[IC] Deathwatch: Shadow Warrant

[Toxic Mind]

Deathwatch: Shadow Warrant
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You've heard little of the secretive organization that you are now to become a part of. Of course you've known battle brothers who have served among their ranks, but even the most gregarious of them is remarkably tight-lipped about what they did or saw. What you do know is that the Deathwatch is the best of the best, every Space Marine chosen an elite in their field of expertise, and that they serve alongside the Ordo Xenos of the Inquisition. This information is permitted, and told to you by your Captains, Masters, or Wolf Lord before they send you on your way. It is a great honor, they tell you, and a chance to bring greater glory to your Chapter. There is no further reasons required or offered.

You are collected by a ship unlike any you have served on - much smaller than any strike cruiser, it seems to glide through real-space and the warp like an ocean predator through water, all sleek lines and stealth. You are given quarters which are suitable, but bare, and told to remain in them during the voyage. Whether this chafes or not apparently remains meaningless to your host, as the doors are sealed, and any attempt to open them fruitless. The journey is weeks, and food is delivered by servitors, as well as any texts or other items you might request in your room. If there are human or post-human crew, you neither see nor hear them. Finally, when you begin to question if you will be left in this cell forever, it opens, and you a greeted by an Astartes, clad in black armour with a silver shoulder pauldron. His other shoulder is bare, and his armour is decorated only with sparse purity seals, leaving his Chapter unknown.

"I am Watch Captain Ferran. You will come with me and meet your kill-team brothers." The Watch-Captain does not remove his helmet, an ancient but seemingly well-functioning Mk 4. He answers questions much like his introduction, brusquely, which heavy implications that he was not the one that would be answering them and that asking them in the first place was wasting valuable breath.

You are lead to a room, some sort of ante-chamber by the looks of it, which contains a single central table with five chairs, built for Astartes. You take a seat as four other Astartes arrive in similar fashion as you, unceremoniously left here. As the final seat is filled, Ferran speaks again. "Introduce yourselves to one another. You will all serve as pieces in a single machine, and each piece should know the other. You will be summoned when we wish it." And with those words, he leaves by another door, cleverly set into the wall to be almost invisible, and is gone.

[Jyssika]

Torox arrived at the table last.

The solitude had been a great chore for the Flesh Tearer and such time alone without an enemy to prepare for or fight forced him to face the lonely reality of his Chapter's curse without distraction. He resigned himself to intense meditation and continual reading of the Emperor's Tarrot: still it didn't help that the answer kept coming back the same--You are the greatest enemy you face and you are greatest challenge you must overcome. He had resisted the urge to attempt to break form his prison, barely, but he considered pushing himself and using his Telepathy to contact other people on the ship--deciding to not risk offending his host.

The marine seemed small compared to his counterparts and when he removed his helmet it became evident he was also much younger than them--his chapter's curse requiring them to recruit and promote much faster to make up for their ever dwindling numbers and amount of veterans that succumb to the Black Rage. He twitched like some crazed beast from his ordeal in isolation and his hands always seemed seconds away from the three blades visibly on display. As if in an attempt to calm himself he forced his legs down onto the last empty seat at the table taking a deep breath and knotting his fingers infront of him on the table's top.

"I am Torox, of the Flesh Tearers, Librarian of the 1st Company."
His voice was a lisped snakelike hiss--perhaps the number of facial injuries had affected his speech.

He should be wearing Ultramarine blue armour, donating him as a Librarian, but it seemed a murkey rust brown colour from the amount of blood that had dried on it. This combined with the steriotypical Flesh Tearer trappings of Trophies--in which Torox wore a cape of xeno scalps--made him look more like a warrior of the Runic forces of Chaos than most Loyal Astartes but it would be an extremely brave warrior who would dare question the loyalty of Torox.

[Malak'ai]

Confined. Alone. No cantact with anything than the hollow flesh-shell of the cogitator controlled Servitor. These things did not bother Maraziel, they just gave him more time to ponder and make mental maps of how all the things he had read on those secret data-slates connected.
His days filled with preyer, thought and as much physical activity that his chamber allowed, Maraziel felt confident that his time with the Black Brothers would net him more information, and allow him to advance when he made it back to The Rock which would again, allow him to learn more.

As the door to him chamber opened, Maraziel had just finished re-donning his armour after having cleansed not only his body, but the armour as well, though he would request to have one of the Deathwatch Chaplins re-anoint and re-bless it, just to be on the safe side. The bowl of murky water and cloth disgarded in the corner of the room.
As the Astartes infront of himself, Maraziel snaps to attention, saluting fist to chest, replying to his words with a simple "The Emperor Protects and I shall serve.", following him without further questions or remarks, Maraziel had a feeling that there would be a time for that later.

Entering the room as a few other Marines enter, the Dark Angel quickly scans his helmet hidden eyes over them, taking in their Chapter iconography, Company and Squad markings, also taking attention of the fact that two of these marines held the postions of Librarian and Tech-Marine from there respective Chapters.

Doing as ordered, Maraziel takes a place at the table, hesitating to remove his helmet from just a moment then placing it on the table just off to his left.
So, this is to be my new squad, he thought, a fire obsessed tech-marine, a blood thirsty savage who can also reach in and harness the energies of the Immaterium, a zelot and an old dog. Well, if the Emperor has deemed this to be my path to knowing the truth, then I shall walk it.

Taking another quick look around the other Astartes with just his eyes, Maraziel claps his fist to his chest in salute to his new Battle-Brothers, "Brother Devastator Maraziel. Dark Angels Fifth... I guess that would now be formally of the Dark Angels Fifth Company, Second Devastator Squad, Karraan's Vengence."

[rs2excelsior]

When Watch Captain Ferran comes for Adler, he is ministering to his chainsword, chanting rites over the weapon in preparation for meeting whatever foes this new assignment might face. He takes his helmet under his arms and follows the captain silently, not bothering to ask questions. Information will be given when it will.

Once the rest of the kill-team is assembled, he studies the other marines before speaking, giving Torox an bit of extra scrutiny once he announces himself as a Librarian. By the Emperor, he is one of the warp-tainted, he thinks to himself. "Emperor preserve us." Once the Dark Angel has finished and Adler has had a moment to get over the initial aversion to Torox's announcement, he introduces himself. "I am Initiate Adler, of the Black Templars. I served under Marshal Arnulf, in Fighting Company Edessor. I face the enemies of the Emperor with blade rather than bolter, where it is appropriate. By His will we shall have victory."

[Toxic Mind]

There is no love lost between the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves. When the two Chapters meet, it is more common than not to fight a ritual duel between two champions, a faint echo of the duel fought between your Primarchs in the days when the Emperor's Great Crusade spanned the stars. Do you feel that calling now? Is there a question of honor that needs to be settled, or can you let sleeping dogs lie?
Torox may be a Librarian of another Chapter, and may have been chosen the same as you, but he is still touched by the Warp. You know that only strength can hold off the corruption. Do you feel the need to test his, particularly given his unsightly twitching and inability to sit still?
The disgust and hatred radiating off of Adler is permeating the room, and you feel a familiar feeling stir within you. It rises to meet that hatred with a fervor of its own. Make a Challenging [+0] Willpower check to avoid outright confronting Adler. (Alternatively, you can elect to Auto-Fail it if you wish, and confront him anyways)
Though trained by Mars and the Salamanders, and removed somewhat from the rest of humanity and even post-humanity by your initiation into the Machine Cult, you can still feel the tension in the room. No one seems to have an issue with you, but you are beginning to worry that perhaps the Deathwatch has made a mistake, putting so many clashing personalities together. Do you feel the need to address this? How?

[Revanus]

Lokir has done some redecorating. Few things could have rankled more than being penned up in a cage like some misbehaved welp. His first day had left long scratches and large dents in the plasteel door, as he vented his rage at the ignominy of his treatment and restricted access. Worse, the food was some protein-enriched slop, some tasteless slurry doubtless proscribed in the Codex Astartes for fine digestion when enclosed in a 10x10 cell for a period of not less than 12 moons, or some other nonsense.

When his second meal came with a flagon of decent Fenrisian ale, a hunk of well-charred meat, and a hand-written note, stinking of sweat and stress, from the ship’s quartermaster reiterating that any requests for food, reading, or other materials would be immediately granted, Lokir ceased trying to beat down the door with his Astartes strength. It was a good door, after all—some shipwright had done a masterwork to build something that could withstand an old wolf’s fury for over a day.

So Lokir ordered up a few more flagons and charred haunches, noting this as a standing order to be delivered every four hours. He also requested a mono-bladed carving knife and a codex containing all Deathwatch and Inquisition ciphers used for the past five hundred years. All was delivered, though the codex took a bit longer to compile. Someone had seen to it that current ciphers were delivered immediately, though—with the remainder trickling in over his stay. This was fine, as Lokir’s interest in ciphers was not as broad as his request. He cared only for certain periods. In the meantime, Lokir carved.

He carved a rough saga into his cold grey walls. It was not the full story of his life, merely etchings of battle, feasting, sigils, and the fury of Mother Fenris in winter and summer. By the time he was finally released from his cave, the room had become a lot more suitable to Lokir’s tastes. There was hardly an uncarved spot left.

”Aye, Watch Captain. I request that these walls be preserved in my absence.”
——
Arriving at the meeting room, Lokir does not care for the seats. Too much time in solitude has left him eager to stretch his old bones. He walks about the room, humming loudly to himself, the tones clear and rich, at times joyful, at times haunting.

As the other marines arrive, Lokir perches a foot on one chair and hunches over, treating it like a foot-stool. He has arrived in armor bedecked in runes and sigils, newly blackened. The helm that sits at his hip is deep red around the vox grill with specks of black-as though newly applied paint had been chipped off to expose the base coat beneath. A long grey wolf pelt hangs from Lokir’s shoulders, covering up the Deathwatch pauldron. A knife, axe, bolt pistol, and chainsword are visible upon a magnetized belt. His shaggy white mane and beard roam free.

”I am Lokir, of Fenris. I am Long-Bearded, Long-Armed, and Long Fang to Logan Grimnar. And on this journey, I am too long kept in too small a cage.“

Lokir offers a smile to the Dark Angel, showing long, yellowed incisors and crinkling eyes.

”Who was Karraan?”

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Prior to being told that he would be seconded to Deathwatch Kel'dir hadn't known much, if anything, about the organization. Oh he certainly knew of it, and over the years he'd met a few battle-brothers and tech-priests who'd worked with them in the past, but even the most talkative of the former were unwilling to divulge much about them, and the latter far preferred to focus on their technologies rather than sate the curiosity of a mere initiate in the ways of the Omnissiah, even one of the Emperor's chosen.

What the Nocturnian did know was that it was both an incredible honor to be recommended to serve in their organization, and that they tended to focus their attentions on defending the Imperium from Xenos threats. Which, given his last assignment, was certainly something he could get behind.

Entering the room Kel'dir took careful note of the marines present, gaze lingering on the blood-stained armor of one marine, and the Chapters they represented. 'A Space Wolf, Dark Angel, Black Templar, and Flesh Tearer...Quite a varied group we have here,' he mused to himself as he took a seat, thankful that the chair was built for the enhanced bulk of a Space Marine. All these years later and he still remembered the first time he'd visited his family's home after undergoing the trials; he'd broken two chairs and ripped a door off of it's hinges before finally deciding to not touch anything until he'd gotten his strength under control.

The marine blinked at the introductions, glowing red eyes meeting several of his new team and he could feel an almost tangible tension in the air. Well, hopefully he'd be able to clear that out a little bit. "Blessings of the Omnissiah and his Primarchs on this place," he began, his voice rough but with a clear warmth that his time with the Adeptus Mechanicus hadn't been able to dampen. "I am Kel'dir Rolan, late of Mars and the Salamanders Fourth Great Company. It is my honor to serve with my esteemed cousins against those foul xenos who would bring harm to our Imperium." Hopefully the soft reminder of why they were all here would do a bit to soothe the unpleasantness in the air. He didn't want his first meeting with fellow marines outside the Salamanders and the Machine Cult to devolve into violence. At least, not against each other, violence against aliens was perfectly alright in his mind.

[Jyssika]

Torox was not the salivating bloodhound that his chapter was infamous for: as a Librarian he held a position of influence within his Company and, despite not having the tact and subtlety of other Chapters, held the Fellowship of his brothers and the Willpower to hold himself in check. Now, however, he was not faced with his brothers or even his cousins--this Black Templar reeked of judgement and such an attitude from a member of such a large Chapter was enough to rile the Flesh Tearer.

"Excuse my interruption."
He had no wish to interrupt the others of their questions--this was an assignment he had no intention of fouling--but clearly there was an Grox in the room that needed to be addressed. Armoured fingers drummed on the table rhythmically now--perhaps an attempt to keep the rage in check. Torox was doing his best however to keep the beast out of his voice--he had held his rage inside the cell and this would be no different.
"Is there a problem, Templar?"

[rs2excelsior]

Adler holds the Flesh Tearer's gaze for a moment. "That depends," he replies evenly. "Can you keep your warp-taint under control? I admit, I am more used to purging people who dabble with blasphemous powers. I am aware that other chapters make use of such energies... I can accept that, if it is the Emperor's will. But know this: should you lose control, should you threaten the mission by tapping into the immaterium, I for one will not hesitate to ensure that nothing uses you as a conduit into this world... by whatever means necessary." His voice hardens a bit at the end. "I hope the Emperor will see fit to allow your powers to benefit us more than hinder us, but should He not, I will.

[Jyssika]

Torox sneers--the palid flesh of his lips parting to reveal his pointed yellow teeth before spitting sizzling acidic phlem onto the table in disgust.
"Cometh the hour--cometh the man. Let us hope that is true and a whelp like yourself could stop me in such an event."

[rs2excelsior]

Adler's eyes flash with anger for a moment at Torox's comment. His fist clenches before he manages to restrain himself. "Let us hope so. If you call me a 'whelp' again, we shall find out sooner rather than later."

[Malak'ai]

Watching the rest of the Astartes around the table as they all introduce themselves, and as he was about to reply to the old Space Wolf the zealot and savage started threatening each other. Maraziel half expecting them to come to blows there and then across the table, moved his seat back to get a little clearance just incase.
When the insults had died down the Dark Angel shook his head. "Have we got that out of our systems now? Yes? Good. Now as to your question Brother Lokir," his gaze shifting and hardening as it falls upon the silver bearded Marine, the corner of his mouth curling ever so slightly upwards in a snarl, "He was a Battle-Brother who fell while covering the withdraw of his injured or fallen Brothers against those foul, bloated abominations that call themselves the Death Guard centuries ago."

[Revanus]

Lokir nods to Maraziel.

”I’ve no doubt the Dark Angels have given Karraan proper retribution.”

He then turns the brewing spat between the librarian and the Templar.

“You two pups have been caged too long, aye? I know the look. I see it in both of your eyes. You need to stretch your muscles and hear the steel sing again.”

Lokir catches Maraziel’s eye and flashes a yellowed smile.

”This Dark Angel calls me “Brother.” And I refuse to fight and bleed for anyone less than a brother. Our two Primarchs were brothers, but brothers sometimes spat and wrestle. Such tussling only cements the bonds of kinship, for to fight without intent to cut a lifestring is a symptom of love. And so our two Legions have long fought honor duels, re-enacting the rivalry of brothers, and in so doing, forging such bonds anew. The Blood Claws of The Rout fight such bouts in such frequency that a lack of such squabbles is as much a sign of peril as the silence of forest birds. Aggression must be allowed to vent, even in the absence of mortal foes. And legs must be stretched.”

Lokir draws his combat knife and fenrisian axe and drives both into the table at the center of the room, burying the blades deep into the expensive-looking wood.

“Brother Maraziel, Son of the Lion—at the conclusion of this conclave, will you accept the honor duel this Son of Russ lays before you, in the spirit of brotherhood and kinship, to first blood of bare skin drawn from simple blade?

And you, Sons of Sanguinus and Dorn—you are invited to follow in the tracks of the Lion and the Wolf.”

[Malak'ai]

At least I am not the only one here capable of reasonable thought. Surprising it came from the dog rather than the Salamander, but it is a step in the right direction. Maraziel thinks before standing, reaching over the table and removing the Space Wolf's axe from where it is embedded, holding it up and examining the blade then placing it to his cheek, slowly drawing the edge along his skin, a fine trickle of blood coating the sharpened steel.

Flipping the axe in his hand, holding it back out to Lokir he says. "By the blood of my Gene-Father and the Honour of the Lion, I accept your challange Son of Fenrus, though I do request it be restricted to the use of knives only." Turning his attention back to the others, "How say the rest of you?"

[Jyssika]

Torox smiles keenly--eager at the offer of fresh combat. Pulling out an ugly serrated combat knife, known as a Flaying Knife among Flesh Tearers, and a rammed it into the table.
"I accept--let us see if the whelp has bite to back up its bark."

He chuckles at the reaction to his comment--delighted that the Black Templar was suffering with his rage and the opportunity to inflict something akin to his own curse upon his counterpart.
"Now--perhaps we could return to the task at hand?"

The ticks remained but the smile didn't leave his face--almost daring the Templar to attack him

[rs2excelsior]

Adler had to take a moment to physically restrain himself from striking the impudent psyker. No matter how distasteful the powers the Flesh Tearer used, he was still a fellow--he could not yet bring himself to think brother--Marine, and the prospect of being sent home in disgrace for carving that grin off his face with a chainsword held him back more than anything else. Instead, he locked eyes with the other marine, and drew his own dagger, laying it on the table with the blade pointed toward his adversary. The blade is long with flowing lines, showing signs of being well cared for. The words "HONORIS--GLORIAE--FIDEI" are carved into the blade. "I do not fear you, psyker, so if you are trying to intimidate me, it will not work. If a duel is to be had for honor to be satisfied, I will not shy from it." With some difficulty he bites back the other, more bitter retorts which sprang to mind, internally repeating a litany of battle in order to calm his nerves.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir watched as his attempt to soothe the tempers of his fellow Space Marines fell on deaf ears, the sons of Sanguinius and Dorn still having poor tempers with each other. At least, he thought to himself, the other two did not seem particularly aggressive to each other in spite of the ancient rivalry their Chapters had. "While I wish that it were not necessary, perhaps such a duel would not be the worst thing to happen if it will resolve this dispute."

Still, as he gazed on the pieces of weaponry embedded in the table, the son of Nocturne felt that there was one thing he had to say. "I only hope that, regardless of the outcome of these duels, after they are done we will consider this matter resolved. If we cannot do so then we have already failed in our duty to Deathwatch, to our Chapters, and to the Imperium."

[Malak'ai]

With a nod of his head, Maraziel says, his eyes moving to Torox and Adler "Well spoken Brother Kel'dir. While we have been assigned here for different reasons, the purpose of our assigning remains the same."

Moving to the door he entered from, the Dark Angel bangs on it shouting, "We require refreshments. Lots of refreshments!"

Turning back to return to his seat he looks back over towards the Salamader Tech-Marine, "I apologize if I sound remiss Brother Kel'dir for I have had very few dealings with your Chapter, but do the Salamanders have a differing term for Tech-Marines? I know the Space Wolves refer to theirs as Iron Priests."

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Waving off the Dark Angel's apology, Kel'dir smiled at the chance to speak of his home chapter. "No apologies are necessary Maraziel. To answer your question no, there are no special names for us within the chapter."

The Salamander watched as he banged on the door, wondering to himself if anyone would actually bring any kind of refreshments. There was, of course, no doubt in his mind that there were at least a few people listening in on them, but whether they would answer or not was something else entirely.

"I must admit, I don't know a great deal about your chapter either," he continued with a small frown, a little embarrassed by his ignorance. "There were few Dark Angels among the Initiates on Mars, and they mostly kept to themselves. I would not be opposed to learning about them. That is, if you're willing."

[Toxic Mind]

Despite repeated calls at the door, you are apparently abandoned. After a few minutes, the decision is made. The table and chairs are easy enough to move for power-armoured Astartes, and thus a crude ring is created in the center.

First to duel are the Dark Angel's Maraziel and Space Wolf Lokir. It is a hard fought duel, and both seem equally matched in their skill with a blade, the Dark Angel making good use of his perceptive nature and well-honed swordsmanship to turn aside the more savage blows of his opponent. He cleverly uses his armor to turn aside glancing blows, preventing any from drawing blood. It is precisely this tactic which ends the duel, as Lokir, having sounded out his opponent, strikes with the flat of his knife, and catches the blade in a joint on the return stroke. When he wrenches the Fenrisian knife free, a single drop of blood glistens on the tip. Maraziel, whose knife had been descending for his own victory stroke on the vulnerable shoulder, stops before the blow lands. An honorable duel, fought with skill and grace, where one had been bested, but his foe had made no mockery of him.

Each of you gain +3 Fellowship as word of your climactic duel, and the honorable fashion with which you conducted yourself spreads.

Then it is the turn of Adler and Torox. There is none of the finesse and careful swordplay of the previous duel - this is as quick as it is savage. It is in this that Adler makes his mistake, for he is used to his foes falling before his own savagery, but there are none who can best the Flesh Tearers in that arena. By the time Adler realized his error, the duel was over, and Torox had drawn blood from three separate wounds. It was a savage beating, as bad as when Adler had been a neophyte in his own chapter, but it served one purpose, at least. Torox was strong, stronger than Adler had ever imagined a wytch-touched could be without the use of their powers. And there was no doubt that Torox had won fairly - he had used no warpcraft to strengthen his blows or his speed. For Torox it had been difficult to end the duel, to put down his weapon, but he had not needed to tap into his Chapter's dark gifts. He was still himself, blood or no.

Adler gains +3 Intelligence, as you reflect on your errors and harden yourself to the task at hand, ruminating on how you could fight better against such strategies in the future.
Torox gains +3 Willpower as you keep your head and win the duel with savagery that, while shocking perhaps to the others, is nowhere near dipping into the strength of the Thirst.
Kel'dir gains +3 Perception from watching the duels carefully, analyzing tactics and choices, discerning the subtle notes of battle and skill that weave through.

How do you react to these outcomes?

[Jyssika]

Torox struggled to drag himself away from the Templar--the blood--recoiling across the room and--the ticks were bad now--forcing himself into a seat.

Without a single word of celebration or gloating the Flesh Tearer forces his eyes tightly closed as he silently recites a warding mantre. The bloody knife in his hand dancing and jiving as the Ticks race across his arms and torso.

After a moment--that seemed much longer than it was--he inhales a deep breath and puts the knife away: the ticks remain.

[rs2excelsior]

Adler places a hand to the wound, glaring at the crimson bloodstain as if it is somehow responsible for the outcome. He is glad the other marine didn't have another quip as Adler regains his feet; he isn't sure if he could restrain himself from attacking all-out if he had. He forcibly unclenches his hand from the hilt of his blade and pushes his anger to the bottom. His mentor had taught him to accept an honorable defeat as well as victory, though those lessons had not stuck quite as well as others. "Your skills with the blade are impressive, Flesh Tearer," he says finally. "I will give you that." He bites back a half-formed retort as he sees Torox visibly bringing himself under control. Bohemond's words echo in his ear, from a battlefield long ago while he was but a mere neophyte: "You must learn to control that temper of yours, or else one day it will be your undoing." Adler had never quite seen the truth of those words as clearly as at this moment, and so he left his comment unsaid.

[Malak'ai]

Swapping his combat knife to his other hand, spinning it so that the blade rests against his wrist and forearm, Maraziel holds out his hand to Lokir, "Well struck Brother." is all he says at the moment, trying to catch his breath.

Moving outside the duel ring, the Dark Angel unties his hair, selecting a decent sized lock from his fringe, he uses his blade to slice it free. Tying the strands into a small knot at one end he walks back to the old Space Wolf, "A token. Of friendship and brotherhood, and of victory in honourable combat. I have heard how the Sons of Russ take trophies of their foes. Well now you can include an Angels hair." Maraziel says, holding out the lock of his hair, a genuine smile creeping onto his lips.

[Revanus]

Lokir rises from his lunge, bringing his combat knife before his face and saluting the Dark Angel.

”Aye, Brother! Well fought! We shall feast tonight as kin.”

Sheathing his knife and meeting Maraziel’s hand, Lokir smiles.

”I must confess, this was not my first honor duel. I lost my first two as a blood claw...I was too blind of a whelp to think past my aggression. It was only once I got some grey in my beard that I began to win—perhaps because my old sack of bones sent a deceitful message to my opponents—that I could be trusted to be slow and dim with age.”

As the Dark Angel offers Lokir a trophy, Lokir’s smile widens.

”Brother Maraziel—I will accept your token of brotherhood, friendship, and victory with honor.”

Taking the lock of hair, Lokir slips it into a pouch.

”However, you are not my foe. Therefore, I cannot wear your hair as a trophy. Instead, I would ask that you add your name to my honor roll of Dark Angel brothers, and that I, in turn, join yours.”

Rolling up the sleeve of his body glove, Lokir reveals five names carved upon his bicep, beneath a tattooed image of a lion and wolf.

[Malak'ai]

Maraziel smiles again, clapping the old Wolf on his shoulder, "Aye, that will be agreeable. Though you must imprint your name in my flesh yourself, as I shall do for you."

Turning to thr rest of the gathered Astartes the Dark Angel looks them over, "Well, has that settled any differences that we had thus far? If so, what have we all learned?"

"For myself, it has been reaffirmed that the age of ones opponant doesn't always reveal their skill, ability or even compitence in battle."

[Jyssika]

Torox grunts as he looked at the Black Templar who was attempting to compliment him--whilst the other two fighters were practically hugging--this was to be his new team.
"Save your compliments for someone who cares. I hope that whatever trials or tribulation we face in our task with the Deathwatch suits you better than Diplomacy or Honour Duels."

He ticks loudly--turning to the walls around them.
"Perhaps our Captor would be so kind as to share what that task is before The Wolf and Lion have cubs?"

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Watching the spars before him Kel'dir kept a careful eye on the combatants, watching them for any flaw in technique or ability. To his vision they were all exemplars, any one of them being someone he would not mind having at his back (that is, if there wasn't a Salamander present of course).

Stepping forward once the battles were done he gave Loki and Torox a hearty clap on the back, one that would have knocked a mortal across the room but to their enhanced forms was scarcely more than a tap. "Well fought brothers," Kel'dir said before looking to Maraziel and Adler, "All of you." The techmarine stroked his coal-black chin as though thinking for a moment, "Perhaps once I have seen a bit more of your skills I will be able to craft a weapon worthy of you all," he mused, part of him wanting to return to a forge and do just that but knowing that their mission, whatever it might be, would come first.

[rs2excelsior]

Adler's eyes flash with anger once more at Torox's retort. Several scenarios run through his head--foremost among them including going for the knife and resuming the combat--until the Salamander's comment cuts the tension a bit. Very deliberately he turns away from Torox, toward Maraziel and Lokir. "Indeed, you are both quite skilled. I look forward to fighting at your side. Your performances were worthy of the Templars. As for you," he turns back to Torox, "the Emperor saw fit to grant you victory. For my part, this matter is settled. I may not look forward to serving alongside one with the witch-taint, but I will do so, if it is the Emperor's will. I understand enough of duty for that. Let this lie, and with His grace our mission will be completed swiftly, without unnecessary conflict between us." It is clear from his expression there is no love lost toward the Flesh Tearer, but he makes the effort to let his sense of duty override his anger. There is the slightest emphasis on the word "unnecessary," however.

[Revanus]

Lokir lets the Flesh Tearer’s comment pass with a chuckle.

”I’m already knee-deep in pups. Not one of ye is older than 300, by my eye.”

Lokir follows Torok’s gaze.

“But aye, the librarian is wise beyond his years. What I’ve learned is the Inquisition knows well how to provoke fights among Brothers and stoke our thirst for battle. Bring us a briefing, and then bring us meat and casks of Fenrisian Ale, so that we may discover which of us can at least drink like men, and which need a few more centuries of seasoning.”

Lokir looses another good natured laugh, and begins to softly sing a pretty ballad about golden cups and yellow snow.

[Jyssika]

Torox chuckles, for lack of a better word, at Lokir calling them pups as even some dreadnoughts within the Flesh Tearers were younger than three centuries old. After such hostility towards the Templar--who seemed incapable of insulting him every time he opened his mouth--he was clearly trying his best with the other marines.
"Our Chapter has difficulty finding elder's still sane enough to pass on their knowledge to our youth. Flesh Tearers tend to be quick learners"

He gestures towards the Templar with the same goading razor toothed smile as before.
"I wonder if this one is simply reading from the mantra of his elders? In how many Honour Duels must I defeat this whelp before he will stop referring to me as Tainted?"

He looks at the Templar again: a stone-faced killer without ticks for a moment.
"You would think for a Crusading Chapter that have spent their entire existence relying on navigators to navigate the warp they would have a little more respect. Maybe you are all just very slow learners."

[rs2excelsior]

For once, Adler returns Torox's smile. "Our navigators listen for the divine guidance of the Emperor in order to safely bring us through the warp, it is true. But there is a world of difference between merely reaching out and following the Emperor's light, and bringing the power of the Immaterium into our reality. I have seen what happens when people reach too far into the Warp and try to control what they find." His voice becomes quieter. "Have you ever heard of the forge world of Geonide? A few arrogant ones reached too deep, and did not much care for what they drew out. There I saw firsthand the dangers of meddling with blasphemous powers... and proved my worth as a Templar in the blood of warp-mutants and daemons, before the Exterminatus was carried out." He leans back, still holding Torox's gaze. "I will stop calling you tainted when you prove you control your connection with the warp, rather than the other way around."

[Jyssika]

Torox clenches a fist around the side of the seat he is sat upon--enhanced muscle wrapped in a servo powered gauntlet crushing and mangling even the reinforced seat.
"Poor foolish worm--I have bested you in the art of your speciality and now you wish to engage in conversation about the mechanics of Navigators and Psykers--a field in which you know nothing but rumor and hearsay. You speak of learning lessons from arrogance and yet you stand here, bleeding from my knife, demanding I prove myself to you."

He stands and places a hand upon the grip of the sword at his waist before faltering and taking his seat once more.
"I pity you. You are a testament to how far the Son's of Dorn have fallen from grace--clearly vast recruitment and accelerated gene-seed culture has left the stock of the average Templar with more than a little to be desired."

[rs2excelsior]

Adler half rises from his seat as well, part of him fully ready to finish things here and now, to the death if need be, but returns to his seat as well. The librarian seems intent on prodding him until he snaps, but he bites back rising anger once more. "Believe whatever you wish," he snaps back. "The Templars have proven their worth on countless battlefields for nearly ten millennia. I will do my duty to the Emperor, even if it means serving alongside those who use powers we personally fight against. If you are a loyal servant of the Emperor, then our goals at least align, if not our methods."

[Toxic Mind]

*clap clap clap*

The sound is cutting across the words exchanged. "Not an hour and you've already bloodied each other, destroyed the furniture, and now spit angry words. If you survive your first mission it will be a wonder." The words are no less cutting for having been filtered through the vox-grille of the Watch Captain Ferran. "Come on then. Lets get your oath over with so I can be rid of you." He says rather sardonically, and gestures to the door behind him. "I do so dislike handling new recruits" come only half-muttered as you file by. As the last of you file from the room, Ferran falls into step behind you.

The corridor you are in is ancient, nearly every surface of walls and ceiling that you can see is engraved with names, and chapter designations. Untouched by wind or water, it is likely that many of these carvings are as old as the memory of the Imperium. "The names of the fallen, who you are as now only barely worthy to call brothers." Ferran's voice echoes from the rear at the unspoken question. His words break the reverent silence that seems to rest upon the hall like a shroud, but if he is bothered by this, it is unnoticeable in his demeanor. After a few minutes in the massive hall, you reach another set of doors, which open without so much as a whisper. Ferran ushers you in but waits without. As silently as they open, the Watch Captain is left outside, and you within.

In the room are three figures. Two stand at the far end of the room, atop a raised platform. They flank a massive door, embossed with the Omega Symbol. Each figure wears a runic silver band on one wrist and carries a power halberd with the practiced ease of one who had wielded such a weapon many times before. Their heads move slightly to scan over you, but otherwise make no indication of recognition or acknowledgement of your presence. [A successful Common Lore (Deathwatch) reveals these Astartes to be Deathwatch Keepers, guardians of the most dangerous secrets of the organization.] It is the man at the center that truly holds your attention. He carries his helmet under one arm, the other resting on a massive two-handed relic blade. His face is the flawless, almost ageless perfection that is only achieved by the sons of Sanguinius, making his true age remarkably difficult to determine.

"Welcome. I am Watch Commander Modrigael. You have questions - speak them, before the Oath is taken, and I will answer if I can. I will have none under my service who do not understand the gravity of what they undertake." His tone is stern, but not unfriendly, and a marked difference from Ferran, whose attitude clearly expressed his dislike. The Watch Commander speaks in tones that make his true feelings nearly impossible to read. [A Very Hard (-30) Scrutiny will reveal more information about the Watch Commander's mood]

[Revanus]

Lokir shakes his head at Adler.

”Rest easy, Black Templar. How many chapters of loyal marines have librarians, eh? Or are the Black Templar’s now the Emperor’s Executioners?

Besides, you may place trust in the Inquisition. Induction into the Deathwatch is not how the Inquisition deals with suspected chaotic taint. This is known.”

Lokir’s gaze grows dark and distant. However, he cheers up when he hears mention of the destroyed furniture and combat.
We haven’t even settled in for a proper feast, yet.

To Modrigael, Lokir raises a meaty hand.

“Shall we have free reign about these facilities, or be confined to quarters permanently?”


Lore : [roll0] vs 37
Awareness: [roll]1d100 vs 26 (43+10 heightened senses + 3 trapping) -30
If scrutiny: as above, but vs 6 (untrained)
Wolfy reroll: [roll1]

[Toxic Mind]

"Upon the taking of your Oath you will be given quarters, and have license to move about the Watch Fortress freely, save for those places that are proscribed. The Omega Vault, the Tower of Brass, and some others. There will be Guards posted, you won't wander into them."

[Malak'ai]

"Watch Commander, am I to assume that also means we will have access to the armoury and med facilities if we deem we require additional equipment when we take the field?" Maraziel asks, standing more at attention than he was just a moment ago, "And also to a Chaplin for blessings upon not only us, but our weapons and armour?"

[Revanus]

Lokir raises his meaty hand again.

"Are the mess hall and tavern proscribed places?"

[Toxic Mind]

"Watch Commander, am I to assume that also means we will have access to the armoury and med facilities if we deem we require additional equipment when we take the field?" Maraziel asks, standing more at attention than he was just a moment ago, "And also to a Chaplin for blessings upon not only us, but our weapons and armour?"

"Naturally. There are a few Chaplain's in residence should you require their services. Forgemaster Greyweaver or his second, Techmarine Vanus, can provide you with your requisitioned gear and weapons."


Lokir raises his meaty hand again.

"Are the mess hall and tavern proscribed places?"

"Only if you attempt to eat or drink us out of hearth and home." said with the same oratory grace as though the Watch Commander were delivering a sermon to inspire faith and fury.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

The sudden arrival of the Watch Captain almost makes Kel'dir cringe, his thought that someone was watching or listening in on them being confirmed in that moment. This...was not the introduction to the Deathwatch that he'd been hoping to make, though if nothing else he could take solace in the knowledge that he'd at least tried to diffuse the conflict.

Standing and following Ferran out the door, the techmarine being respectfully silent as they walked down the corridor, eyes briefly lingering on the names inscribed on every possible surface. He wondered how many of his own brothers had their names here, having given their lives in the service of the Imperium against the Enemy Without. Counting every one seemed like an act that would test even the supposed immortality of the Astartes.

Entering the room at the end of the hall Kel'dir felt his attention be drawn to the two figures behind the Commander, searching his memory for any knowledge of who they might be...

He made a small chuckle at the Commander's response to Lokir's question, glad that the man was seemingly not as scornful as Ferran. At the mention of the forges however Kel'dir perked up, his interest fully caught. "I should like to meet the Forgemaster then, once I have taken my Oath of course," he said, "If I am to be here for as long as I suspect then I imagine I will be working closely with him and his apprentices."

Deathwatch Lore Test: [roll0] vs 60

The Scrutiny Test is impossible for me to pass with both the untrained penalty and the difficulty.

[Revanus]

Lokir solemnly pounds a fist into his breastplate.

”The terms are acceptable, Watch Commander.”

[Jyssika]

Torox had no interest in the Watch Captains snide comments, took no particular interest in the wall of names--although he did spot another Torox and had no questions for the Watch Commander.
It was above his station to question such things and he made no intention to break protocol with trivial questions or complaints. When the time came he made his oath and afterwards remained silent.

"Torox, Librarian of the Flesh Tearers--Librarian of the Deathwatch."

[rs2excelsior]

At Lokir's comment, Adler lets out a bitter laugh. "Emperor's Executioners? Isn't that what all Space Marines are, after a fashion? Killers of the enemies of the Imperium?" He sighs. "But your words do have wisdom. I will try and take heed of them." He follows the Watch Captain in silence, pausing for a moment to regard the corridor carved with the names of fallen Deathwatch Marines with awe. However, the others leave him little time to dawdle and he carries on.

When they reach the Watch Commander, he listens to the others' questions before speaking up himself. "So long as I have a quiet place to prepare myself, that will suffice. I will take my oath."

Scrutiny is Perception-based, yes? Given that I am untrained in it, I also cannot succeed.

Lore vs. 45: [roll0]

Nice, skirted just under that check

[Malak'ai]

"I will also give my Oaths"

[Toxic Mind]

The Watch Commander approves each of your requests in turn, then asks you to kneel before the massive vault behind him. "This is the Omega Vault, heart of the Fortress and of the Deathwatch itself. We swear our oaths here, because it was here that the Deathwatch was founded, and here it endures." The Watch Captain's voice is heavy with ceremony. "Under the watchful gaze of the Keepers, and myself, speak your oath, and be bound to the Deathwatch. If you have qualms about such service, leave now."
If you have something special in mind, or unique, feel free to put it in your next post. Otherwise it is assumed that you made a generic oath that binds you to service and loyalty, etc. etc.

With the oath-taking finished, the Watch Commander bids you rise. "Now, to your mission" he says without preamble. He nods to the two Keepers, and they each place the silver bands on their arms into concealed keyholes on the sides of the Omega Vault. Around you, secondary doors slide noiselessly shut, isolating the room from all outsiders. The Watch Captain removes a small orb from where it was mag-locked at his back. It is entirely featureless, but he twists the orb in his hands. So exquisite is the craftsmanship that it seems to be a single piece, even as he clearly manipulates the bands in some sequence. As the last one locks into place you feel a pressure on your eardrums. "This device prevents all noise from extending beyond this three meter bubble. We can speak in secrecy." He makes a hand sign, and the Keepers join you inside the field. "Brothers Palen and Arkios are my personal retinue. I trust them with my life, and their words are as mine." The Watch Commander's face is grave and his gaze filled with meaning. "Beyond them, you are the only Deathwatch members, including Inquisitors, serfs, and even other Keepers, that I can trust." This admission rocks you to your core. "You have been brought here to solve a grave mystery, and one only you can solve, as your recent induction guarantees you have not yet been tainted. Someone or someones within the Deathwatch are sabotaging our efforts. There is no other explanation possible. In the simplest terms, your only assignment is to find this individual or individuals and capture or kill them." He pauses a moment to allow you to process, and ask questions.

[Malak'ai]

Maraziel watches intently as the Watch Commander manipulates the small device in his hands and then blinks and gives a minuscule shake of his head as the effects of the field take hold.
Listening to Modrigaels' words, the Dark Angel is a little taken aback, though it does not show on his features. Traitors in the Deathwatch? How? he thinks before raising his voice, "Watch Commander, could you please expound on what you mean by sabotaging? What has accured, and what missions have been comprimised?"

[Toxic Mind]

"A great number. We believed it to be misfortune, or perhaps an enemy who could predict our moves, but then mechanical failures, sabotage, Kill-Teams being sent with faulty intelligence, dangerous artifacts gone missing from stasis vaults. No - there is someone among our number who works against us. Tainted by Xenos, or Chaos, or other selfish goals I do not know, but I know they are real."

[Jyssika]

The Flesh Tearer had been struggling to cope with this news and within the confines of the bubble resisting the ticks was very difficult--without the freedom to pace he was struggling not to elbow and strike the marines around him. He had wanted to burst out with the same response as the Dark Angel, that this was impossible, and denounce this deceptive attempt to test their honor. However he had been forced to bite his tongue so hard it was now gushing blood within the confines of his mouth--as his tongue was already beginning to heal--he decided he was calm enough to speak.

"Surely there is some sort of procedure in place to stop someone from taking artifacts from stasis vaults without anyone knowing who entered the vault and took it?"
The Flesh Tearers voice was lisper than usual and ample blood trickled from his mouth as he spoke--he made no attempt to hide his injury but also brought no attention to it. He knew if the Watch Commander truly was a Son of Sanguinius he would struggle to ignore the fragrant red liquor.

"Unless this traitor is senior enough to bypass such protocol?"
The Flesh Tearer looked the Watch Commander directly in his eyes. There was steel now in the Librarians voice--if anything could be said of a Flesh Tearer it was that he would always speak his mind.
"How are we to be sure you are not the traitor and this is some elaborate plot to have us assist you?"

[Toxic Mind]

"If I am the traitor, than you and your Kill-Team would not leave this room alive." The Watch Commander says. There is no emotion in his voice, no condemnation of the question or its implications, merely a statement of fact. And it was fact - at such a close range, the Watch Commander and his guards had all the advantages with their powerful weapons and superior melee skill. He continues. "I will ask nothing of you that is not right, order you to do nothing that is amiss. I have called on you because you are untainted by the politics and corruption that I am sure is within this place." His face is grim, but only a slight flaring of his nostrils indicates that he has noticed Torox's wound at all. He must have supreme willpower, for their is no ichor more heady than that spilled of a Brother of Sanguinius. "It is possible that the traitor is a senior officer, and Inquisitor, or simply one with the skills or knowledge to bypass such wards. No security system is foolproof."

"I ask only that you investigate. Discover for yourself. Enlist allies, if you believe they can be trusted. I cannot undertake this, nor can my guards, for to do so would arouse suspicions and likely drive the traitor into hiding. He, or she, must be found, and excised like the cancer they are."

[Revanus]

Lokir does not seem surprised. Lokir is not surprised.

The Months of Shame were not our shame.

”It is not the case that all Astartes are the same. Some of us are masters of expansion, or the forge. Some of us keep the faith, or dance with spirits.”

Lokir lets his gaze linger on each of his companions.

”But the Wolves of Fenris hunt. It is a sacred duty. We are the Sixth Legion. We are the Executioners. We are the Honing Steel of the All-Father’s Will. We cut the fate strings and spill the lifeblood not only of beasts, not only of predatory aliens. Sometimes, your enemy on the field of battle is a man you broke bread with.

We do not pretend that life is rigid or fixed. Mother Fenris teaches us that nothing is stable. The ashes of Prospero still burn in our throats—a planet of men once comrades, but no longer. We do not think there is but one way of doing things—no one codex to account for all situations. A plan that once seemed good may turn rotten in the field, and it is the fool or the dead who ploughs ahead blindly instead of heeding his eyes and nose.

My legion knows this. I know this. And the Inquisition...well. It seems the Inquisition is a beast, once loyal, that must now either be wrangled or put down. The scent is familiar.”

Lokir meets the Watch Captain’s gaze.

“I do not call you liar, Watch Captain, rather than face an unpleasant truth. I do not shrink from this task, just as a sailor cannot hide from angry sea. The Inquisition is a strange animal—it breeds a special brand of inflexible certainty within its pack. But I will hunt those who supplant the All-Father’s will and wisdom with their own. I will hunt those who strike from within at the stout, brave, and loyal. I will hunt those who betray. And I will end them. This I swear.”

[Jyssika]

Torox grunted--now that it had been said it was true to him. Only the Salamander, Wolf, Angel and perhaps the Templar could be trusted. He kept this to himself however.
"We will require an Assignment to provide us with a cover story.
Perhaps with custardy of an artifact worthy enough to attract the attention of these traitors."

The Flesh Tearer growls a low angry gurgle through its mostly healed but still bloody mouth.
"There are relics donated by the Flesh Tearers within these halls... Relics my Chapter would demand returned should they learn about these thefts!"

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Reciting the Apocryphon Oath, Kel'dir's voice didn't waver for even a moment as he spoke the words that would bind him to the Deathwatch until he either fulfilled the terms of his service or died in the attempt.

Despite his resolve however, the revelation that someone within the ranks of the organization had spat on their oath made his blood run cold. To betray one's brothers like that...It was unthinkable to the Salamander. "For one of our kindred to do such a thing..." he muttered, before looking up, his eyes firm with resolve, "This cannot be allowed to stand! Commander, this traitor will be found and brought to justice!"

[Toxic Mind]

"Well said." He nods at Lokir and Kel'dir in turn. To Torox, he raises an eyebrow. "You need not fear for the relics of your Chapter. This traitor had access to many such artefacts of the Astartes and ignored them in favor of ones of Xenos Origin. If this is the cover you wish, it will be provided for you, but I had though the sting of failure a better bait. If I confined you to the Station until you were fit for duty, you would be free to train and seek out the advice and help of others - one of whom is likely our traitor. Naturally, you would want to explore your new home, and should you come across a site where problems occurred, it would be remiss not to investigate..." The Watch Commander looks down at the artefact in his hand. In the time you have talked, 3 small red marker runes have lit up. "It is almost at its limit. The time has come to decide."

[Malak'ai]

"You have my oath that I will do all I can to bring The Emperor's Justice to these traitors Watch Commander. Though to do this, we will need certain equipment and liberty for our investigation.
First of all, we'll need all the information on the thiefts and missions that were compromised on encripted dataslates." The Dark Angel says, his eyes rolled back, staring into his own eyebrows and twitching from side to side as though checking items off a mental list.

All info on thiefts and missions.
All information on personal (including Astartes, Ministorum, Mechanicus, Administratum and support personal) stationed on the Watch Station.
Full floorplan layout of every room on the Watch Station (excepting the Omaga Vault).
A 'skeleton key" to access all area's of the Watch Station (excepting the Omaga Vault).
Encrypted dataslates.
Encrypted Vox channel that only those in the bubble can access.
Carte Blance to act as we see fit.
A suitable cover so to allow us to do the investigation.

[Revanus]

”A wise hunter does not ignore those who know the local woods. I would sooner follow your plan with my first step, Watch Captain, and modify it as need arises, than blindly chart a new path. I welcome your assistance and advice.”

Lokir requests a list of Space Wolves on station and relevant background. Lokir is willing to trust the Watch Captain to provide other useful items as appropriate.

[rs2excelsior]

Adler nods. "We will find the traitor and end him, have no doubt about that. If I may ask, do you have any suspicions about the identity of the traitor? It is a foolish soldier who enters a battlefield without listening to the experience of those who have been fighting there. If you have any intuition, Commander, it may help us focus our search where it would do the most good."

[Revanus]

Lokir glances at his fellow marines darkly.

”It may not be a single traitor.”

[Malak'ai]

"From the current information we have, it certainly seems likely that there are multiple conspiritors working together. The ability to be able to commit even the thiefts alone would require more than one person, let alone the sabotarging of missions." Maraziel comments, his eyes having finally returned to their normal position having stopped going over his mental checklist.

[Toxic Mind]

"I can provide you with the locations of the thefts, and the items taken, as well as some details of the missions we believe have been victims of sabotage, at least those not classified. A covert vox network is easy enough to set up, harder to remain secure - if someone else discovers you are using it, they may ask why, and attempt to break that encryption. I cannot, however, give you access to the Watch Station - such an action would surely arouse far too much suspicion. Initiates are given cursory access, but anything beyond that would arouse suspicion as to why you were being given special privileges. Information, I can provide, but anything else out of the ordinary puts you at grave risk. This is a nest of vipers that you walk among, never forget that." The Watch Captain smiles wanly, the first real expression of a positive emotion you've seen. "I ask much of you, but I would not have chosen you if I did not believe you were capable."
The Watch Commander does not have any guesses as to the identity of the traitor. He had numerous suspects, but the acts have been so varied that each one had been proven innocent at least once. If there are multiple traitors, they work together exceptionally well, with little to no communication, or at least none that our vox-nets have been able to detect.

The unnatural silence drops, and in its absence you have never realized how loud a space station is. Every small creak or groan, every conduit exchange turning over, seems amplified a thousandfold, the background noise re-asserting itself on your senses. As you attempt to re-adjust to this disorienting cacophony of sounds, the two Keepers unlock the wards on the room, and the Watch Commander's voice booms loudly.

"Until you can prove that you can work together, set aside your petty rivalries, you are unsuited for the Deathwatch! Begone, until you prove worthy of your Oath!" Modrigael turns his back on you and walks away towards the vault, giving you ample opportunity to leave, and responding no further to questions or concerns.

Outside the door is Watch Captain Ferran. He appears to have been waiting for you. "That went well." he says with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice. "I'll show you to your quarters." He seems to take pleasure in making your trip to the living quarters prolonged. "How fortunate he let you stay. I hear penance crusades are just awful this century." As you finally reach your quarters, he turns to address you all. "As I have been elected your den mother, since you cannot care for yourselves given your deficiencies, I am obligated to inform you that you may ask me to point you towards your destinations. Know that I will also be observing you, and determining when, or if, you are fit for combat duty."
I will have the list of information that the Watch Commander gave up in the OOC thread soonTM

[Malak'ai]

Putting his helmet back on as he exits the chamber, Maraziel watches Ferren from the corner of his eye, "Yes Watch Captain. The Emperor has surely smiled upon us today and I hope we can prove ourselves in your eyes.

If it is agreeable to you Watch Captain, I would like to visit the Forge Master and the Chapel after I have stowed my equipment."

[Revanus]

”I too would visit the forge—after a quick detour through the mess hall. Shall we venture together, Brother Lion?”

[Malak'ai]

"Thank you for the offer Brother, but this time, I feel I need to proceed in private as it is a time of deep reflection. Mayhaps after I have finished I can join you all in the mess hall and discuss ways of how to put past differences aside and work together in our future endeavors." Maraziel replies, patting the old Wolf on the pouldron.

[Revanus]

Lokir shrugs his large shoulders, pauldrons clinking.

”That’s fine. I will not disturb you. I still intend to head to the mess hall and the forge, though.”

[Jyssika]

A broad smile spreads across the Flesh Tearer's face--eyes closing he draws in the aether around him.
The poor Witch Hunter was going to hate this, good.

There was nothing... He opened his eyes, bloodshot, and the smile faded.
He knew better to let the rage get the better of him but failure was equally shameful and tried again this time

Once again it failed... He was going to push--rip the very walls of the station apart and throw them into the warp with Perils if he had to just to get his message across.
But something stopped him. In his rage filled eyes he saw the Templar and he knew it was his fault.

"Training Area... now."
It was little more than a grunt.

"Let us settle this once and for all. Least you ruin the whole kill teams reputation with your pathetic prejudice."

Fettered Short Range Telepathy
[roll0] WP 47, +10 (PR 2), +10 Psy Focus ~67.

Rolled a 2nd Unfettered test in OOC... failed also (no perils)

[rs2excelsior]

Adler rankles a bit at Torox's abruptness--does the fool not realize how dangerous the powers he wields can be?--but he nods nevertheless, a small smile forming on his face as they go. He certainly wouldn't mind another opportunity to test his skills after his embarrassing performance in their first duel.

[Malak'ai]

Looking fully at Ferren, Maraziel asks, "Well Watch Captain, are you going to direct me to the Chapel and Forge, or am I to find my own way?"

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir sighed as he watched Adler and Torox go off. He supposed that it was too much to ask that they set aside their obvious animus aside so easily, but he'd hoped that they'd managed to reach an understanding after their initial spar. Looking up at the words of the other members of his team he spoke up. "As I said earlier, I should like to pay the forge a visit as well," the Salamander said, "I imagine I will be spending no small amount of time there."

[Toxic Mind]

OOC: Please do your posts in spoilers with the names of the people with you, to preserve some semblance of IC knowledge.
The mess hall is large, the ornate and gothic ceiling rising high above. Laid out are enough tables and benches to accommodate an entire company of marines. It feels disused, and this is made far more obvious by the fact that it is almost entirely empty. The lack is obvious to Lokir, far more used to the loud and boisterous halls of the Space Wolves. There is no sound but the faint mechanical scraping of cleaning servitors, and the soft shuffle of their caretaker, a Deathwatch tech-serf. You seem to remember something special about Deathwatch serfs, but can't quite recall. [Common Lore (Deathwatch) +20] Either way, the servitors and the serf are your only company here. What do you do?
You are directed to the training cages by Ferran, before he escorts Kel'dir and Maraziel. As you reach them, you find that they are already occupied, by another kill-team. In the cage is a Raven Guard, recognizable by his sallow skin and black eyes, squaring off against what could only be one of the sons of Guilliman. It seems you have found Kill-Team Felheart, the other team stationed here. The cage is occupied, but the other two members stand and watch from nearby. What do you do?
Ferran escorts you personally. He is his normal taciturn self, responding only to questions. (If you have any feel free to ask) He leads you through a dizzying series of tunnels. It quickly becomes obvious why he chose to escort you, as finding your way into the Heart of Erioch would be almost impossible without his guidance. Or a detailed map. Sometimes it is difficult to remember, with all its austere beauty, that this is one of the most defensible structures in the entire Jericho Reach. Walking through the maze, you are reminded. In due time, you reach the Forge. Ferran informs you that he "has no interesting in joining you on your fools errand" and leaves you, though he is merciful enough to give you precise directions to find the Forge proper. As approach the doors, massive and armoured, you hear from within, through the opening, the sounds of combat - the dull clangs of metal on metal and even the thump of a power field. What do you do?

[Malak'ai]

Staying silent as he follows the Watch Captain, Maraziel glances over at Kel'dir for a quick moment. Once alone with the Salamander, he says quietly, "Remind me to look into Ferren when we get a chance. He seems to dislike us for no apparent reason. He might just be tacturn by nature, but he seems to have been harbouring some small resentment towards us since we arrived."

Stepping up to the opening in the doors and hearing the sounds of combat, his hand immediately reaches for his bolt pistol, but does not yet draw it. The sounds of clanging metal are normal for the forge, but best make sure. "There may be trouble in here Brother, prepare thyself."
Pushing the door open just a little more as quietly as possible, Maraziel pokes his head in, quickly scanning the room for the source of the sound.

Silent Move: [roll0] Target: 41
Awareness (Sight): [roll1] Target: 63
Awareness (Hearing): [roll2] Target: 63

[Jyssika]

Torox grunts, sighs or retches: its hard to tell before roaring.
"Clear the cage! We have a grudge that we must dispute."

[roll0] Intimidate 68 and +4 DoS if succeed due to Unnatural Str (4).

Flesh Tearer Chapter Trappings cause all NPC Spacemarines to start at -2 Disposition... so it might be a -20 test.

[Revanus]

Lokir sniffs the mess hall air and nods to the serf.

”I require four things. Fenrisian Mjod by the cask, fifty pounds of red meat, cooking flame, and company. Come! Join me as I cook and tell me a tale of your life’s thread. “

Lokir intends to prepare a traditional Fenrisian offering—The War Between the Hels. Like most things of Fenris, it is simple but not to be underestimated. A large pile of meat is divided into three. The first heap is left raw and cold as Helswinter. The second heap is deeply charred in the flames. The final heap is given a quick sear to leave the meat rare and juicy—kissed by Mother Fenris to be not quite raw, not quite burnt.

After cooking is done and the serf has shared his tale, Lokir will heap the casks of mead and piles of meat onto a large serving platter, and begin to make his way to the forge—dripping a trail of grease and blood in his wake.

[Toxic Mind]

You're pretty sure you are moving quietly enough, though it isn't hard with the racket going on. There is a crash of metal on metal, and the sparks light up the scene for the barest of moments. You can pick out the shape of two Astartes, locked in combat, and at least 3 other forms. Darkness retursn only to be rent asunder a moment later by the miniature sun of a plasma blast, which annihilates one of the non-astartes figures, but leaves even your enhanced senses smarting in the blinding light. You hear a deep voice, tinged with the distinct timbre of cybernetics. "You will die if you continue to be so weak." What will you do?
"Begone whelp." comes the voice of the Minotaur. He is armed and armoured, with a rounded storm shield and carrying a power spear like he was born with it in hand. The power field is currently deactivated. "I do not fear a man who needs to shout." He says, derision evident. What do you do?
The serf tells you a sad tale. He served among the PDF on one of the many worlds of the Reach, and his world has the misfortune of falling under Tyranid assault. Their world had always remained faithful to the Emperor, and they did not despair, like so many others, when the skies darkened. They stood their ground, did not waver - and lost. He thought he would die there, food for some foul xenos, but instead he was saved by the Black Armour Astartes. They rescued his squad from certain death, and his unit followed them into the jaws of death. He was the only one to survive. He speaks gratefully of his rescuers, and says he is happy to serve, but you sense some bitterness there, for combats and glories lost to fate. He gets you what you request, then goes on his way, leaving you alone.

It takes you a while to cook your 'offering', by which point Ferran has found you. He eyes your work with a judging gaze. "Where might I direct you and your burnt carcass, oh glorious son of Fenris?"

[Revanus]

The Watch-Captain’s was far from the first to disdain a Wolf of Fenris as primitive. Though, the runt was centuries too young for Lokir to let the comment pass without a rebuke of sorts.

Lokir deadpans a response.

”I require a more capable fire spirit to make the prey-feast more nicer. Point me to the hearth-forge where iron spirits are made to clash and axes learn to smile, if you please.”

[Jyssika]

"I need not shout foolish cur, I would but roast your flesh with a benign thought. Do not push me."

The Flesh Tearer places a hand on the pommel of his Force Sword, a weapon that kills body and soul,
his tone unwaivering.

"We have orders from the Watch Commander himself to settle our differences: you would stand in our way, calf?"

[Malak'ai]

Drawing his bolt pistol and raising it to the ready in front of himself, the Dark Angel advances keeping his eyes on the combat and the other two figures. "Forgemaster, I am Brother Maraziel, newly seconded to the Deathwatch. What is going on? Do you need assistance?"

[Toxic Mind]

As you say your greeting, you hear just a momentary pause in the combat. Then, "Quickly Brother, shoot him" comes the same metallic voice as before. "Don't be daft, pup. Shoot him!" You can pinpoint the voices in the darkness, and you're so close the shot would be easy. What do you do?
"Bloody-handed scion of Sanguinius. Your threats ring hollow - attempt to use your wyrd-power on me and I will cut you down before you can raise your hand." The voice is as devoid of inflection as before, but now it seems you have the marine's full attention. He turns his body and helmet to face you. It is like observing a brazen statue given life through crude machinery. His movements are so slow and deliberate they seem almost inhuman. From behind him, the Dark Angel stirs in the shadows. Even under his hood you can see the markings and implants of a Librarian. His voice has an otherworldly softness to it, as if each word absorbed the sound from around him. "Do not provoke Argus, young blood. He is not known for patience, or mercy." What do you do?
The Watch Captain's laughter through the vox grille is distorted, but you hear an odd timbre in it. [Awareness -20] As quick as it was, it is gone. "Say what you will of the Emperor's Executioners, they never lack humor. Only common sense." Ferran motions before him in a sweeping gesture. "This way, oh great burner of grox." He leads you through a twisting maze of passages, and eventually reaches a threshold. "Find your companions within. I will go no further." What do you do?

[Malak'ai]

Unsure of which one to shoot, Maraziel see's no other choice. He flips the little switch on the side of his pistol from single shot to semi-auto and cries out, "KEL'DIR! GET IN HERE NOW!" before pulling the trigger, moving the muzzle from one target to the next between bolts, all the while praying to the Emperor that this is the right decision.

Bolt Pistol: [roll0] Target: 52 (BS 52, +10 Easy, +10 Short Range, -20 Shooting Into Melee) (Unless within 2 meters then it would be 72 due to Point Blank)

Damage: [roll1] (1d10+9 normal, +2 Mighty Shot)

[Jyssika]

Dumbfounded--he had threatened to scorch him with a thought and the Minotaur spoke of hand gestures? Truly this brute knew nothing of Psykers.
"Deluded cretin why would I even need to raise hand? Consider thinking before speaking--if you are even capable of such things."

The Flesh Tearer turns his glance to the Librarian--straightening up a little out of gorilla like stance he usually held: he smirked a truly vicious smile--musing on what the Templar must be thinking--before addressing the Librarian.
"And what have we here? Another Dark Angel who has spent a century brooding within their fortress with the audacity to call another young? It would seem the Minotaur's intellect has rubbed off on you. Perhaps you could... explain to him... slowly... that he has... to leave... the fighting cage... because... we want... to use it."

His face was now deadpan. He realized he was playing with fire but their job was to shake the nest and see what fell out.

[Toxic Mind]

Maraziel fires, and there is an explosion of light and sound. Though he attempts to split his shots, he only succeeds in sending one at his target, and the rest into empty space. With startling suddenness, the lights glare on. In front of you are two Astartes in combat armor. The first, an Iron Hands Techmarine,
looks at you much as if appraising a new artifact. He barks a command in binary, and the battle servitors instantly become still. The second, without his helmet, looks at you, then down to the small hole in his chest where the bolt round has breached his armor. "Splitting your shots was unwise, pup. You'd have had a much better chance if you focused on a single target." There is no blood leaking from the hole, and he shows no signs of discomfort, or indeed ill-will at having been shot. "Why do you think he picked you, Xerril?" he asks the other. "Perhaps he smelled your foul stench and assumed you to be a servant of the dark powers." replies the Iron Hand Xerril, as though you were not present at all. So far, other than a brief admonishment, they seem to be ignoring you, and fall to a squabble about the difficulties of repairing a plasma-damaged servitor. What do you do?
"Insults will get you nowhere, and it is no surprise you have been deemed unfit given your attitude towards your superiors," says the Dark Angel Librarian. The Minotaur, on the other hand, barely seems to register your insult at all, instead turning back to the ongoing match in the cage as though he has decided paying attention to you isn't worth his time. "As you can see," the Librarian continues "my Brothers are using it. You can wait you turn, or go elsewhere and punch some walls to alleviate your anger."
You hear the sharp report of a bolt pistol from up ahead. Remarkably, Ferran barely reacts at all, though you're certain he must have heard it. What do you do?

[Revanus]

”You speak as though you have known a Fenrisian or two, but not Fenris proper. On Fenris, common sense is deadly.”

Lokir places his large platter on the floor. His dipole chainsword hardly moves as he straightens up.
“I’m sure that’s just weapons testing, aye?”

With that, Lokir swiftly moves to enter the forge—eyes, ears, and nose all on edge.

[Malak'ai]

"I know I had less chance by splitting my fire Forgemaster, but without clearly knowing who my foe was I thought it prudent to attempt to disable both of you so as to end the confrontation all the quicker." Maraziel repiles, lowering his pistol as the two senior officers start arguing again.

[Jyssika]

Torox begins to laugh--a sickly horse rasping.
"Superiors?"

He looks around dramatically.
"There are none such here or are you so deluded to believe your inflated ego inflates your rank?"

He removes his knife and tosses it onto the floor in front of the librarian.
"Fight me or get out of my way you pompous fool. I will beat any of you and when I do your Brothers will have learned an important lesson and they can observe as two real warriors fight."

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir nodded to Maraziel, following him into the room to find a pair of astartes locked in combat, a few smaller figures around them. Unfortunately events moved at a rapid pace, too quick for him to draw his weapon and aid the Dark Angel in shooting the astartes taking the Forgemaster hostage.

Fortunately the situation seemed to resolve itself after the shots were fired, and Kel'dir resolved to move faster in the future. "I hope that this sort of thing is not typical in the Forges," the Salamander commented, looking between the other techmarines as he took a few steps forward. Seeing his fellow techmarines he greeted them in techna-lingua, to him a more civilized method than using either high or low gothic.

[Malak'ai]

Noticing that the Salamander had followed him into the forge but had just been caught unawares, Maraziel nodded to him. Then slowly approaching the two senior techmarines he glances down at the hole in the Iron Priests armour, trying to assertain if he had actually taken any damage. "I apologise if I injured you Forge Master. Would you like for me to send for an apothecary to tend any wounds?"

Awareness (Sight) = [roll0] Target: 63 (43 base + 10 Heightened Senses, +10 Helmet)

[rs2excelsior]

Adler is prepared to wait for the other marines to finish before getting a chance to redeem himself for his poor performance from earlier, but simply crosses his arms and watches at the Flesh Tearer promptly challenges the other Librarian to a fight. It seems he isn't the only one capable of getting under the other marine's skin, after all. Rather than contributing to the brewing fight, Adler steps back and watches the reactions of the others, trying to see what he can gauge from them. They are here to catch a traitor, after all. Perhaps if one of these marines is acting oddly when pressured that could give them a lead to go off of.

I'm not sure if/what I would need to roll for this, let me know and I'll roll it on the OOC thread.

[Toxic Mind]

"It is barely a flesh wound." says the Forgemaster. "My mood is spoiled Xerril." he continues, somewhat petulantly. It is at this point that Lokir bursts in, seeing Maraziel, pistol still hot, pointed at the chest of what is clearly an Iron Priest. The Iron Priest looks at the newcomer, and raises a single eyebrow, while smoothing the braids of his woven beard. Xerril, the Iron Hands, turns to Keldir, speaking a short greeting in Techno-Lingua, which contained his place of training [Mars], his designation [Forgemaster], Chapter [Iron Hands], and current disposition [Annoyed]. What do you do?
The Librarian smiles, and it is cruel indeed. "A challenge has been issued. Brother Argus, I believe the first insult was directed at you, and thusly it falls first to you to accept the challenge." The Minotaur hefts his Storm Shield and Spear. As soon as the words were spoken, the two in the ring ceased their fight, bowed to one another, and left the ring. The Minotaur jumps into the ring, landing heavily. "Flesh carries weight." he says deeply, and gestures across the ring with his spear. What do you do?

[Jyssika]

Before the Minotaur had even hit the ground Torox had began his run up towards the ring: landing across from him with a heavy dull clang, chainsword and forcesword drawn and continuing the run forward in a mighty charge.
"Tear the Flesh!"

Despite the clear barbarism of Torox he is using his Chainsword to strike and holding his Forcesword in a defensive parry grip.

[roll0] 65 Weapon Skill +10 Charge
If hits and isn't parried.
[roll1] Best roll +9 Pen 3 (Tearing + Flesh Tearer)

17 Damage Pen 3 to the Head.

[Revanus]

Lokir’s gaze spans from the Dark Angel and his pistol to the intended target. Lokir is relieved to see that the marine in Maraziel’s sights is not his fellow Space Wolf, but only slightly.

”Is this how the Deathwatch tests the quality of armor? Such methods are not unknown on Fenris—Greyweaver has clearly shared much wisdom here.”

Lokir casually raises his bolter to point in the general direction of Maraziel’s target. His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp and alert.

[Malak'ai]

Reaching out and placing his hand on the top of Lokir's bolter, putting slow pressure on the weapon as an indication that the Space Wolf should lower it, Maraziel keeps his eyes on the two Masters of the Forge.
"I agree that what has transpired is some kind of test Brother Lokir, though I do not believe it was the integrety of his armour that Master Greyweaver was intending to be graded. What the true reason for their scuffle is beyond my ken, but I'm sure they will deem to illuminate us as soon as they can spare a few moments out of their arguements."

[Toxic Mind]

The Minotaur raises his shield, and with a flare of power, the blow's force is negated by the field around it. With an almost contemptuous flick, he smashes the sword aside and brings his shoulder crashing into Torox with incredible force. Torox braces for the hit, but it barely matters. The Minotaur sends him flying backwards, and for a brief moment his boots leave the ground before he smashes heavily onto the ground. Torox tastes blood as his face smashes against the front of his helmet. "Yield. You are bested." Comes the deep voice.
[Torox is Prone and has 1 Level of Fatigue]
"Put your weapons away, pups." the Space Wolf raises his hand and waves it downward. "I wanted to see what you would do when faced with the stress of a real combat situation and ya didn't disappoint, at least. Ya took action - that counts for a great deal." He finally turns to face the three of you. "I am Harl Greyweaver, Forgemaster of Erioch. This is Xerill, Forgemaster of Watch Stations Gamma - the Outer Reach Cluster." He gestures to the Iron Hands during his introduction. "And this" he continues "is Techmarine Karrus, my apprentice." The Techmarine emerges from where he had been taking cover behind an anvil. Karrus speaks for himself - "Greetings, Brothers. What brings you to the Forge?" His Chapter Markings indicate he is of the Black Templars, before being seconded to the Deathwatch.

[Malak'ai]

"It is an honour to finally make your aquantences," Maraziel says, bowing a little, "Now as I said when I first entered, I am Brother Maraziel and have only recently have I been seconded to the Deathwatch, and as you can probably tell, I left The Rock pretty quickly after I was informed that I would be coming here, hence my Chapters Tech Marines did not have the oppotunity to repant my armour. I thought that, now that I have taken my oaths that this little problem should be rectified immediately... Upon your leasure of course."

[Jyssika]

Torox was a master swordsman, capable of parrying and counter attacking even the most skilled and elegant of blows, he had not expected to be pauldron smashed by the marine before him. It almost made him smiled--good move he thought--as he caught himself in a backwards roll and stood back onto his feet.

The Minotaur had failed his parry, even with the defensive bonus of a relic storm shield, and only the force-field had saved him from the Flesh Tearers teeth. Well if he was relying on his ostentatious equipment the Librarian would draw on his own strength.
"Bested? Your fancy toys make up for your lack of skill."

He licked the blood from the face of his helmet and smiled--allowing the Red Thirst to flow through him.
"Come, try that again!"
Unfettered Depths of Rage
[roll0] WP 47, +15 (PR 3), +10 Psy Focus ~72.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Glad that this was not a true combat situation, Kel'dir entered the forge area fully. "Well met brothers," he began, speaking to them all. And they are his brothers despite all coming from different Chapters, for the teachings of Mars bind them all together as much as blood or gene-seed. "My purpose here is both to introduce myself to those I will be sharing this forge with in the time to come and to familiarize myself with the facilities. I imagine that I will be spending no small amount of time here during my secondment."

[Toxic Mind]

With the two Forgemasters bickering among themselves, it seems to fall to Karrus to deal with you. "Of course" he says to Maraziel. "We have servitors who can perform such things, but I would be happy to undertake it myself, if you would prefer a more seasoned hand. I would not wish the Machine Spirits of your armor to feel slighted." To Kel'dir, he offers welcome, crossing his chest in the sign of the Aquila. "I am mostly in charge of keeping the Forge while the Masters continue their work. It would be excellent to have another pair of hands. Now, I heard that you were not cleared for active duty. Perhaps I can help with that?" He says, almost cautiously, as though trying not to offend. "If you want. I know what its like to be stuck, and not able to undertake the mission you want." The last is delivered with little bitterness, and more resigned sadness.
The Minotaur looks at you, then says the only thing in the world that might have shocked Torox. "No." Though his armaments remain in his hands, and ready, he makes no move to strike. "Prove yourself better than your blood, and I will give you what you want."

[Malak'ai]

"I would be most thankful if you could do it Brother Karrus, or perhaps Brother Kel'dir here with your premission and guidance. While I'm sure my prayers while cleansing and caring for my armour have been adiquate enough to keep the Machine Spirits happy, I would feel more assured if a more skilled hand than mine could minister to them during this undertaking."

[Jyssika]

Torox swiped his chainsword into the floor of the arena spitting torrents of sparks and heaved out a growl of rage.
"You accept my challenge, miss a parry and get saved by your fancy shield, then get off one lucky shove and now you wish to back out?"

He swipes again: more sparks and screaming as the chain blades tear against the floor.
"Get out of the arena if you are having second thoughts. I have not intention of stopping you."

[Toxic Mind]

The Minotaur stands, unmoving, and the words seems to crash around him like waves onto a shore.
Your vox crackles to life, and the machine spirit of your armour indicates that it is a private channel between the Minotaur and yourself. "I fought against a squadron of renegades who hailed from your Chapter. They were so lost in their rage that not only did they slaughter the enemy, they did the same to our allies, and attempted to turn on me. It was then that I saw the truth - your brothers had not fallen to the taint of Chaos, it is your Chapter that is diseased. I wished to ascertain if you could rise above the bloodlust of your brethren. Perhaps that was why you were sent away. I find myself disappointed. For the sake of this organization and your team, I will show you the same mercy I showed your fallen brethren." The vox cuts off with an ominous finality.
The Minotaur charges with a savage fury, and the head of his power spear surges into life. One blow, aimed directly at your chest, with all the weight of his considerable strength behind it. Almost faster than even an Astartes eye, he is on top of you, the spear driving down.
[roll0] vs 85
Damage: [roll1] Pen 6
"The rites are complex. I am sure your brother could learn them in time, but for now it would be much faster if I saw to it personally." Karrus says in reply.

[Jyssika]

Flesh Tearers were beasts of rage and war--access anger and pain at their constant visions of their dying father which were made worse by the gift of the Librarian. Such emotions calmed and abated during the distraction of combat and there was peace. This minotaur had played with him: baited him into getting angry, then similarly into breaking out of the anger and now it chose to strike. With a flicker of his facial muscles he put their vox onto a pubic channel but did not speak.

One might expect a freight train in power armour wielding a power lance to sound like a detonating bomb when it struck: it didn't. With the practiced ease of a veteran the blow was diverted and all of its force dissipated as it flew wildly off course. Then Torox was upon him:
Multiple Weapon Fighting (Swift Attack + Two Weapon Fighting)
[roll0] WS 65 +0 Multiple Attacks +0 Main Hand (Force Sword)
[roll1] WS 65 +0 Multiple Attacks +0 Main Hand (Force Sword)
[roll2] WS 65 +0 Multiple Attacks -20 Off Hand (Chainsword)
Karma for messing up damage roll!

Damage & Effects if Hit
[roll3] +5 Weapon & Psy Rating, +10 Str Bonus. Pen 5
[roll4] +5 Weapon & Psy Rating, +10 Str Bonus. Pen 5
[roll5] Best roll +9 Pen 3 (Tearing + Flesh Tearer)

If either of the Forcesword attacks Hit Unfettered Channel Psychic Force: Minotaur man needs to beat these Will checks.
[roll6] WP 47, +15 (PR 3), +10 Psy Focus ~72 or take [roll7] Dmg that ignores Armour and TB. (2 DoS to beat)
[roll8] WP 47, +15 (PR 3), +10 Psy Focus ~72 or take [roll9] Dmg that ignores Armour and TB. (Failed Ignore this)

[Revanus]

Lokir offers a bark of a laugh.
”Yes, you pups lower your weapons. I know that Brother Greyweaver does not include me in that statement, for my bolter is drawn solely to test armor integrity and aid in the forging process—not in combat. And I also know that the last time I was called a pup, our Iron Priest was hardly a twinkle in his grandfather’s eye. So clearly, he does not refer to me. Nevertheless, I shall lower the snout of my bolter, for it seems the testing phase has ended.

If our Brother Dark Angel’s armor is to be repainted, do see to it that it notes his honorable loss in ritual combat to Lokir of Fenris, old though he may be.”

Finally, Lokir steps closer to Greyweaver, and seems to growl and bark. His long yellow incisors glint in the full flames off the forge.

”Well met, Brother. It is good to smell The Fang again on these distant shores. The Great Wolf sends his regards. I have brought a token of tribute to these forges for them to feast upon, under your watchful eye.”

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir returned the sign of the Aquila with one of his own, for though they were both members of the cult of the Omnissiah they should not deny their Imperial roots. He was also glad that at least one of his fellow techmarines was willing to aid them. Noting the bitterness in the man's voice, the Salamander spoke up. "It is true that we have yet to be cleared for missions," he replied, "But while I would welcome any aid you could give I believe it would be best to wait for command to determine our readiness." Kel'dir paused before continuing, "And of course I welcome the chance to work with the esteemed forgekeepers of the Deathwatch. I have no doubt that there is much you could teach me here."

[Malak'ai]

Nodding to the Techmarine, Maraziel steps back and to the side, awaiting further orders.

[Toxic Mind]

"Of course, Brother Maraziel. I would be happy to undertake such a task for you. The Forgemasters are so busy these days - I can have your armour back to you by the end of this cycle if you leave it here." Karrus says, rather genially. He turns to Kel'dir - "I would be happy to teach you the anointing rituals at a later time, so that you might perform them yourself in the future."
"It has been some time since I heard the tongue of Fenris. If you have an offering, it must be well hidden - I can smell it upon you, but I do not see it. If you speak true, than bring it - we will speak once the rituals have been observed."
Torox drives his force sword underneath the shield, shearing through the edge and into the shoulder of his opponent. Though there is no sound, a fine mist of red spurts from the vox-grille of the Minotaur.

There is a sound like a thunderclap, and the smell of ozone fills the air. Between you rests a glowing blade, embedded into the ground, and Warp Energy crackles from it. The baroque design of the sword evokes images of older times, times when giants walked among men, and the footsteps of gods still walked the galaxy. "ENOUGH." comes the thunderous voice of the Dark Angel's Librarian. "You dare to use such power on a Brother? I should have you thrown from this station and stripped of your colors for such an act!" It is with that the Torox realizes that his blade, from tip to hilt, is slick with blood. The wound is grievous, and could easily be fatal without proper treatment. The other two members of Kill-Team Felheart have their weapons trained unwavering on Torox. Both have sheathed the combat knives they previously held, and instead the Raven Guard trains a Stalker-Pattern Bolter on Torox's left eye. "Move a muscle, and I will end you." The Ultramarine, a pistol in one hand, sword the other, both pointed at Adler. The heat of the pistol's core distorts the air - a melta-weapon. What do you do?

[Jyssika]

Torox spins the Forcesword in a defensive pattern before him, splattering the area around him with the already clotting blood of the Minotaur.
"Dogs and Whelps all of you! How dare you wear the armour of an Astartes yet whine like a babe struggling to suckle at the teet."

He growls, a resonating dull sound--there had been moments of anger but this was rage.
"I offered you the duel--you passed it to this whelp. This whelp that, even with all of his fancy relics, has failed to parry a single blow. Now you whine that the rules are not fair--come and fight me or get out of the arena and take this worthless excuse for an Astartes with you."

[Toxic Mind]

He makes no attempt at hiding his words, and they are not spoken to you. "Watch Captain, this is Ramiel. You are needed, with an Apothecary, in the cages. Your whelp tried to murder Argus in a duel." There is a brief pause, then "Yes. He will remain until you come." It seems your threats and insults have fallen on deaf, or at least uncaring, ears.

[Revanus]

Lokir nods and smiles, bearing yellowed fangs. He then strides out of the forge, intending to hunt out the spot where he left his meat platter.

Assuming no hostile contacts, Lokir will return to the forge bearing a platter overflowing with the ribs of prey in various states of cookery.

[roll0]

Wolfy reroll: [roll1]

[Toxic Mind]

The meat seems to be right where you left it, though there is no sign of the Watch Captain. As you look it over, wondering if perhaps it had been tampered with, you think that some of the meat has been moved. Perhaps it fell when it was placed, or perhaps it is simply your mind seeing shadows where there are none. Perhaps it would be safer to see the meat as an offering to the fires of the forge, rather than the Forgemaster himself? Or you could always test it yourself, trusting to your Astartes physiology to protect you. What will you do?

[Malak'ai]

"Thank you again Brother Karrus. I'll await your instruction after you and Brother Kel'dir have finished your conversation."

[Jyssika]

The Flesh Tearer steps forward and placed the tip of his sword under the Minotaurs chin gently using the blade to lift his face to look at him--yet unwilling to lower his guard--and was now ignoring the Librarian.
"Is that how you feel Minotaur? Have I attempted to Murder you? I thought we were having a friendly duel and he who drew first blood won--that would make me the winner? Or will you dishonor yourself further: a veteran such as you carrying such relics and still losing to an Astartes barely half a century old... It is pathetic... and you wish to add insult to your own injury by opening a tribunal?"

He paused a moment--allowing the Minotaur's head to drop off the tip off his sword.
"So be it--I look forward to returning to my Chapter. Our veterans might not be as old or carry as many trinkets but at least they do not rely on such trinkets. They know when to accept they have been fairly defeated instead of whining and sniveling."

[Revanus]

Lokir eyes his platter as he lifts it—giving it a cautious sniff. Smells ok...kind of. Was someone else’s hand upon this offering. He sniffs again.

”Did somebody touch my sacred meat?”

Lokir says this aloud, asking the empty halls and walls. In the Aett, the walls have eyes and ears—Lokir expects these halls to be no different.

After a few moments, Lokir hefts the platter higher and returns to the forge.
———————-
Lokir strides into the forge, carefully balancing the tower of charred, rare, and raw meat as he walks. From around the rib stacks, Lokir catches the Iron Priest’s eye.

“Spirits of the Forge—I offer you thanks. When the murdermake comes, it is you who give us a chance to taste glory and defend our walls from the beasts who would see us paint red snow and water red grass. Beasts of Summer and Winter ever vie for our throat. But you quench heat and thaw cold. And so, I offer before you a full feast of gratitude.”

Lokir then offers a short series of growls to the Iron Priest.

“I offer this feast of winter and summer to the forge alone, as is custom. A sacrifice of meat and time—as this meal would enter our mouths and give us strength, let it enter your mouths and give you strength. Iron Priest, may I make this offering, or would you prefer to tend the spirits on my behalf?”

[TheNotoriousSMP]

"It would be my honor to learn from you Brother Karrus," Kel'dir said, giving the fellow Techmarine a genial smile, "But tell me, is there anything that needs doing in the here and now? As you know, I will have a bit of time before my first mission and will need something to occupy myself with, lest my skills rust and falter."

[Toxic Mind]

The Flesh Tearer steps forward
"Shadow" the word is a whisper, followed by another. The sound is little more than a pop of ignition from the Kraken Bolt Round. The firing of the bolter had been so quiet that the words of the Raven Guard were still audible. The bolt round enters through the left eye-lens of Torox's helmet. Fortunately, it detonates there, and the Librarian is spared the worst of the injury, as the explosion leaves him rattled and bruised, but his eye is spared. Already he can feel the other Librarian attempting to exert his will over Torox with psychic force. The command echoes in every chamber of his brain, willing itself to be put into action. "BE STILL"
Lokir returns with his meat-plate, and the two Space Wolves fall once more into their gutteral tongue. It sounds more like two canids in a fight than any actual language. "The offering is yours to give. The forge appreciates your sacrifice, and its flames shall roar the hotter in response." Suddenly, Lokir tips the meat into the forge, plate and all.

"The training cages provide opportunities for squads to prove their worth. Perhaps that would allow you to venture beyond these halls?" Karrus says in response.

The force of the explosion rocks the station with cataclysmic force, plunging your surroundings into darkness. You have no information save that something has clearly gone horribly wrong. What do you do?

[Revanus]

Lokir shakes his head to clear the deafening blast, hearts pumping full speed. He sniffs the air and looks around wildly, searching for the source of the disturbance.

”What in the fiery, frigid hels....is everyone whole? Status report!”

Lokir reaches down to don his helm—better to be patched into the comms, despite the robbing of his senses.

[roll0]

Wolfy reroll: [roll1]

[Toxic Mind]

You find yourselves intact, though all but the fire of the forge is dark. Its blaze casts a hellish red glow over the scene, which is not helped by the emergency lumen's red light glowing from outside the forge as well. Lokir's keen senses tell him that the blast originated above them, likely near the Omega Vault itself. The Forgemasters and Techmarine Karrus have begun picking themselves up, and attempting to access the systems. So far, they seem unsuccessful.

[Revanus]

Lokir speaks his thoughts aloud.

”Fenrisian cooking has a kick to it, but that blast had nothing to do with my spice mix. That explosion came from above.

To attack a strong hearth is poor planning when the goal is murdermake. A raid such as this smells of pillage and plunder, not war.

What is most valuable in this station, in need of protection? That is where we should head. Others will sniff the wound above and call if help is needed.”

[Malak'ai]

Stumbling a little as the station suddenly rocks, Maraziel pulls himself upright, his head turning this way and that, eyelenses covering all area's as he raises his bolt pistol again, cupping the bottom of the grip to lend more stubility.
"Well I guess the armour blessings will have to wait. Kel'dir, are you alright? Forgemasters, Brother Kassus, did any of you suffer any injury?" he asks, stepping up alongside Lokir before mentally switching his Vox over to Adler and Torox. "Brother Adler, Brother Torox, this is Maraziel, are the two of you alright? Did you make it to the Training Cages yet?"

Awareness (Sight): [roll0] : Target Number 63
Awareness (Hearing): [roll1] : Target Number 63

[Jyssika]

And then the rage came: it is a horrible thing to see your Father die and whilst the Blood Angel's attempt to calm their sorrow through painting and sculpture the Flesh Tearers fight. Now Torox saw the kaleidoscopic dream of his fathers death overlayed ontop his own senses--hot warmth washed over his body like pouring blood, his vision became tinted with red and the iron tang of it filled his nose and mouth. The Emperor was stepping before him now--his Primarch lay dead at his feet. A Psychic scream howled and yowled like an animal writhing in a cage but nothing manifest.

The Vox net rang with a single phrase as the Flesh Tearer broadcasted on all channels.
"Friendly Fire!"

[Malak'ai]

"Torox, is that you? Please repeat what you just said." Maraziel says, holding a finger to the side of his helm, not that it actually did anything, it was just a muscle memory response that had been engrained in him since his time in the Scout companies over two centuries prior.
"Kel'dir, Lokir, I think Torox may be in trouble. If the Forgemasters and Brother Kassus are alright, I believe we should rendezvous with our squad mates forthwith."

[Revanus]

Lokir shakes his head vigorously, a bit like a canine shedding water.

”Torox shouted that into the clear snow. There will be many headed to assist. Hopefully it is not the result of enemy bait meant to draw the guards away from the hearth.

We must protect that which is valuable. This is not war, this is a hunt. Hunters who fear more for each other’s safety than the prize starve to death. Torox and Alder are strong—they can guard their own skins and should make their way to us as we protect whatever target this treacherous enemy seeks. Else, we will be left standing around with limp spears in dead winter while raiders feast on our preserves.

Iron Priest—What is most valuable on this station? That will be the target of these raiders.”

Lokir then begins to growl softly beneath his helm.

Lokir queues up a vox channel that every member of Vlka Fenryka always keeps open—the Priority Battle Channel of the Great Wolf’s Company. Slipping into Wurgyn, the battle cant of the Space Wolves, Lokir draws upon his centuries of battle experience as he slips into the language of war and command.

<This is Lokir, Long Fang of Logan Grimnar’s Great Company. I am with Iron Priest Greyweaver. The blast seems to have come near the treasury of this Aett. This smells of pillage, not red snow. I am moving to protect whatever is valuable. Support from The Rout is welcome.>

Command: [roll0] vs 73 (53 + 20 trained command+modifiers (difficulty of request, chapter cyphers/same legion/space wolfyness, etc.)

[TheNotoriousSMP]

"I am uninjured Maraziel," Kel'dir commented before hearing Torox's voice over the vox. That, coupled with the words of his companions, had him speak up once more. "The Omega Vault would be one possibility," he said, voice rumbling in the darkness as he looked around, "There are no doubt other locations of strategic import. Perhaps even where we stand." After all, targeting a force's weaponry was a commonly used method of limiting their capabilities. If the purpose of the explosions was to diminish the Watch Station's capabilities, then the armory was a natural target.

Awareness (Sight): [roll0] Target Number is 63
Awareness (Hearing): [roll1] Target Number is 63

[Toxic Mind]

To their credit, it takes only moments for the Forgemasters to restore functionality to the Forge, as emergency lumens flash to life and subsystems begin cycling up again. They are all business now, all trace or pretense of earlier squabbles gone. To Kel'dir especially, who knows of the unique difficulties of being a Techmarine, it is an impressive economy of motion. No move or word is wasted. It takes 25.62 seconds for the Forgemasters to return a definitive answer. "We are uninjured. The Vestibule of the Omega Vault. That is the source of the explosion. Go - We will secure the Forge." What do you do?
The area is plunged into darkness. Almost immediately, Felheart responds. The vox network is chaos, and you hear only Librarian Ramiel on it for a moment before they switch to the squad vox. After a brief pause, all but Ramiel leave, heading in the direction of the Omega Vault. Ramiel looks down on you for a moment. "I cannot trust you at our backs, and so I will not bring you with us. If this is an attack, at least try to die with some semblance of honor." His face in the red glow of emergency lumens is grim before he pulls on his helmet and leaves to follow his brothers.

It is a minute, just about, before Torox feels the bonds of the Warp loosen, and is free to move about. What will you do?

[Jyssika]

Torox removed his helmet and rubbed his eyes--checking to make sure his vox was not damaged before replacing it and attempting to contact his killteam once again.
He spoke once again--this time on their kill team's channel.
"Space Wolf... Salamander... Respond? The Kill Team with the Minotaur, Raven Guard and Dark Angel are underhanded paranoid curs. Attempted to dishonour me in a duel and then shot me in the face. Be careful around them but I do not believe they are Traitors--just arrogant dogs."

Carefully and quietly Torox assesses the situation: he knew he should head towards the Omega Vault or the Apothecary but suspected that those were exactly the two locations that his assailants might now be headed and didn't fancy allowing them the chance to try murder him again whilst he was alone. Instead of chose to wait a moment for if there was a response from his teammates.

[Malak'ai]

Switching his Vox back to his squads channel, Maraziel tries once more to get more detailed information out of the Flesh Tearer, "Torox, what is your status? Is Adler there, I haven't been able to raise him at all.

[Jyssika]

"The Templar? No sign of him. Where are you headed? Any idea what is going on and is the Wolf and Salamander with you?"

[Malak'ai]

"Both Kel'dir and Lokir are standing right next to me, both uninjured. The explosion seems to have originated from the Omega Vault. That is our destination."

[Revanus]

<Aye. Let’s rendezvous at the objective. For now, let’s clear the comms except in emergency— no telling what’s been compromised.>

Lokir nods to the Iron Priest, with a low growl.

”The hunt is on. What is the best trail to the Vault, Iron Priest?”

Lokir languidly draws his bolter, running through quick weapon maintenance rites before preparing to set off.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

"Understood," Kel'dir replied, his mechadendrite whirring around him as he drew his bolter and they prepared to make their way up to the Omega Vault. "At your command Lokir."

[Malak'ai]

"Lead the way Brother, Kel'dir and I will be on your Five and Seven."

[Toxic Mind]

The path from the forge to the Vault is easier to traverse than before, as the Forgemasters quickly give the machine spirits within your armor a precise pathway to take you by the most expeditious pathway. Along the way you encounter Torox, who has just left the cages. He seems in bad shape, but capable of moving. Of the Black Templar, there is no sign, and even Torox cannot seem to remember just when he stopped seeing him at the cages. He's not answering vox hails, and his armor and life-signs do not seem to register on your squad HUD any longer. There is little time, however, to concern yourselves with that now. The vox net for the Deathwatch is in chaos. Multiple queries for information, Inquisitors demanding immediate assistance with one matter or another, fragmented and chaotic reports from around the station, and no answers. Most importantly, there is no word from the Watch Commander.

You reach the vestibule of the Omega Vault. There, you find Ferran, giving orders. He has, in the absence of any other ranked officers, taken command. Already there is Killteam Felheart. For those except Torox, this is your first time seeing the far higher ranked team. They are already speaking with Ferran. The doors to the Omega Vault are sealed, adamantine bunkers smashing into place to prevent whatever damage occurred. What do you do?

[Malak'ai]

Making his way swiftly to the Omega Vault while staying in formation, Maraziel spots Torox, injured and armour damaged. "Torox, are you alright?" he asks, pausing in his tracks for a moment.

[Jyssika]

Torox coughed a laugh and retorted the ancient Terran battle cant of the proud wounded.
"You should see the other guy."

He allowed the squad net access to his bio sign processors--his face was hidiously swolen, servere fracturs of his skull, most of his teeth were loose and his eye had swolen up blocking all sight on one side.
"Nothing too serious."

[Revanus]

Lokir strides up to the Watch Captain, helmetless. His grin is slightly feral in anticipation of battle. He offers a quick nod in respect.

”Urget Status Report, Watch Captain: The forgemasters have sniffed the explosion to inside the Omega Vault. Can we get inside past these doors?”

[Toxic Mind]

"You can, wolf, but your trip will be a short one." Ferran indicates the doors. "That means there is an atmospheric breach. We need to cordon off the area of the breach and proceed once that is finished. Acting in haste risks losing more of the station."

He turns to the other Kill-Team. "There are reports from the Training Grounds of secondary explosions. Contain any contamination before it spreads." Ferran eyes them up and down. "One of the tech-serfs was yelling about a Carnifex." he says without emotion.

[Malak'ai]

"Any word of the Watch Commander and the Keepers Watch Captain?" Maraziel asks, glancing at the other squad, noticing Librarian Remiel, making a mental note to pay respects later.
"And if there is the risk of running into Tyranid Bio-forms, then I'm greatful to The Emperor I was able to retrieve my heavier audinance."

[Jyssika]

Torox grunts once again--his predecessor had fallen to Sanguinious's curse whilst delivering the Emperor's vengance on Baal--perhaps wishing he was at full strength.
"I may be wounded but I carry with me the Emperor's Avenging Flames."

He coughs heavily, perhaps drawing attention to his wounds, yet still enthusiastic.
"If the enemy is here let us not keep them waiting!"

[Toxic Mind]

Addressing Maraziel: "The last I heard, they were in this area. We have no word of either the Watch Commander or his Keepers, but the Internal Augurs are non-functioning, and the vox-net in chaos. There is no way of telling where they are until they contact us." Ferran says, still without emotion, more like a servitor relaying information than a feeling creature.

To Torox, he turns and says sharply. "You and your squad are not cleared for combat duty. Felheart will handle this."

It is perfectly reasonable to assume you retrieved your wargear on the way here. It might be an attack, and I don't think any of you would go into possible combat unarmed.

[Malak'ai]

"Surely there is some assignment you can give us, in a time of crisis it does not pay to slice off your nose to spite your face. We may not be "Cleared for Combat Duty", but if we were to have the right supervision, I believe such conditions could be over looked just this once." Maraziel says as logically as possible to try and pursued Ferran.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir's mechadendrite arm twitched as it circled his body, the techmarine a little disappointed that they would not be seeing battle this day. "Perhaps we should seek out any wounded battle-brothers then?" he suggested, voice altered slightly by the helmet's vox. "No doubt there are some who require the ministrations of the apothecaries in the aftermath of this...event."

[Toxic Mind]

"The apothecaries are capable of performing such tasks themselves, and you are no medicae." He seems to ponder for a moment, most likely considering ways to get you out of his presence. "Our servitors have as yet been unable to determine the extent of the damage beyond the blast doors. Why don't you and your team assess the damage? Your armour provides you with plenty of air to make the walk."

[Revanus]

Lokir laughs loudly at the Watch captain’s statement, but there’s anger behind his eyes.

”Not cleared for combat? Should I see if I can get a certificate from the five-hundred year old corpses of the raiders who slew my village when I was 13? Or perhaps my combat files have not yet arrived from Fenris? My brother Executioners may have been a bit lax in their postal and archival duties, given they have half a millenia of experience to assemble and we Fenrisians prefer to keep our history in song and verse. But even so, we may have misplaced my initial combat certification somewhere, as my old memory recalls simply being handed a blade and pointed in the direction of the enemy. Still, we should be sure to tell these invaders about our combat status, so that they know not to harm us.

With all due respect Watch Captain, there is a saying on Fenris: ‘If you would not stand beside a man with your house aflame, stab him through the heart—for he is a foe.’”

[roll0]

[Toxic Mind]

"You are not on Fenris, wolf. You are among the Deathwatch, and your prior glories are less than the dust on the lowliest serf's boots. If I were to declare it, you would do paperwork and menial chores for every moment of your service, and when your time was up, you would return to your chapter a hero, with no one but yourself knowing the terms of that service. That is what it means to serve the Deathwatch; You serve when I say it, in the manner I say. No more, no less."

His voice is cold and dispassionate. "When I give you an order, I expect to be obeyed."

[Jyssika]

Torox chuckles, perhaps concussion had lightened his mood, and pats the back of the Longfang's Backpack.
"Let us go assess damage Wolf."

Now leaning on the longfang in an overly familiar display, perhaps now trying to stop himself from stumbling, or perhaps some form of Flesh Tearer's calming down technique? His voice now slurping and coughing in some form of laugh through his injured and swollen mouth. Maybe the pain medication, blood loss and head wound were to blame but he was doing his very best to not let it show.
"I am sure Felheart's team will be more than capable. We will just go search some corridors that may or may not contain assassin xenomorphs."

He whips the cloak of scalps up in his hand and gestures to a patch of purple scaled skin--some sort of gaunt scalp.
"I always wanted a genestealer scalp!"

[Revanus]

Lokir nods to Torox and returns his gaze to the Watch Captain. The old wolf knows how to control his temper.

”Your orders, Watch Captain?”

[Malak'ai]

Maraziel looks over at Torox, a worried scow creeping across his face, hidden by his helm, at the Flesh Tearers quickly deteriorating physical stability, and possibly the clouding of his mental facalties due to his wounds.

"If we are to assess the damage to the Omega Vault, then I believe it might be prudent to have a member of this squad on the outside to relay findings to those out here, due to the Vox networks being in such disarray.
Torox, due to the damage to your helmet, your armour is no longer sealed to the dangers of hard vacuum, and if there is such damage behind those doors I do not want to lose another Brother if it can be avoided. Also, you're the only one here that has the capibilities to communicate with us if there is anything inside that would disrupt our Team Vox channel, and that is an ability I would not wish to put at unnessassary risk, especially since we do not know what we might encounter.
If the worst is to be expected in there, then I think Lokir, Kel'dir and I would feel rest assured having you being our reinforcement to come in and rend our foes assunder, the likes of which only the Sons of Sanguinius are capible of."

Removing his hand from the trigger grip of his heavy bolter and reaching it out to the Librarian, "Do you think you can hold you thirst for battle back until it is truely needed, Brother?"

[Jyssika]

Torox flinched hard as the insult caused him to Tick: Brother?
The Dark Angel Librarian had ordered him shot and accused him of Murder now this one attempted to deceive him and...
Ticking again: Brother?!

"You..."

He shook his head a little--throwing off the swimming sensation and realizing the Dark Angel spoke some truth.
Removing his helmet, to reveal the horror that was now his face, he scowled and spat out a wad of blood along with a tooth before replying.
"You dishonor me Angel but despite your deceptive words you may speak with underlying wisdom. I will repair my helmet."

He smiled a malevolent toothless grin and attempted to link his mind with the squads--the pain suppressants were beginning to wear off now and his unabated fury rekindling.

The message that arose within each of their heads stung with his rage and a small taste of what it might be to live with the Red Thirst.
"One Hundred and Fifty Meters... Further and I will require to delve deeper to maintain the connection."

Un-fettered Short Range Telepathy
[roll0] WP 47, +15 (PR 3), +10 Psy Focus ~72.

[Malak'ai]

"By the Emperor and the blood of our Gene-Fathers I did not mean to dishonor or deceive you Torox. The well being and success of this squad, including yours, is my utmost concern at the moment if we are are to venture beyond those doors."

[Toxic Mind]

Despite his state of body, Torox is a seasoned and capable warrior. It takes him only moments to repair the breaches in his armor with the repair cement, and while the job is far from the repair-work of a proper adept of Mars, it functions well enough. Ferran tasks a servitor with leading you to a hallway that he has fashioned into a makeshift airlock, in that it contains two doors which can be opened or sealed still. The servitor warns you once again that the area beyond is void of atmosphere.

++THIS ONE INQUIRES AS TO YOUR READINESS TO ENTER. THIS ONE WILL UNSEAL THE DOOR WHEN ASTARTES ARE PREPARED++

What would you like to do?

[Jyssika]

Torox unwraps his shoulders before drawing his forcesword and taking up station beside the door.
"Be wary Astartes."

[Malak'ai]

Hefting his heavy weapon into a readied position and stepping in front of the makeshift airlock door, Maraziel nods to Torox and let's his thoughts become known to the Librarian.
I always am Brother. See you when this mess is dealt with.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Drawing his own bolter, Kel'dir prepared to follow his team up to the sealed door, performing a brief check of his gear to make sure that there were no breaches in it. After all, it'd be shameful to die in such a way.

"Ready when you are," the Salamander said, ready to move forward at a moment's notice.

[Toxic Mind]

The servitor begins the rites to unseal the door. It takes only moments for the doors to begin the process of unsealing. The flesh-metal body of the servitor immediately begins to suffer the negative effects of hard vacuum, but it makes no protest or indication of suffering. Beyond, the station is a nightmarish landscape of melted and twisted metal. There are no lights but the occasional discharge of plasma from breached conduits. The auto-senses in your helms adjust to the conditions immediately, casting the world into mono-color shades and deep pooling shadows. The station bears no resemblance to what it was before, and navigating to where the Omega Vault stands will be difficult, and likely dangerous. There is no telling what threats lie among this twisted ruins.

The following encounters will be primarily narrative, with your team attempting to navigate the various threats ahead. Each test can only be attempted once and by one person, so figure out in the OOC who will take it. Each test threatens only the person who makes the check, though too many failures may incur other consequences. For ease of posting, I'll give you a block of tests to attempt and you can post IC who does what. Success will allow you to describe how you succeed, and if you fail I will twist your description and give you the consequences.

The first 3 tests are:
Navigation (Surface) to find your way through the maze of debris.
Tech-Use +0 or BS -10 to disable a pair of damaged auto-turrets that no longer recognize friendly targets.
Acrobatics +0 or Awareness -20 to avoid shifting debris
Forbidden Lore (Xenos) +0 or Dodge -10 to recognize the signs of and/or avoid a floating spore mine.

[Toxic Mind]

Maraziel takes the lead through the maze of broken and twisted hallways. He picks his way deftly, but there is no form or reason to the maze, the work of secondary explosions causing unpredictable consequences and switchbacks. Precious minutes are wasted in moving back through passages that should have been clear.

As you reach what may have once served as a hanger bay or loading dock, a fusillade of bolt shells peppers the area around you, and it is only the chaotic and tisted nature of the wrecked metal that saves Maraziel from certain death. A pair of twin-linked mega bolters, likely there to provide anti-aircraft fire in the event of an attack, have noticed your movements. Kel'dir quickly identifies the cables connected to the defense turrets, and splicing into them resets the targeting parameters of the turrets, which had been damaged in the blast. Though their profiles remain ominous as they track you through the area, the guns are mercifully silent.

As Lokir takes the lead after the hanger bay, the trail begins heading upwards. Like the frozen mountains of Fenris, the very ground itself seems hostile, breaking away with no warning, seemingly attempting to hurl you from your summit to dash upon the broken ad twisted frame below. But such environments hold no concern for the Vlka Fenryka - they would not have become Wolves if they could not hold their own in such places. The lessons of the past aid Lokir, and his eyes pick out the handholds and pitfalls in the climb. At one point, he stops the kill-team moments before shifting debris, made silent by the vacuum of space, crushes the passageway ahead. Despite the danger, the climb is quickly accomplished.

You approach the location of the Vault. Once again, Maraziel takes the lead, sweeping with his Heavy Bolter. Perhaps it is the unexpected nature of the creature, or the strange coloration it bears that causes Maraziel to miss the floating mine. The explosion is sudden and brutal, flinging the devastator sideways into the ruined wall. The only sound is the grunt over the vox when Marziel impacts the unyielding surface. You take [roll0] Pen 5 Impact Damage (Location Body)

Now wary for other threats, you deftly slip past two other spore mines. You reach a massive door, which you recognize as being one of the blast-doors that sealed you into the antechamber beyond the Omega Vault earlier. This time, however, the door is unyielding, and without power. As the Imperium survives on the strength of the Astartes, it seems that Strength with be required here as well.
The last check is a Hard Strength (-20). You may either assist others (which people who don't roll will be assumed to do), or roll yourself. You are looking to pass the threshold requirement of Degrees of Success here, which is hidden from you. The only penalty is the time it takes to open the door, which may be important.

Elsewhere
Torox stands by the door, listening to the progress of the kill-team. The servitor has since shut the blast door, though it stands ready for the return of your battle-brothers. It acknowledges your presence only when you move, quickly scanning you and returning to the door. What do you do?

[Toxic Mind]

Kel'dir positions himself near the base of the door and sets his servo-arm. Gears shift and whir as the mechanical appendage begins its work. It manages to open the door a fraction, then seizes up - the blast door is too much for the Techmarine alone, even aided by the Omnissiah's gifts. Fortunately, he is not alone, and lightning fast Lokir and Maraziel lend their strength to the task. There is a horrendous shudder that runs through the door, and it finally moves. Together, the three of you manage to push it past its first locking bracket, leaving just enough space to pass through the opening. You roll under the door, and what you see on the other side staggers your mind. The station is open to the void. A massive hole, like a titan's claw had just scooped out a section of the Fortress, surrounds you. On the far side of the massive chasm, over 150m wide, you can see the austere majesty of the Omega Vault's doors. They remain sealed as far as you can tell.

It is Lokir who picks out the anomaly first, though the others, directed by his words find it moments after. A Deathwatch Marine, floating in the void, still held near the station by the force of its gravity. As the armor slowly rotates, driven by inertia rather than outside force, you see a silver band around one wrist, and recognize the distinctive armor pattern and coloration, even through the scorch marks. You've seen this armor before - it is Keeper Arkios, one of the Watch Commander's personal guards. What do you do?

[Malak'ai]

Surveying the damage, Maraziel let's out an audible breath. "By the Emperor."

Following Lokir's indications, the Dark Angel spots the Keeper. Trusting he is still in range of Torox, he focuses and tries to send an update of the situation with his mind, Torox, we've arrived at our destination. Omega Vault is still closed, though almost fully cut off from the station. No sign of the Watch Commander, but I have eyes on one of the Keepers. Well will retrieve him and return to your location as quickly as we can. Summon an Apothecary, I have no idea of the Keepers condition and what we may face on our way out.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Despite his considerable strength, even by the standards of the Emperor's Angels of Death, Kel'dir struggled to open the massive door before them. Fortunately he was not alone, else he might never have been able to force it open. As the three of them brought it up just enough that they could squeeze through the gap and arrive on the other side.

What they saw there was shocking, the once sturdy and reliable station exposed to the open void of space! Silently thankful that their armor was completely sealed, the Salamander contemplated what they could do next until Lokir pointed out a figure floating out there in the vast blackness! Turning to his cousins, Kel'dir spoke up. "We will need to hurry," he said, "We have no way of knowing how long he has before he's unable to remain within the station's gravity well. We need a plan."

[Jyssika]

Torox curses off the Vox Channel--he disliked having to deal with other people at the best of times and this certainly wasn't his best of times.
He attempted to send a direct message to the List of Personnel communications on his Tac Feed.
"Apothecary Ulfric, this is Torox. I believe one of the Watch Commanders Keeper's bodies has been located by my Kill Team in the breached area of the Station. Unless you have more pressing matters..."
Tick *Static* Tick
"...we would appreciate your assistance in ascertaining his condition and how he might have become injured."

[Toxic Mind]

Torox

Apothecary Ulfric's response is swift and grave, though he never loses the unique cant of the Sons of Fenris. "I have pressing matters indeed pup, but none quite so dire as that. Recover the armor - I am on my way. Tell your team the Watch Commander must be nearby - the Keepers would die at his side before leaving him, and he them."

Kill-Team

How would you go about recovering the Keeper? You can do an Acrobatics to jump into the void and grab him, landing on another part of the station, or anything else you can come up with that makes sense in terms of a check.

[Malak'ai]

Looking around the nearly destroyed antechamber, Maraziel spots some fallen girders and some ceiling plates just barely hanging on. Thinking quickly he rushes over to one of the beams while speaking rapidly over the Vox.
"Lokir, help me bring things girders over. Kel'dir, rip that hanging ceiling plate down. We need you to quickly rig up an anchor point. Then we're going to form a chain to pull the Keeper in."

Carrying the beam to the closest, still intact position to the Astates floating in the void, the Dark Angel stands it on its end, instructing his Kill Team Brothers in what to do, then explains his plan.
Once Kel'dir is securely braced, he'll take hold of one of Maraziel's ankles with his servo-arm, Lokir will grab the top handle of Maraziel's heavy bolter, and then both the Space Wolf and the Dark Angel will disengage the maglocks on their boot soles and step out, using the guns ammo feed to hopefully allow them to reach the stranded Keeper.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

"Understood," Kel'dir intoned with a nod, moving over to the sturdiest looking portion of the station's edge, silently judging it's ability to hold the weight of multiple Angels of Death. Almost independently of his flesh body the servo arm did as Maraziel said and tore down a portion of the ceiling and using it to construct a makeshift anchoring point. The Salamander tested the structure briefly before nodding, satisfied with his work.

"It is done," the Promethean said to his fellows, "Had I better materials I could make an anchor fit for a Chapter Master...However for the moment this should suffice." With that Kel'dir anchored himself to his structure, holding an armored arm out for one of the team to take.

[Toxic Mind]

Thought the anchor is a quick job, it does indeed suffice. If the business of the excursion were not so grave, seeing a line of Astartes stretched out into space, each grasping the other's leg might have been comical. Still, it proves effective, as Lokir is able to extend his hand and reach the Keeper's arm. As he grasps the Keeper, he goes rigid for an instant, then all of you feel through your armor a different, unfamiliar, and unfathomably old machine spirit. It seems to be spreading by way of your squad vox. As Lokir looks down, he realizes that his hand has grasped the silver circlet around the Keeper's forearm.

First, your visual feeds cut out, then are replaced by the feeds of another squad. You see yourself, the Watch Commander at your Right and beyond him another Keeper walking towards the Omega Vault. As you approach, the doors slowly open. Suddenly, like an animal startled when feeding, the ponderous metal jaws snap shut, sealing again. You look to your right and cue your vox to voice the question when with an intensity that makes your stomach turn your sight flips and you are thrown across the room. Suddenly, you are in the other Keeper's vision as the rune goes black and the vital signs indicator for the Watch Commander drops to dangerous reds. You leap, grabbing him and driving your glaive into the wall, keeping the both of you from being sucked into space. ++Priority Omega Black - The Watch Commander is Down. Request Immediate Assistance at Location 1 Alpha++ you hear over and over.

You snap back to reality, once again in your own armor, but now realizing that the words you heard spoken are still coming over your vox. There is someone alive here.

What will you do?

[Jyssika]

"Affirmative."
Torox listens patiently for any news of his teams progress or the arrival of the Apothecary at his position.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Kel'dir kept his grip on Maraziel's leg with his servo arm, the chain of Astartes managing to reach the Keeper with only a little effort. That however was when everything changed. Being a techmarine meant the Salamander was able to recognize machine spirits of various stripes, and if this presence wasn't one then it was a very good imitation.

Once their attention was brought back to the presence Kel'dir immediately opened up a channel to his teammates. "Squad, are you hearing this?" he asked, "It seems that we are not alone in this place!" He began looking around the area, searching for any sign of whoever was there with them

[Toxic Mind]

Kel'dir, now knowing what to look for, spots them almost immediately. A spar of metal near the omega vault itself, extending into the void like a rocky peak above an unforgiving sea. On it, nearly invisible as the black of their armour blends with the metal and darkness, are two figures. The first grasps at a power weapon, his grip low on the stave. In his other hand is the second, which he grasps by the collar. You have found the second Keeper, and the Watch Commander. It is also immediately apparent to Kel'dir that they do not have much time. As he watches, the Keeper's grip slips a little more, and he does not have much haft left between himself and his charge and the cold and unforgiving void. In addition, Kel'dir notices the telltale sights of atmospheric venting. Someone's armour is breached, and while Astartes are far more hardy than a normal human, even they cannot survive forever in the void.

The two are well out of reach of your human chain, even were the Keeper you already rescued be functional. What will you do?

The Apothecary arrives outside the makeshift airlock, and requests entrance. [Scrutiny [+0] (-20 if Untrained) Check Please]

[Malak'ai]

Grunting with effort, Maraziel pulls Lokir and the recovered Keeper back towards the Stations superstructure, calling back to the Tech Marine holding him firmly from floating off into the Void. "Kel'dir, pull us back in."

Once back on a solid footing, the Dark Angel peers off at the Omega Vault and the now barely visable Watch Commander and his other bodyguard.
Turning back the Salamander and Space Wolf, Maraziel says, "We have to get Arkios back out to the corridore. I contacted Torox and asked him to summon the Apothecaries.
Kel'dir, would you take the Keeper out the way we came? Lokir, could you guide them safely and then return to aid me?

Once we have the Watch Commander and other Keeper safely on this side of the gulf, we'll have to move quickly. Kel'dir, it might prove prudent to request the attendence of Brother Karrus and the Forgemasters so the four of you can erect a new makeshift airlock that leads directly into this chamber. Oh, and one of you let Torox that you're on your way."

Before waiting for the other Astartes to reply, the Dark Angel moves back to the makeshift anchor point, hefts his heavy bolter and places it against what used to the ceiling grate, looking back of his shoulder as if lining something up, repositions and then shouts out, "Brother Space Wolf; Time for you to see an Angel fly! My the Emperor and Lion guide my course!" and once again disengages the maglocks on the soles of his armoured boots and pulls the weapons trigger. The the force of the first bolt leaving the barrel against the plasteel rocketing the Dark Green clad Space Marine out into open space, racing towards the shattered, barely attached remnants of the chamber still holding the Omega Vault and his two Death Watch superiors.

Would you like some kind check for Maraziel to be able to do this, or can we just leave it up to narative?

[Toxic Mind]

Maraziel is true to his word. The force of the shot, normally mitigated by a combination of servos and an Astartes' formidable musculature, now pushes the Dark Angel into the void. All space marines had seen their brothers fly, had often done so themselves in the assault squads of their parent chapters, but this was a new form. Despite the odd nature of his wings, it seems the Devastator's aim is spot on.

Maraziel

Your armor engages the mag-locks, allowing you to anchor onto the nearby metal. Almost immediately, you hear the voice of the second Keeper, Palen, in your vox. "Take the Watch Commander and go. There is no time to save us both." You can hear the exhaustion in his voice, the frustration, but also something akin to hope. What do you do?

[Jyssika]

Torox nods at the Apothecaries arrival and signals over the Vox.
"The Apothecary has made it to my location I shall lead him to your locaiton."

Before pressing the door keypad to open and addressing his new companion.
"Your arrival is fortunate Apothecary, shall we?"

[Toxic Mind]

Torox

As the Apothecary walks in, the servitor turns, scans him briefly, then returns to the door. The Apothecary's heraldry proclaims him indeed as Ulfric, Huntsmaster and Chief Apothecary of Erioch. It seems perfectly reasonable to Torox that the head medical officer would report to his beck and call, even in the midst of a crisis. "Indeed. Let us go retrieve the wounded. The longer they remain in the Void, the more dangerous the situation grows." At your gesture, the Servitor once more opens the door, sealing it behind you. It remains, uncaring at its post, awaiting your return.

[TheNotoriousSMP]

"It will be done," Kel'dir said in response to Maraziel's request, his enhanced strength making the act of picking up the Keeper only a minor issue. Activating his vox, the Salamander contacted Torox. "Brother Torox, we have located the Watch Commander and two of the Keepers. The immediate presence of as many Apothecaries are available is requested." He began bringing the Keeper with him, heading back towards the airlock, both to save as much time as possible and to get this Keeper to relative safety.

[Toxic Mind]

Kel'dir, Torox

As Kel'dir brings the body of the Keeper with him, the burden made easy by the low gravity, his memory makes short work of the passage back. Halfway, he runs into Torox and and Apothecary, who identifies himself as Ulfric. It takes only moments for Ulfric to inform you that Keeper Arkios is deceased, and he recommends that the body be returned hastily to the Fortress. Ulfric suggests that they make haste to the location of the Watch Commander.

[Malak'ai]

As soon as his HUD registers mag lock, Maraziel releases his heavy bolter, his arms flying out and immediately grabbing both the Watch Commander and Keeper Palen by their pauldrons. Pulling Modrigael to his chest and Palen to his side, the Dark Angel says in as commanding voice as he can, "The Watch Commander has not given you permission to die Keeper, do you intend to do so anyway? Trust in the gifts that The Emperor and our Brother Tech Marines have given us. Get your feet against the metal and let your armour hold you there until help arrives."
Dragging him closer to the ruined exterior of the Omega Vault, Maraziel waits until the Keepers boots lock on, and then reaching into the pouch at his waist, "Here. It might not be enough to fix all the rends in your armour, but it should patch up enough to slow the loss of air into the Void. I'll do the same for the Watch Commander."
Pulling the other tube of repair cement out, the Devastator sets about trying to plug as many holes in the Watch Commanders armour as he can, even if it only reduces the amount of oxygen being lost, hopefully it'll give Modrigael a few more precious moments for the others to arrive and help.

Focusing his mind on this Team mate beyond the doors as he works, he tries to send a messege to Torox, Torox, I have both the Watch Commander and Keeper Palen. Both are in very bad shape. We need evac stat! No time to go through the way we entered, we'll need to go through the main doors.
If Lokir has returned, tell him hurry back with a coil of wire or even a rope... We're attached to the Omega Vault, and it's barely hanging on to the main structure.

[Toxic Mind]

Maraziel believes that his efforts have bought a few minutes, maybe 10 at the most, but the damage is extensive.

As his influence allows the Keeper to re-position himself, Maraziel can see that his armor has been damaged, and the functionality of the mag-boots has been impaired. "As you can see, Brother, I am in no shape to come with you. I will slow you down, and the Commander cannot afford that - take him and go. Brace against me and fly back to your brothers." His breathing, even through the vox, is watery, a clear sign of lung damage. "I will serve the Deathwatch, even to my last."

[Malak'ai]

"Forgive me Keeper, but you cannot serve if you're dead. Even those Brothers blessed with the bodies of Ancients still had a shred of life left within them when entombed. If you wish to keep your vow, fight! Hang on! My Squadmates will be back soon. They know the need is dire and to act with haste. Just keep hanging on."

[TheNotoriousSMP]

No stranger to death, Kel'dir merely nodded at the revelation that the Keeper had gone to stand at the Emperor's side. The group then made their way back to the rest of the squad, the Salamander leading them back to where the other Keepers, as well as Maraziel and the Commander, were waiting for them. "I have returned!" he called out upon entering the remains of the area, "Maraziel, a status report; has the situation changed?"

[Malak'ai]

"Both the Keeper and Watch Commander have major armour breaches. I've done cursory repairs, but unless we can get them into an atmosphere within a few minutes, both will not survive. Find something to pull us in with, then, I'm sorry to say, we're going to have to blast our way into the antechamber."

[TheNotoriousSMP]

Not wasting any time by nodding, Kel'dir began searching for anything that could be used to bring his fellow space marines in, whether a length of cable that had been torn free by the damage or anything else that was still serviceable.

DC 53 Awareness Test: [roll0]