To Tread The Paths of the Gods: Where Angels Fear To Tread

[Aneurin]

No-one knows how long Omega Deck has been abandoned. No-one knows why it was abandoned. No-one knows what was in it, either.

All anyone can say with certainty is that it hasn't been inhabited by humans in generations, as records declare the losses of a number of expeditions to chart the lost vaults by any number of Rogue Traders over the centuries.

As such, when word spread that the legendary Adeptus Astartes were to reclaim the deck, quite a crowd was drawn. Anyone who is anyone is present; the Master Helmsman Marra Vyn is much in evidence in her distinctive squig-hide jacket, the Navigators have emerged from their spire and are warily rubbing elbows with a coterie of Astropaths; even the ancient Confessor Turrets has put in an appearance in his archeotech monstrosity of a wheelchair. The air still rings with the screams of those who didn't move out of his way in time.

It feels like the entire ship's complement of crew has turned out to wish you well, kiss your armour and ask you to bless their children. There's a ring of ship-board security around you now, keeping the mob at bay - and quite possibly protecting them from your reprisals when some of the more enterprising attempt to collect 'souvenirs' off your armour and weapons.

The speeches have been many, long and largely pointless; but the crowd is in a convivial mood. The Lady-Corsair Undynne herself has even put in an appearance, publicly to praise her crew and your selves, and privately to warn you that if you make any holes in the hull she'll have you fed into the plasma drives. At long last, though, the time to embark on your mission is at hand; a team of workers has finally cut through one of the blast doors, allowing you access to the main walkway of Omega Deck.

The dark corridor lies before you, and the festival crowd at your rear; do you go boldly forth on your mission, or tarry a moment to speak words of wisdom and inspiration to the faceless peons of the ship?


Primary: Reclaim the deck in the name of the Emperor. [In Progress]
Secondary: Learn why the deck was abandoned. [In Progress]
Tertiary: Discover the fate of previous cartography expeditions. [In Progress]
Tertiary: Restore control of the deck's servitors to the Eternia Circuit. [In Progress]

Other objectives may be added during the course of the sub-mission.

[Tyrrell]

Pyriel silently absorbs the approbation trying to return the warm emotions but not succeeding completely. His mind is still reviewing the records of the previous attempts to secure the area that he had studied earlier reviewing their equipment and plans trying not to make the same mistakes.

[Aneurin]

As you walk down the gloomy corridors, the sounds of the festival crowd die away - replaced by scuttlings, scrapings and chittering that seem to come from everywhere at once.

It's clear time has taken it's toll here - door hatches are corroded and warped, ancient fabrics moulder and collapse to dust as you touch them - and everywhere are the plants. Vines, flowers, even a small tree that seems to be growing out of a large pot that probably contained someone's dinner once run wild. Though, curiously enough, small trails run through the foliage - far too small for humans - but obviously frequently used.

Not that you have a great deal of time to ponder on what could have made such tracks as several somethings nearby let out a bellowing roar, and a high-pitched squealing starts nearby. A dozen diminuitive green figures, some not even six inches high, come running around a bend in the passage just ahead of you.

The front-runners come to a skidding halt, staring at you in horror, causing the less-observant ones behind them to slam into their backs, resulting in a shrieking, squabbling mess of figures lying on the floor.


They're snotlings, and they're definitely not what was roaring - though the terrified shrieks were probably theirs.

The snarls sounded an awful lot like squigs - and they're probably coming this way.

[Tyrrell]

Pyriel analyzed the situation quickly, he didn't want the snotlings, limited as they were, to escape to communicate news of his kill team's presence. But using too much weaponry would announce their presence to all even faster. He couldn't hope to kill them all with his sword before some escaped. By the time that he had computed that use of his pistol was the least undesireable of all of his poor choices the part of his mind that consistently thought of ballistics had already determined his movements.


free action, pull his bolt pistol
full action semi auto burst
free action(?) holster his pistol
Balistic skill 71 +10 semi auto, +10 short range (or is it +30 point blank?), -20 puny target?
[roll0]

damage 1d10 +11 +2 critical damage, tearing, blast 2 apparently the best of x die rolls + number doesn't work so I'll have to add the damage bonus to the roll without the benefit of the software. I'll put up three damages even though it's not es[ecially likely that he'll get three the four degrees of success needed
[roll1]

[Aneurin]

The diminuitive greenskins don't so much die under the bolter fire, as explode. Where they were standing is now a gore and organ splattered mess, and the floor and corridor walls are pitted and scarred from the bolt shell's burst. Pity the lowly crewman tasked to cleaning when your work here is done.

However, you have little time to muse on the work you created for some nameless peon in the future, as what appears to be an ambulatory set of teeth on legs comes bounding around the corner of the corridor intersection, followed by three... friends? That's probably the wrong word, but you find yourself facing four horrifically fanged maws, complete with drooling, lashing tongues.

Unlike the snotlings before them, the squigs do not hesitate at the sight of you. You are there, and you are alive, and therefore you're food. With gleeful snarls, they begin bouncing towards you - their desire to feast on your flesh obvious.

Squigs are 10m away, you have initiative.

...and give me a Challenging Awareness (Hearing) roll, please?

[Tyrrell]

The calculus for his immediate actions was obvious, the creatures had large teeth but no guns. It was clearly best to engage from range. "For the Emperor" Pyriel said, not yelled. In fact if it weren't for the reverence placed upon the final word, his battle cry statement would sound an arrogant taunt. Pyrel was focused on performing the task at hand to the exclusion of a respectable blood curdling cry.

Echo of Da’kir spoke in battle for the first time in months as he let loose with a full auto burst then the jets on his jump pack kicked in as Pyriel moved back away from the beasts and (hopefully) towards his other kill team members


For Challenging Awareness (Hearing) he needs 85 or less
[roll0]

Actions
half action full auto burst (a half action because of suspensors)
half action move backwards 12 meters (movement is double due to his jump pack)

ballistics skill 71 +10 motion predictor, +10 signature wargear master, +20 full auto, +10 close range, (+10 hulking?) so I'm looking for less than 121 or perhaps less than 131

[roll1]

I'll do damage in the OOC thread if I hit

[Aneurin]

The squigs simply vanish in a hail of gore and micro-shrapnel. Except for one - riding the blast wave the slavering maw hurtles down the corridor at break neck speed, until a shot from Pyriel clips it mid-flight, and throws it into a nearby wall with a sickening thud and a sharp crack of breaking bone. Astonishingly, though, the beast appears to have survived the fury of one of the Angels of Death - battered, broken and bleeding on the floor it's ragged flanks still heave even though it's eyes are glazed over.

In the distance, Pyriel can hear receding high-pitched voices shreaking 'They'z comin', they'z comin'!' and the pounding of fleeding footsteps. The voices are deeper than the screeches of the barely-sentient snotlings, and far more voice-like than the snarlings of the squigs.

From here, there are two ways to go - you could take the narrower turning the suigs came from, and which the voices seem to be heading along, or you could carry on along the main passageway.

Squig is Stunned, suffering from Blood Loss, and [roll0] levels of Fatigue. It's entirely at your mercy, or lack there-of.

If you want to move in a different direction from the ones I've given you, you could go back the way you came or you could probably punch your way through some of the thinner bulkheads - though the Captain may try and throw you out of an airlock if she ever finds out you did that.

If you carry on up the main corridor, could you give me an Easy Awareness (Sight) test, please? And if you want to catch the source of the voices, you'll need three +10 Agility tests.

[Tyrrell]

Pyriel quickly dispatches the squig with his sword.

Retreating voices, He only had a minute to think.

Chase after the voices: he could easily be charging head first into a well prepared defense/trap.

Take the main corridor: he could easily be proceeding cautiously head first into a well prepared defense/trap.

Pause for a few hours and hope that the targets let their guard down and perhaps sent out some scouts to fall into his well prepared defense/trap.

Awareness sight 85 +30 easy looking for a 115 or less:smallsmile:1d100

[Aneurin]

As Pyriel advances down the corridor, he sees it becomes more and more overgrown; the metal of the corridor is pitted and corroded, and working strip lights are fewer and farther between. After a few minutes of walking, however, you notice something strange; there are regular patches of cleared greenery, where the metal is polished and shiny, if a little worn. Down the middle of the corridor, linking the patches, is a trail of crushed and broken plants as if something has trampled them.

Dense though the undergrowth is, it barely hinders a fully-armoured Space Marine and Pyriel's progress is rapid. It is not long before he spots a dark opening to one side of the corridor where the crushed trail seems to originate. There's some form of crude, brutish scrawling on a cleared patch of the door frame in what looks suspiciously like the orkoid races' feeble attempts at a written language. Curiously, though, it seems to bear some (likely blasphemous) resemblance to the Imperial Aquilla.

Sorry! Sort of lost motivation there for a bit.

Your options are to enter the room, carry on (the corridor's much more overgrown ahead though, so I may be asking you for a Strength check at some point), turn back or do something else entirely. In future would you mind letting me know if you plan to walk down corridors stealthily/quickly/observantly etc.? Just so's I can adjust what you run into/don't run into accordingly?

Thanks.