Topple the Corpse-God IC

[sean_hyer]

TOPPLE THE CORPSE-GOD

At last, at LAST, it was time. When the summons had gone out, he had been nervous, yes he had. Terrified, even. Wracked with doubts and uncertainties as to the part he had to play, and the complexities of the plan. But now that the hour was nigh, the pieces in place, and the keys to the whole thing gathered before him, all that fear was swept away to be replaced by a giddy certainty.

One last check and yes, everyone who had been called was here. None had come right out into the open yet - good, good. Such caution would serve them well. But they were there, lurking on high stanchions or wrapped in shadows, watching. The first had arrived some days earlier, staking out the place, while the last had arrived mere moments before. Such good dogs, to come when called.

Unable to hold back a laugh, he stalked out to meet them. At last, at LAST, it was time.



The place you have been called to is a wide open space, deep in the depths of a fallen city on the world of Roubard. Once it had soared great and gleaming and majestic, but an ork horde generations ago had gutted it, along with most of the world it stood on. Perhaps in time, the ever-growing population of the world will see it reclaimed, its empty streets and darkened rooms lit and bustling once again.

You came here through the broken streets, past ruined buildings, until you reached a clearing of sorts, perhaps a few hundred meters across, flat and grass-covered. But even your most potent powers and keenest sensors tell you what your eyes already see. There is nothing there.

Suddenly, a mad cackling splits the air. Space... shifts, somehow, and where before there was nothing there is now an old man, stumbling to a halt the middle of the clearing, leaning heavily on a staff. Two things are immediately apparent about him. First, he is a powerful psyker, if dangerously uncontrolled. Little flashes of warp energy spark around him, gathering on the end of his walking stick and crowning him with a corona of fire. And second, he is clearly mad. Quite apart from the fact that he is now standing on his beard, and trying to work out why he can't move, he has been keeping a running stream of conversation with himself going since he arrived, interspersed with further bursts of cackling. "Yes yes, must... good impression... no... NO... why... care what they think... haHA heh... but it might... no, nonono... hahaHAHAHaha... why can't no bad wait... "

Even as you watch, he suddenly straightens, turns his face upwards, raises his staff and slams it down onto the field. Power coruscates from its tip, then suddenly winks out as an eerie glow begins at his feet. A wash of malevolent light begins to spiral outwards, burning through the grass and ground cover to leave a tracery of blackened runes. Ghostly outlines of wings and horns appear around him, and the psyker begins to babble once more - loudly, and even less intelligibly.

But as you listen, you can hear a voice, woven through the nonsensical chatter. A voice which is speaking to you.

"You know, of course, that you are blessed. You may even have some idea of just how blessed. You can see the beauty of the Empyrean, the intricate patterns left on this world. If only I could reveal myself to you. If I could but show you my true form, I know you would understand, that you would help me escape for the asking.

Alas, this accursed binding prevents me from doing that. So for now, I promise you knowledge. For I know much that is forgotten, is lost or forbidden. Only free me, and I shall share this trove with you. Remember, though - out of all of the agents I have gathered here, you are the one I would favor most. You are blessed.""Such tragedy I see in your past, little lost lamb. So spurned by the nation of your birth that you have turned to us - to their worst enemies - for succour. And succour we will grant.

I know that you are afraid, that you are wary. You still half-believe the lies of the Imperium. You still call us Chaos, the very name betraying our fractured nature. Such hypocrisy. You yourself have seen the chaos that underpins every nation. Betrayed from without and within, the Imperium fights itself much as we do. But unlike the Imperium, which claims unity despite the clear cracks in its facade, Chaos Undivided IS unity. All parts working towards a greater goal.

So join me - free me - and together we can conquer this world. Free it from the lies of the Imperium and unite it under the banner of Chaos Undivided. Free me, and I will grant you power. Power to protect your companions, to conquer those who oppose you. Free me!""You are an odd one. Your mind is troubled, and at first I debated against calling you here at all. After all, I cannot give you a clean conscience. I could remove the memories that plague you, but that is not what you desire.

But I can offer you two things. The first: the chance to undo an injustice. For merely the crime of being here, of existing, I was imprisoned. For nineteen hundred and thirty six standard years now I have languished here. Your human mind cannot even begin to comprehend such a span. And for a being of freedom such as me, this binding is torture.

And the second? I can offer you power. I know you do not desire power for power's sake, as some do. But you desire to change the world, and to do that? You need power. Free me and I will help you make this universe right.""Tzeench worshippers are always my favorites. They're just so much fun. I mean, I could make a deal with you. Offer you forbidden knowledge, ancient rituals or powers, or some such triviality to earn your service for a time.

But instead, I think I will make you a challenge. Pit your wits against mine. If you win, once I am free I will bind to you some portion of my power, to use as you see fit until the day that you die. Very generous, no? And if I win? Well, if I win, you will still have set me free. I will ask nothing more of you.

So, do we have a deal? My freedom, in exchange for this chance for greatness?

What game are we playing? My dear child, just where would be the fun in me telling you that?""Nameless servant of fear and death. I know your name. But more than that, I name you fool.

In the specific instance, to spread fear, remaining anonymous is a powerful tool. But to build a reputation for yourself, as the death that stalks in shadows, as the silent knife in the night? Who will connect a hundred deaths on half a hundred worlds together into one legend? All the work you have done so far is for naught, for only a scant few know you as the culprit.

So I offer you a way out. I offer you fame alongside anonymity, the paradox you strive for. Free me, and you shall see the nameless death feared across a dozen worlds.""Ah, if only every man were like you. What a world we would have. You desire much... so much. Such appetite! Such gluttony! But what should I promise you, when you desire everything? Should I promise you wealth? I own riches beyond measure. Fame? I could make WORLDS tremble at your name. Women? What need would you have for mere mortal women when I could bind the most beautiful of daemonettes to your side.

But I cannot give you everything, or how would I barter for your services in future. So for each task you perform, I will grant you one gift. Name it, and it will be yours. For your first task... set me free...""Unlike the rest of these servants of Chaos, I don't need to offer you anything. I don't need to manipulate you.

All I have to do is pose you this as a challenge. Set me free. Do you have the strength? The will?

I suppose in a way, posing that challenge is a manipulation. But, even knowing that, it is one you must accept. To challenge yourself. To see what the world holds. And isn't that just perfect? The best kind of trap, after all, is one that the victim knows is a trap but has no choice but to fall for anyway. So do it. Free me. If you can.""I knew you were competent when I called you. If you weren't, I would have chosen someone different. But now that you are here, and I can see deeper into your mind? Well, now I think I may actually have to like you.

You really do appreciate it. It isn't work, or a cause. It's fun. It's awesome and incredible and there's nothing you'd rather do. So come on! Join me! Set me free, and watch this whole world warp with my presence. I mean, wouldn't you like to see a demon world firsthand?""You think you know pain. Hah. What do you know of pain?

I know pain. I, a being of freedom, change and beauty, have been stuck here, chained immobile and unable to shift my form, for two score times the years you have even LIVED. I know pain.

Do you disagree? Do you dare? Well, then, how about this. Free me from this prison of endless torment, and you may try me. Have you ever tortured a greater demon before? No, of course you have not. But now that I have planted the seed of an idea in your mind, I know you will wish to. So set me free, and try it."


Suddenly, the babbling cuts off, and an eerie silence fills the air. The ephemeral wings grow stronger, and a deep blackness begins to well up around the psyker, swelling ever larger and more powerful. And the voice that had spoken to you comes again, buzzing and powerful, seeming to somehow hang in the air long after the words have faded.

"I am Uomireas, the Multifaceted. Four times was I bound, and four are the seals lain upon me. For each that you break, I will grow stronger - and that strength will be reflected in you. And when you break the last, I will be FREE, and all will be as I have said.

This servant weakens. If you wish to speak with me again, you must bring me a new mouthpiece. Here is the information you will need."

That said, the gaunt figure, barely visible in the torrent of darkness around him, pulls a sheet of parchment from his robe and tosses it to the ground before him. The wings and cloak of shadow and darkness flicker for a second, then vanish, and the psyker is enveloped in a raging sheet of warpfire. When the glare fades, there is no sign anything happened here other than the great ring of runes still smouldering in the grass, and a sheet of parchment tugged by the wind.

Why yes, I am abusing the alien nature of the warp to make sure you all arrive in the same place at the same time.

I fully expect each of you to read what the demon is promising the others. Remember, though, that that's OOC knowledge.

Let the games begin.

[Vexing]

The wind blows, the grass crackles faintly, and the Warp stands silent.

Interesting offer. Inherently untrustworthy. How do I play to win?

With a low sigh--though it couldn't have been, with no lungs--Lacerius takes the first steps forward and snatches the parchment from the ground. His other hand pulls the silvery cloak he wears tighter about himself, as if his new body of steel, bronze and glass could still feel the bite of the wind. Old habits. The man is a peculiar rendition of a human being, shining metal having long since replaced skin and flesh with glazed-ceramite plates of blue, and delicate brass gears spinning in his insides. His face still resembles a proper one enough to catch his expression, a brow lifting under the power of clockwork as his piercing gaze scans the singed parchment. Almost as an afterthought:

"I am Lacerius. I believe the entity intends for us to assist each other...and itself." The Apostate turns to examine the other attendees, privately wondering what they were promised, bribed, or threatened with by the Daemon. He knew well enough that he wouldn't have been the only one to receive such attentions.

[ArcturusV]

He likely would have seemed the odd duck in the gathering of creatures here. Towering Space Marines in baroque armor, half mechanical men, warriors and fallen prophets to the dark powers. And here was a man in what looked like the robes of a menial laborer, an unassuming man sitting in the driver's seat of his chop topped town car painted in a dusk blue. Excellent auto carriage, for those who knew such things. Definitely hand crafted by skilled Tech-Priests in some ancient forge perhaps. But then many people wouldn't recognize such craftsmanship in an auto carriage.

What did make him stand out, was the passenger in the back. Wearing flak weave, a hulking brute, with folded feathered wings against his back. Definitely a twist if there was ever one. The twist was clutching his lasgun close to his chest, more as if it was a safety totem than some weapon, his eyes darting around the area with panicked suspicion, but his eyes were lit up with childish glee at the displays of power from the Great Ones.

Quietly the driver opened the door, closing it gently behind him. Slowly he walked over towards Lacerius as he read the parchment, looking over his shoulder to skim the details off the page. Almost like a ghost he was right there as Lacerius addressed the group, his blank expression staring right into the mechanoid eyes as they passed over him.

"So it would seem. The Great Powers always do leave such open ended riddles to test their supplicants, after all."

[Q'telun]

Among the more human looking members of the group, 24601's only real defining characteristics are the scarlet robes of the Priesthood of Mars, and the brass augmentation that has replaced their throat. With a slight mechanical tone to their voice, they say, "Please elaborate. I do not possess the capabilities to read a document that is facing away from me."

[ArcturusV]

Savros looked over towards the strange creature in the red robes, with the tentacles and metal hands. Metal did seem to be in fashion with this group, it seemed. Cold, unfeeling, inappropriate for the blessings of the Great Powers, as they favored flesh and blood over objects, after all. He shrugged his shoulders, "Oh, not too much. Just talking about a sealed location around a Great Power. And the means to break these seals. Four of them. Requiring in turn mass sacrifices at the location, another requiring the speaking of its Name by the populace, the third speaking of destroying the physical stones of the seal, and the fourth requiring some grand authority to speak the words of release."

He frowned a bit, and his eyes looked over the parchment once more.

"... it doesn't mention a location it seems." This didn't seem to perturb him so much as just seem... typical and exasperated. If it was easy, it wouldn't be the works of the Colors of Reality. His mind though was already unraveling means to find such information, making plans while he looked upon the others. Rivals for the attentions of a God? Were they to be set against one another in this task?

[Hemnon]

Sheila had actually managed to find a (relatively) intact chair and was sitting on it when all of the warp-light show happened. She even uttered a rather cute, but VERY disturbing giggle. Sorta like a School-girl meets Satan's Second Wife... The LESS appreciated one. The words she'd heard in her mind clearly sounded VERY interesting.... but then again, what are promises, if not breakable? Even IF she actually got what she'd been promised, it might not be in the way she'd imagined it.

She sat there, in her chair, legs crossed, wearing something that looked like tight leather of sorts, showing off her body in ways that should (and most likely was) illegal, with her full breasts looking like they were sculpted by Slaanesh Herself (yes, Sheila sees Slaanesh as Female) and then squished up into a slightly too small skin-tight body suit.
A cloak of fabric folded down over her back and the hood kept her face in darkness.
Whatever skin WAS visible (such as her hands for the most part) seemed like it would be marblesmooth with a sort of pleasantly ridged-ness to it. It was also very pale, but in a healthy enough way.

As she leant forth in her chair, the tight outfit of hers suggesting and promising things that would make even the most devout celibate Priest rethink his pledge of no-sex. Her very green eyes was visible from the base lighting here, the reptilian pupils clearly visible and highly enticing to look at. It gave her an exoticness that was both unknown, but also a mystery one needed to know more about.

"Oh, are we on a name-to-name basssisss already? I am not gonna tell ANYONE my name though.... but you can call me Ssssheila. Or i guess Sssilver Tongue or Eater of Worldsss worksss just as well. It's at least sssome of the deedsss im known for~" She said in an almost Toxically Inticing voice as her mouth moved in just the right ways that the shadey light upon them told of the things she could do for everuone present~, the Hiss-sound on her S-words sounded like they could be Equally deliberate, or just a port of how she actually spoke, be it a very very snakey lisp, or a grand gift given to her by the Gods of Chaos.

[CarcerKango]

Servos and power cables whined and hissed as a figure stepped out of the shadows of a shattered building, resolving itself into the form of the jaded Iron Warrior known as Nemethol. Wearing ancient gunmetal Mk. III Astartes power armor, complete with a grilled helmet that was removed to expose relatively young, if scarred and branded, features. Edge-to-edge chrome eyes, with square, narrowing pupils, swept the area, a sharp, enhanced mind calculating fields of fire and avenues of retreat in a sort of idle self-amusement. Despite the apparent (by Astartes standards) youth of the Sorcerer, the massive man-portable M34 autocannon slung over his back and the brutal, hammer-shaped force staff hung at his waist, along with a certain glint to his mutated eyes, showed that he was no pushover, nor an inexperienced combatant. His bolt pistol seemed carried almost as an afterthought--ironic given its size in comparison to mortal sidearms.
One gauntleted hand clenched into a fist, the other's fingers drumming on the haft of the force staff, Grimshatter.
He'd been waiting there for quite some time, on watch as only a Space Marine can be, lacking sleep or provisions, his armor and genhanced body negating the need for such things.
He didn't like the taunting tone of the daemon's challenge to him. Yet, at the same time, he could not refuse such a task. For despite his prodigious skills of divining and interpreting the future, there was no desirable outcome in which he refused the creature's offer. At least, none that he could find, nary a single strand of fate or choice. At the same time, he recognized in the deepest part of his being that the mere presence of the daemon might have affected this. But the daemon was right. This was a challenge he could not back down from. His pride as an ex-Legionarie and as would-be master of his own destiny prevented him from doing so.

Vapor, expunged from his armor's exhaust systems, misted in the air as he exhaled slowly, turning to face the consolidating group, the heavy tread of his armor shattering rubble and masonry underfoot. Now that he was more certain of the situation, there was no need for caution, and his voice was clear, if a bit grating due to his armor's vox filter.

"Where do we start?" he inquired, noticeably withholding his name for now.

[DoctorFaust]

"Find the seals and destroy them as quickly as possible." Giles says, his voice grating through the vox-speaker. "I may want what he offers, but by the Gods, I do not want to be beholden to a being of chaos any longer than I need to. Best bet is to begin looking in this system and preferably on this planet. If he's really sealed, it makes the most sense that his power would have the most leakage in the same area he's sealed in."

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Gods were angered and the earth shook, rumbling in the distance, fire in the mountains.

It is then the Migo rode in upon a pale horse

With a massive crash of rockcrete, a building collapsed and a beast leap from the cascade of rubble. Roaring so loud it caused chest pains, it was a Rhino APC.

Not just one, but two Rhinos welded together in a excessive manner, the tracks were twice as wide as normal, having combined the homogeneous side armour of 2 Rhinos in to one chassie, giving it extra exhaust pipes and width, it's rear had fins like a Coupe de Ville, twin engines super charged and locked into the same drive shaft, it owned the first meeting.

It's searchlights blinding, it came to an abrupt stop making it's front dip forward and bounce on the suspension heavily with it's little rear banners waving, as the building it had just crashed through... crashed in upon itself.

Rock dust flew all around it making the headlight beams visable in the air. It held there for a moment as the tumbling building settled before the hatched opened, heavy string music spilled from the inside along with a red glaring light and the driver emerged from the hatch as the electric string music from within slowly faded with thump thump,..thump......thump...... thuuuummmmmmm--

" Roubard..." he growled, having a disturbing voice muffled by his huge rebreather decorated with horse teeth. Much like his vehicle he himself was absurd, a large human in power armour, nothing like that of the astartes, more like an imitation wrought by techno barbarians, covered in feral fetishes and power cables, his visible eyes deep blue and a long mane of dark hair and matching eyebrows.

He looked around scanning, and suddenly spotted Savros's Vehicle and he burst out laughing. But not mockingly, a laughter of joy and excitement, an ugly sound.

"I like your style brother!" he said with feral joy and gesturing towards Savros

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly walked out of the shadows of a building, he had clearly been one of the last to arrive, mid show in fact. But he had heard the words just as clear as the rest of them. He couldn't imagine how an old man could give him what he promised, but then the old man vanished in a flicker of fire. Perhaps he isn't just a man, but can he still deliver, only one way to find out really.

He strode forwards into the gathered group of mismatched individuals. None of them looked right together, and he knew he looked just as out of place. His polished grey carapace armour was easily visible beneath the long brown flak cloak he wore over the top. At his hip sat two ornate revolvers with oversized cylinders, on his back was slung an old battered Autogun and Chainsword hastily tied together with cord.

"Evening ladies, gentlemen. I guess we are all here for some kind of reward from that... Thing. he stated with no introduction. He paused for a moment before looking at the burnt grass which everyone had blatently ignored "Have any of you considered that this Seal of Stone is below your very feet? I mean, this is where he has enough power to manifest, and look at the burns in the grass, marks of some kind of power to be sure. Would be a useless Seal if this thing could just pop up anywhere, even if he only had limited power." he stated with a shrug

[Vexing]

Lacerius' mouth quirks with a very artificial (pun intended) smirk, and he cautiously hands the paper over to the Heretek before nodding to D'Oyly. "Thank you--for pointing out the obvious. Though the polite thing to do would have been to wait for their search to begin." With a sweeping gesture to the group members doing guesswork and what might have been a disappointed expression directed at Savros, he moves closer to the center of the circle and where Uomireas' mouthpiece disappeared.

"Searching the system is a waste of time. For those of you who may have forgotten, Roubard is alone in the void. The Seal is beneath us, and our task is before us. I encourage you all to review the ritual parchment." The man's voice sounded human enough, though it came from a decidedly inhuman throat. "As for names? None of us have names truly", with an odd emphasis on the word, "worth anything. If we're to work together, however, we should have something to refer to each of us by. Pick a noise you like and stick with it." Crouching, he digs his metallic fingers in the ashes and works up a palmful of the white powder. "Before we begin..."

Rising, Lacerius turns to regard the assembled group. Perhaps he winced at the silhouette of the overlarge Rhino and the bulk of the Astartes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. "We've been called here to a single purpose. It falls to us to decide how we will proceed. We should determine our goals, and swear ourselves to a compact in the eyes of the Gods."

[Checkmate-Pony]

Leaping from the hatch and landing with a crunch of stone, The Migo strode over to the paper, snatching out of the Heretek's hands, not that the Heretek needed more than a second to scan and memorize the text anyway.

He would mumble to himself reading as lacerius spoke

"This is easy!" he growled, letting the paper go and the wind took it ceremonially. "We orchestrate a massacre" clintching his fist dramatically at the air "bait the Imperial dogs to kill their own people, making the sacrifice. The Imperial Peasants will know fear and hatred, and Seeing the imperial institute slaughter his people would make the king soft and more willing to accept an ultimate solution, and once the king is convinced, so is his pathetic subjects"

speaking with malefactor and enthusiasm, and also completely knob-headed and simplistic, as if any of what he just said was as simple as he made it sound

"War would come, when in the interest of it's people and it's leaders, war is the final step to ascension of any kingdom" he continued in vagueness

"Then, Woe-mire-az will be ours" he growled, butchering Uomireas name with his pronunciation unintentionally

[DoctorFaust]

"You're a psychopath," Giles grunts dismissively. "And worse, a moron on top of that. The last thing any of us need is anything resembling an Imperial Rosette pointed our way. I'll agree that the seals of sacrifice and stone are going to take direct action, but a cult will do the job just as well as baiting the Imperium into attacking innocents."

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo smiled hearing the mentioning of a Rosette, because that's exactly what he wanted. He wanted the inquisition to come his way.


"yes exactly!" he pointed at Giles "A cult, that is what I meant, The cultists will bait them out, and even better if no one really knows they are cultists" "Then the Imperium will become the enemy of the people"

"Proxy War"

He waited shaking his mane "But ofcourse.... not right away, before the fighting must come the smaller details"

[DoctorFaust]

Without a word, Giles flips on his plasma cannon and aims it at the obviously clinically brain-dead Astartes. "No war. I will personally shoot anyone that suggests anything that gets more civilians than necessary involved in this. If we start a cult to break Sacrifice, we either keep it quiet enough that no one will be the wiser until nearly two hundred people commit ritualistic suicide, or we go straight for the top to get someone to keep it quiet for us. And we only recruit people as brutish and simpleminded as you are."

[Q'telun]

With a heavy, metallic sigh, the heretek steps between the plasma cannon and the Marine. They point accusingly at Giles first. "Cease conflict. If the marine wishes to expose himself to the forces of the inquisition, we can work around that."

They point at Migo next. "Retrieve the parchment. Now."

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo (who is human) clearly did not take kindly to being aimed at

"I cannot believe what I'm looking at" he said low

He did however go pick up the paper again when 24601 so kindly asked for it

Walking menacingly towards them again with the paper

"As if two hundred people committing suicide can just be hidden away... What will you do? do it one a time once a year?"

"The Gods of all War are not impressed by such light footed and meager actions"

Handing the paper to 24601 without struggle

"I do not want to reveal myself to the inquisition, I'm suggesting we create a false enemy for the Inquisition" "so that we are safe" "and the seed of heresy is sown under misunderstandings between imperials"

[ArcturusV]

Savros, once it was mentioned, started looking down at the ground. His eyes were moving rapidly, seemingly twitching in random directions as he looked at the Seal of Stone. He started pacing in ever wider circles, as if he was measuring out some search pattern over the ground. His lips were moving rapidly, as if he were mumbling to himself though no sound came out. And for those who could read lips, the language, if any, was an old, strange dialect unfamiliar to them.

By the time he had gotten to the vehicles he looked up at the double sized Rhino, suddenly stopping in his tracks. Blinking rapidly he seemed to come out of whatever state that he had been in, eyes sharpening rapidly. "It occurs to me, that as this is a location of import, it might be at least casually inspected and watched from time to time at the very least. Perhaps we should move the discussion to a less, watched, location?" Savros offered, as he headed back to his car. Someone else might have felt the awakening of the Great Power, and would be coming to check it out.

He frowned over at the Rhino shaped hole in the ruins. Fresh destruction. Might tip a hand. But not much to do about it now. Perhaps mislead people to presume it is some local group joyriding. The non-standard appearance of the Rhino should help disguise evidence of what it was, making the true identity of the "joyriders" harder to figure out.

"Wouldn't hurt to get the lay of the land either..." he pointed out.

[Checkmate-Pony]

He waved a hand violently at Giles as if he didn't care what he would respond

"Do what you want! Force a Culling upon sheep if you will" he stomped towards his Rhino, silently agreeing to ride with the Savros car that he admired so much and get a lay of the land.

climping up and sinking slowly into the hatch hole he yelled back at Giles "Plots and disguises won't last forever, sooner or later there will be need for violence, there will be a need for likes of me, only the mad can survive in this universe, and the Migo will be there"

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly gives a mock salute to Lacerius, "D'Oyly Carte, also known as The Berekley Hunt. Renowned gunslinger, bodyguard, and lover". He watches the commotion as people vie for positions of power within the new group until he sees the man with the ground car make his way back over to it. Jogging over to him he leans on the door. "You mind if I catch a lift with you? I walked a damn long way here."

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo Sank into the Rhino hatch and it fired up it's engines, so loud all conversation had to stop as it turned a quarter circle and then stopped again facing it's rear towards the group.

The Read ramp lowered down slowly and the top fire points opened up like a large sunroof

The Migo stepped out from the rear, the Rhino obviously having more than just him as crew member.

Stepping out from the ramp as if a new man, with a new attitude, having changed inside the rhino

"I apologize" he said reluctantly "if I do not come off subtle enough to be of any help to you all" swinging his arm out to announce to all

"Let us try again, please come along" he waved his hand towards the ramp and it's interior red glow, inviting anyone to ride in his Rhino passenger cabin

"Let us try and find a solution together without yelling and threatening at each other"

"And let us get out of here, please" he pressed, clearly forcing the polite words out of him, but even he could tell he'd made a poor impression and had manners enough to let it go, and try and mend the damage.

[Q'telun]

24601 sighs and heads for higher ground. There is no sense in staying around when plasma starts to fly. Maybe the Daemon would have its first sacrifice at the end of all this.

[ArcturusV]

Savros looked over towards D'Oyly for a moment, then finally shrugged and said, "Hop in." The car was nice appointed, rich leather interiors that most likely was going to get scratched up by chainsword teeth and the edges of the Carapace, but it didn't seem to bother him in the least. After all, it was just simple materials, mundane and as worthless to him as anything else in this false reality.

Getting in the car's driver seat, he glanced over towards Renfield in the back, giving him a meaningful glance, and a wordless order with it that had Renfield nodding rapidly, finally drawing his eyes away from the confrontation that was going on out there over the stones.

"I find thinking goes better with food, myself. Must be somewhere around here to get a bite of something," he told D'Oyly over the roar of the car's engine. Maybe there'd be some random farm nearby that he could sample the "Hospitality" of.

[Col.Straken]

Grinning D'Oyly unslung his weapons and stuffed them between his knees as he climbed into the front seat. "Nice wheels. The names D'Oyly." as the engine started he nodded in satisfaction, reminded him of the old days in Messia.

At the mention of food his face lit up, and he slapped a hand on Savros' back, "A man after my own heart. Food, wine and a fine dancer. That helps settle the mind." he completely ignored the commotion happening nearby almost as if he didn't even know it was occuring.

[CarcerKango]

Raising an eyebrow at the commotion, but remaining silent, Nemethol strode forward to the ground car where D'Oyly was. He sure as Warp wasn't taking his power armor off when there were heavy weapons being brandished; however, depending on how much room was in the car this may have meant he wouldn't fit.

[ArcturusV]

Savros looked over towards the Traitor Marine, and waved him on in. Why not at this point? He'd have to sit in the back, but between the chop top and the luxurious rear seats, there was room for him. Though to clear a bit more room Renfield scrambled out over the side of the car, and took up the front passenger seat instead, cramped a bit as the man was almost as big as a Traitor Marine, though a bit more flexible not being in hard ceramite armor.

Savros spared one last glance at the group, there was still room ((OOC Note: Carrying Capacity of 8, so we're at 4, 5 if you want to count the Traitor Marine as double spaced I suppose)), maybe some of the less trigger happy wanted to hop a ride. No telling how far it was to the next civilized hub from here after all, or how their feet would feel after hiking that far.

"Well, least it's an Agri-world. Doubt they'll have a dancer worth a damn here, but the food and wine should be of quality," Savros offered D'oyly with a shrug. "Maybe I'll call up a dancer..." He doubted it, but hey, if the opportunity presented itself...

[DoctorFaust]

"Go shove it up your ass, you psychotic ****." Giles lowers the plasma cannon fractionally, but is clearly still ready to raise it and fire at a moments notice. "No words in the 'verse could redeem yourself from the fact your first thought was 'let's go get a bunch of innocents killed'. Hell, I would kill you where you stand for half a credit right now."

[Checkmate-Pony]

"come on get in we're leaving" he waved in circles for everyone to embark on his Rhino welcommingly, he started to quickly run to Savros's car and knelt besides the driver door, he wanted to put a hand on it but showed respect and kept his gun metal gauntlets to himself

from his knelt position he looked up at Savros

"So where are we going brother?" he asked in a light and friendly tone, at odds with his barbaric looks.

[ArcturusV]

Savros turned to consider the question, "Somewhere lowkey I think, for the first meeting. Particularly with the company we have with us. I'm thinking one of the rural farms, nice, quiet, out of the way. We can take what we need, leave without too much difficulty when we're done, and decide what to do from there."

He looked out over the horizon. He hadn't been to this world before, didn't know it's layout anywhere near as well as one might have hoped. "If you know a place, lead on. If not? Well... least we'll have the fun of looking." He offered a smile, and revved the engine loudly, just to show it wouldn't necessarily be some leisurely drive at a sedate pace the entire time.

[Checkmate-Pony]

"Hey Pa!"a meager voice yelled, a young lad with just as grossly immense mane of hair popped up from the Rhino hatch "where are we going?" he yelled over the engines at The Migo, his 'pa'

The Migo yelled back "Hang on!" turning back to Savros with a lower voice "No I don't know the area, hiding in the plains seem like a good idea, if there is a forested area I can hide the APC in there with some camo netting"

"Do you have a vox caster?" "If we had a way to communicate between the vehicles I could stay a click or two behind you for safty incase we run into something" "maybe one of the astartes have working vox links, we could have one of each of them with us and they work as our mouth piece" The Migo made tons of gestures when speaking, he could have been a good salesman with hands like that.

[CarcerKango]

With a grunt, Nemethol heaved himself up into the rear seat of the car, unslinging his autocannon from behind his back as he did so and setting it down next to him. He glanced at Giles, any uncertainty or concern hidden behind his impassive-as-always visor. He laid his force staff across his lap and slowly ran a gauntleted finger along the haft.

[DoctorFaust]

Giles shoves his way past Migo into Savros' car with a mutter of "Self-important, psychotic, genocidal ****. May the Corpse God bless you with a slow death." and flings himself down into a seat.

[sean_hyer]

Elsewhere...

The acolyte reached out and thumped one of the vidscreens again. As if that would accomplish anything. The techpriests had assured me that any equipment failure (if indeed this was such) was not on our end. A couple of them were arguing in the corner even now, furious mutterings about sunspots and solar flares and other such arcane terms.

Hell, that's probably what it was. In my four-and-a-half years manning this lousy place, the most excitement we'd seen was a group of orks we'd been hunting deciding to use the site as a base camp. Good times. So I was willing to bet that the last half-year I was stuck here would be more of the same dullness. But you didn't get to be an inquisitor by being careless, or being stupid.

Picking up my comm, I contacted the forwards observation post. A brief hiss of static later, and I was answered.
"Vince? Why don't you go check this one out. Stay hidden, stay safe, do not engage without support."
As the sniper voiced an acknowledgement, I turned to the rest of my team.
"Everyone else, suit up. Ready to go at a moment's notice. This is not a drill."

As I slipped into my armor, I smiled grimly to myself. Hell, I found myself almost hoping that there were some idiots trying to free the demon. I could use a little action.

[Checkmate-Pony]

"But Pa!" the hairy youth leaned out the hatch and slapped a large sheet map wider than his reach on the front of the Rhino, most the lad was bionic, arms and limbs and muscles exposing like some comicly obvious cyborg.

The Migo relented and walked up to the youth, his son: Arsenal, and snatched the map from his hands, Arsenal was rambling on and pointing at the map but the Migo could not see a thing in the dark.

The Migo walked over to Savros again, kneeling down to get on his level and spread the map out on Savros's steering wheel. Arsenal pointed a pintle mounted searchlight at Savros's vehicle bathing it in a harsh light and making the map visible to the two.

The Migo would lean very close to Savros and point with his finger talking "we're... What's your name?" he suddenly asked before continuing as if he had never asked. "We're here, a dead zone, bad lands, everything around it is much of the same" But here! We'd have to go all the way down here before we are out and into civili territories" letting his finger run across a spiders web of roads and symbols on the dirty map

The Migo would look over his shoulder at the Iron Warrior "You, what's your name? do you have a working Vox?" feeling a bit embarrassed to ask, ofcourse Astartes had working vox links... right?

[ArcturusV]

Savros gave a cursory glance towards the map, not really knowing too much about orienteering and the symbologies used by those who did so. "Well, figure we should hit civilized territory fast as possible. That Rhino... beautiful though it may be, is going to be pretty easy to track down." Or so he guessed. It was HUGE, and with those huge treads he could only imagine that even a blind grox could have sniffed it out. "Get to the traffic with the tractors and cargo haulers, hard ground, and so forth where we might break the trail and get lost in the crowds. Less you have some means to obscure your trail already."

"You should lead the way. I'll follow in your path. Can only help confuse the trail with me messing up your tracks." At least so he guessed, it stood to reason.

[Checkmate-Pony]

"It's certainly not slow" he almost sounded insulted but let it go

"But it's true, I fear driving at the front I will be the first to be spotted"

"But sometimes you have to take a leap of faith!" he got up and placed a hand on Savros shoulder, the flamers build into his gauntlets came unpleasantly close to his face when he did that

"The Night is still young, we will be far before those tracks become relevant, I will take point, and should trouble arise you go out without me to the winds" he took his hand away from him again "Wouldn't want the car to suffer" he chuckled

He still waited for people to make a decision of what vehicle to embark upon, if they really all insisted on getting into the ganger town car instead of his Rhino. And for Nemethol's awnser


He made a final Note to Savros

"Just follow my tail lights, Otherwise I'll turn off all lights on the Rhino and you should too"

"Arsenal can see in the dark, he will be our eyes"

[Vexing]

Lacerius found himself grateful for the Cloaked One's blessing as the situation defused, and both aggressive parties backed down from the fight. Without the need to take a breath, he couldn't hold one unconsciously, and prove himself frightened or tense. It wouldn't do to appear uncomfortable with open combat. First impressions were terribly important, after all.

Something that both of the arguers seemed to have forgotten. The rat-featured man seemed...unreasonably concerned with mortal lives. Maybe that was something that could be used? But an unwillingness to suffer Imperial citizens as casualties was absurdly self-limiting, and the comparative eagerness to fight over the matter had disturbing implications for the future of their quest. As for the driver of the comically large, offensively-altered Rhino, it was clear that he didn't understand the virtues of subtlety; both he and his ride were far too eye-catching, behavior and driving too 'in-your-face' to be quickly forgotten.

Idly weighing the collected ashes in his hand and watching individuals wander to the vehicles, the adept roused himself from thought and approached the group at large. He was just in time to catch the discussion over the map, bright eyes widening in their sculpted sockets as he put the conversation together. "With respect?", he begins, reproachful tone indicating nothing of the sort; Lacerius quickly moves between the two of them, near the map. "I agree that we need a swift change of locale, but moving to a more inhabited area is foolishness. The customized Rhino is too noticeable, and on an agri-world it can be expected that most vehicles will be..." He trailed off, searching for the word. "Dull. We want to avoid being noticed. I advise against moving to anywhere with a great deal of traffic, either vehicular or foot. We should move to an outskirt at most, or perhaps one of the smaller ruined settlements to regroup and begin planning our next move."

As he spoke, he tucked the ashes into a small belt pouch. "Well? We can move to civilization when we have a clear plan of action." It was common sense--at least as the Feudal Worlder saw it.

[ArcturusV]

Savros leaned over towards the console after Migo clasped his shoulder, fiddling with his vox caster on there. Not a transmission unit, no, just a receiving and playback one. With a few muttered incantations to the Great Powers he invoked the holy rune of Ohn, then manipulated the sacred dials until the caster was blaring out his driving music, a far cry from any sedate hymn of the Ecclessiarchy, or Stately March by the PDF Choir. Heavy riffs from, as the refined palette would discern the laser rock guitars of the Emperor's Children.

Soon as Migo rolled out in the Rhino, he'd spin out, shooting off after the Rhino.

[CarcerKango]

"Affirmative," Nemethol answered. "I do have a vox-system integrated."
"My name is Nemethol."

He ran a finger along the edge of his force staff again as he added, "I'll need the desired vox frequency; right now I'm on a Legion channel."

[Hemnon]

Sheila had decided to pick the vehicle with the least amount of psychopaths: The Car, should there still be room.
She had mostly just sighed and rolled her eyes, finding the whole thing just a great pain. This is why she so rarely worked with others, Urgh, Hell would freeze over before she was gonna sign up to this club's membership.

Unless talked to, Sheila chose to just stay quiet, maybe take a nap and enjoy some pleasant dreams~

(She's in the car, unless there's no more room, in which case she's in a Rhino :P Talk to her if you guys wish, but all the text-walls since last i posted all kinda blur together, so i couldn't really figure out who was in what vehicle ^^; )

[Q'telun]

The heretek boards the garish Rhino, unwilling to stand the cacophonus screeches of the Emperor's Children. Their artificial fingers trace the welds of the ceiling as they walk to their seat, critical of the craftsmanship.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly grins as he watches the lady clamber into the car, at least there is something to look at around here, he thinks to himself. "Well, Shall we get started. I could KILL for a drink." he shouts above the music. A vicious smile that shows off the razor sharp canines on the top and bottom of his mouth, clearly filed to a pin point and his eyes flash in the moonlight in anticipation of his next 'drink'.

[Sinpoder707]

(Posting here for tracking purposes)

[sean_hyer]

(With Sinpoder707)

It's amazing how much you can learn by just watching. By having patience. After arriving, he had concealed himself midway up a building gutted by fire, and sat and watched. He had seen the others arrive, and heard the demon's speech. He had watched how they talked - how they moved and interacted with one another. And they were so foolish. To reveal themselves on an equal footing, with nothing to offer; nothing to bargain or trade.

He had sat and watched while they climbed into their vehicles and drove away, and made a note of the heading. And he had still been watching when, a scant half-hour later, an aircar had arrived.

If it hadn't been for his stillness, and the silence of the deserted city, he would have missed it for sure. It was running dark, and even hearing the faint purr of whisper-quiet engines he couldn't place it against the night sky. Any background noise, and he would never have known it was there. But he did hear it, and when the faint sound drifted over to a hill just visible against the skyline and then died, he grinned beneath his helmet. Bingo.


Vince squinted down the scope of his rifle, studying the distant clearing. Even from this distance, he could make out track marks, and the runes burnt into the ground. This definitely called for a closer look. But as he reached for his ear to activate his comm-bead, a gauntleted hand closed around his wrist in a crushing grip, and a voice grated in his ear. "No."

Even caught by surprise, Vince was quick, a knife already in his free hand and lashing out as he flipped to face his attacker. But it did nothing but strike sparks off the ceramite-armored breastplate of the black-clad traitor marine. How had he got so close without making a sound?

No matter. Escape was what was important now. Vince wrenched his body again, torquing it to free his wrist, just as the Astartes' free hand came down in a crushing blow.


He frowned. The sniper had twisted at the wrong time, and an incapacitating strike had almost turned lethal. His captive had several broken ribs and a broken arm at the very least. Sloppy.

Plucking the man's comm-bead from his ear, he crushed it between his fingers, before turning to the air-car. He was no pilot, but that didn't mean he couldn't drive. With the man bound in the seat next to him, he pointed the car in the direction the others had taken and took to the skies, flying dark and blind and watching for lights on the ground below

For all his skill, he nearly missed them. They had killed all the lights on both vehicles but the taillights of the rhino variant. Not complete incompetents, then. At a distance, he followed them, cutting silently through the night air a few hundred feet above them...

The cities are separated by around 3000 miles. So even driving pretty fast, it'll take you almost a day to cross the boundary line to one of the four you border.
Of those:
The one to the East is home to one of the weaker noble houses.
The one to the Northeast is the home of both the current governor and the Inquisitorial HQ.
The one to the Northwest is recently recolonised (by the one to the Northeast).
The one to the West is still deserted. Heading that way will take you further into deserted territory.
To the South, the farmlands extend out towards the polar ice fields.
Over the next day or so, I expect you to decide on a heading (and how far you are trying to make it), and post any major actions taken during the drive. I don't expect that to take too long.

The Aircar you... obtained... is shockingly nice. No weapons, and no armor to speak of, but it is very fast and very quiet. It comes with a HUD on the windscreen, night vision, powerful searchlights, a homing beacon (currently disabled for stealth), a loudspeaker system, and a couple other such perks. The outside is a plain matte black, while the inside is surprisingly lush.

The only gear the sniper was carrying of any worth is a best-quality long-las with a silencer, telescopic sight, photo-sight and fire-selector with hotshot rounds.

[sean_hyer]

The first rays of dawn are just beginning to show over the horizon as the small convoy finally draws to a halt in front of a large farmhouse, which still looks in fairly good condition. What drew you to it was the massive barn, which is easily large enough to conceal both of your vehicles.

Scrubbing tired hands across their eyes, the drivers kill their engines, leaving the morning air eerily silent by comparison. But only for a moment.

With an explosion of light and sound, three rockets burst from the upper windows of the farmhouse, streaking towards the rhino. It is a testament to the skill of their users that, despite the fact that their target is nearby, stationary, and the size of a small bus, two of the rockets go wide, blowing harmless craters in the dirt. The third strikes home directly on the rhino's front, blowing through the armor and dealing 12 points of integrity damage.

As you wheel to face this unexpected threat, the front doors to the farmhouse burst open and a massive horde of orks boils forth, waving their crude weapons wildly in the air.

OOC:
Battlemap! (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RgJHN4i95xS2qC71QlGcx99uVXgv2B4dYuMO9TdOCgI/edit?usp=sharing)

If you have a symbol or picture you'd like me to use to represent your character, tell me and I'll put it in the key and start using it.

The three drivers (The Migo, Savros, and Nobody, I believe) each start with one level of fatigue from the long drive.

The car is open-topped, so you can disembark from it anywhere. The Rhino has side and rear hatches, so you can disembark into spaces Z8, Z12, and AC9-11.

@Sinpoder:
Neither the Orks nor the party have spotted you yet. You are a few hundred feet behind the mess (scroll wayyyy down), and at an altitude of your choice.

The car's combat stats are as follows:
Armor: 8 in all locations.
Cruising Speed: 200 kph. Tactical Speed: 40/80/120/240.
Size: Hulking.
Integrity: 10/10.

It's very fast, but it'll fall apart under a stiff breeze.

[Sinpoder707]

The being in the aircar watched as the people he worked with slowly got out of the Rhino, which he had been following for several hours several hundred feet in the air and he was just as surpised when a rocket came flying in and slammed into the Rhino, ripping apart it's front armor like it was nothing as the space marine watched as he pulled the air-car around towards the back of the barn. He was going to try and go into a flanking move, hoping to his the fact that the orcs could not see him or his friends. He was moving wide, making sure that they could not see him but it is not like the group will be looking back and the orcs should be looking at the space marines that are on the ground still infront of them. One of which appears to be a Psyker or some kind, which only made him more dangerous.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly is stretching as they pull up to the farmhouse when suddenly a rocket slams into the Rhino "Holy Frak!" he yells with a fright. Jumping out of the car and taking cover at the rear out of the way of the onrushing orks he pulls out Trouble and Strife, "Well Ladies, looks like we are going to spill some blood" he says with a smile.

Taking aim with Strife he takes a flicks the chamber round to his amputator shells before letting loose at closest of the Orks carrying a Rokket launcher.


Move to U15 (I am guessing this is a free move as we are already out of the car?) not sure on the meters but it looks like I am within 15m?
Half action aim at the closest ork with a Rocket
Called shot(Head): BS:55+10 (aim) +10(Red Dot) -10 (Called Shot) +10 (Short range), +10 (Hulking)= TN: 85 [roll0]

Damage: [roll1] +7(amputator shells) Pen 2 (crippling (1), Concussive (2))

[DoctorFaust]

With reflexes born from year of experience, Giles throws himself over the back of the car in an effort to get as much cover between him and the ork horde as possible. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he yanks one of the grenades hanging from his combat harness free, pulls the pin, lets the tongue fly off, and throws it as best he can towards the center of the horde of orks.

Disembarking to T15.
Half action to aim.
Throwing frag grenade at T5 (10 squares, within listed throw range):[roll0]+10(aim)+Horde Modifier
Damage:[roll1](Blast 3)

[Q'telun]

The explosions that rock the Rhino jolt 24601 from their state of half slumber. Their hands dive into their robes, and come back with a sleek, matte black rifle. The heretek calmly disembarks the bastardization of a Rhino, and from behind cover lines up their first shots into the horde. The ionizing crack of plasma discharge sounds twice, as erratic bolts of miniature suns fly into the horde of orcs.

Disembarking to AC9

[roll0] vs 45+Horde Modifier

Damage 1: [roll1]

If applicable, Damage 2: [roll2]

18/20 shots left

[Hemnon]

Sheila smirked at what was happenen all around, instantly bolting right out of the car, taking cover behind the Car itself, settling in behind the cover found there.

Skips out of the car and takes cover behind the car at T-15.
Do you want us to roll Initiative as well?

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo roared in pain from the impact as if personally struck.

The Crew of the Pale Horse sprung to action, it's top hatches belched open and the bionic bastard Arsenal pops out wielding a great green grenade launcher leaning back and unleashing a fat frag grenade into the ork horde. Joining Arsenal in the adjacent hatch was another one of The Migo's minions: a pathetic mutant with long limbs and filthy fur, it gave a wild witch like scream and clutched in it's mitts a large baroque jewel like a Fabergé egg. it or she rather, tossed it like a grenade into the horde to join it's cousin (The Frag Grenade) amidst the orks

Arsenal (from the top hatch) shoots a frag grenade into the horde (S-5) with BS 35 and +10 for short range and +x for the horde magnitude [roll0] It's has blast (3) causing 3 hits automatically if it hits at all
1st hit [roll1]+[roll2]
2nd hit [roll3]+[roll4]
3rd hit [roll5]+[roll6]

The Minion: Cadillac hands the other Minion Luna her Cursed Heirloom Blight Grenade. Luna then throws this grenade (from the top hatch) at long range to (Q-4) giving her -10 on her BS of 30+"magnitude bonus" going off in a nuclear green mushroom cloud, blast 6 for 6 hits

1st [roll7]+[roll8] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll9] Energy Damage Toxic (1)
2nd [roll10]+[roll11] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll12] Energy Damage Toxic (1)
3rd [roll13]+[roll14] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll15] Energy Damage Toxic (1)
4th [roll16]+[roll17] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll18] Energy Damage Toxic (1)
5th [roll19]+[roll20] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll21] Energy Damage Toxic (1)
6th [roll22]+[roll23] Toxic (2) Causing an extra [roll24] Energy Damage Toxic (1)

The Extra Damage is for the toxic cloud it creates



The Side door of the Rhino opens up, belching smoke, and out strode a monster in dark armour with an animal helmet of glowing eyes, it's back mounted atomic furnace pumping insalubrious fire into his hands, wielding it like weapons

The Migo strides out determined and angered, stretching out and arm and unleashing one of his forearm mounted hand flamers, linked to his armour's atomic power plant

"Stop, Drop and Die" he chuckled with a slow mechanical vox blur

Disembarks to (Y-8) and fires one of his hand flamers for [roll25] hits. I' will have to post again to determine the number of hits before rolling damage

[Checkmate-Pony]

I have to mention the "extra" damage caused by the chocking cloud of the Blight Grenade ignores armour, Orks or not I should still mention it. Flamer results in 4 hits

1st [roll0] pen 2
2nd [roll1] pen 2
3rd [roll2] pen 2
4th [roll3] pen 2

Any 9s rolled and it jams, damn junk.

[CarcerKango]

With speed belying his power-armored frame, Nemethol snatched up his autocannon and vaulted over the side of the car, taking cover behind it so that he would only be out of cover to part of the Ork horde at a time. His eyes glowed behind his visor, shining through the lenses, as he called upon the Empyrean to guide his aim, even as he raised his autocannon to fire.


Disembarking to V15, assuming I can move diagonally.
Using Precognitive Strike as free action at Fettered Level (-10) rolling for Psyniscience test (-10), modified by +30 for Experienced. TN would be 60 I believe.
And wow, dice are giving me issues x.x
[roll0]

[ArcturusV]

Everyone was hiding behind his car, and putting down a storm of fire. And the mob of greenies were a bit too close for his comfort. His instinct was to run. To get space and time. He was no great brawler, and he didn't know how well his ride would hold up against the crude weapons of the hulking brutes.

In that moment of indecision however, Renfield was on the ball. He unlimbered his Lasgun, chanting out with the fervor of the blessed, "Henge! Henge! Henge!" as he squeezed the trigger of his lasgun, spraying at the mass of Orks with the bright bolts of las fire.

With the battlecry, and the crack of las fire next to him, he took out his pistol, and started snapping off shots in turn.

My vehicle is open topped, meaning we can fire from inside it without issues. Kinda wonder why everyone ditched and hid behind it, actually makes it easier to hit them. :smallbiggrin:

Renfield takes a half action to Ready his Lasgun, and a Half Action to Semi-Auto Burst with his Lasgun into the Ork Horde.

Attack Roll: [roll0] vs 22 BS, that's definitely Short Range for +10, +0 for Semi Auto Burst, Orks are Hulking for +10, and Hordes are at least +30 to hit for Magnitude maybe higher?. Baseline mark of 72.

Damage Rolls as needed (Max of 3 on 5 DoS):
[roll1] +3 Pen 0.
[roll2] +3 Pen 0.
[roll3] +3 Pen 0.

Savros takes a half action to Ready his Pistol, and a Half Action to Semi-Auto Burst with his pistol into the Ork Horde.

Attack Roll: [roll4] vs 30 BS, -10 for Fatigue, +10 for Short Range, +0 for Semi-Auto Fire, Orks are Hulking for +10, Hordes are at least +30 to hit for magnitude, maybe higher?. Baseline mark of 60.

Damage Rolls as needed (Max of 2 on 3 DoS):
[roll5] +2 Pen 0.
[roll6] +2 Pen 0.

Lasgun is at 58/60, Pistol is at 28/30.

[CarcerKango]

Just realized I never took any actual actions--the psychic power was a free action, so I'll fire.

Nemethol opened up with his autocannon, aiming carefully before unleashing its fury towards the nearest of the Ork mob.


Rolling. Standard Attack: BS(42)+Half action of aiming(+10)+Short Range(+10)=TN of 62.
[roll0]
rolling damage:
[roll1]+8 Impact Pen 6

[sean_hyer]

Battlemap! (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RgJHN4i95xS2qC71QlGcx99uVXgv2B4dYuMO9TdOCgI/edit?usp=sharing)

Under the combined weight of fire of the group of cultists and traitor marines, the ork horde bursting through the door disintegrates, the few survivors scattering. D'Oyly's shot is clean, punching straight through the skull of one of the rokkit launcha armed boyz. One of his companions notices the direction of the shot, and retrains his launcha at D'Oyly with a snarl. Despite the rapid adjustment, his aim is true, and the rokkit blows through the rear of the car and into the chem hunter's body, dealing 11 wounds.

The other keeps his aim on the rhino, and while his rocket hits the vehicle, its sturdy armor is enough to resist the blast. This is less true of the exposed crew; Luna is knocked back down into the rhino, a long shard of shrapnel piercing her body. She takes 4 wounds, one level of fatigue, and is stunned for one round.

With a mighty roar, an unusually large ork bursts through the doorway the mob had emerged from, bellowing imprecations. A few of the routing orks turn to rejoin the fray at the sight of him. The Migo is the closest target, and raises his flamer to dissuade them... only to see it sputter and die. With a laugh, the boss charges straight at him, a few orks by its side. While two of the orks miss, and the third's blow is harmlessly absorbed by his power armor, the boss' massive choppa bites through it and deep into his leg. He takes 12 wounds and another level of fatigue.

To make matters worse, the doors to the barn suddenly burst open. Inside you can see a couple of buggies and trukks, all inactive. But the thing that smashed out is running, crewed by a trio of unusually mad-looking orks. It clearly began life as a tractor of some sort, but its entire front has been replaced with a massive iron ramplate. With an improbable burst of speed, it accelerates straight for the stationary car.

[ArcturusV]

Rokkits were streaming in, and now a... thing... was preparing to cave in the side of his vehicle. With a grunt Savros the Henge holstered his pistol, grabbed the gear shift, and started peeling out, putting the high performance of his vehicle to the test. The tires gripped hard, the engine roared, and he was gunning it right towards the gap between Farmhouse and the Barn, almost suicidally so, considering how close it was getting to the Traktor.

At the last moment, he turned hard, pushing performance as the end fishtailed out, gunning along the Farmhouse wall, out towards the East, away from the Traktor. One might have thought he was running for the hills, as fast as that machine was running for it. Until the realized he wasn't running past the conflict, but running right towards the rather large Ork.

All while Renfield in the passenger seat had his wings spread up and back, aiming down his lasgun, and putting shots out towards the Traktor thing, still screaming, "HENGE! HENGE! HENGE!"

Savros is using the Full Action "Ram!". This requires me to make a +0 Operate Test, I move up to twice my Tactical speed (so 30m). If I succeed at my Operate Test, I collide with a target within 3 meters of the end of my movement (The large Ork). It inflicts a single hit upon the target that causes 1d10 Impact Damage, plus additional damage equal to the vehicles AP on the facing that struck the target (Front), and for every 10 meters I moved past my Tactical Speed it does an additional 1d10 Damage. For every point of damage I inflict, I move the target 1 meter back. This attack cannot be parried. If the target is hit, but prevents the damage (Such as by a force field) it still is moved a number of meters equal to the damage it would have suffered. If I collide with a Vehicle (Or sufficiently similarly dense object) my vehicle takes damage equal to the target's AP value +1d5.

Will spend an Infamy Point to get +10 to my Operate Test.

Operate Test to Ram!: [roll0] vs 43 Agility, +0 Operate (Ground) Training, -10 Fatigue, +10 due to Wheeled Trait on the Vehicle, +10 Infamy Point, +10 Size (Hulking) on the Ork. Final Mark of 63.

Damage if needed: [roll1] +15, Pen 0 Impact Damage. Hit will knock the target back equal to damage.

Renfield is Aiming and taking a Semi-Auto Burst at the Traktor with his Lasgun.

Attack: [roll2] vs 22 BS, +10 for Half Action Aim, +10 for Short Range, +20 presumably for Vehicle Size, -20 for the Car moving at twice Tactical Speed, +0 for Semi-Auto Fire. Final mark of 42.

Damage:
[roll3] +3, Pen 0 Energy Damage.
[roll4] +3, Pen 0 Energy Damage.
[roll5] +3, Pen 0 Energy Damage.

Shots in Lasgun, 53/60, Shots in Laspistol, 28/30.

[Sinpoder707]

As the battle rages on, the Nameless one would simply bring the car down from his location directly down. This should only take acouple of moments before he then jumped out of the vehicle he was in, taking the keys with him so if his prisoner happened to wake up he would not be able to just drive off with it before moving into the barn to finish off the orcs that remain inside of it.



Stealth: [roll0] vs 70 + Modifiers for having cloak on, being near dusk and Night Haunter Ability.

Attack: [roll1] vs 60 + Modifiers. Using Swift Attack at a +0 Mod. Using Two Weapon Wielding
Attack: [roll2] vs 50 + Modifiers

Jesus F-ing christ.... God I suck alot. Unless those orks didn't see or hear me coming, I will not hit them at all.

[DoctorFaust]

With the sudden change in the combat situation, Giles decides that overwhelming firepower is the best option available to him. So, he swings the plasma cannon off his back, aims it directly at the oncoming traktor, and fires it with the distinctive sound of a not-quite-so-miniature sun being released into the atmosphere.

Half action to ready the plasma cannon, half action to fire it. Aiming for square M8, if possible.
Attack:[roll0] +Bonus for big enemy. Dunno what that is off the top of my head.
Damage:[roll1] Burst 3, Penetration 12
Currently at 14/16

[sean_hyer]

Battlemap! (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RgJHN4i95xS2qC71QlGcx99uVXgv2B4dYuMO9TdOCgI/edit?usp=sharing)

Even from a standing start, that fancy car can move pretty fast when it has to. It whirls past the oncoming tractor with only a few feet to spare, before spinning and racing towards the large ork. His cronies leap to the side as it approaches; he just snarls and slams his weapon sideways into the hood as it comes, dealing 9 points of integrity damage. Then the speeding car cannons into him, carrying him away from the melee as he roars defiance.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly is blown off his feet as the crude rokkit hits him but he manages to roll out of it. From his kneeling position he takes aim at the Ork that just fired at him. "Fraking thing, almost took my eye out." he spits before cracking off another shot with Strife.

He barely even notice that his cover had sped off, he probably should be more aware of his surroundings but he was blinded by anger at being shot.


Called Head Shot at the Ork that just fired,
BS:55+10 (Short Range), +10 (Red Dot), +10 (Aim) -10 (Deadeye called shot), +10 (Hulking?) TN:85/95 I missed hulking last time

[roll0]

Dmg: [roll1] pen 2 (Amputator shells), Crippling (1), Concussion (2)

[Q'telun]

With the Warboss forced away by the speeding car, 24601 turns their attention to the boyz that remain. They pull the trigger twice more, spitting the hell-fire of creation at their enemies.

Half action to aim, Semi-auto burst

45+0+10+Hulking 10+ Short range 10+ Melee Combat -20: 55

[roll0] vs 55

Damage 1: [roll1]

Damage 2: [roll2]

[Hemnon]

Sheila spotted her chance to take a leave of the major gun-fighitng zone, sprinting her way over towards the barn, taking cover once more about halfway there, getting ready to draw her Very old, but wellkept laspistol, just in case a nasty greenskin was to pop out and attack her.

For, Seila moves over to K 14 and takes cover against whatever the heck that wall-thingy is supposed to be... if that's not considered good cover, she continues on over to J-11 and takes cover there instead, possibly in a way that allows for a firing arc if needed.

Crunch-wise: Full Action - Run to K14 (or J 11 if K 14 isn't worthwhile cover)

[CarcerKango]

Nemethol swung his autocannon to the right, aiming carefully at the Orks mobbing the Rhino. The gun roared again, belching smoke and bullets towards the aliens.


BS(42)+Half action aim(+10)+Short range (+10)-Half action full auto burst (-10)=TN of 52.
Rolling. [roll0]

[Checkmate-Pony]

Luna, reeling from the impact is pulled down the hatch and into safty by Cadillac, and Arsenal climbs over to the other hatch and takes control of the pintle mounted storm bolter, dropping the grenade launcher onto the floor of the rhino. grabbing the dual handle and swinging it around he unleashes a storm of bolts at the Ork Tank Buster who nearly killed Luna

The Migo grunts and snarls much like the orks themselves, he unleashes his wicked chainsword to defend himself gloriously, and to his surprise the Big Boss is run over. Baffled for a few moments he looks on but snaps back into dispatching the surviving lackies

Arsenal uses supressive fire on the ork that shot Luna (or was responsible for the damage). BS 35-20 for supressive +10 for hulking [roll0]

Cadillac spends her turn pulling Luna to safty inside the Rhino

The Migo performs a guarded attack against the freshest Ork (Y7 properly) with Best craft chainsword giving me +10 parry (and another+10 for Best craft for a good parry of 63 but fatigued so 53). The Migo has WS 33+10 for Hulking, +30 for surprise attack because of illusion of normality -10 for guarded attack -10 for fatigue +10 for best craft weapon. looking at 63 [roll1] Damage is 3d10 picking the highest because of flesh render [roll2][roll3][roll4] +8 Pen 2 Rending

[sean_hyer]

Battlemap! (https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RgJHN4i95xS2qC71QlGcx99uVXgv2B4dYuMO9TdOCgI/edit?usp=sharing)

D'Oyly's shot connects with the Ork that had wounded him, sending it staggering back from the windows, while Arsenal peppers the frame of the house around the other. As the injured one bellows in pain, a figure appears behind it, gutting it with a pair of lightning claws. Its companion spins around, launching a rocket squarely at the black-clad marine - but he manages to twist out of the way just in time, and it explodes harmlessly against the wall behind him.

Nemethol and 24601 launch volleys of fire at the Orks fighting the Migo, but all their shots go wide. The Migo himself, surrounded, tired, and injured as he is, finds himself outmatched. The orks knock his sward aside with contemptuous ease. He is able to avoid two of their swings, but the third's choppa catches him a square blow in the chest plate, dealing 6 wounds.

Giles shot impact squarely on the front plate of the former tractor, punching through it to singe the vehicles innards (and the Ork drivers), but neither stops. With the car gone, they just plow the vehicle forwards, aiming at the tight clump of enemies. Giles and D'Oyly manage to throw themselves out of the way of the onrushing vehicle, but Nemethol, preoccupied as he is, is a hair too slow. The massive metal ram catches him as he leaps for safety, knocking him spinning to the side and dealing 17 wounds.

Despite the massive impact of the car, the Ork Boss is still in fighting shape. Wrapping a massive hand around the vehicle's frame, he hauls himself onto the hood in a display of strength and surprising agility. With a snarl, he wraps a meaty hand around the driver, flinging him bodily out of the car, before taking his place at the wheel. Looking back at the wreckage of what used to be his warband, he snarls out a curse and just keeps driving, heading for the hills as fast as the car will move.

@ArcturusV:
Okay, so I decided you'd take 3d10 'falling damage' from getting thrown from a moving car. Falling damage is very dangerous since it ignores armor. And then I rolled 1,1,2. So you take... one wound. I'll let you fluff out the landing. Maybe you hit mud, or maybe you're just very good at rolling with the fall.
Being in a car with an Ork Boss is probably not a good place for a minion to be. Renfield can join Savros in jumping out of the car, in exchange for taking the same magnitude hit (so 2 wounds). Or he can shoot a big angry ork in the back and hope he gets lucky.

[ArcturusV]

Savros finds himself flung by the bulk of the Ork out of the car, tucking up his arms and legs, hitting the soft, loamy soil of the former farm land, skidding across it, rolling a few times, coming up with a few lumps and bruises that likely would hurt in the morning, but none the worse for wear. Lucky to have avoided some stone in the fields or Ork Bitz and Gubbinz lying around.

Like a freakin' acrobat, Savros the Henge kips up from the ground, up on his feet in a flash, blade and pistol being drawn once more. The Car was roaring away. It was gone as far as he was concerned, and hardly something that bothered him other than the annoyance that he didn't get to wear it out first. Instead, his mind was on the flow of Colors, flashing around as the battlefield bloomed with carnage, all for the glory of the vision before his eyes. He found the clump of orks, his eyes crackling with the bright colors that the mortal eye was never meant to see. With a roar that sounded like the sky split, a bolt out of the blue, a huge cone of crackling warp lightning and smoke came out towards the space between Farmhouse and Orks, a cone just barely covering the Orks.

Renfield, ever the dutiful... Renfield... spread his wings wide when his master was ejected from the car, screaming out, "HEEEENGE!" with a concerned bellow, only to see him just pop back up, showing his favor openly in this battle. Ever blessed by the Great Powers, he was. Truly the bearer of the Favor of the Gods. Clutching his lasgun, he swooped in towards Savros, guarding him once more, always proud to fight alongside his master's side.

Savros falls, has Leap Up so he can stand from prone as a Free action. Readies his weapons, and uses his Gift of the Gods "Projectile Attack" as a Standard Action.

Renfield does have a Winged mutation, I don't know if you remembered that, so I figured any "fall" he took would be more like gliding on his wings. Not like he took a hit, just jumped out after all by what you said. If you're not cool with that, let me know. So he just moved to be next to his Master.

Projectile Attack Roll: No Attack roll needed, it's a Spray Weapon.

Damage: [roll0] +5, Pen 3, with Smoke, Spray, and Shocking.

Smoke cover should make the Rokkit Boyz and Ork Boyz attack at a -20 for next turn, Ork Boyz taking a Toughness Test or Stunlocked for Degrees of Failure. If they dodge a Spray Attack, they have to move out of the AoE so it should break up the mob on Migo, hopefully, if they don't get hit.

[Sinpoder707]

As the nameless one rushes forward, a master of lightning warfare get in close to the rocket boy, knowing that if he can't bring his weapon up to aim he is completely worthless against a Space Marine. As he closed the distance, his lightning claws was still glowing and sparking as he attempted to cut this orc down like the other. He needed to finish this fight quickly, and if he did not then there could be major problems that come from this.




[roll0]vs 60 +0 Swift Attack
[roll1]vs 60 +0 Swift Attack

Damage:
[roll2] Pen 8: Special +2 Damage Per Degree
[roll3] Pen 8: Special +2 Damage Per Degree

GOD!!! Why do you have to be so **** me!! WHY!

[Checkmate-Pony]

getting slashed by the septic blade across his body drained the life from him, the helmet doing nothing to convey the pain and despair a dying man could feel. It happens so sudden when you're struck, the will knocked out of you for a moment, staggering back against the Rhino defending himself he sees Savros unleashing his wrath.

But a miracle happened, the side door of the Rhino opened up, same did it's rear ramp, the wounded twist Luna had staggered to punch the vomitory rune. The Migo did not want to die, dying in glorious battle was highly overrated.

On his last good leg he ducks and throws himself into the rhino just as it spins on it's tracks and closes it's ramps again accelerating off away from the orks.

Inside the Migo gags in agony on his back bleeding and sparking in his celtic suit. However his first words upon seeing Luna is: "Oh no, are you hurt?" much more worried about her well being than his own. The question had come as a complete reflex, and as he sees the splendid Cadillac was piloting the Rhino he quickly yells at her over the engines "turn us around, f-for S- the man that shoots lightning" not sure how else to describe the baleful vision of Savros wielding the colors of magic


Migo will spend a full action to disengage from the fight safely, and move his half move into the rhino, Luna who's stunned phase has ended will spend her whole turn making sure that it's possible, helping him in.


Note that I also opened the rear ramp, this will give 24601 a chance to embark the Rhino with ease same as me and not leave him behind

they will ofcourse close these doors as soon as possible and drive off, I do not want to perform any special movement because poor Cadillac is not a good driver, so without needing any real skill I want her to drive the Rhino and us respectively in a curve: going south-southeast-east-northeast-north
Or if 24601 decides to embark it would be: turnaround-east-northeast-north

Whatever the shortest and safest path, I want the final position to be beside Savros at AE-AF-AG so that Savros is protected from a rokkit shot, and also break line of sight with the orks, so that if they stumble out of the smoke they won't directly spot Savros and might think of attacking something else entirely, atleast in theory...

Finally I want Arsenal (as we curve around or otherwise drive away from the trio of orks) to pick up the Grenade Launcher on the floor of the Rhino cockpit and pop out the hatch again to shoot the trio of orks, a clumsy shot but one can get lucky

he has BS35 but I'm not sure about the Mods for it, on one hand the orks are engulfed in smoke, on the other hand Arsenal isent shooting at any particular ork, he's shooting at the smoke itself because it has orks in it (in rule terms the middle ork), and his blast weapon will hit anything inside of it as far as he knows, I will leave it to the GM

[roll0] I better not roll damage since this thing can go wild and hit none of the intended targets

[DoctorFaust]

Ignoring everything going on around him, Giles starts backpedalling towards the open barn door to get some cover between himself and the Rokkit Boyz, putting another plasma burst downrange towards the Traktor.

Moving to K15 and shooting at Y20.

12/16 left

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly rolled painfully out of the way of the Traktor, his body battered and bruised. Black gunge oozed out of numerous cuts, giving of thick wisps of black smoke as it reacted with the air. Looking up he made to move behind the Rhino when it turned and powered away, now stood square in the open the Traktor infront of him, the Rokkit boyz behind and the three Orks the Migo had seconds ago been fighting to his left he was stuck. "Frak it, if you are going to go, then go with style!" he said with a smile, before spitting out a glob of black blood. What he wouldn't give for a dose of Stimm right now, or Slaught, or anything... He watched as a flash of light sped past him and decided that the three Orks were his biggest threat, he raised both his pistols and put a shot into two of them hoping he could even the odds.


Shooting at Ork A with Trouble and C with Strife
Ork A: BS 55 +10 (single shot), +10 (Red Dot), +10 (Short Range), +10 (Hulking) -10 (Ambidextrous Two Weapons), -20 (Smoke) TN:65 [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] Pen 2, Amputator Shells, Crippling (1)

Ork C: BS 55 +10 (single shot), +10 (Red Dot), +10 (Short Range), +10 (Hulking) -10 (Ambidextrous Two Weapons), -20 (Smoke) TN:65 [roll2]
Damage: [roll3] Pen 2, Amputator Shells, Crippling (1), Concussive (2)

[Hemnon]

Sheila drew out her gun and went around to take a nice and good aim at the nearest Ork, which was in close combat with one of her...... 'Teammates', getting ready to fire and, hopefully hit the damn Ork.

Half Action Draw Weapon (Las Pistol), Half Action Aim for next turn.
Aims at the Ork at Y-7 specifically.

[Q'telun]

The Migo gets clear, leaving 24601's shot open. They fired twice more, bright green plasma carving a trail through the smoke and at the Orkz.


Half Action Aim, Semi-auto fire

BS 45 + Aim 10 + Short distance 10 + Hulking 10 - 20 Smoke: 55

[roll0] vs 55

Ork A: [roll1] Pen 10

Ork B: [roll2] Pen 10

14/20 left

[sean_hyer]

Giles' second shot punches through the much lighter armor in the rear of the orkified tractor to explode in a ball of plasma, frying the crew and cooking off the fuel in a rather impressive explosion.

Across the yard, the Migo leaps clear as Savros looses a blast of warp energy into the trio of orks. He wounds them all and stuns one, leaving them easy prey for the follow-up barrage of fire, which cuts all three down.

Inside the farmhouse, the nameless engages the last rokkit boy with a flurry of slashes. The ork makes a good showing, but in the end his choppa cannot find a gap in the space marine's armor, and he too eventually falls.

As the injured boss speeds away, the farmhouse is finally cleared of its ork infestation.

[ArcturusV]

With the battle all but over now, Savros the Henge lumbered up his saber, resting the flat of the blade across his left shoulder, pistol resting in his hand still, looking over the carnage. Giving Renfield a look, he said only, "The Usual, please," never breaking stride as he headed towards the Farmhouse itself, sniffing at the air.

"The Usual" seemed to involve Renfield going around to the Ork Corpses that he could find, using his lasgun's bayonet to deliver a coup de grace to even supposedly dead ork corpses, dutifully making himself busy, his eyes still sparkling with the bright lights of the warp exposed, smile on his face ear to ear as he worked on stabbing and twisting on what he thought were Ork Vitals, by the mere idea that it'd be vital on a Human.

"The colors guide us to victory, in all things," he spoke mostly to himself. Taking a deep breath he unlimbered his saber, tapping the tip across the front of the farmhouse with every step. "Now... if they can guide me to a truly divine meal..." He doubted it. Maybe if he was lucky there would be some pickled beets or the like around here, or some other foodstuff with indefinite shelf life. He doubted those crude beasts had anything worth eating.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly didn't lower his guns instead he swung them towards the farmhouse. "Gentlemen, and ladies. We aren't alone, there is something else in that Farmhouse." he shouted out. "Could be friendly but not sure." he started walking slowly over guns pointed at the windows and door.

"Oi, you, in the house. Show yourself or be blown apart." he shouts into the farmhouse.

[Sinpoder707]

As the Nameless one finished off the last Rokkit Orc, he would look down at the rocket before kicking it away before he looked out and saw that their were still guns trained on him. The gun's of his allies. With a minor sigh, he would take a step out of the farm house as he showed his new 'allies' what he looked like.

They would see another Space Marine, just as tall and massive but the first thing that came off to him was that he was wearing a very old set of Mark VI Corvus Power Armor, so old that the lightning claws that were still glowing from the power field had a slot INSIDE the armor for them to slide back into. With a movement of his eye, the space marine inside the armor turned off the power field of the claws and they slid back into their case inside the ceramite incased armor. The man still had pieces of what looked to be Raven Guard iconography on his armor, but most of them seem to have been worn away with time and battle and there has been no attempt to fix them. As he walked forward, out of the darkness, his body started to become more clearly visible as they now saw that he was wearing a camo cloak, a very large one, but it was cut to the size of the space marine and fit the Nameless one perfectly, if not for a few minor problems that would be fixed when the moment comes back up. The most disturbing thing about the Space Marine was that his armor was completely silent. The only noise you heard coming from him was the sound of his armored boots touching the ground, and that was a scary thought.

The man inside would flip to Prey-sense as he looked though the battlefield. He wanted to make sure that his enemies were dead, and as he looked at the bodies he would see that they were in fact starting to cool rapidly, meaning that they were dead or dying. That was good enough for him, before turning that off and then looking at his group. Lets start with this, my name is not important.. in fact it is important that my name is unknown. All you need to know is that I have been watching you from the moment you got here, I currently have someone from the Inquistor's retinue that is hurt but alive. If you wish to gather information from him, go right ahead. I brought him to you as... a gift. I will be watching you from a distance for the rest of this time. You will not see or hear me and that is fine. The less you know about where I am the better it is going to be. Now... the Space Marine would walk over to the Iron Warrior, and would give him his vox-caster information so if they needed him they could call. Once that was taken care of, the Nameless one would walk over to the car and pull the Sniper out and then throw him infront of the group on his knees and then went and 'hid' in the shadows of the barn. Even though he was not really trying, it would most likely difficult for someone to see him as the camo cloak and this 'unknown' factor made is very difficult to grab a picture of him or focus on him.

[DoctorFaust]

With an annoyed sigh, Giles slings his plasma cannon back over his back and draws his laspistol in its place. He walks over to the prisoner, hauls him up to his feet with his free hand, and roars at him through the speakers of his power armor. "State your name and rank, boy! Or I'll send you back to your Inquisitor in a bodybag!"

Command:[roll0]vs 39+10 trained+10 is his Strength or WP is lower than mine.

[Col.Straken]

He kept his guns trained on the Space Marine as he introduced himself, he looked almost Imperial if outdated, hard to tell for a mere mortal. He doubted the Marine was even concerned about his little pistols, but hell if that was going to stop him. When the Inquisitorial agent was dragged from the boot D'Oyly switched to having Trouble pointed at him and kept Strife trained on the Space Marine. Keeping it pointed at the shadows where he dissapeared even when his outline had completely blurred.

Walking up to the Inquisitorial agent D'Oyly leant over and whispered in his ear, "I suggest you answer, I am feeling a desperate thirst, and these Orks are jusy not to my taste." he adds with a cruel smile that shows his sharpened canines.

[sean_hyer]

Gritting his teeth at the rough treatment, the simply dressed man looks up at you. The pain shows in his eyes, but his voice is clear, calm and precise as he bites out a sentence.

"My name is Vincent Williamson. My rank is Lieutenant and my number is nine seven two four five seven."

[CarcerKango]

After receiving the nameless Marine's vox information with a nod, Nemethol advanced to the Inquisitorial prisoner wordlessly, his armor whining softly as fibre-bundles shifted and contracted. He slung his autocannon over his back and detached his bolt pistol from its magnetic holster on his belt, flicking it to semi-automatic and leveling it at the prisoner.

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Rhino remained silent for a while, it's crew working behind closed doors till it sprung to life again and it very slowly like a wounded animal crawled it's way into the barn. Before then however, the Migo would disembark and wobble through the mud on an injured leg after Savros, clutching his side limping after him, calling Savros out weakly and unheard over the Rhino engines. When the Rhino stopped Savros could hear the Migo call out to him trying to catch up with his purposeful strides, the Migo was not angry or happy, he called out to Savros as if in disbelief.

[Q'telun]

24601 lets their plasma gun hang at their side once the threat of Orkz has passed. They heave a heavy internal sigh when the fool points a pair of stub revolvers at the heavy ceramite plating of a Marine. If they did have to kill the marine, the heretek and the one with the plasma cannon would have to do the fighting. But since no one is actually fighting, an opportunity for fun presents itself in the form of an agent of the Inquisition.

The heretek makes their way over to the impromptu questioning, standing quietly behind Giles while he shouts at Lt. Williams. When the sniper responds with the appropriate phrase, 24601 smiles under the hood of their robe. This one is well trained, and might even last a few hours without breaking. They can feel their heart beat faster in anticipation.

24601 slides in neatly between the prisoner and any guns pointed at him, and then in a harsh, masculine, metallic voice says, "Lieutenant Vince Williamson, state the name and order of the Inquisitor that you are attached to, and your purpose for following a joint operation of Inquisition and Astarte forces."

Deceive: [roll0] vs 63

[Hemnon]

Sheila got out from her cover slowly, laspistol still drawn. "Well, that was quite the rush... who else feel a need for some rough'n'tumble right now? I could do with a nice orgy right now~" She said out in a VERY sweet and Toxically inviting way, subtlely holding her body in a way that just screamed 'SAXAY!!!'.
It was quite clear that she was being VERY serious right now, what with her seductive words, smoldering gaze and extremely inviting body-language. Hell, she didn't really look like she cared much if it was with a guy, girl.... Space Marine? or even one of the mostly-dead orks might not even be out of the question.~

[CarcerKango]

With a glance over to Sheila, Nemethol curtly shook his head. "Your timing is impeccably bad," he commented, still keeping his gun leveled on the prisoner.

[Hemnon]

Sheila grinned back at Nemethol, winking sweetly at his direction. "Having sex is never badly timed~ It's more enjoyable when done just as the adrenaline is pumping heavily in the body~" She replied to Nemethol, slowly letting her tongue, her Snakey-FORKED tongue that is, run over her lips and made it flit a bit as if she was also making a taste of the air~

[DoctorFaust]

Quite calmly, Giles turns around and levels his laspistol at Sheila. "D'Oyly, place the heretic back in restraints and excort her to the rhino where she belongs. And this time, secure her properly, so she can't disturb official Inquisition business."

[Hemnon]

Sheila Narrowed her eyes as Giles pointed his gun at her. "Heretic am I? Just what did you base that slander on? That i get rather excited when in combat? By the Great God, almost every single Imperial Guardsman would feel the same. So lower your gun before i slice off your arm and force you to EAT IT..." Her demeanor had instantly changes, no longer acting all sensual and sweet.
"Little rats should shut up and keep to their own business, not running off their mouth and acting all high and mighty. Holster your weapon or point it some other way.... Would you kindly?" She said, making it sound as a request, but still holding a certain strength to it.


I will roll charm if you're gonna try to take this any further, DoctorFaust.
I do not wish to go PC-combat due to it NOT being fun at all when not planned as such. We are all meant to work together after all.

So before you go on, please let me know if you INTEND to take this further into forcing her to do anything or actually fire at her, cuz if so, then im gonna go agressive with charm and try to force your character to stand down that way.
Hell, I'll even go with seduction and totally undermine your character's personal standing if need be. There's rules for it after all :3

[ArcturusV]

Renfield finished up his kill confirmations, hustling over towards Savros as he got to the front door of the farmhouse and started peering inside. He heard the... he forgot the name... calling out towards him, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the badly wounded man, and gesturing for him to come on inside after him.

Savros entered the farmhouse, and started looking around, his sword was still out, using the tip to prod open things like doors hanging ajar, cabinets, etc. Pistol was gripped tightly, as he seemed to be more on a somewhat casual seeming sweep and clear of the Farmhouse, making sure there wasn't something cowering in the dark corners and shadows. Renfield seemed to understand this without a word, lasgun still held tightly, looking more like he was preparing to charge his hulking bulk and stab whatever was found with the barest of provocations. Something that was probably almost comically awkward considering his bulk, even with his wings folded back tight.

"Doubt there's anything left worth a damn in this hovel... but you never know," Savros explained to Migo as he searched. "At the very least, wouldn't want some little sneaky bugger slitting my throat when I was unprepared." He smiled, and his eyes seemed to crackle with warp lightning for a moment, though no great discharge came.

"Badly wounded, yes? Well, maybe we can find something to bind and treat those wounds. Renfield and I have had a good hand at patching up the faithful zealots before..." He mused, as he continued his search.

Don't know if you want me to throw for searching the house. Off chance you do? Well I suppose that would be an Awareness Test.

Awareness: [roll0] vs 43 Perception, +0 Awareness Training, -10 Fatigue, Baseline mark for a Challenging (+0) Test: 33.

[Q'telun]

24601 enacts the sacred rite of Palmas in Faciem. They remembered now why they never wanted to deal with other champions of Slaanesh. The others never had any control over their urges, no sense of WHEN to overindulge.

Shaking their head, they put a restraining hand on Giles's gun arm. In the usual metallic monotone they attempt to end the standoff. "What is done is done. Secure the Lieutenant in the barn. I will speak to him there."

Turning away from Corey, they face the sensation seeker. With no trace of anger, disgust, or disappointment the heretek says, "You are a heretic because you consort with daemons, overindulge in hedonism, and are a follower of the Dark Prince. Ensure that the aircar the nameless one arrived in is incapable of being tracked, so this location will not be discovered."

[sean_hyer]

The sniper watches the exchange silently, not responding to 24601's question in any way other than to press his lips together. But when the divisions in the group show, a faint smile cracks his lips.

Nodding at Giles, he speaks again, his voice rasping. "I know you, don' I. The deser'er. We all saw the briefin'. "Take 'im alive", it said. "Wanted for questionin'". Pfah!"

The prisoner spits to the side, a glob of bloody phlem. "'Ow the mighty 'ave fallen, ey? Consortin' wif these losers? Takin' orders from 'em? Hah!"

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly saw that the situation was slipping away from them. People started to infight and try to cover up the obvious. The Inqisitoral agent wasn't an idiot and started to play on these cracks, before he could go much further however D'Oyly shrugged and slammed the butt of Trouble into the back of his skull.

Stowing his guns he hefted the body onto his shoulder and carried him inside before dumping him into a chair and finding himself a clean glass, or at least as clean as possible and wiping it down. He pulled out his knife and gave it a quick spin, "Now then, I can see you aren't stupid. You know we aren't Inquisitors. But, you must also be able to see that we aren't exactly stable minded. Like I said before, I am damn thirsty, and loyal blood tastes the sweetest. I'm not going to ask you any questions, I am just going to drain you dry, as slowly as I can." with that said he gets up and walks around the prisoner slowly before stopping at his side, he jams his blade into the mans shoulder. Smiling an evil smile he pulls the knife out slowly and lets the blood pump out into the waiting glass, he licks the blade with satisfaction as he waits for his true drink.

[Hemnon]

Sheila just finally sniffed haughtily and turned on the spot to head off, clearly not feeling any more interest of much of excitement from the current conversation.
So she did what she found most fitting: She left the others and headed off towards the suggested vechicle, drawing forth her rather ornate knife, while holstering her gun, using the tip of the blade to clean her nails a bit.

[Sinpoder707]

The nameless one watched this display and he simply sighed in his power armor, his armor not even moving from the outside as he turned around. He moved back to the car and made sure that the homing beacon was turned off and then just stayed over there. He was never a huge fan of extracting information from people because there was no way to prove the accuracy of what they were giving you until you go there, and at that point you would be better off going there yourself but let the.... mortals... have their fun. It might be the only fun they have in this before the Inquisition kills them for being unable to blend in, because at this point the former Raven Guard is the only one that could possibly go into a city and be given a welcome of a hero. It would help that 99% of the Imperium as a whole don't know anything at all about a Space Marine, other then they are the champion of the Emperor, and his former Raven Guard markings were still on his armor. Maybe he would take some time and repaint them onto his armor for this mission.

[DoctorFaust]

Before D'Oyly can haul the likely stunned Lieutenant into the farmhouse, Giles shoves himself between the two of them, putting the barrel of his pistol dangerously close to the other man's stomach. "We're going to do this properly," he snarls. "And that means no torturing prisoners if we don't absolutely have to. Get your damn fill of all those greenskins' blood if you're that desperate for a fix, D'Oyly."

In case you couldn't tell, I'm contesting your actions, Straken.:smalltongue: And I'm perfectly happy to make whatever rolls you or the DM think are necessary.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly stopped and glared at Giles, "Who said I was going to torture him for information. He wouldn't break easy anyway, he knows we are not Imperial, and he now knows we are fractured. Your care for human life is going to get us killed."

Pulling both guns in a flash he placed them both against Giles' forehead. "I advise you lower your gun, and I will do the same. I might be hurting but I can still put you down. As for his blood, I need his blood, the Ork blood will not do. Your rat blood wouldn't sustain me either. I will drink from him and we will get just as much information as if you let him live and we carry him around with us for ever." he laughed at the man trying to save their prisoners life as if he just realised a giant joke. "What are we going to do with him after you ask him nicely anyway? Tie him up and hope the Inquisition never find him? Let him go so he can give them all our details? Carry him around as a prisoner forever? The only sensible course is to kill the frakker, preferably by shooting him with an Ork gun or their blades. Or we chop him up so small they would never know anyway."

He kept his eyes and guns level, even as his thick blood continued to slowly stream down his arms and body. He didn't want this fight but sometimes people need a bit of force to see sense.

[DoctorFaust]

In response, Giles pulls the barrel of his pistol up and jams it into the hollow beneath D'Oyly's jaw. "I'm wearing power armor and carrying plasma. You really want to try me? And the only reason he knows we're not Imperial is because ALL OF YOU MORONS ARE INCAPABLE OF RATIONAL THOUGHT! You flaunt your mutations around a prisoner, you act blatantly heretical, you threaten an Emperor-be-damned Space Marine, almost as if you want us to have to kill everyone we meet so that the news doesn't get back to the Inquisition that THE PEOPLE THEY APPARENTLY KNEW WERE AT THE STONE CIRCLE CAN'T PLAN THEIR WAY OUT OF A PAPER BAG!"

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly shifts Strife so that is pointing at Giles' Eye peice. "I do believe that my mutation was Flaunted by the frakking Orks we just killed. I don't think we need to kill everybody, so far I haven't even threatened this mans life. Not while he was concious anyway. In fact you are the only one to threaten ANYBODY's life, here and back at the circle. Unfortunatly, to get our employer to pay up, blood is going to get spilt."

He knew he was pushing his luck, but maybe he could get this guy to see sense, if not he damn well hoped that the others would see he was making a valid point and came to help out.

"Like I said, drop your gun and I will do the same, otherwise we will have to see who is faster and how well that eye socket holds up. So please, I ask you to stop threatening everyone and see if we can work this out like adults. There is no need compare who has the biggest 'gun' we all know it is one of the Marines, and theirs fire blanks." he added trying to lighten the mood, he had no idea how a firefight would turn out, but he did know it would be bad for both of them, even if he did lose.

[Checkmate-Pony]

away from the deadly showdown outside, as Savros was searching the house, The Migo suddenly grabbed his shoulder and turned him around holding on to him, but surprisingly the Migo was not angry or hostile

"You saved, twice... Why in the world did you do that?" he said disbelieving and quietly "and how are you still alive, the Ork Cheif?"

The Migo would slowly let go of Savros's shoulders and remove his helm with a release of pressure for once revealing his whole face, long hair as he knew and blue eyes, but with no rebreather on he could see his mouth, and it was normal, he had a full beard and scars on his face sure but in the end, he was just a man, a person, one that looked at Savros as if he was a dead relative come back to life.

"And that light, the fire from your eyes, even now it glows. What are you?" he further asked.

[Q'telun]

24601 emits a short burst of angry sounding binary static. This is going nowhere, and the heretek thanked whatever power that would still listen no imperial citizens were still in earshot of all this.

They walk over to the stunned body of the lieutenant and hoist it over their shoulder. "If you two are quite finished. I am going to ensure he does not end his own life, and then speak to him. If you wish to continue this line of conversation, do it in a way that does not disturb me."

With that, they turn on their heel and start walking into the privacy of the barn.

[Sinpoder707]

The Nameless one simply watched as his 'allies' yelled at each other, and he took no offense to anything that man was saying as he was clearly not apart of this. He looked at the man holding the Plasma Weapons and he felt no fear, as he knew that he would not fire on him without due cause he was not that kind of Marine. He would turn away at that moment, caring less and less about what was going to happen, either they were going to resolve it or one of them was going to die. Such is the nature of Chaos, this was not like the Imperium he knew and trained under. It was an Imperium of waste of space creatures who prayed to a man who didn't want to be prayed to, or to their Primarchs who wanted to be prayed to even less. The rational of Chaos or people who turn to the Gods is... impressive if it's lack of foresight and taking in the big picture.

He would simply walk over and with a flick of one of his eyes would pull up one of the most useful devices in his arsenal, something called a Comm Leech. It would recieve Vox communications over the air and the Nameless one would lean against anything that could hold him in the barn, using the darkness of the barn to cover him, the stillness of his body and the camo cloak to hide him even farther as he closed his eyes and listened to any communications that go over the airwaves as he listened for a hint that someone knows that they are their.

[DoctorFaust]

"Hah." Giles doesn't lower his gun, nor does he open the helmet of his power armor, but some of the tension seems to leave his stance. "Well, it appears we've had that part of our argument settled for us. Have anything else to settle now, or can it wait until the job is done? Because as distasteful as I find it working with you all, I'd really rather not lose what Uomiras is offering."

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly did lower his guns, "So, you don't let me take this guy into the Barn, but you let the guy with tortue instruments strapped to his spine. Brilliant logic." he says, before walking away towards the Barn following the Heretek.

[Q'telun]

24601 continues into the barn, closing and barring the door in D'Oyly's face.

Once the door is closed, the heretek takes a length of chain from the wall and uses it to bind the prisoner's hands, and suspend him in a standing position. With that done, she pushes the hood of her robe back to let a long braid of brown hair hang loose, and begin a visual inspection of the prisoner in the low light of the barn.

Servos hidden underneath her robe whir slightly as she considers the bound man. It's unlikely the Astates performed a complete search, and Inquisition operatives are instructed to commit suicide if captured. That would be wasteful. If it were Inquisitor Bain, what would he use?

Starting with the obvious location, 24601 pries open the man's mouth with her Medicae Mechadendrite, a thin probe prodding at each tooth in turn. When all of his teeth return as normal she permits herself a slight frown, and resolves to check the man from head to toe. Hair... normal. Eyes... one blind. Otherwise normal. Nose... normal. Hands... normal. Fingers... normal. Fingernails... ah! Clever.

Delicately, 24601 pries a beautifully crafted false nail from the prisoner's left index finger. Shame he's unconscious for this. Can't be helped, until the threat of suicide is removed. Undoubtedly highly toxic and fast acting. A combination weapon and escape route. She smiles, and places the nail in hardened container for later use.

Not one to leave a task half-done, 24601 continues the inspection until she is sure that there are no other possible ways for the man to commit suicide. With that done, and the prisoner still unconscious, she administers a stimulant to wake him back up. There's no point in questioning an unconscious victim.

When he wakes, she speaks in an unmodulated, feminine voice. "Lieutenant Williamson, I am Roux 0101. I would like to ask you a few questions. Compliance will earn you the Emperor's Mercy. If I have to question you, I will permit my comrades to do with you as they will at the cost of your soul. Will you comply?"

[ArcturusV]

Savros smiled back at Migo, his eyes no longer crackling, appearing just as normal as those of any man. His smile seemed an easy, confident expression. "I am most blessed by the Great Powers, privy to the Colors of Creation, he who's birth was witnessed by the Eyes of the Powers," he spoke with complete conviction, though it was not the strained, on the edge zealotry of the fanatical, but something deeper, scarier. The True Believer who had not an ounce of doubt, who considered this a rational thing that he had known for all his life. Not a recent convert trying to play up the role of their new life.

"No beast will fell me, just as nothing can fell the Great Powers, as I am their proxy upon this life." He holstered his pistol at this, and sheathed his blade. Of course the paranoid people might remember he had critical eyebeams and not think that even a disarmed Savros was really disarmed. Still, the place was secure, other than some farm beasts of a like he didn't recognize, nor had any particular skill to bother trying to turn into food.

His eyes flicked over towards the two standing off at the front of the Farmhouse, then back to Migo, his eyebrows arching up a little as if they proved a point.

"Lost on the Path," Savros said softly. "If you want to avoid that fate, speak to me. After I get some sleep. It has been a long day."

He doubted the furniture here would be anything that wasn't covered in the blessings of the Rotting Ones, so he rolled his shoulder to get it out of Migo's grip, and walked towards the back of the farmhouse, trying to find a relatively clean spot to curl up under his cloak, back to the wall, head on his knees, his blade taken off his belt and placed next to him in easy reach (And so it wouldn't be in the way of him sleeping), ready to catch a nap while he could after the long drive.

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo still had many more questions, he sensed a similar connection in his words and his own abilities, Savros might understand it better.

The Migo walked outside and dreaded only the yelling and bickering the others were doing. Seeing them he felt a sense of pride, no matter who The Migo had worked for or what leader he had answered to he had never acted so rowdy, that might be why he had been trusted with slightly more covert missions than cannon fodder.

The Migo unjammed his flamer and a gout of red plasma fire spewed from his wrist ending in tar black smoke, there was something primordial about a techno barbarian wandering midst the dead surrounded by flames. The Migo did exactly that, he'd search the greenskin corpses for items, gear or fetishes. He looked for nothing in particular, anything interested him, especially tools of war, Ork weapons were fascinating and resonated with him, he held no bias towards imperial technology, he had come from a feral life, everything was a step up from sticks and stones.

Inside the barn the stinking Rhino sat there, the crew belonging to the Migo knew their place and tried to make as little noise as possible during 24601s interrogation, they had opened the Rhino doors to let it smoke out, Arsenal held out a frag grenade in outstretched arms and carried it outside to bury the dud safely, and returned to reassemble the Grenade launcher and take apart the Rhino for repairs

Cadillac was taking care of Luna with a medical kit, it was the beauty and the beast scenario, and there was complaints about having to go out and hunt whilst covered in painful stitches and sticky band aids. But it would be done, it was Luna's part of the family chores.

[CarcerKango]

Like the nameless one, Nemethol sighed and turned his back on the showdown between Giles and D'Oyly. He holstered his pistol and walked off, scrounging the area much as the Migo did, searching for artifacts of sorts--relics of Ork shamans, which held a fascination for him due to the fact that they had psychic effects--or so he'd been told--despite not calling upon the Warp for their power. While he had no doubt that his psychic abilities would have little to no impact upon such items, he still wanted to learn what that power took the form of, how it felt.
He scrounged for quite some time, occasionally turning over a corpse here or there with one power-armored foot.

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo hefted a Shoota in one arm and braced it against his bicep shooting it into the air in a burst, it gushed with black smoke and scattering bullets, and had a very catchy sound like a daka-daka

"Nemethol!" he smiled at him "you admire them too?" "there is something wonderfully artistic about Ork weapons, each is it's own strange piece of personal art by it's builder, yet they all share the same function. And no two are alike, like no two gems are alike"

"Pieces of primitive art" "they are good for shock and awe, and it's exactly how they use them"

The Migo looked over at Nemethol as if expecting something "I'm sure you know a lot about weapons yourself" he said picking up a chobba, one that had a spinning saw blade that could be cranked with a handlebar like throttle, he gave it easy swings to try and understand it's obscene center of balance. he'd stop painfully and wonder which weapons caused his wounds, If he could find them.

[Vexing]

Then...
The moment The Migo had strode so proudly out of the customized Rhino, mere moments after the rocket impact on its front plating, Lacerius had seen his opening. Slipping out the side door and to the rear far behind the armoured figure, the ex-Adept dropped into the long grass and dirt of the plain. The heavy weaponry and raucous, excessive ambush by the Orks had made the choice simple: he needed to stay on the edge of combat as much as possible! Not for the first time Lacerius longed for heavier ceramite plating, or even the claustrophobic heft of a power armour suit as he surveyed the greenskin assault.

And then...it was over before it began. Crackling plasma, snapping lasguns, and clanging slugthrowers were all brought to bear against the xenos threat by his erstwhile compatriots, Savros' vehicle even joining the fray as part of a desperate ramming attempt. While the apostate stuck low to the ground and had fired his las once or twice, he was uncertain if he'd even struck anything; the struggle had been a noisy, flashy affair, and Lacerius thought it unlikely that an Ork would flinch from even the most well-placed shot from his baroque-styled pistol. As combat wound down, he finally had a chance to take in his bearings and stand to clean off his gear. For now, it would be best to observe the aftermath of it all...

Now!
It was like watching the destruction of something precious slated for use, a deliberate sabotage of untapped potential. Watching the heretics, murderers and recidivists who would be his allies put Lacerius in mind of a shoddily made clock; all the moving parts failed to harmonize with each other, grinding each other down and chiming out of unison to spectacular effect before falling apart entirely. The human in power armour had opened strongly and was well followed by the mysterious tech-adept, but D'Oyley's blatant threats and Sheila's untimely demands for stimulation destroyed the attempt at deception before it truly began. To make matters worse, the heretics directly contradicted each other in front of the prisoner, escalating to a standoff in moments.

It would have been almost laughable, if so much didn't depend upon their future cooperation. As it was, Lacerius found it worrisome.

After more heated words and a reconciliation of sorts, the two men lowered their guns and resolved to let the matter lie. The wounded Migo was wandering the field and examining Ork weaponry, along with the grim Astartes.

Wait. Where did the other one go?

Resolving to worry about it later, Lacerius took stock of the rest of the team. Sheila had moved to the aircar to examine it closer, Savros had long since moved inside the hovel, the tech-adept had absconded with the prisoner, and now D'Oyley moved to join the entity at the barn. Too slowly, it seemed, as the door slammed in the gunslinger's face. Finally having cleaned the metallic threads of his cloak of dust, the apostate moved towards Giles and the other mortal. "It's becoming painfully evident that we need a more...structured approach to this endeavor. The Daemon will not be freed if we spent our time on Roubard harping on each others flaws--real or imagined." Lacerius tries for a smile, the metal that was now his skin quirking eerily around the corners of his mouth; he counted on his charismatic aura to help smooth tensions. "I have just the idea for how to proceed. If there's nothing else to tend to here, join me within the farmhouse."

Taking a moment to see if either Giles, D'Oyley, or any of the others will follow his soft push to lead, the ex-adept smoothly strides into the hovel. His blessed receptors pick up Savros and his mutant settling in to rest against a far wall, and the man makes a note to include the zealot when he wakes. Moving towards the middle of the damaged house, he pulls up a battered stool from where it lies on the floor and sits hunched over the ruins of a wooden table. The small ruck concealed under his cloak is brought forth without ceremony, a hefty writing case soon revealing itself from the unassuming leather pouches. Lacerius takes great pains in arranging the case, a roll of stiff parchment, and the pouch of ash he had collected just so before opening the box. Auto-quill and ink join the other items as he begins to sketch out the rough details of a Compact, the first he'd embarked upon.

If anyone had followed him indoors, he'd offer this by way of explanation: "The first step in many great tasks is the simplest. The work of organizing, pledging resources, and assigning tasks to their proper actors cannot be overlooked. I propose we sign a Compact before ourselves, Uomireas, and the Gods themselves. We've already seen the scant virtues of acting unilaterally", he adds with a cruel smirk, "so I also propose that we assign one of our number a sacred charge--that of the Anointed. A decision maker, who will be ritually committed to the success of our quest."

"Naturally, I suggest someone with a wealth of knowledge and a willingness to apply actual thought to our situation. I reluctantly--ever so unwillingly--nominate myself for the role. Of course, if you have any other suggestions...?" Lacerius trails off, allowing the scratching of his auto-quill to fill the silence. Elaborate scrolling is appearing near the top of the parchment, a title in High Gothic, 'Unbinding the Multi-Faceted'.

Of course, if no one followed him, he would happily work in silence.

[sean_hyer]

The prisoner's face flashes through a mix of emotions, passing too quickly for even a trained interrogator to identify most of them (hate, outrage, fear, disgust, despair, triumph...), and his hands clench spasmodically at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

A few seconds later, and the whirling feelings are broken by an easily recognisable flash of confusion, and his eyes glance down at his hands, then move up to settle on your face, studying it as intently as you are watching his. For a seeming eternity, which can only really have been half a minute, the tableau is frozen.

Suddenly, all the fight leaves his body, and his face settles on one final emotion you could recognise anywhere - resigned acceptance. In an emotionless voice, he finally answers you. "Yes. I will comply."

[CarcerKango]

"They are...efficient, I'll give them that," Nemethol said slowly to the Migo. "It seems that the opposite would be the case, given their simple construction, but yet...I've heard tales--and now seen evidence--of them being every bit as dangerous as the weapons of the Legions. They're not so different from us--each making their own wargear, tools of destruction loyal to only their master's hands--"
A short laugh escaped him unbidden as he saw the Migo struggling with the hand weapon. "They seem to be as destructive to the wielders as to their victims," he snorted. Then his grim aspect returned, his moment of mirth over. "To be honest, I was more interested in the trappings of their...psykers, I suppose they'd be. I'd heard stories about how they operate, and wanted to see if there was any...spoor, if you will, left in the Warp by their operation. Alas," he finished, looking around, "there do not seem to be any of them present."

He spotted Lacerius headed for the farmhouse and followed, nodding a momentary farewell to the Migo.

[Sinpoder707]

The Nameless one would pull himself out of whatever he was doing and he would follow the man that appointed himself the Anointed. To the man he most likely appeared next to him, as if by Warp Magic but that was not important as he leaned against a nearby pillar and waited for the rest to show up. This time he was in complete view, the light showing him completely as he looked at the Anointed with red tinted eyes from his power armor.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly was almost at the barn door when it was slammed shut and barred, as he heard the locking timber fall into place he raised his hands in frustration. "You better save some for the rest of us." he shouted into the barn. He then followed Lacerius into the Farmhouse, writing up a contract would be wise, might stop some of the infighting. Hell it could even get him sent off on his own so he can do what he wants the way he wants.

"Well lets get this wrapped up. I'm good with you calling the shots, rather you than me anyway. I think we need to work a few angles for each of the Seals. No point putting all our eggs in one basket, never know if one of us will fail or get caught. I can work on one of the minor houses while someone else hits another, cause a bit of a power struggle. If someone knocks out the current governor then if either of the two houses we are backing get in then we are half way to breaking the Authority."

[DoctorFaust]

Giles, having followed Lacericus silently into the farmhouse, shakes his head after the other human finishes his spiel. "I trust the former tech-priest more than any of the rest of you. So far, he's not done anything stupid and hasn't made any obvious power grabs, which puts him a step or five above the rest of you in my book. As for division of labor, well, if we're doing anything with the Inquisition I should probably go with that team. Just putting this out there now, but I do not want to be working with Psycho, Silent, or Savros."

He pauses for a moment, and then adds, "And I don't think I'll be signing your compact. I don't need any mystical mumbo-jumbo to tell me how to do my job, and I don't want to be beholden to the gods any more than I already am. I just want to get this job done as quick as possible and be gone from the pleasure of all of your company."

[Q'telun]

The whole time 24601 talks, Williamson's hands are working, clenching and unclenching, leaving bloody marks where his fingernails press into his palms.

"What is the name of your Inquisitor."

"Inquisitor Benedict of Cymnea, Ordo Hereticus." Vince smiles faintly as he says this; a smile of triumph, of 'now you know how badly you screwed up'. But she has never heard of this man, and offers him no reaction. His smile fades with his mounting uncertainty.

"Is the Inquisition aware of our purpose on this planet?"

"Hah! Right now, the Inquisition doesn't even know you are here. Soon they will though, and that you've disturbed the demon's seal."

"What were your orders when you were dispatched?"

He grimaces at the question. "I was just on a scouting mission. I was ordered... not to engage."

"What is the geographical location of the Inquisition base you were dispatched from?"

A puzzled frown. "I wasn't dispatched from a base. I was the one manning the observation post a few miles north of the city limits. I couldn't give you an exact location. I just know how to get there."

"Are you aware of the presence of Uomireas beneath the Seal?"

Another frown. "Is that the demon?"

She nods once.

He nods back, slowly. "Then Yes."

"Are there currently Inquisition voidships in orbit?"

"Not that I've heard. My lord doesn't have a personal vessel."

"Who is the man you accused of being a deserter?"

A faint, tired smile again. "Well, at least I caught someone's attention with that attempt. Even if it didn't start the fight I was hoping for." -sigh- "He was an Inquisitor. Hereticus, like us, which is how we came to hear of it. Then one day, he vanished. That's nothing big; Inquisitors do that all the time. The issue is that, since then, all the papers he processed have been going wrong. Incompetence, or subtle treachery. After the first few incidents, another Inquisitor went and tidied it all up. Now, he's wanted. The impression I got, they'd like to question him, but if he happened to catch a bullet 'resisting arrest', no-one would be too broken up about it. 'Course, now he's working with you lot.." A pause, while he spits on the ground. "..they're just gonna want him dead."

"What is the name of the Governor of the nearest city?"

"Couldn't rightly tell you without knowing where we are. Governor Hector Mathis or Lord Arthur Maelys, unless you've warped us across the planet while I was out."

When the questions stop, the sniper looks up at the heretek, eyes flashing defiance a final time. "Well, I've kept my word. Time you keep yours."

24601 is quiet for a moment. She shuffles in her robe, then draws an Ork Slugga from beneath it. She looks Williamson dead in the eyes, and begins to speak. "Lieutenant Vince Williamson. You have served the Inquisition faithfully, and have done your utmost to fulfill your duty. Know that no man, woman, or child will question your sacrifice this day, for you have chosen to defy the Blasphemous powers to your final breath. Let the sky welcome you, for therein dwells the Emperor and his saints."

As the final words fall from her lips, she raises the gun and empties the clip into the bound sniper in one ear-splitting barrage. She tosses the gun aside and turns her back on the meat dangling from the ceiling, raising the hood of her robes to obscure her face once more.

The heretek throws open the doors of the barn, notes the absence of the any other heretics, and walks into the farmhouse. They stand quietly to one side so as not to interrupt the proceedings.

[Col.Straken]

When he heard the rattling gunshots he knew what had happened, D'Oyly jumped up and almost ran outside grabbing his cup on his way. He saw 24601 half way across the yard and shouted as he passed by "You lot are a barrel of laughs aren't you. Spoil everyones fun."

Before long he was stood infront of the blasted ruin of a body, cup held out infront of him catching a stream of blood which was running out too quickly for his liking. He shook his head at the lump of meat infront of him, "And that guy thought I was bad for wanting a drink." he said to himself.

[Vexing]

The metal mask of Lacerius' face quirks into a new arrangement as Giles mentions 'obvious power grabs', the edges of his lips curling near the corners of his mouth. That expression only grows more prominent as the other man continues. It's a smirk. Still continuing to outline the document, the ex-Adept waits respectfully for him to finish speaking before offering his response: "If you assume that suggesting myself for the role of Anointed is a crude bid for power, you've grossly misinterpreted the nature of the arrangement. The Anointed stands symbolically before the Ruinous Powers--between them and the Compact's participants as the target of their ire." His auto-quill scratches at the parchment, terms and the framework for oaths blossoming from the dark ink. "Whatever isn't pledged to our cause, I must procure. If one of us should fail, I suffer as they do. Should the Compact dissolve with Uomireas unreleased, then I must offer restitution from my blood and destiny to satiate the Powers. It is an incredible risk, but one that must be taken if all this energy wasted on in-fighting and recrimination is to be directed elsewhere. I intend to take it."

The hoarse clatter of a Slugga echoes from the barn, muffled only slightly by the distance. D'Oyley leaps up and rushes out, leaving Lacerius to his audience...which, he slowly realized, included the two Marines. Perhaps they'd entered while he was distracted by discussion. Glancing up at the two of them with a slightly confused look, and then slowly back to Giles, the familiar smirk returns.

"Fortunately, Warrior, you needn't join the Compact to accomplish your goals. However, I feel it would be prudent to remind you of something." The Feudal Worlder pauses, laying down his quill. He lifts his head to study the belligerent human. "A true democracy is a rare thing on any world. For the moment, we're creating one to assign the Anointed his role." Bright eyes stay fixed on Giles' helmet, as if trying to burn a hole through the plating. "Something I've always found impressive about the arrangement is that if you don't pledge to the system, you are denied participation as well. Your vote of confidence for the Heretek is duly noted--and unless you intend to join the Compact, it will be summarily discarded."

"Speak of the Daemon!" Lacerius notes the red-robed figure drift into the farmhouse, motioning it over to join him at the table. "I'm about to draft a plan of action. Who would you suggest for the role of the Anointed?" He pauses, glancing back to the two Marines. "I would hear both of your opinions as well."

[Checkmate-Pony]

a deep chuckle and the Migo pushes his way in to see the document, carrying two ork choppas. Making sure to make a healthy shove to Giles as he's complaining about how he's above it everyone else.

"Sign me on, I don't mind working with a Silent Psychotic Savros" he proclaimed with a smile. holding on to the chair back and leaning in to read the parchment.

"No worthwhile victory was ever gained bloodless, put me where you think I'm needed, oh Anointed. No matter what happens I get what I want in the end" he crossed his arms and smiled wide closing his eyes satisfied and accepting of Lacerius as the anointed.

[Q'telun]

24601 carefully considers those in the room, their eyes sizing up each of the heretics present. When their eyes return to Lacerius, they speak. "Traditionally, the one who proposes the compact accepts the position of Anointed. As long as it is not him, the heretek indicates the Migo with one of their Mechadendrites, "I will accept any authority."

[CarcerKango]

"I have no quarrel with the choice of you, Lacerius, as the Anointed. In fact," said Nemethol, glancing to the others in the room, "I think that taking of the initiative to redirect our fractious energies, and proposing this compact, proves him worthy and able for such a position." The Sorcerer flexed the fingers of one hand over the haft of his force hammer, not threateningly, but out of frustration and impatience--the need to be moving on again and exploring. There was a whole world out there to investigate! Why be bogged down now by details?
"I suggest we resolve this quickly; the death of the Inquisitorial lackey will not go unnoticed. I will support any as Anointed should they prove themselves capable and reasonably competent; however, for now my vote remains with you, Apostate."

[DoctorFaust]

Gikes shoots the Migo a glare as he shoulders past him, but just offers Lacerius a shrug. "If that's what it takes to make sure an idiot doesn't end up running the show, I guess it would be in my best interest to sign. Just don't expect me to swear anything more than the bare minimum of effort to your cause."

[ArcturusV]

No one could imagine the dreams of Savros the Henge, nor could he describe them if given a chance. In all the myriad languages he had studied nothing perhaps matched the glory of what he witnessed. Perhaps if he had a better grasp of Eldar, very nuanced tongue that it was. But the sensations he felt in those dreams passed by the paltry limitations of Low Gothic, locked as they were to only a base of 5 senses.

It was as such when he woke up, that he was in a contemplative mood, wondering what the Colors were trying to tell him in that dream, barely paying any attention to the dutiful presence of his Apprentice, or the discussions going on in the other room. He reached over towards his pistol, using the end of the grip to scratch on the floor, invisible markings that reflected his thoughts as he puzzled out the meanings.

As he did so, Renfield watched, amazed, knowing that Savros often had Visions in his unconscious mind, freed from the shackles of Reality. The motions meant nothing to him, his knowledge of the Great Powers too limited to make sense of his Master's vision, though he fervently hoped to attain that level of connection one day. To see the consignment of his soul to the Great Powers mean something even deeper than the hulking body and glorious wings he was blessed with at the moment.

With every passing moment however, more and more of the dream faded, until finally there was nothing left, and his fervent motions ended. A riddle without end, there was no glorious solution to be had this time. Closer, he felt. He was getting closer to that point where he'd have true understanding. Day by day, little by little, like grains of sand on a shoreline, every dream, every insight built until it was a massive beach.

With a sigh he put his pistol away, picked up his sword and belted it back on. Sparing a glance at Renfield, he only said, "Well, lets see how the food situation has developed," as he sauntered out of the little room he picked to sleep in, Renfield in tow with Lasgun shouldered and stowed in what was supposed to be a relatively "Secure" area after all.

He came out into the main room, seeing everyone sitting down, discussing, just picking up Giles's comment about investment to the cause. "Irrelevant," he responded to Giles, walking over to look at what the man was scrawling down on his little parchment, "Swear what you will, and what you are comfortable with. Just know that with effort comes rewards. No one attains the perfect state by sandbagging." There was no obvious rancor in his voice, he seemed pretty comfortable overall, easy pace and stride, looking over Lacerius's shoulder to see what he had been scrawling down.

He nodded a bit at the plan, "More or less things I had considered," with an appreciative nod towards Lacerius. "Though I'd suggest a few refinements here and there."

[Hemnon]

Sheila was still over by the car, having entered it and looked like she was asleep.... which was clearly not so. She remained awake and observing, clearly not intent on showing any sort of weakness to any of the others, listening in on their talking and general outburst of male-dominance. It was rather laughable to be honest, for anyone to expect this group of random dredge, talent, and Beauty to even be able to function. No one knew the others, everyone wanted to show their 'i am on top' dominance. It really felt like being part of a really bad Theatrical play. No one knew what character to play or any sort of group meshing.
It was rather sad, really, and this was exactly why she so rarely wanted to work in groups of semi-competent muscleheads.
Sheila sighed and got out of the car and slowly went back over to the rest of the group, keeping a mask of calm, detatched emotionlessness.

[Vexing]

Noting the arrival of Savros, and then of Sheila, Lacerius raises an eyebrow at the critique and puts the finishing touches on the draft. "There will be time for suggestions in a moment. Now then, we have four Seals, and as you all can see here...and here..."

Having long since committed the information passed to them by the possessed psyker to memory, Lacerius quickly walks the group through the various seals, just in case there had been any confusion or if the paper hadn't passed through every set of hands since their departure. He seems much more relaxed, now, to simply be listing facts and crunching numbers. Of course the real object of interest is the drafted compact, which he puts in the middle of the table for every eye to see...

Primary Objective: Free Uomireas, the Greater Daemon of Chaos (Undivided)
We are called to unbind the great Uomireas, and thusly charged, will effect his release in a manner satisfactory to Gods and daemon alike. Bound by blood and fate, we swear to see our compact through in the eyes of the Powers. As the Anointed, I--Lacerius--will ensure the sharp focus and material supply of our endeavor.

The Seal of Authority (Lacerius, Sheila, D'Oyley)
So as I was bound, so may I be unbound. If a person in a position of power - the planetary governor, the resident inquisitor, the local Cardinal - releases me, this seal will break. But he must want me free. Merely speaking the words under threat of death or torture will not suffice. He must, in his heart, wish to break the seal, and speak the words "Uomireas, I release you"...

Spiritual Infirmity
Roubard possesses a Cardinal whose travels take them from city to city, leaving them in a good position to see the physical suffering and (perhaps) spiritual inadequacies of the planet's people. Nowhere are these weaknesses more evident than in the Ork infestation still scourging the world. Two great families have been entirely wiped out, and rather than banding together to cleanse the xenos threat, the remaining nobles fight over the charred corpses of the cities they left behind! A failure of faith is clearly the cause, and as the moral authority of Roubard, isn't the Cardinal responsible? Sow these doubts in their mind, and the minds of their followers. Create infighting among the noble families to showcase mortal weakness, or introduce their scions to unholy desires and a lust for power. The Cardinal will weaken...

And when he turns to the Corpse-God, we will whisper instead: "It isn't your fault, nor that of the nobles, nor that of the citizenry." Inform them that malefic forces conspire to keep the Orks strong on Roubard, thwarting the spiritual fortitude required to cleave only to the Imperial Creed. A Daemon has been sealed away on the planet surface, and while so bound, is able to corrupt and tempt at its leisure. Only by releasing it--and banishing it to the Warp once freed--can the Daemon's influence be cleared from this world. With proper encouragement, they would certainly be willing to exorcise this taint. Convince them that the Daemon must be freed, and use them as a willing pawn in its release.
The Seal of Memory (Savros)
This world. This foolish, impotent, blissful world. Its people have forgotten how close to the abyss they came. Forgotten me, and the threat I pose. And this, in its own way, is power. Power that keeps me bound. Let them know me. Let them speak my name; in triumph or fear, in matters not; and the seal will weaken and shatter.

Rumour-monger
Perhaps the simplest done as other Seals are being broken. Begin a reign of terror in the name of Uomireas; recruit criminals, murderers, profiteers and would-be cultists to the Heretic's cause. Free Psykers from unjust imprisonment under the Corpse-God's regime and use them as living weapons of the Warp against the soft farmers and traders, encourage thoughtless looting and arson, and delight in murder. In every case, leave markings or other indications that these heinous acts are performed in the name of Uomireas, either as an entity or a heretical group. Ideally, if a wide enough network of minions can be skillfully employed to cause outrageously public crimes, horror of and speculation on the mysterious 'Uomireas' will spread in every major city on Roubard like a virulent disease.

Otherwise, tell the 'truth'. Reveal Uomireas' existence by telling tales of the Inquisition's glorious victory over it. With a little effort, spreading the word that Roubard was considered so important a world as to warrant Inquisitorial intervention should inflame the pride in the average citizen, ensuring that they cheerfully tell and retell the (embellished) story of mortals staving off daemonic forces, ideally growing with each telling. Has the advantage of being relatively benign, and difficult to be stamped out or 'vanished' by the Inquisition presence on Roubard without extreme consequences. Could be considered a harmless eccentricity of popular lore, and thereby fly under the radar of Imperial authorities.
The Seal of Sacrifice (24601, The Migo, Nameless)
Four times four and forty men challenged me here. Men devoted to sealing me away. I slew them all, of course, but from their blood and effort and sacrifice was the first link in the chain that binds me forged. To sunder it, those lives must be repaid, killed here in my name, within the space of a single hour.

A Few 'Good' Men
The capacity for sacrifice in willing minions is well known, and the weak-willed civilians of Imperial Worlds prove exceedingly easy to work towards this end. Over the course of many weeks or months, the Heretics will raise a cult in one of the (relatively) nearby farming communities, ideally one suffering low production or difficulty in competition with other farms backed by differing noble families. Perhaps there are areas nearby that suffer from lack of protection--and where they want, you can provide for them, in exchange for loyalty and service.

When they can be trusted to be wholly devoted to the cause, begin kidnapping farmers, travelers, or others until a healthy offering is reached. Provide safe passage to the Seal, and then fulfill Uomireas' quota with both sacrificial victims and willing cultists. Unfortunately, this plan runs a greater risk of Inquisitorial intervention if heretical activities cannot be properly concealed, or if the group is found to be traveling towards the Seal.

Alternatively, the cultists could be raised out of an existing PDF unit or nobility-backed regiment. Convince the group of fighting men that whatever they desire--power, safety, local glory--will be easily attained under the Heretic's leadership. Encourage greater loyalty towards the Heretics than the conventional chain of command, then either use them to capture and kill civilian farmers, or lure fellow PDF troopers into the area and slaughter them to unlock the Seal.
The Seal of Stone (Giles, Nementhol, 24601)
Where the other seals are more metaphorical, this one is literal. This great seal, this graven circle on which you stand, must be broken before I can be freed. No easy task, for the stone is iron-hard basalt and the runes filled with blessed ceramite. To further complicate matters, the Inquisition keeps the site under loose surveillance.

Forced Entry
Stone and ceramite are no match for cunning, faith in the Ruinous Powers--and enough det-cord. Gathering promethium, krak munitions, or other forms of high-power explosives, the Heretics will assay the site for structural integrity and work out a plan to detonate the Seal and destroy it; perhaps by collapsing the nearby buildings atop it, perhaps simply by putting enough physical forces in place that something will have to give out.

Nullifying the blessing component may prove trickier, requiring either the direct intervention of the Chaos Gods by ritual appeal or by desecration of the site. Avoid Inquisition meddling long enough to lay charges and/or conduct ritual defilement, then unleash a devastating explosion. Overly simplistic, but plans with less moving parts stand better odds of success.

Finally, this Seal can be considered one of the most dangerous tasks simply because of it's Inquisitorial monitoring. Find a way to either neutralize the threat the Inquisition outpost presents, or else a way to conceal your activities so our task isn't jeopardized.

If done along with the Seal of Sacrifice, explosives (either in the form of planted charges or heavy weaponry brought to the battle) could also help achieve the required number of sacrifices to slake Uomireas' thirst for revenge, even as the mass sacrifice/suicide of Imperial citizens may help shatter the blessings over the Seal. Something to bear in mind.

"I think this will be amenable to even the most contrary of you", Lacerius offers as he gestures towards the parchment. "I've suggested roles based upon your obvious talents, and on educated guesses about capabilities you may have kept hidden. With clear goals ahead of us and possible ways to carry them out, I feel that our initial fumbling steps can be easily smoothed over. The only thing I might suggest is dedicating our compact to the Ruinous Powers directly and beseeching a patron from among the Four Unutterable Ones. However..." He glances around the group, chuckling a little. "It was my belief that we would waste precious time and yet more of our breath trying to agree on a deific overseer."

Offering up his auto-quill to no one in particular, he awaits the first of them to sign. His name is already included at the bottom of the parchment, in long, looping script. "Let's get started. As you sign, pledge something to the Compact. Something specific, like supplies you will provide or a service to be rendered. We'll need to operate together if we intend to succeed, and the Gods intend for us to put our resources where our word is."

[Sinpoder707]

As the nameless one looked at the contract being signed he simply nodded. This man picked the one that was most likely best suited for his abilities and skills, and without a moment or hesitation once the contract was signed would walk over, removing his armored hand and pull out his combat knife, which to any of the humans around him was a short sword and run it gently across his palm. As his Space Marine blood came out of his hand in a straight line, he dripped a three drops on the contract as he said clearly " I pledge to use my skills to cause infighting within the Noble houses " once that was done he would simply slide his glove back on and then he would turn and walk out the door, only to go back out to the air-car and then get in and start it up to fly away. He didn't get in though, he simply stood outside as he waited for the other two apart of that part of the compact to come over and they can come up with a plan.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly was engrossed in the blood flowing into his cup, once it was full and the body stopped dripping he smiled. Bringing the cup to his nose he breathed deep, enjoying the fine bouquet, before taking a small sip, swilling it around his mouth tasting the purity of the blood. "Ah, better than the finest of wines. The blood of the loyal." he then proceeded to down the entire cup as though he had been challended to a drinking race.

His body instantly absorbed the blood, pumping through his own body. His thick black blood thinned, running freely from his cuts. He could feel his body getting faster as his sluggish tar filled blood was forced around him. With a sigh he dropped the cup and walked back to the farmhouse in time to see everyone checking the final draft of the Compact. The Nameless marine pledged his allegiance with blood before walking out.

D'Oyly went to check the contract, and saw thar Lacerius was planning to corrupt the Ecclesiarchy. "Interesting plan, not sure how I can help directly but I will corrupt the Nobles of House Melys They will cause wars and disturbances, plus will act as a secondary if we cannot secure the faithful, or as a suitable scapegoat." with that said he adds his own scrawl at the bottom

[Hemnon]

Sheila seemed to find the write-up relatively agreeable. "Hmm... This looks.... acceptable to me. Some of our objectives might even be helped along by the completion of others." She said and nodded thoughtfully about it.

[ArcturusV]

With a little less of a show than the nameless Legionnaire, Savros took up his right hand to his mouth, biting hard on his thumb to draw some blood. With the blood welling on the pad of his thumb, he pressed it down on a spot of parchment, giving his blood and his thumbprint down. "In the vision of the Colors I am joined, and I shall procure an appropriate sacrifice to help destroy the ritual seal upon the Beast."

With that he stepped away, licked his thumb to help clear off the welling blood, giving space for the others to make their pledges. He knew what he pledged was perhaps greater than the others would. But that was fine, glory came to those who risked. The Gods cared more about the effort given compared to what a man was capable of, than concrete benchmarks. And knowing so, he knew he'd be fine.

Back with Renfield, he gave the apprentice a meaningful glance, "It's your first step into a wider world. We travel in places blighted and blinded, ignorant of the Colors of Creation and the Great Powers. But we do not change because of this. What has worked, will work again. Faith and courage, that is the foundation." He started leading Renfield to the back of the Farmhouse, getting some distance from the others, so he could formulate some plans, and instruct his apprentice in relative peace. Or at least without other adherents trying to muddy the waters of reflection. Things were going to work out, they always did for the favored son of the Gods. But Renfield would have his place in this play, and needed to be ready.

[Q'telun]

24601 glances over the document, noting their assigned roles. They nod, then sign their name in spidery Techna Lingua. "I pledge to recruit the feeble minded as cattle for sacrifice, and to destroy the seal of stone.

[Vexing]

"I will provide the gifts of anonymity, as well as fulfilling the duty of Anointed. I pledge to provide identification, disguises, alibis and other informational support to all of our number who require it. Further, I pledge to arrange for a permanent redirection of supplies to us, as we cannot rely on clever tongues or strong arms forever. A local Administratum holding or supply depot will do nicely for these purposes. Its stores and munitions will be ours."

"Finally, I pledge to earn the confidence of Roubard's Cardinal. With their influence, the Seal of Authority will be broken--and perhaps we shall win some willing souls along the way." Lacerius smiles, underlining his own name after 24601 passes back the quill. All the theatrics of signing in blood had a certain appeal, and supposedly whet the appetite of the Ruinous powers...but ink and oath would suffice. He then offers the quill to Giles, glancing at Nementhol and Sheila as he does so.

"Well? We await your contribution." The machine-creature's free hand gestures to the compact, slender fingers tapping the parchment.

[Hemnon]

Sheila smiled at Lacerius, and added her signature to the list amongst the others..... oh no, she did NOT write anything there. She instead kissed the piece of parchment, leaving the imprint of her lush, full set of lips in deep purple Lipstick.
She wasn't gonna try and be all 'I am not gonna do like everyone else'. That'd be quite insane... and, well, stupid. Sure, Sheila was very much Insane but not stupid.

[CarcerKango]

Nemethol took the auto-quill and signed his name--Nemethol the Abyss--in High Gothic script, feeling no need to spill his own valuable Astartes blood just to make a point or show of force.

"I pledge the blows of Grimshatter and the shells of my autocannon, the weight of my power armor and my genhanced musculature, and the powers of my own mind, with which to break the Seal of Stone," he rumbled. "In addition I will provide my modest expertise with explosives and munitions, should any be found to use in this endeavor."

[Vexing]

The Apostate's brows rise. "It strikes me that acquiring demolitions could be your responsibility, as well as putting a hand to using them", he offers in an almost reproachful tone. "Specificity is key. And what about you, then?" Lacerius' eyes move to Sheila, finger tapping at the edge of her 'signature'. "What resources do you intend to offer to our cause?" He pointedly doesn't ask about any services planned in the Compact's name; her behavior after the skirmish with the Orks had made her inclinations perfectly clear.

[CarcerKango]

"Apologies, Apostate," Nemethol said respectfully. "That was what I was implying."

His silver, square-pupiled eyes turn to Sheila next, awaiting her reply to the Apostate.

[Hemnon]

Sheila smirked back at Lacerius. "I thought that was obvious. My charm, seductive personality and ability to pull information from just about ANYONE~" She said in response. "Do you want me to write that in blood... or is my lip-impression good enough for that?" She asked and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

[Checkmate-Pony]

The Migo took the Autoquill and wrote a long name with what he knew of letters "Slatan Mak'Muk'Mak'Mel"

"I pleagde vengence upon the inquisition, and to never at all return; without a proper host"

[DoctorFaust]

Giles takes the Auto-Quill after the Migo and scrawls what looks like "RLC" onto it. "I pledge fire support for whoever I accompany. Nothing more, nothing less."

[Q'telun]

24601 turns slightly towards Sheila. "We are now waiting on you. Sign so that we can depart this place."

[Vexing]

Lacerius seems disappointed, somehow, even though his expression doesn't really change. He collects his quill from Giles and begins putting away his tools, pausing to use some of the finer ash over the wet ink like pounce used in more mundane writing, fingers delicately dusting the powder over the signatures. "As you say, then." Who he was talking to was unclear, though Thrones would have been safe on either Giles or Sheila. He lifts the parchment and dusts off any excess, examining his handiwork with a critical eye.

Too much blotting. Ugh.

"We've finished here. All that remains now is to tend to our wounded, appropriately clean this place of our presence, and assign locations or vox frequencies to maintain communications during our endeavors. As Anointed, I will be attempting to provide any resource required that you are unable," a small hiss escaping the apostate as blue eyes track over the two 'difficult' signatories, "or unwilling to acquire for yourselves. In order to do that, I need to know about your requirements in a timely fashion. In any case, keeping in contact with each other is necessary to apprise everyone of threats to our overall goal."

He then glances to the Tech-Priest. "Would it be possible for you to see to the wounds of our fellows? So long as we'll be in this place, I'll be working to create travel passes and work up disguises for those of us who require them. With good fortune, we can finish as all are convalescing, so that we are ready to divide labour and make haste to our tasks."

[sean_hyer]

As the contract is signed, a chill wind whispers over the plains, to moan through the empty farmhouse, gathering about each signee in turn. In its wake, all the noise of dawn - of a planet waking - is silent for an eerie moment. The sun dims and the air feels thick as tar.

And then it is passed, as if it never was. The birds are singing as if they never stopped, the rising sun shines as bright as ever, and your breaths flow easily as normal.

Some of you have already done this. Could you PM me or post OOC any actions your characters intend to take during the time skip.

If you're badly injured, and spending the time convalescing, sorry but you'll have to wait a few days to do anything concrete. Feel free to keep talking and get to know each other.

[Q'telun]

24601 inclines their hooded head in assent. "I would be happy to. Though I would ask for travel papers, if they are necessary for a Tech-Priest."

After a moment of silence when the unholy wind rushes past, the heretek speaks again. "Since we have our Anointed, I believe I should give my report on the Inquisition sniper, Vince Williamson. He knew nothing of Uomireas, and as far as he was aware the Inquisition is unaware of our presence. Local Inquisition forces are under the command of Inquisitor Benedict of Cymnea, Ordo Hereticus. Local authority is either Governor Hector Mathis or Lord Arthur Maelys. There is nothing else to report."

[ArcturusV]

Savros stopped his lesson as the moment of unearthly silence settled over the farmhouse, devoid of all sound, all life. Perfect in its stillness beyond anything that Reality was meant to sustain. And as sudden as it appeared, it passed. That perfect moment of silence came and went, not some unending orgy of sensation, like the base followers of the Great Powers might seek out, but sublime in its perfection and fleeting, transient nature. They were watching. They had placed a blessing upon this venture. A moment of perfection amid the bickering and simpering of the parts involved.

Nodding to himself he blocked out the distractions, the discussion of the compact in the other room, Renfield looking at him in utter awe, and a bit of confusion. He took out his blade, resting the blunt, reverse edge of it on his shoulder, tapping it a few times in sync with his heartbeat.

"You remember that time on Umojan Prime?" Savros softly spoke, startling Renfield for a moment. His eyes unfocused and he nodded, slowly, glumly.

"It's going to be like that." Savros stated pure and simple. With those words Renfield's face blanched, and a tremor went through his massive frame, from head all the way through to the toes and the wingtips. Savros smiled a bit, and with his empty hand clapped the massive figure on the shoulder. "Oh come on now... it wasn't all that terrible."

Renfield nervously nodded, though his expression clearly said he didn't believe it.

"Now now, Faith and Courage, as I said."

"We're not all blessed..." Renfield grumbled.

Savros just shook his head, laughing a bit still, "Oh, but we are, we all are if only you can see." With that he turned around, heading back out, ready to start Phase One of his plans. Renfield was in tow, clutching his lasgun as if it were some eikon of faith to ward off evil.

"Heading out, got stuff to do, people to kill, worlds to break, all that nonsense," Savros said jauntily as he entered the front room with the others again, not breaking stride as he headed for the door, "Anyone wanna tag along, feel free, but it's likely to be dirty."

Of course he knew they most likely wouldn't guess he was speaking literally, securing relics usually ended with you caked in dirt before the day was through after all. But let them think what they will. Wouldn't hurt to have an extra body along, just in case.

[sean_hyer]

I had known Vince was dead from the moment he missed his check-in. Five minutes after that, we had been in the air, but even the Aquila would take close on three hours to reach our destination. Too long for any kind of rescue. I gritted my teeth, offering up a silent prayer to the Emperor. Not that Vince was alive, but that he had died cleanly.

And now, staring down at my boots in the lights of the lander's searchlights, I knew what he had died for. The pattern burned into the ground, stronger than I had ever seen it, left little doubt. The demon was working its power again, and though the circle had undoubtedly siphoned off most of it, some would have got through. The 'equipment failures' were proof enough of that. But what had it done?

A shout brought my head around, as Rose called for me to look at something. Vehicle tracks, torn into the grass on one side of the clearing. Rhino, I would have said, but heavily modified. "Orks?", Rose asked, and I silently nodded. Just Orks, and the Demon doing.. something... to scare them off. But that still left one loose end to check.

Stepping away from the light, I looked outwards, scanning the horizon. And... there. That hill. That's where Vince would have set up. That's where I'd find... whatever was left of him. I'm sorry, old friend.

First light was breaking over the horizon when reached the hilltop, and I looked around with a frown.. At first glance, there was nothing here. No wrecked aircar, no corpse. Had I guessed wrong? No, I hadn't, I saw. There, pressed into the soft ground, was the distinctive imprint of the aircar's landing legs. I stepped carefully closer to the edge of the hill, and then stopped, staring at the ground.

"Sir?", Rose asked behind me. "Do we call it in? It's not like Orks to take prisoners. Or an aircar." It was a fair question. The first thing they had told us about this post was that it was serious. No penalty would be levied for sounding a false alarm. A missing Imperial operative would be cause enough. Particularly with this extra evidence.

I gave one more long look at the instantly recognisable footprint pressed into the loamy soil in front of me. Then, with a sound halfway between a sigh and a snarl, I scuffed my boot across it, destroying it, and turned to walk back towards her. "Not yet. I'd like to have some more concrete proof first." Plus, I'd like first crack at this traitor marine bastard. Now, how to find him...?

Yes, snatching the sniper does come with consequences.

[Vexing]

The moment swelled and passed, portentous and strange. Lacerius found himself hovering expectantly in its wake, as if he expected some pattern to be made evident in the returning birdsong or in the soft rays of the rising sun. After a moment of recovery, the ex-Adept turns his attentions back towards the group, and listens to 24601's briefing about their late prisoner. Wheels slowly turn as the report concludes...

"Interesting. One wonders why you shot him, if he provided such helpful information", he begins. "Immaterial now. We have the name of his Inquisitor and his effects, which may yet prove useful. As may our 'Vince Williamson', even in death." There's a pause as the Feudal Worlder reviews his plan in his head, glancing at the Heretek. "I would like to examine his gear, and have you give me a word by word account of the interrogation. I think the capture of this Acolyte can be turned to our advantage."

"When he passed to his eternal reward...was his face left intact?" It was going to be a long time before everyone had healed appropriately and worked out plans of attack for the various seals. Why not indulge in a few pet deceptions?

[Q'telun]

The heretek nods. "The former inquisition agent's head was left intact. In addition I have stored a transcript of the interrogation. I will make it available to you at a later time."

The hooded head swings to look through the door at the carnage outside. "However, at this moment I believe it would be best to finish our tasks here and depart for the city of Deeproot."

[ArcturusV]

Pre-Time Skip

Savros shrugged, as no one stepped forward. He knew there were some rather thuggish creatures out there, dangerous too perhaps based on their missiles they used and the wounds several people less blessed than him received. But then again, they were less blessed than him. The Colors would always show him the way, and never let their chosen disciple fall to such simple hands after all. Noooo. It'd take something like a master swordsman, peerless in the galaxy, or great holy men with high sorcery, maybe an elevated mortal or something, to put him down. If even that.

So when no one volunteered, he just walked out, confident that he could hold his own, or rather him and Renfield could hold their own, against whatever paltry, scattered dangers this planet held for them.

Post-Time Skip

It had been over a week of mixed blessings. The Colors show him what is, not what he wants to be, after all. A bit disheartening at times, but who is he to question the will of the Colors of Reality? He was looked a bit, strange, compared to his first appearance at the ruins now. Definitely more road worn as over a week of marching over the terrain, dirt and mud staining his robes, definitely a bit of weariness in his gait when he trudged back to the farmhouse. And of course, his gear looked much, much different. No longer covered in invocations to the Great Powers, the symbols that declared his allegiance to anyone who knew half of anything about such thing. No, instead in the strange eikons of the locals. From Aquila patches on the collar down to even replacing the buttons with shiny Imperial Issue Brass Buttons with the appropriate eikonography. Renfield himself was looking less like the hulking apprentice of Savros, and more like one of the hulking brutes used by the Imperial Guard... long as you replaced their full auto sledgehammer shotguns with a bayoneted Lasgun.

When he got back to the Farmhouse, he plopped down to sit down, wondering where Migo's manservants had put the food for the day, feeling a ravenous hunger, and hoping that it would be something fancier than a roasted rat or the like. "Think I found something to help with the Seal of Stone, later of course, when it is time. I need to meditate on it. Otherwise... this location has burned out its usefulness. Are you all done here?"

[Vexing]

"All things in good time, I think..." With that trailing response to 24601, Lacerius stands and casts an appraising eye around the farmhouse, then the assembled Heretic's and Savros' retreating back. The groundwork began now. An endeavor was only ever as good as the preparation that went into it.

First, the body of Vince was examined with the aid of the Heretek. Working quickly to thwart decomposition and salvage necessary information, the Apostate asks for assistance in taking extensive samples of blood, flesh, and other biological minutiae related to the Acolyte's corpse. All hair is shaven from the head for later use; fingerprints are taken and copied to gel pads, to be reversed at a later point; phials of blood are desperately taken before the liquid dries or corrupts; the parts of the body undamaged by shoota fire are subjected to detailed searches for identifying marks and scars; Lacerius even attempts to call for a cast of the face to be made in spare plaster from his disguise kit, the better to mimic the man's unique facial structure. With further help from 24601, he practices with the small example of the dead man's speech they possess, the better to mimic its tone and pattern.

Finally, the Inquisition lackey's gear is cataloged and set aside for later use or (potentially) distribution. Facing opposition from Giles on the treatment of the corpse--something that the ex-Adept finds almost amusing--he attempts to impress the importance of using every available tool in one's arsenal upon the military man. In the end, as tensions mount, Lacerius promises to provide additional weaponry for the bleeding heart Heretic in order to smooth the proceedings. He hopes it will be enough.

The next nine days were spent tending to the initial tasks required by his pledge; the sacred importance and auspicious sign of dedicating that block of time to deceit was far from lost on the Feudal Worlder, Lacerius taking to his obligations with a cheerful zeal that might have seemed out of place for an aspiring cultist. A set of travel papers and matching ident cards are made for each mortal heretic (with their careful direction and input), while the Astartes (should they prove willing to tolerate him) are invited to discuss the finer points of any potential plans and stratagems for the future. With less need to sleep than any save the superhuman Space Marines, Lacerius makes each forged document a labour of love, working off of his knowledge of Roubard and commonalities between Imperial Worlds to craft superb fakes. However, he cautions the group that such papers are worthless if independently verified against a greater database; he balances encouragements against allowing others to examine the forgeries closely with promises to create matching files in Roubard's records, if an opportunity presents itself.

All in all, the Apostate is finally within his element. With ample time to work with ink and quill, flesh out his understanding of the Heretic's skills, and study The Migo's map, his confidence in the Compact grows. Here, at last, they were united in purpose...for a greater or lesser value of 'united'. Roubard would fall, and Uomireas would be freed from his current shackles.

On the dawn of the tenth day, Lacerius stirrs from his half-sleep in the corner of the old farmhouse. While the vast majority of the group tended to be more active at night, he found the quiet daylight hours to be conducive to writing. Rising quietly from his space, the man-machine paused. Something had caught his attention down the hall, tucked underneath a shattered pile of wood. Torn cloth, once part of a comfortable bedspread, shifted gently in the constant breeze that always seemed be flowing through the ruined house. Checkered blue and white, perhaps a common design? Simple, neat, evocative of simpler things.

But what mattered was what the wind's careless motions revealed. The glint of glass. Feeling drawn to investigate, the once-Adept would have been hard pressed to say what made him cross the intervening space. Kneeling, his shining fingers lifted the cloth, plucking the object beneath out into full view. A faint whirring echoed somewhere in his chest and throat, similar to a perplexed hum from human lungs.

Interesting. A hand mirror, oval in shape, framed by cheaply carved wood. A stain--rust? blood?--marred the wooden edges, though somehow had failed to mark the shattered glass itself. And shattered it was! Cracks spiderweb over the reflective material in no particular pattern, splintering the blue eyes and metallic face into a score of disjointed images and laughably distorted features. Oddly, none of the glass had fallen free. Lazily catching the light, Lacerius slowly turned the mirror from side to side by its handle.

He felt...strange. As if he stood on the precipice of something vast and grand, or leaned against a wall fragile enough to break yet sturdy enough to hesitate in the moment. But why? It was a cheap bauble, worth no more than a few chits of the local currency at most. The lives it once had any greater meaning to had long since been snuffed out. However, as much as he tried to rationalize it, Lacerius could not bring himself to set the mirror aside. A mysterious air clung to it and invaded his sight, suggesting strange dimensions and lurking importance just beyond his ability to see.

Time passed. At last rousing himself at the call of a particularly noisy bird, he was uncertain how long he had been kneeling, staring into his own broken visage helplessly. Whatever the feeling was, it warranted further study. Later. Today, most of the others would have recovered from their wounds and finished their plans. He couldn't allow himself to falter or suffer split attentions no matter the desire for understanding. Was this a test by the Shifting Breeze? To wave an enigma before him would be in character for the Great Deceiver, though assuming one was worthy of attention from Tzeentch was a dangerous boast at best. Or perhaps...

Focus! Time enough for this later. Recursive, unproductive thoughts.

Blinking, Lacerius wraps the mirror in the small piece of cloth. Soon it's stowed away in a small pouch, alongside the smaller bag containing the ash from Uomireas' binding site. Quickly restored to his wits, the Apostate moves to the table and begins putting the finishing touches on everyone's ident cards. When the others woke, they would briefly review their plans before heading their separate ways. With a brief prayer to Tzeentch, he loses himself in his work, and idle thoughts of distant Deeproot.

[Col.Straken]

D'Oyly spent most of the downtime recovering, slowly removing any large bits of shrapnel he could and applying bandages again and again until his body had healed. The rest of the time he spent hunting and foraging for food for the group or practicing his aim against bottles. When it came to his turn for sorting a cover ID he decided to keep it simple. An off world mercenary looking for work as a bodyguard, he had the skills and the experience necessary. His looked for all purposes a normal imperial citizen, he kept now symbols or runes of Chaos, he had no immediately visible mutations, his sharpened teeth are easily explained a remnant of his upbringing on a feral world.

[ArcturusV]

During the Time Skip

Hours and hours into the night, Savros the Henge (And Renfield) spent with the scribe Lacerius. Savros seemed intelligent enough, with a sharp mind that could quickly pick up on the patterns and behaviors of their discussions, but he had a complete lack of basis for understanding, lacking the initial experience. Experience in what? Why the Imperium of course. Born and raised on a "blighted and darkened world" or such as the Imperials might call it, he knew nothing of the God-Emperor, Imperial Culture, Imperial Worlds, Imperial Laws, Imperial Traditions. Ask him about the myriad ways of the Believers and Cultists found within the Chaos held worlds, and the man could tell you a lot, but the Imperium? Blank pages.

So each day, as he finished his tasks, he spoke with Lacerius, working up his cover identity as an offworld Scholar and Historian, and Renfield as his Abhuman manservant. Dedicating hours to questioning Lacerius, hearing lectures on the insane, backwards ways of the Imperials, dedicating to his memory as many details as possible. The scribe worked up papers and records of his travels across Imperial Worlds, visiting great cathedrals and shrine worlds, or administratum worlds filled with grand libraries and data-vaults, the details of his identity that would have held up to anything but the most persnickety and dedicated of Administratum Adepts.

By the time the 10 days were up, Savros was feeling confident himself. Renfield he was less confident of, but from what he gathered if Renfield basically spoke in grunts and looked large, it should suffice. His gear looked, if not resplendent, respectable for a traveling noble and scholar of some means. He had his story ready to go and down backwards and forwards. He was sure that Lacerius was most likely exhausted with his exhaustive questioning and niggling about minutia. But Fate was a fickle thing. The Colors demanded and spoke of his inevitable glory, after all. It would drag him to glory one way or another. It was up to him through if he found the clear path, or was dragged across sharp cobbles and through briers.

[Q'telun]

Time Skip

Nine Days. Nine days of making sure they all didn't die of infections. Nine days of listening to them complain about the lack of painkillers and, "Do you really have to do that?" like they were some kind of medical experts. Nine days of poring over the Lieutenant's body with the Tzeentchian apostate. True, his company was preferable to the Migo's, or the other disciple of She Who Thirsts, but still. So boring, so ordinary, lacking that spark that he had.

There had been a bit of hope for the former Inquisitor, that particular bit of information had been kept hidden from the Anointed, but so far he seemed as dull as the rest of them. In fact, there was no appreciation from any of them for the placement of shots that had killed the Lieutenant. Killing someone that sloppily had been no easy task, and still, nothing.

But finally the tenth day came. They would be departing today, only to see each other once the preparations for the seals were complete. It was a beautiful start to a day, grey and dreary with a light spattering of rain. The heretek smiles beneath her hood. It was going to be a wonderful day.

[Hemnon]

During The Timeskip

Sheila remained generally 'pleasant' and non-slaaneshi creepy, all throughout the 10 days of travel. It was quite unsettling the way she was suddenly all the more 'Normal'. She even cooked one of the evenings.
Some might consider her more SCARY this way, rather than when you at lease knew in what crazy-cup she belonged in.