she has a better view, Mortia fires her combi-bolter into the crowd of people, hoping to clear the way towards the leader farther back so that one of her more combat savvy companions could get through.

Ballistics 41+30(Horde)+10(Short Range)-20(Firing into melee)= 61

Can't use infamy to reroll cuz I'm a Nurglite. Bah.

Lets see how this goes

[Emperor Ing]

Nephthys strides forward, firing off three shots into the crew members

Ballistics (Single shot) Semi Auto
Target 91
[roll0]

[DrK]

The hallway disintergrates into violence and bloodshed within seconds as the heavily armoured and armed aolytes push through the crew dogs and reavers. Ignoring the hail of that cuts down the pirates to her left and right Alicia plunges bloodily into the mass of crew. Her rage and hate almost as effective as her chain and fist at blocking and parrying attacks as she carves a bloody path through the crew leaving a trail of broken bodies and twitching blood soaked severed limbs in her wake. A half dozen crewmen struck down in seconds.

The crewmen are sorely pressed further as with a mechanical rumbling both Mortia and Nepthys, the latter's tail filling the air with a strange and sticky gooey musk push up the corridor slowly. Bolter and combi-bolter spraying toxic death and explosive into the crewmen chewing through them with brutal efficiency as the walls were soon painted red with fresh blood.

Its too much for the bonded armsmen. Despite the screams and shouts of the officer the shcked and wounded survivors turn and flee as fast as they can, several too slow to move die as the frenzied Alicia carves out the back of their head or tears out their spines with sword and fist.

18 mag damage and a failed WP check means "flee"

The officer- the last one left hacks down the nearest reaver with his power blade before leaping foward to engage Alicia, "For St Annard and Glory" - his pistol blazing away and his power sword hacking at her...


Charge and attack Alicia
Power sword [roll0] TN 53
-1 DoS damage [roll1] PEN5
-3 DoS damage [roll2] PEN5
-5 DoS damage [roll3] PEN5
Autopistol [roll4] TN 41
- Damage [roll5] PEN 2


Even as the bloody hail of fire fades away the corridors echo with screaming and shouting as a wall of reavers slam into the arbite line, a crackle of electricity as the shock shields are activated and then the puffs of red mist as the arbites unleash point blank shotgun fury killing many and holding their line. THe reaver crew still rushing and running about as they pour onto the Penal Transporter... Seeing the crew break and flee you can hear a muttered curse from the Arbite leader as he shouts an order to his men - the order lost over the roar of the throng assaulting him as with a last blast of the shotguns leaving more dead and wounded they double time fall back keeping shields up and close together... the revear pack following close behind.


Arbites double time it back - falling 8m back - 23m away from the T-junction
- vanishing from view as well
- THe Reaver crew runs onto the ships so the corridor going left and right has a goodly pile of reavers in as well

[Henry the 57th]

Vul grinned beneath his helmet as he watched the miserable mob of Imperial wretches flee. Excellent work, Alicia

With those fools gone and the pathetic officer soon to follow, that left only the Arbites for extermination. But of course the cowards were already fleeing. Typical Imperial fools. Did they really think that would save them? Vul shook his head. It mattered not.

Vul released his spell of protection to speed his step, moving swiftly out of the pod and intersection. He smiled maliciously as the Arbites came into view. So what if a few reavers where in the way? That was their fault, for standing between an Astartes and his prey.

"Burn, slaves of the dead Emperor!"

Drop Telekinetic Shield. Half Movement 6. Half Action to fire the flamer at the Arbites.

[Mekboy]

Laughing, Alicia easily evaded the officer's swings. The poor deluded fool. Glory was for the mighty.

Try and feint, then swift attack with powerfist/lightning attack with chainsword

Opposed WS test for feint: [roll0] vs 53, with 1 extra degree of success

Chainsword: [roll1] vs 53. 2 hits.
Power fist: [roll2] vs 63. 3 hits.

[Emperor Ing]

Feeling particularly uplifted, Nephthys grins at the thought of the corpses being left where they lay, where the dead may fester and rot, bring glory to Father Nurgle. In his desire for additional bodies he turns and trains his bolter on the apparent leader of the Arbites. He takes aim, and lets loose several bolts to pound against the fools. And fools they are, there's no way they can survive at a pace like that.


Half Action 1: Take Aim (+10 to fire)

Half Action 2:
Bolter (Semi-Auto)
Target 71: (base 51 + 10 (close range) + 10 (aim)
[roll0]
damage (+2 from...crack shot I think? I KNOW I have the bonus damage talent)
DOS 2
[roll1] Pen 4
DOS 4
[roll2] Pen 4
DOS 6
[roll3] Pen 4

Rerolls (Tearing quality)
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]

[watupwithdat]

With the reavers and his makeshift 'companions' surging forward, Qaeviir strode into the open of the corridor, not fearing any stray shots from whatever the imperials had left against them. As the arbites and their officer had retreated back from the incoming horde and terminator-clad Astartes, Qaeviir figured that way would lead to a more important, and assumably interesting, section of the vessel.

Qaeviir moves right towards the retreating arbites. Obviously not in the line of effect of Vul's flamer.

[DrK]

Alicia and the Officer exchange wild and rapid blows, the khornate renegade gaining the upper hand as the chain blade hacks deeply into the officer's leg in a torrent of blood as he drops to one knee cursing and tears forming in his eyes.

To the right death reigns supreme. In a vast pillar of flame tha burning promethium engulfs the corridor as 5 of the arbites begin to scream, their bodies living pyres of molten flesh. The ballistic surcoats only prolonging their agony. The dozen or so reavers caught in the vast wave of flame all screaming as the corridor immediatly fills with twitching, screaming melting flesh!

Even as the officer leaps back from the flames, his plumed helmet marking him out he is blown off his feet twitching weakly on the ground as the nurgleheim marines casually hoses him down.



Arbite Officer - takes a Crit 5 body hit
- [roll0] TN 55agains blood loss
- knocked prone
- [roll1] fatigue

5 arbites - all take 13 wounds (crit 1 energy hits)
- Half action next turn (but they are all on fire so its not good anway)

The Heretek is still to take actions.

There are 5 burning arbites, a still active arbite, and a downed arbite officer to the right
To the left there is a wounded ship's officer battling Alicia (and losing)

[Unbeknownst]

Clomping foreward, Mortia watches as the horde of men flee and Alicia tearing into the officers leg. Turning, she watches as most of the arbites are turned into flaming torches, one somehow ignoring the blast al together, shrugging lightly in her suit, she fires at him.

[roll0] v 41+10(Close Range) = 51

[Emperor Ing]

Aaa pox upon theeee...joooin your brothers in caaarrion... The Plague Marine brings more bolts to bear, this time against the standing Arbites


Half Action 1: Another Aim (I'm assuming they don't stack)
Half Action 2: Semi Auto Bolt Target 71
[roll0]

[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]

Tearing
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]

[watupwithdat]

The gaut of flames engulging the reavers and the arbites in the narrow corridor lit up Qaeviir's mask. Maybe such a sight would have frightened someone else. But this Magister Immaterial was unfazed.

As the flamer stopped spewing promethium, Qaeviir could see the officer had somehow avoided the flames. Such luck. Maybe the Weaver of Fates has a special place for him? Let's put that theory to the test. The Magister Immaterial raised and extended his free hand towards the officer as he moved towards him, the fingers all separated like he wanted to feel the air, and manifested several jolts of lightning leaving his fingers making their way toward the arbites officer.

Half action, move 3m towards the arbites. Should be ~14m from them.

Half action, Unfettered, Neural Storm, +0 Willpower Focus Power test [roll0] vs 85
Psychic Barrage, 5 DoS (= shocking & haywire 5), 3 hits, rolled in OOC.

[Mekboy]

Even as the officer fell, Alicia did not abate, still raining down blows. "You die kneeling before your betters, corpse-lover."

Lightning attack/swift attack again. Half action aim if he's still alive, move one down the corridor if not.

Chainsword: [roll0] vs 53
Power fist:[roll1] vs 63

[Henry the 57th]

Vul laughs like a madman as the Arbites burn. "Yes! Yes! Death to the False Emperor!" he screams at the top of his lungs.

Vul strides purposefully forward, firing again at the Arbites.

Half move of 6, fire the flamer again.

[DrK]

Even as combi-bolter rounds miss the last standing arbite the others collapse to the ground rolling and writing as the flames burn them slowly to death and the surviving reavers reach them and take great glee in unloading long and brutal blasts from thei shot cannons at point blank range blowing chunks of meat off the arbites. The last of the arbites going down in a welter of bullets, fists and mono-blades screaming.

THe officer is the worst off... his mind and body melting as his neural pathways are fried and melted by the psykers powerful mind. THough its short lived as again the mighty flamer enguilfs the corridor burnig another dozen reaver crew to death.

No point rolling, they are doomed!

THe reavers, many of them, look at Vul with trepidation taking in the corridor of burning and steaming bodies and his flamer. Cursed marines a comment more than once mentioned.

The officer has time for one last lunge at Alicia before he is overwhelmed by attacks from the Reavers that savage, stab and pummel him horribly to death.

All out attack [roll0] TN 63
Damage [roll1] PEN 5

Even as the bodies soak the deck the screams and shouts as Reavers continue to pour onto the vessel bounces around the corridor and echoes from other decks above and below where other boarding ramps penetrated the penal transport's hull. You see one of the Last Hope's officers pausing near you... "Get down to the prison pens. We'll get 50 thousand slaves if we get any!"
Looking at the burned bodies he screams at Vul "You kill any more of my men and you'll be breathing the void bastard. See how long you last when the Hope's main guns blows you to little pieces

Edited after PC actions

[Henry the 57th]

Vul walks over to stand in front of the little human who was threatening him, his Terminator frame towering above him. "You are threatening a sorcerer of the Black Legion?" Vul says quietly, raising an eyebrow beneath his helmet.

Intimidate: [roll0] vs. 60

[Mekboy]

This wasn't enough. Even the the taste of blood on her lips, the scent of burnt flesh in the air and the screams of the dying ringing in her ears, it wasn't enough. And these... rodents dared strike the final blow! With an inarticulate shriek of rage, she swung into the reaver hordes surrounding her.

[watupwithdat]

The officer most likely tried to scream, though prevented by the neural attack of the bio-lightning, as he was drowned in flame. Qaeviir now knew the answer to his question. Of course, he has not.

The prison pens. A lot of souls for the taking. The Magister Immaterial did not mind going there at all. With some static crackling between his fingertips he started walking in the direction the pens were in, assuming the rest would follow and go ahead soon enough. He had little intention of leading the way there.

[DrK]

The man pales slightly but still sneers back, we leave you here warlock.you still dead. you burn one more of us you and your friends all die now or maybe see how long you can breathe void eh?

Even as he speaks the throng of reavrers stares at the heretics. Vengeful malice in their eyes.

resist/intimidate you
[roll0] TN 108

[Henry the 57th]

Vul looks at the reavers and considers the odds briefly, his helmet keeping his expressions concealed.

After a moment, he says. "Very well. I shall take more care to avoid your men in the future. At present though, you would be well advised to do something about that." He points a taloned finger of his chainfist at the rampaging Khornate.

Vul strides towards Alicia. "Stop this at once!"

[Mekboy]

As a handful more of the impudent rats fell to the floor, wounded or dead, Alicia's fury dissipated. Breathing slowing, she lowered her weapons. "He was mine." she replied by way of explanation, dispassionately glancing down at the corpses, clearly believing herself justified. "He was mine, and these vermin interrupted."

[watupwithdat]

Qaeviir stepped over the charred bodies, careful not to dirty his fine robes crafted from rare fabrics on Q'Sal, evidently being the only one actually moving towards the prison pens, the rest having some kind of argument. The Magister Immaterial had not been listening to the shouting, his thoughts instead on all the souls for picking. He stopped and turned around, waiting impatiently for the other of his 'companions' to actually start making their way there and catch up.

[Henry the 57th]

"Nonetheless, it would behoove us not to kill any more of them - the seem rather angry about it, and they do control our ride. It would be most inconvenient to have to get to the system without them." Vul says.

Reaching out with telepathic hands, Vul carefully snatches the temporarily disabled force field from the officer's corpse.

Fettered Precision Telekinesis: [roll0] vs. 77

If it fails, he rolls again until it doesn't: [roll1], [roll2], [roll3], [roll4], [roll5]

[Mekboy]

As Vuul takes the force-field from the corpse, Alicia grabs for it. "And you too try to take what is rightfully mine, witch! I slew the man, I take the pickings."

OOC
Sorry if this is a little abrasive, but I imagine Alicia getting very protective of stuff she percieves hers (i.e. on corpses she considers her kill). Also you do kinda have terminator armour defence-wise while I have carapace.

[Henry the 57th]

"Then take it. I suppose you'll be wanting his sword as well?"

It's fine. The character isn't you, and you should roleplay their personality.

[Mekboy]

"But of course." Taking the sword from the battered corpse, Alicia, crouched down to remove the officer's head. Another offering. Almost as an afterthought, she took up the corpse's now somewhat bloodstained cap. The looted symbol of authority, one of those little shows of power against the hated foe. Impaling the fresh head amongst those of older foes on the mass of spikes mounted on her shoulder, considered the marine. Still an oddity - far more direct than any other warp-witch she'd been forced to acquaint with before. And the nerve to try and steal from her. Nevertheless, there were more important things on hand to worry about than some presumptuous Astartes brainjob.

"I believe we have some slaves to acquire."

[Henry the 57th]

"I believe we do." says Vul, as he considers the little human. Brash, arrogant, and with an inflated sense of her own self-importance in the universe. Vul snorts softly at the thought, his helmet concealing the gesture. What possible true importance could such a tiny, short-lived creature have? None. She will be just another in a long line of humans he has used and replaced when they inevitably expired. This list of such names is great, and Vul long ago stopped bothering to keep track of it. Cultists who assisted him in hiding from Imperial authorities, mercenaries sent before him to absorb enemy fire, psykers who aided his search for artifacts... Vul shrugs mentally, remembering many humans he has used up over the long years of bitter exile, not caring one mite for their expiration in his cause.

The fact that she can work up the nerve to stand up to him without any backup is somewhat impressive, but that is most likely because she simply doesn't realize how easy it would be to dispose of her at any time. No matter - she seems to be useful, and shouldn't be so hard to control as long as he can provide her with enemies to slake her bloodlust.

Qaeviir though... Vul narrows his eyes. The psyker is another matter. He is physically weak, but his mind and powers are strong. And the disciples of Tzeentch are notoriously hard to predict. Vul resolves to keep a close eye on that one, just in case he should start to consider any kind of treachery. Tzeencth is not known as the Lord of Lies for nothing, and Vul knows little of Q'Sal and its denizens. His agenda is too unknown for Vul to invest too much trust in him, for the moment.

"Let's be off, then." says Vul, striding towards Qaeviir.

[Unbeknownst]

Mortia turned full to face the captain as they traded threats. Annoyed with the captain, she decided to let his threats go for now. If she had the chance, she would kill him later, if only for thinking he could attempt to kill one such as herself. With that, she turned at slowly stomped her way after the small group, her internal auspex scanning for anything technologically interesting as her armored feet simply crushed any stray bodies in her path.

[Henry the 57th]

Vul himself will be keeping an eye out for any chapels, shrines, or other artifacts of the false worship of his accursed grandfather. If he sees any, he will stop to go and defile them brutally and thoroughly, smashing statues, icons, windows, artwork, and any other signs of the ridiculous superstition. Finally, a great Eye of Horus will be crudely cut with the powered claws of his chainfist into the most prominent area of the shrine - a preview of sorts to Vul's intentions for Terra.

[watupwithdat]

They finally seemed to be done with their pointless and uninteresting bickering. Atleast the terminator-clad sorcerer was moving towards the Magister, so Qaeviir continued the walk to the penal pens to claim some souls for himself, the sorcerer soon catching up and taking the lead with his warp-enhanced speed.

The Magister Immaterial could understand the benefits of manifesting and maintaining that particular power having researched it among many other spells himself. He was quite sure he had some lore regarding it documented in his grimoire. It was not a spell he was much interested in actually using himself, though. It was more beneficial for a warrior. Qaeviir was not one, obviously.

[Emperor Ing]

Not really one to engage in petty clashes of hubris against hubris, the plague marine hangs back, not really taking sides. But if it came to blows, damn if he wasn't going to just let himself be killed by either an overly ambitious reaver or a sorcerer who thinks his membership in some petty, failing excuse for a Legion gives him special privilege. Fortunately it works itself out and he is once again striding towards somewhere where more followers of the false emperor may be killed.

[DrK]

As Vul backs down and Alicia snaps out of her rage after only shredding two of the reavers that had encroached her kill the officer relents giving you a sneer as he turns and vanishes into the horde of Reavers pouring onto the pinned Penal Transporter.

The bones of the dead crunch and squelch under your feet as you tramp over the charred corpses and march down the corridors. The terminator clad heretek keeping your pace slower than that of the Reavers though the number of bodies increases as the defences thicken the further you penetrate into the vessel. The sound of screaming and gunfire constantly in your ears and the fog of battle and blood splattered walls a tracker of where the battle has been. Your own weapons are bloodied as well - wounded who twitched or imperial stragglers or fugitives easily dispatched by your martial prowess.

As you advance falling into a strangely quiet section as the Reavers are fully committed to the boarding action now you can hear the microbeads chirping... "There's a shed load of the dogs holed up in the chapel. Deck 8 Aft section", "Can't reach tyhe bridge. Falling back, Too many defences and a Inquisitor. Falling back." "Reached the 1st prisoner bay. Bastards vented it before we could breach. THey've voided all 15000 of the scum" "Arbite Precinct house is pinned down. It too much to take..."


Essentially before the Reaver ship pulls away from being fired at continously you have time to reach one destination
1. Bridge
2. Prisoner Holding Bay 2
3. Arbite Precinct
4. The Temple Shrine to the Emperor

Remembder you're only moving at 4m/round (full move for the Heretek so are comapratively slow)

[Henry the 57th]

"We should eliminate the men in the chapel first." Vul says. "Break their spirits and shatter their faith. Show them how powerless their "god" really is. Otherwise we can expect them to fight to the last, destroying all of use to us."

[watupwithdat]

An Inquisitor? Qaeviir had heard rumours and such on Q'Sal of various Inquisitors and some things they had accomplished. They seemed like quite capable individuals, he had thought. To turn one of those into the worship of the Lord of Lies, or just change one into lifelessness, would likely please Tzeentch and gain him favour with the Changer.

The Magister had no need to go to a chapel of the corpse-god, he was confident in his own worship of the Changer of Ways that he did not have to overcompensate destroying a petty chapel, unlike the Astartes sorcerer evidently. "Most unwise, considering our options. We go to the bridge. Cut off their head. Then the body will be blind and falter. Take control of the vessel. Then we go on your faith-crushing quest." Being one of the legendary Astartes he should atleast know some basic strategy, he assumed. Their faith to the rotting corpse is not in their chapel, it is inside of them. Ingrained like a stain. You need to remove the stain, instead of destroying an unimportant chapel. How very insecure of his own beliefs he must be. If only he would embrace Tzeentch as his one and only Dark God, he would understand as well.

[Henry the 57th]

Little fool Vul thinks Does he know nothing? The dogs of the Emperor are never more determined than when facing us - especially if an Inquisitor is among them. No Inquisitor will leave anything for us.

"They will destroy the bridge before they allow us to take it. If we had a Legion boarding force, we might be able to do it quickly enough, but we do not. If we do not break their will first, they will destroy whatever we can use before we can take it. We lack the speed and shock power necessary to force a breakthrough quickly enough to avert that. That being the case, we must break their will before we engage them. Only then can we hope to capture what we seek relatively intact."

[watupwithdat]

"If they destroy it. Then it is no matter. We don't need the bridge. They do." The Magister started signing what he was expressing at this point as well. "Even if you destroy the chapel. The rest of the vessel will assumably. Not know about it. If all in the chapel is dead. Therefore defeating the purpose of your 'plan'". He rested his voice for a moment. "There will always be chapels for you to destroy. There are a finite amount of these Inquisitors. The difference in importance should be obvious." Qaeviir was surprised logic failed to reach the sorcerer. Is he so blinded by his own hate of the imperial creed he can not think clearly? This could be a liability, even more so than one mindless khornate. Atleast you could direct a khornate's bloodlust to some extent.

[Emperor Ing]

Theee....Inquiiisitooor...muuust leeearn huuumility... The plague marine is able to spew out his own input.
Theeey...think theeemseeelves suuuperiooor...to Chaaaos. To thooose who seeerve...aaal are eeequal...befooore Nuuurgle. Cuuut off the heeead, the body will rot. We maaake for the briiidge.

[Mekboy]

An Inquisitor's head. Now that would be a trophy. Even the officer, who she'd assumed to be of some threat, had been too easy. An Inquisitor though... A worthy adversary. "Yes, cut off the head. You saw the dross hounds that we fight here. There's no glory in killing vermin."

[Unbeknownst]

Mortia turned and slowly clomped towards the bridge as soon as she heard an Inquisitor was aboard, barely registering the argument going on around her. After all, there was an Inquisitor aboard! Why waste this chance to land upon possibly some of the best technologies the Imerium had to offer? "Do what you will, no matter your decision, I head to the bridge."