Rogue Trader: The Halo Stars [IC]

[Henry the 57th]

http://cfile232.uf.daum.net/image/1155994E5080E58F1FD462

The year is 816.M41, and the Immaterium seethes. Tides of writhing flames crash into cliffs of fantasy, roiling currents of imagination carve their winding way through echoes of species long past or still yet to be. The Holy Light of the God-Emperorweak, dim, and distant here, on the very precipice of the great void, and the Warp itself seems more wild and rugged than anywhere this side of the Maw itself. It is as though the galaxy itself seeks to cast its psychic voice into the endless night beyond its edges, to scream of its existence to an uncaring universe.

Within the churning currents of the unreal, the Impiorum Requies rocks and shakes. Moans echo throughout her ancient superstructure without clear cause, lumens flicker and die without warning, rumors whisper of shadow-creatures stalking the night-cycles, of man-eating xenos monsters, and worse things besides. The crew huddles around what safety they can perceive, praying quietly to the God-Emperor and Omnissiah that the Gellar Field holds.

Five weeks pass in this state - or so the ship's chronometers indicate. Some members of the crew seem to have persistent memories of leaving Port Wander only a day or so before, others swear they can see noticeable ageing in their companions. Disquiet, such as it is, continues to be an ever-present backdrop, but it is far too late to turn back now. The Warp continues to grow more and more unstable, the cruiser continues to shake and rattle, and the sacred light of the Astronomicon continues to fade away until it is practically nothing.

At long last, the day comes when the shrieking of a ship-wide alert signals an end to this part of the ordeal. All hands are called to deck, Warp Engine to be made ready. Praise be to the Emperor and His Saints, the Impiorum Requies is preparing to return to realspace.

Please go ahead and introduce yourselves, describe your activities during Warp travel, and tell me where you might find yourself as the ship finally gets ready to break Warp.

[Valmark]

Baltasar stood up, turning the computer off. He had been asked, ordered to keep a daily log. It was honestly bothersome, especially since the last entries were all pretty much variations of "remember to bring booze for warp travels". Someone higher then him surely hated him.
Baltasar liked traveling- aside from the fact that he was the best pilot when skill was needed he loved the anticipation that brought exploration, finding new things, meeting people. All things that were missing when the outside was a crazy mass of... Craziness, he guessed. He made a mental note to add it in the ship's log- the Dinasty heads surely needed to learn how to unwind.

There was one of the ever-present flicker of lights while he stepped outside in the corridor. To get his mind off of the creepy atmosphere he had spent a lot of time, probably more time then he should have, running drills and sparring with the Bloody Hawks and, occasionally, with Iskayra and Ghost. He laughed as he recalled the rumors he had been hearing. It was incredible how little was the number of people that had actually seen the two xenos, especially Ghost. Though with thousand of people on the ship he had to concede that it wasn't too unlikely. Still, they felt more like urban legends then actual people according to the maiority of the crew. Unfortunately it had to be that way- hardly anyone was fond of aliens like him, for reasons he'll never understand. Well, a reason there was- he was the captain of the ship. He had to be better then anyone else.

He hadn't taken a step that the alert blared off, making he grit his teeth in excitement. He spun around and only moments later he barged inside the command bridge laughing heartly.
"Right! I want everyone in their seats! I want detailed visuals after jumping out and I want coordinates!" he said aloud, reaching the center of the room were the helm was. Activating the vox system to talk to the whole ship, he added "Smile and be merry men! We are leaving this Emperor-forsaken hellspace! And someone fetch me an apple from the Arboretum, thank you" he closed the announcement, wondering how many apples would be brought to him. Should have asked for a drink.

I have no idea how Imperium bridges are made, but the Impy's bridge has most definitely an helm for Baltasar to spun around. Possibly with a console for actual manuevering.

[MechaMaestro]

Moments after Baltasar entered the bridge, the doors open up once again, announcing in their wooshing ways the arrival of the Imporium Requies ever demanding Astropath Transendent, Sabina Bellarah. Fanning herself gently with her modified psy-focus handfan, she struts into the room with all the grace and elegance expected from a lady of such high standing, and as usual is splendidly clad in (comparative to her usual dress) a rather plain outfit that still cost more than the payroll of an Astra Millitarium Super Heavy Armour Regiment posted to the Damocles Gulf on leave after leaving the field.

"Captain" she said impatiently as she strode past Baltasar before sitting delicately on her chaise lounger on the bridge, "I'm displeased to report my isolation chamber's bath was precisely two degrees below my required minimum temperature, and my bowl of confections was not replenished this morning. Honestly I can't begin to imagine how you expect me to sing properly under these abhorrent conditions."

Sabina folds up her handfan with a flick of her wrist and claps her hands together, summoning her tea delivering servitor.

[Valmark]

"That's unacceptable! I'll make sure to substitute the boy in charge of your confections with someone with double the competence!" he replied. He wasn't even joking- despite how he thought that some of Sabina's requests were down-right ridiculous, on his ship skill and ability meant respect- and she knew her stuff. Tecnically she was the ship's only astropath and someone had even tried to use that as an argument for not having to listen to her. Since then the 74th rule of the Impiorum Requies Code of Conduct expressely forbid saying such a thing.

"As for the bath, it'll be perfect after we get out of the Warp, I promise" he added. But just in case, he was going to have a word with whoever had the job to check the temperature. He doubted someone could screw up that one job, nur who knows.p

[MechaMaestro]

"Such a refreshing response!" Sabina replies as the Servitor arrives with her hot cup of tea. "It's undignified for a lady such as myself to repeat the response that stuffy Naval Officer gave me when I informed him of the shortcomings of his subordinates. It's so good to serve aboard a ship that understands precise necessaries!" She takes a sip of her tea. "How long do you estimate our exit from the immaterium?"

[Forum Explorer]

Praise to the Holy Machine, as it performs it's sacred task and guides this vessel from the Immaterium. Praise to the Omnissiah for protecting our vessel through its journey. Verg chanted in binary as he swung his censor around, gently wafting incense over the praying tech-priests as they worked in the Enginearium.

Praise be! His congregation of Tech-Priests chanted back, as they feverishly went through the dozens of rituals that would safely allow the Impiorum Requies to return to reality. Verg noted with disdain the superfluous steps that the rituals had, but knew better than to try and stop them. They believed him to be a high ranking and devout follower of their supposed Machine God and Verg had no intention of disabusing them of that belief. So long as that was the case, they would not look too closely into his projects in the Laboratorium. Not that they could do anything about them. If it came down to it, Verg was confident the Captain would side with him, he knew the Xenos certainly would, and he could always train new Tech-Priests, ones that weren't so blinded by faith. But that would take time away from working on his projects, so working with these idiots was the lesser of two evils.

It is by the Grace of the Omnissiah that we transverse the stars, and it is by his Grace that we shepherd the Machine Spirits in this holy endeavor. For it is His Will- Verg continued his sermon, keeping a close eye on his workers to make sure they were completing the actual essential steps to properly disengage the Warp Engine.

[The Glyphstone]

Hidden in a corner of the ship's Arboretum in a cluster of trees, Ar'khaat-K'hoo-Ch-ch'kra perched cross-legged and silent, eyes closed. His skin was a rare shade of greyish-green, the closest it came to a 'natural' state, and even then its mottled patterns made him close to invisible in the shade. Like so much else of Kroot technology, their ability to travel the tides of the Warp was a matter of genetically coded instinct, and not one Ar'khaat had more than vague familiarity with. Nor, honestly, did he need to - all that mattered to him was that it worked properly, kept in the hands of those who maintained its function.

So instead he meditated, a calming ritual to stabilize his thoughts against the hunter's instinct that threatened to rise. To the Kroot, departure from a Warp journey meant arrival at a new hunting ground, a new world to seek out worthy prey and feast upon their flesh. The discipline needed to suppress those primitive urges was a skill essential to master while on extended duty apart from the Shapers and other members of his Kindred. He would never mate and pass on whatever he had acquired, for the honor-debt he stood to fulfill was a lifetime's assignment. And yet the longer he lived to do so, the more of his kin would live to fulfill their purpose and bring strength to the Kroot race. These were grim thoughts, but focusing upon them calmed the feral savagery that demanded blood and meat.

[Janwin]

The chronometers said it had been five weeks since they entered the Warp, but in all truth Ambrus had lost track of the time himself, and thus he had to trust in the accuracy of the ship's clocks. Between seeing to the daily operation of the massive void ship, making sure that the various crew sections were appropriately stocked with foodstuff and supplies, performing a neverending inventory of the ship's stores, and dealing with the complaints from various crewmembers who had been chewed out by the astropath and the complaints from the same astropath about the various crewmembers, it all started to blur together and he operated on autopilot most of the time. He feared he might become nothing more than a non-mechanical servitor, but he hoped that in the end it would pay off.

Already, the voyage had proven to be interesting. He had met a Kroot, and a member of the ancient Eldar race. And the best part was the ship contained a massive Laboratoreum, which was his general place of occupation when not performing his duties.

He had discovered an ancient laspistol and suit of armor within the many long-forgotten vaults of the vessel, and claimed them as his own--one of the perks of being the only person who knows where everything any anything is on a multiple kilometer long vessel. With the benefit of the laboratoreum, he had been able to study them in fine detail and had discovered some interesting bits about their history. He even managed to trade for a strange xenos rifle in his time aboard the vessel!

When the klaxon sounded alerting the ship to its reentering realspace, he was down in the laboratory studying the strange T'au rifle. Knowing he would be needed on the bridge, he immediately made his way up to it.

"Cousin. Seems we're arriving at our destination finally?"

[Valmark]

"It's a matter of minutes" he answered to both Sabina and Ambrus "After this last push is smooth sailing and hopefully great riches!"

Not that they could afford anything else, but he kept it to himself.

[Erulasto]

A Mon-keigh void ship was somewhat decent hunting grounds considering the mutant ghilliam that routinely infested the cramped holds and lightless depths. True, they were no real challenge - but it had been made abundantly clear that she was not to harvest the souls of the crew. So, she indulged in what sport she was able.

A small cadre of armed voidsmen - those comfortable enough with her presence - had accompanied her down on the last excursion, and had wrangled a few of the debased mutants up. They would be held for when hunting was slim, and the aching void inside her demanded to be fed. Especially on long sojourns through the warp - where She Who Thirsts was most potent.

With that task wrapping up just as the call came that the crude vessel was exiting the warp, Iskarya made her way to the ancient bridge to meet with Baltasar. It wasn't likely that she would be needed yet, but the Kabalite exile had taken to lurking nearby when the inclination arose.

Striding purposefully onto the bridge, Iskarya took but a moment to take in the sights. The survivors slaved to various ship systems. The all-too mortal officers hovering over their cogitators. And Baltasar at the helm.

The glossy black of her elegantly segmented armor, festooned with jagged blades and terrible spikes was still slick with the blood of the Ghilliam, and the wickedly barbed talons of her right gauntlet still sparked with the coruscating miasma of its power field. Iskayra held her imposing helm tucked in the crook of an arm, and a heavy cloak of flayed skin hung from her shoulders. The mane of blood-red hair was unbound, spilling down her back as eyes like dark crystal gazed upon Baltasar curiously. Like all Drukhari, Iskarya was beautiful, but her sharp and angular features were possessed of a coldly cruel quality that spoke of a predatory guile and cunning.

"What command do you have for me, Master?" She asked with a sardonic lilt to her voice that gave no real indication that she actually viewed the Paradus heir as her sovereign, but she persisted in calling him that. Some inside joke, perhaps, to the exotic and terrible xenos. Iskarya was fluent in the tongue of men, but more often than not she relied on her translator as to not sully her lips with the primitive language. Save, perhaps, in the presence of the Rogue Trader and his chosen officers.

[Valmark]

Baltasar glanced back at Iskarya before fixing his attention back forward.
"Looks like you were hunting" he said, with a small grin "Unfortunately, or fortunately as others would say, there's nothing yet to do. But! The wind's changing- we'll soon need yours and Ghost's skills, I can tell you that! I imagine you won't mind, this travel must be growing dull by now. I trust that you'll be ready when the time comes?"
He started tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for their destination to show itself to them.

[Henry the 57th]

A piercing shriek rends the stale, recycled air. The ship quakes under the strain, as that which is and is not crashes desperately against the feeble protection of the Gellar Field like the grasping claw of some great primordial beast sensing its prey is about to escape. On the bridge, sensorium banks flash a dangerous red. Warning sirens wail. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children hold one another close throughout the ship, clutching tiny trinkets of gold and bone close to their chests and whispering prayers. There is a single moment in time that seems to stretch and bend, pulling the ship and every soul aboard forward and back, reliving the blink of an eye a thousand times and more. Then the spell breaks with the suddenness of a bubble popping, and the entire construct seems to lurch forwards all at once. Many are knocked from their feet by the sudden and violent transition to realspace. But that exact moment is also when the screaming starts.

There is a sudden, horrifying, inhuman screech. The note pierces the air like an ambull might through parchment, drowning out all else instantly. The ringing in your ears only grows stronger as you frantically try to plug them against it. You can feel your teeth starting to vibrate, you can feel claws somehow scratching at the back of your skull. Though you eyes are screwed up against the wailing and the pain, you can see every single crewman aboard the bridge staring right at you. Staring at you with hollow, black, inhuman eyes and faces twisted into strange leers. That is when they begin to pull off their skin, revealing something wholly... other.

The bridge around you quakes. Metal squeals and buckles, lumens flare and explode, consoles split in twain, and servitors bodily tear themselves from the stations in showers of metal and meat. All suddenly about face towards you, all staring. Red and black oil drips from the ruins of servitor limbs, men hoist themselves to their feet with twisted and shattered arms. Blisters and boils split the skins of man and machine in blochy yellows and vibrant reds, patches of a sickly green seeming to spread from those spots like a grotesque mold. You look over to your cousin, only to find him grinning back at you with a mouth three times wider than it was mere moments before, a pitted and rusty axe clenched firmly in one swollen hand.

The chanting around you slowly fades from your ears. The reassuring mechanisms of the Enginearium, the clank of machinery, hit a sour note. At first it is a small thing, a grind where there ought to a whirr, a clink where a clank should fall. But as the rest of the world fades from your view, these discordant notes rapidly pick up the pace. The disturbance of the rhythm becomes a clangor and the clangor becomes a deafening cacophony, screaming out at you with the wild crash of a million broken gears and hissing pipes. Shielding your ears does you no good. As your eyes cast about, desperately seeking the source of the disruption, lumens all around you die like stars guttering out or else explode in shows of sparks. While the light around you dies, you come about just in time to catch the outline of a horribly familiar alien silhouette crouched in the darkness between the haywire machines. As the inhuman thing makes a sudden lunge for you, you don't even have the chance to scream.

The sound of your righteous demands fade abruptly from your ears, whatever you intended to say suddenly caught in your throat. The cacophony of the bridge around you dies more slowly, sirens and shouts withering away inch by torturous inch as if being gradually strangled - or perhaps it is more appropriate say as if their voice was being dragged from their throats with agonizing slowness. Little by little, all sound and sensation is leeched from the air around you until at last nothing remains. There is only you, cold and alone, stretched out across an infinite abyss that greedily leeches the voice even from your thoughts.

A chill runs down your spine as the ambient temperature around you begins to drop rapidly. The beat of your blackened heart slows, noticeably so. The crude, pathetic excuse for a bridge on this mon-keigh no longer seems of any importance - it barely seems to be there at all. The world around you is ashen, grey, and dull, the stupid animals inhabiting it less than the squirming gnaw-worms that infest the corpse heaps of Commorragh. Their baying calls mean nothing to you, not any longer. Even as the world withers, a cloying, sweet scent makes its way inside of you. An aromatic musk warmly embraces you, dyeing the hideously dull realm wondrous shades of crimson and pink. A soft strand of the finest silk gently caresses the pale flesh at the back of your neck right through your dark armor, and your heart stops beating altogether. The voice of a thousand angelic choirs whispers oh so delicately into your ear.

"Did you miss me, dear heart?"

Your tightly-packed avian muscles seize up without warning, your breath coming in short, erratic bursts. The living world around you begins to lose color, vibrant greens being sucked dry to make dull grey. Very soon, even that is gone, consumed by creeping, inky black void. From within your flesh, it feels as though something is pulling at your insides. No, that isn't right - something is swallowing your insides. You begin to feel the pangs of an ageless hunger, a gnawing abyss to consume the universe itself and still crave more. An infinite consciousness beckons, a chitinous, tentacled beast with razor-fanged maw rising from the endless dark. Soulless black eyes stare down at you, and the gaping mouth widens invitingly.

[Valmark]

Of course things couldn't go well. Baltasar had been standing up confidently while the ship exited from the Warp, using his hold on the helm as support.
They were out in the real space, so there couldn't be no problem.
°...why...° he managed a broken thought under thst constant screeching that was tearing apart his mind. He fell on his knee keeping hold of his head, teeth trembling and threatening to break under the pressure.
But what was truly scary was the sight. All the occupants of the bridge were looking at him with empty smiles while they peeled of their skins, white liquid dropping down as transparent flesh revealed horrible and twisted forms writhing inside their bodies.
He wanted to run. A voice was screaming that it has to be an illusion, but he couldn't accept it. He started dragging himself towards the exit before remembering who he was. As the captain, he could not run.

He slammed a fist on the panel that controlled the vox broadcast of the console at the helm, using a hand to pull himself up with the helm. He was screaming without hearing himself, his eyes fixed on everyone else. He saw Ambrus acting like them. That was it, it was in illusion. No way he of all people could be a monster.
Or so he hoped.
"If you see it stand away from everyone else! It's all fake! Don't pull weapons out!" °It has to be° "Make sure... The Geller Field runs...! he fell down again. It was the only explanation he could give himself. They had to still be in the Warp. No other explanation made sense.

He turned towards Sabina. If someone could make any sense it was her. He scrambled to his feet leaping at her, not trusting his words to reach anyone. Had the vox even served to anything? Had he even managed to turn it on in the first case? Was he imagining everything and looking like a madman?
He tried to reach her shoulder, trying not to balk at the sight of a worm looking at him from inside it. He would most surely receive an earful later, but he needed to get the real one's attention, not the Sabina with hollowed eyes and the unsettling smile
"Help...!"

No idea if I can even do something in the first place. I'll try Command for that broadcast, for now.

Command roll (76)
[roll0]

EDIT: I swear that if I just wasted six degrees of success because Command was useless in this situation I'm resigning.

[Erulasto]

Everything fell away at those words...

There was nothing Iskarya, like the rest of her debased kin, feared more than this. She knew it was a gamble to throw her lot in with this human instead of braving the webway, one stop at a time. The shields that surrounded the lumbering, graceless vessel to keep the Warp at bay meant being a hairs breadth away from doom. She Who Thirsts already had her wicked fingers where her soul should be. Gradually, slowly devouring her vitality and self. The slaughter of the lesser species was, at best, a balm. A temporary reprieve. Iskarya knew what would happen to her when she finally died. And that was far more terrifying than any material threat.

"Sai'lanthresh!" Iskarya husked out, the usually sibilant words spoken with more horror and more terrible awe. She Who Thirsts.

"What...No! Not yet..."

[Forum Explorer]

Verg couldn't scream, even if he wanted to. His vocal cords were no more, a machine. The volume could be modulated, but it took an act of will to do so and Verg's entire focus was on what happened next. He braced himself, and prepared to take the blow. He would need to time this perfectly. The slight delay between attack and retreat was the only moment he had, and he would use it to seize his opponent. Then it would be flesh and blood vs the implacable might of his machine body, and he knew that he could easily crush such an opponent once they were caught.

The transmission from the captain came through, and Verg stiffened. His plan remained the same. If the vision was false, it would hit him and nothing would happen. If it was true, and he registered damage, than his plan would stay the same.

[MechaMaestro]

Sabina had been taking a sip of her tea and trying to ignore the unpleasant sight of the skin hanging from the xenos armour as the ship exited warpspace, but now it was gone. As was her chair, her captain, her servitor, the xeno and everyone. For the first time she truly felt alone in the universe. She remembered the day she and her fellow group of psykers were marched into the Emperor's throne room, escorted by those dreadful Sisters of Silence. At least that's what she was told they were, to be honest she could not sense them at all, and now it felt as though she was consumed by those awful awful wretches.

She mustered every bit of her willpower within herself to try and figure out what was happening...every minute of study with the Astropaths, her being the soul survivor of her soul-binding with the emperor, everything led up to this most important moment...


Forbidden Knowledge (Warp) (51)
[roll0]

[Janwin]

Ambrus had heard tales of ancient voidcraft whose Gellar Fields had failed; stories of indescribable monsters appearing out of nowhere, crew members turning into hellish creatures and slaughtering everyone around, and vessels lost for decades until they were rediscovered with only a tiny portion of maddened crew remaining. And while he had seen enough to make him jaded in humanity, he had never seen anything like what was taking place before him.

He had never been very good at obeying orders--part of his schooling had been based on creative thinking in order to end up on top of any trade deal--particularly orders seemingly coming from a family member who had turned into a monster and threatened to turn the Impiorum Requies into yet another ship of legend whose story might be taught to future children of Dynasties to scare them into eating their vegetables.

And he would be damned if he'd let that happen without a fight.

Without thinking, his body falls back on the reflexes honed through years of trading and dealing with the worst that humanity had to offer, and his sidearm is out and a shot fired at the monster that was once his cousin. As soon as the shot is let out, he moves to place anything he can between himself and the monsterous creature; a control console, a chair, or another person.

Free: Draw Archeotech Laspistol
Half: Single Shot
Half: Move

Attack: [roll0] vs TN 57 (BS 47 + 10 (Short Range))
Damge: [roll1] E; Pen 2

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat's hones reflexes react almost instinctively, as he flips out of his branch-lined nest and into a combat crouch. He might know little of the Warp and its mysteries, but one of the lessons drilled into him repeatedly by the Shapers was that the line between reality and illusion in such a place can swiftly become a matter of perspective. The desperate cries of his employer across the ship's vox only emphasize this fact - Ar'khaat cannot afford to treat this apparition with anything less than the caution due a true threat.

Accordingly, he pulls his maul from its cameoline-coated sheath and brandishes the weapon high, shrieking a war-cry of wordless defiance at the immense monstrosity threatening to devour him. One way or another, the spirits of his ancestors will be proud of him this day.

[Henry the 57th]

As you stagger towards what you sincerely hope is still your Astropath, you take a sudden and entirely unexpected blow to the chest, a bright flare of energy seeming to materialize from nowhere. You fall backwards onto the deck, hitting your head roughly against the solid metal of the deck, and the world seems to go blurry. When your fuzzy sight clears moments later, you find yourself lying sprawled on a bridge filled with ordinary men (and an alien) once more. Granted, most of the are screaming, one appears to have clawed his eyes out, and your cousin is brandishing a smoking laspistol to match the blackened wound across your sternum.

Throwing yourself behind a command console to take cover from the hideous monsters sprouting from the ruins of your comrades, you snap off a well-aimed shot right for the grinning abomination that moments ago had been your cousin. Your lasbolt strikes its shambling target fair and true, drawing a screeching cry from the diseased monster as it topples over backwards. Your heart pounds with the thrill of righteous battle... and begins pounding faster as the diseased exterior seems to boil off like steam. The bridge itself comes back into focus, and your eyes quickly settle on the downed form not of a Warp-born monstrosity, but your cousin. A blackened, smoking wound is now prominent on his chest.

"If you see it stand away from everyone else! It's all fake! Don't pull weapons out!" the voice of the captain booms out suddenly over the cacophony. "Make sure... The Geller Field runs...!"

A heartbeat later, the shadowy alien strikes, sharp clawed gauntlets poised, vaulting easily over your comparatively slow machine body and reaching out to gouge your eyes out... only to dissolve into mist the instant before they would have plunged into the soft jelly. Your vision blurs, a foul oily-smelling stench fills your nostrils, and a moment later the world seeps slowly back into view. The deafening noise is gone, replaced with the normal heartbeat of the Enginearium mixed with the screams and moans of crewmen. As you look around, startled, your realize that the Warp Engine is working properly, indeed appears to be shutting down undamaged after a successful transition back to realspace. It's just the crew, be they Tech-Priests or lowly serfs, that seems to have been effected judging by the way some are still screaming, weeping, or flailing at nothing.

Of all the men and women aboard the Impiorum Requies, you are the best-prepared for this sort of assault. Or, at least, that is how you would asses it. It takes you very little time to realize the psychic, illusory nature of this sudden change, and even as you do hints of sound bleed back in. You can hear the sweet stillness of realspace all around you, the chaotic crash of Warp fading away, and you realize from the timing that this mental assault must have originated from something in local realspace, though you know not what exactly. It must have begun virtually the instant you left the Warp.

"If you see it stand away from everyone else! It's all fake! Don't pull weapons out!" You hear the captain's voice as you shake your head to try and clear it. "Make sure... The Geller Field runs...!"

The bridge slowly, painfully comes back into psychic view, just in time for you to witness Ambrus shoot your Rogue Trader lord right in the chest. He crumbles to the deck, a black and smoking wound in his chest.

There comes a melodious laugh in response, the thing behind you tightening its grip with a leer you cannot see but can simply feel. The gentle mist wraps around your neck with the sudden strength of a coiling python, seeming just short of strangling you on the spot. A dozen soft voices whisper sweet nothings in your ears as the darkness closes in-

"If you see it stand away from everyone else! It's all fake! Don't pull weapons out!" the crude voice of the mon-keigh booms out, cutting into the gloom. "Make sure... The Geller Field runs...!"

The world around you seems to go blurry, your keen Eldar senses for once unable to pick out anything. The mist around your head seems to blink in and out of existence at random. You still cannot breath. Then there comes a bright flash of red light, a scream, and as suddenly as it began the ordeal is over. You are back on the ship's bridge, shudders rolling up automatically to reveal the darkness of realspace outside. But more importantly, the mon-keigh known as Ambrus appears to have taken advantage of your distraction to launch an assassination attempt, judging from the smoking gun clutched tightly in his hand and Baltasar laying in a smoking heap on the deck.

Maybe this was his doing?

The beast before you roars with primal fury, unhinging its jaw until it resembles nothing so much as a miniaturized black hole easily large enough to swallow you twice over.

"If you see it stand away from everyone else! It's all fake! Don't pull weapons out!" the voice of the captain booms out suddenly. cutting into the beast's howl. "Make sure... The Geller Field runs...!"

The monstrous creature lunges, jaws seeming to all but detach from its body in its haste to reach you. You swing your maul right for the deadly-looking thing's head, only to see it suddenly deflected off of chitinous plates that weren't there a moment ago. Darkness swallows you up as the creature's maw engulfs you, hot and damp. It's just as the last light is consumed that the darkness itself vanishes, and the bright greens and browns of the ship's Arboretum return suddenly in all their glory. Their undisturbed brightness is enough to momentarily make you squint.

[MechaMaestro]

Upon witnessing the lasbolt slam into Baltasar's chest, Sabina unleashes a blood curdling shriek, likely unnoticed over the general chaos of the bridge. Her teacup and saucer fly from her hands as she reflexively recoils into her lounger.

[Valmark]

Baltasar's hand has almost reached the astropath. He was so desperate of getting Sabina's -or anyone's really- attention that he didn't even register that he had flown backwards before hitting the hard metal floor. A burning hot pain shot through his body and his vision went black, drowning away the incessant screeching and any other sound.

It took him a handful of second to gather his bearings. He smelt a burnt odor, which he didn't take much to connect, especially as he touched his chest and pain shot through him. The sound has gone- he could feel his grunts of pain and people screaming around him.
ºNever thought...I'd be happy to feel pain° he mustered mentally, as he found something to grab hold on and pull himself up. Judging by his ragged breathing, the hit had got him good. Judging by his ragged breathing, the lungs were still there. He considered himself lucky.

Only then he started registering what was going around him. He took in the sight of people screaming, which was better then seeing dead people, and then fixed his sight on Ambrus.
"****...new rule... No guns on the bridge" he said, holding up a hand in sign of peace, trying to smile. He didn't feel like it, but he also needed to show strenght.
As deftly as he could he grabbed one of the guns on him and shot once in the hair, the bullet hitting the ceiling loudly and ricochetting on the ground. He honestly couldn't care less of hitting someone by mistake at the moment, as long as he gathered attention.
"Organize a check of the whole ship to account for casualties and damages! And someone help him to the infirmary!" he pointed to the man screaming slumped on the floor, his eyes two bloody sockets.

He only then registered that Sabina was watching him in horror.
"Yes, you weren't a pretty sight either within that illusion" he stated, remembering the scene from before. It looked like a distant memory, like having just woken up from a nightmare.

[Janwin]

As the bridge comes back into a sense of reality, Ambrus' eyes focus on his downed cousin.

"Damn it! Baltasar!"

He immediately rushes to his cousin's side and tries to help him to his feet.

"You were... Like the stories we were told as kids! Monsters from the Warp!"

He briefly checks his cousin's wound, even though he has no medical training and has no idea how bad it is.

"Are you alright? MEDIC!"

[Forum Explorer]

Note to self, eyes remain a critical weakpoint. Raise priority on ocular upgrades. Verg muttered, ignoring the flailing of the crew as he double checks the Warp Engine for any faults.

[Valmark]

Baltasar gratefully leaned against Ambrus, coughing a little.
"As fine... As I can be. You aimed well. Not that I blame you" he tried to smile. He wasn't angry, but between that... Illusion and the pain it wasn't easy to stay calm.
"I'm fine... Burnt up. Please, check on the others in my place alright? We don't even know if Verg and Ghost are alright" he said.
He remembered then that in all of this he hadn't payed attention to Iskarya. As a xeno, she might not even have seen the same thing they did. Baltasar couldn't even be sure everyone had seen the same thing, but given Ambrus and Sabina's reactions it was plausible.
"Iskarya... Are you alright?" he said. Every word was painful. Hopefully he could let himself plop on a bed soon enough.

[Erulasto]

The call to not arm herself was moot. Iskarya was a weapon; from the barbed and serrated edges of her armor to the agonizer talon upon her hand. Not that she would have dared use it against She Who Thirsts. Not that she would have even had the presence of mind to fight back against such a threat. Though, with the sudden materialization of the real world back around her – senses sharpened and aware once more – some distantly logical part of her alien mind wondered if this was all warp-trickery and witchcraft.

If there was a cause of the hallucinations, it was likely the one with the smoking gun, and seeing Baltasar sprawled upon the deck did not help the Drukhari’s impression of the situation. Her sudden ire was not so much directed at Ambrus for the assassination attempt; that was something she took a measure of gleeful pride in. It was that whatever warp-trickery had been utilized had dared intrude upon her own mind.

So Iskarya did what any Drukhari would do when confronted by someone with the gall to torment her. Silent as death, she slide gracefully across the bridge towards Ambrus. In the chaos of the situation, it would have been so easy. Her agonizer talon raised to simply slide across the unblemished flesh of Ambrus’ throat. The coruscating power field would have done the rest.

But…words – directed at her – from Baltasar suddenly broke the exiled Kabalite’s silent stride. It seemed that her mon-keigh captain had not met his end at the hand of his own kin. Having survived, Iskarya presumed she would need to stay her own hand. If for no other reason than perhaps Baltasar would insist on meting out the punishment himself.

”Yes.” The Kabalite said, turning black-crystal eyes upon Baltasar. ”And you, Master? You seem….a bit worse for wear.” If the Rogue Trader noticed any true change in her lackadaisical and sardonic mannerisms, he was a far more perceptive man than most. ”Would you have me serve your…justice upon the assassin?”

Was that hope that laced her voice?

[Janwin]

Displeased at his cousin's desire to appear strong in the face of a las shot to the chest, but not about to question the captain of the vessel on his bridge, Ambrus grunts his acceptance. "I'm calling a medicae team to the bridge to see to you...and the others."

At the words of the Eldar, Ambrus frowns at her. "Assassin? I can assure you, had I wanted to assassinate my kin, I would not be so brazen as to do it on the bridge, in front of witnesses, and other armed members of the high command. There are much better ways to arrange accidents on this vessel."

He begins walking toward a communication console while listing them off and raising a finger each time as he counts.

"Shipping crates are heavy and the gravity generators on vessels as old as this are known to be temperamental.
Fires have an unfortunate tendency to cause the auto-bulkheads to close, trapping anyone inside and guaranteeing their certain demise.
Sometimes life support ceases to function on whole decks, venting them to the void of space.
There are a number of hidden cargo bays tucked around the vessel stocked with all sorts of explosive or otherwise dangerous materials.
Food processor malfunctions sometimes create poisonous foodstuffs."

The list continues for a while, but gets quieter as he moves across the bridge to his own station. He stops listing ways people could die on the ship and keys a couple of buttons to open up communications to the different parts of the ship.

"Send a medical team to the bridge immediately. Magos Verg, please report on the status of the Gellar Field. Did it go down as we returned to realspace, and are any repairs necessary?"

[MechaMaestro]

"If you are quite through listing off the dreadful ways we can meet eternity," Sabina says, fanning herself in an effort to calm down, "What happened to the collective crew was not the fault of the warp. Something, I do not know what, but something in realspace was responsible.

[Valmark]

"Don't worry Iskarya" Baltasar said, steadying himself. He had gotten used by then "And while I'd like to tell you yes we first would need to find said assassin. No way it's Ambrus- I trust him. And also the reasons he listed, yes. I don't even think I was the target"

He turned towards Sabina, eyes wide.
"But... That should be impossible! I mean- I don't doubt you, but what could have been?" he pondered thoughtfully. He was rapidly shooting down each option in his mind.
"We can esclude gases and malfunctions to the life support. And I don't think some other psionic of any kind snuck inside the ship and decided to have fun now. I mean, had they used your chamber maybe it could have worked, but it seems unlikely and unless you are a very good actor it cannot have been your fault"
Glancing at his wounds and knowing that he needed to leave the bridge he took a decision.

"Sabina, run an active scan of the space outside- if the source is outside we should be able to find it, unless it has a ridicoulous range. Iskarya, grab whoever you need and perform a search of the ship in search of something or someone that could have been responsible- use strenght if required. Tell the same to Ghost, two hunters will be better then one. If Verg isn't otherwise occupied tell him the order too, given his competencies he should be able to see things you can't- any result communicate it to Ambrus. If I'm not here, he's in charge"
After a moment of silence he hastily added "Don't kill or otherwise hurt permanently anyone. That will come later if they are proven guilty"

[MechaMaestro]

"Very well, Captain."Sabina replies with a tone of voice not only surprised at his resilience, still recovering from the shock but also miffed that she actually has to do work now. She stands and, still fanning herself, parades over to the Bridges sensor array, and gently prods the recovering crewmember with her folded up fan. "You heard the Captain, Vladimir. I can do far worse to your mind if you'd prefer that! Up on your feet and get the array running!"


Scrutiny - Target (43 base, +5 if the sensor detection bonus comes in.
[roll0]

[Henry the 57th]

The bridge is a maelstrom of activity. As some crew members slowly begin to recover from the sudden and horrifying psychic attack, others are trying to help those who, in their dementia, hurt themselves and each other. It takes several minutes for enough medics to recover to make a team, but when they eventually do a number of them make their way towards the bridge, carting off the wounded or in Baltasar's case just applying disinfectants, affixing medical gauze, and injecting a combination of painkillers and stimulants. Throughout the ship reports come flooding in of crewmen experiencing a dizzying variety of horrifying visions and collapsing on the spot or worse. It becomes readily apparent that the attack affected every man, woman, and child aboard the ship simultaneously, though thanks be to the God-Emperor casualties seem light.

Sabina, after giving Vladmir a motivational pep talk, is able to get some of the Impiorum Requies' sensorium coaxed back into life, and quickly begins gathering data. The grand old ship has emerged from Warp-space at roughly the coordinates indicated in the ruined log, and right near the edge of what appears to be a fairly old star system. Just looking out the window is enough to see blue-green gas and particles drifting lazily by, and from what the ship can tell the entire solar system and much of the surrounding space appears to be completely engulfed by a nebula. The starstuff floating outside seems to be causing interference with the sensor arrays, but they indicate the presence of at least twenty-one separate planets orbiting a single small and comparatively weak star. She does not detect any ships, however the Impiorum Requies
is able to detect what seems to be a faint distress beacon fuzzily broadcast through the nebula from the vicinity of what looks to be the sixth planet from the sun. It's an older code, certainly, but it checks out as Imperial.

Meanwhile, much deeper in the bowls of the ship, Verg steps right over the groaning and twitching forms of the workers and priests, examining the ship's Warp Engine up and down. It does not take him long to realize that there is no obvious fault with the venerable old machine - indeed she seems to have been running with an admirable level of efficiency despite the mass breakdown of her crew. It certainly doesn't look likely to have failed recently, or to do so any time in the near future.

[Forum Explorer]

Verg looks around, considering. The machines were fine, but he should remain on guard regardless. He moved over to a computer and sent a message to the bridge. This is Verg. Enginearium is secure with all systems nominal. Requesting status report.

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat is quite displeased at the disappearance of his foe, however illusory it might actually have been. Every battle was a test of worthiness before his ancestral spirits - hopefully they would not fault him for the monstrosity's manifest unwillingness to be real and obligingly mortal.

After inspecting his maul somewhat forelornly for any sign of chitinous scraps, bits of black warp-monster flesh, or any other indications of having faced an actual enemy he returns it to its sheath. He was still alone in the Arboretum - but if the cessation of warp phenomena had indicated a successful transition, they were probably close to nearing their destination. That meant it was time to get to work, and the first order of business would be making sure Balthasar was still alive. If the ship had actually been attacked by warp-monsters Ar'khaat could have died fighting without losing honor - after all, that was how his predecessor had fallen. But if the Rogue Trader had suffered a heart attack - or worse, been accidentally shot by some other crewmember - it would be a tremendously shameful failure.

As the Kroot rises to leave the grove of trees, his skin rippled and shifted appropriately, blending against the tree-trunks and changing seamlessly to the dull grey of hull-metal as he enters the corridors. The ship's crew were very rarely able to see him in the best of circumstances, and in their current assorted states of weeping, gibbering, catatonic, or dead none had a hope of doing so. He arrives unimpeded and unnoticed on the bridge, and to his unpleasant surprise found Balthasar had indeed been shot. It didn't seem lethal, though to be sure he stalks right up to Balthasar's side before giving the wound a rough poke of inspection as his concealment fades.

"You'rrrrre looking medium-well, Bossssss."


Stealth rolls. 2 DoS on both checks if anyone feels like Awarenessing his approach.
Concealment [roll0] vs. 100
Silent Move [roll1] vs. 100

[Erulasto]

Seeming to take Baltasar's explanation of events at face value, Iskarya cast a side-long look to Ambrus with a rather toothy smile. Her incisors and canines had been filed to wicked fangs. Smiling was, after all, the only polite way of baring your teeth at someone.

With orders given to sweep the ship, Iskarya retrieved her helmet from where she had dropped it and slid it over her head. Once enclosed fully in her armor, she turned to the newly arrived Ghost.

"Ghost." She said in curt acknowledgement when he seemed to appear from the shadows of the bridge. "We are to sweep the ship for enemies. By the command of our Master."

A vox call was placed after to the armsmen who usually accompany her on her under-deck hunting forays.

If there was a threat on the ship, she would find it and purge it.

With great pleasure.

[Valmark]

Baltasar was going to answer Verg, even with his head somewhat occluded by the effect of painkillers, when a sudden poke at his wound made him grimace. He almost jumped after turning to find Ghost next to him, seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Yes, apparently laser pistols aren't great utensils for cooking. I trust that nothing happened that you couldn't handle?" he replied with a grin.

"Before going listen to this- you weren't here -I think- so you probably didn't hear much" he told Ghost and then answered Verg.
"Good to hear Verg. According to Sabina, whatever it was came from this side of space, with my guess being that it was something somewhere out there. Just in case, I've told Iskarya and Ghost to sweep the ship- if you can help them I'm sure there are things you can see that they cannot.
On to the good news. There seems to have been little damage, which makes me question what the point even was.
Anyway, this looks like a solar system that has seen better days, good thing our shields push away the small matter. They tell me that we've picked up an Imperial distress signal, so there's a good chance we'll have work to do soon enough" rising somewhat unsteadily, he walked to the helm.

"Right- let's see if I can boast without horrible visions attacking the whole ship. We'll follow the signal and when we get in proximity we'll go in silent run until we confirm the lack of hostiles! Or the presence of hostiles!" he knew well enough that for every distressed ship there usually was a distresser one.
Then he once again sent out a message to the whole ship.
"Alright! Despite what has happened, we've gotten to destination and with only the slightest damage, which means that now it's fun time gents! We've been here for a few minutes and we've already got something, so chin up everyone! And I'm still waiting on that apple!"

[Forum Explorer]

Acknowledged. I will meet them at crossing 372-Delta-Z, Verg said, identifying a point between the Enginearium and the bridge. Closing the terminal, Verg looked around before moving to the highest ranking tech priest still standing.

Attention. He ordered. You have functions to perform. One; awaken the fallen and analyze mental condition. Any deemed unable to perform their duties are a liability and will be escorted out of the Enginerarium until further notice. Two; bring the Enginerarium up to status Orange in preparation for potential combat. Three; sweep the Enginerarium for any abnormalities that may have been placed here during the mental attack. Acknowledge that you have received these orders. he chatted in binary.

[Henry the 57th]

"Acknowledged," one of the less obviously frazzled Tech-Priests manages to reply to Verg, using a clawed mechandrite to anchor himself to an overhead pipe. "Omnissiah go with you."

As Verg turns to leave, those crewmen that aren't obvious unstable, unconscious, or still writhing on the ground begin to carry out orders, dragging the fallen aside so that those who can function can resume working on the machine. It doesn't take him too long to rendezvous with the pair of xenos hunters coming down from the bridge, one seeming excited to find something that might be worth killing, one barely visible at all. Together, the odd trio begins their sweep of the ship. Obviously the Impiorum Requies is a vast ship, miles long and filled with ancient, twisting, disused corridors spoken of only in whispers by the crewmen, and so even working together scouring even a small fraction of it is a slow and tedious process. Hour after hour passes as they prowl down abandoned hallways, search back rooms, murder the occasional uppity mutant, and generally get avoided by any crew member with a lick of sense. No one wishes to be around one alien scum, much less, and even less two when they're stalking through the darkness with a bloodthirsty gleam in their hideous xenos eyes. Unfortunately for them, though, nothing of particular interest chooses to show itself at this juncture, let alone anything capable of such a potent psychic attack. Beyond the odd and lingering feeling of faint dread at the back of their minds and the occasional spot of relatively fresh blood on the decking, they would hardly know the ship had been attacked at all.

Meanwhile on the bridge, the crew gets to watch as the ship crawls forward through the nebula at a relative snail's pace, doing its best to avoid giving itself away to anyone who might be watching. Captain Baltasar eventually does get his apple, which makes for a tangy but not unpleasant accompaniment to the slow drift through the blue-green clouds swirling outside the viewport. An hour passes uneventfully as they cruise through space towards the source of the signal. Then a second passes. Then a third. The scene outside, in contrast to the usual black void of space, is rather peaceful. The soft, drifting stardust seems to drift by as if carried along by a gentle breeze, glowing faintly with some inner light to smother the weak glare of the distant star. Were it not for an unusual sense of persistent dread hanging just at the back of their minds, and the wound still smarting on Baltasar's chest, it would be easy to forget this system introduced itself with nightmares and violence. But even so, the journey in-system continues to go by slowly and without anything emerging from the clouds to attack. It takes around seven hours of slow travel before the ship's sensors can get a true lock on the signal through the nebula's interference, but when they finally can the results are a bit surprising. The Imperial distress signal isn't coming from a ship in orbit - as best the Impiorum Requies can tell there are none - but rather appears to be originating from the surface of the unknown planet itself. That's rather surprising, as for a signal to be reaching the outer system intact indicates a transmitter of some power down there, much more so than one could typically carry by hand.

[Erulasto]

With the sleek shardcarbine in hand, Iskarya’s frustration grew considerably the longer they prowled the labyrinthine corridors of the Impiorum Requies and found nothing. It was impossible to tell her expression behind the imposing black helm, but her posture spoke of an agitated predator and sent what crewmen they encountered scattering before her.

With their sweep completed, Iskarya snarled and pounded the nearest bulkhead with an elegantly armored fist.

A torrent of words spilled from her mouth, the xenos tongue fluid and gracefully cold in sound. It took a delayed moment before her translator-unit was able to work through the rant.

”Blood of Khaine! When I get my hands on whatever has caused this…attack…I will rend its flesh and drink its soul!”

She turned to Ghost and Verg, eyeing them with murderous intent.

”I see nothing! Nothing but ghosts in the Warp!”

[Forum Explorer]

There are no signs of Warp exposure, nor foreign entities. Verg said, waving an auspex slowly over a patch of discolored metal. He turned to look at Iskarya, Perhaps the attack wasn't psychic in origin after all. Do you have any prisoners we can dissect? Perhaps there was a chemical basis to the hallucinations.

[Valmark]

"Impiorium's apples are the best, I always say" Baltasar commented during the travel. Aside from that it had been a fairly boring travel. He perked up as soon as he was notified about the signal coming from the planet.

He opened the ship-wide for an announcement.
"Good news! We've reached what could be something interesting, which means preparing the Teleportarium! If there is no way to contact whoever sent out the signal we'll go down as close as possible to the source to investigate. I want an analisys of the planet's atmosphere to make sure it has breathable air and the Bloody Hawks are to prepare for departure. Iskarya and Ghost, if my gut feeling is right you'll get to stretch out your muscles too. Verg, it's likely that the signal is coming from some kind of powerful transmitter, you should prepare for departure too. Until we come back, the ship should stay in silent mode and any new development is to be communicated to me immediately" he said, closing the channel and leaving the helm.
"Ambrus, think we can try contacting the source of the signal remotely? I doubt that but trying doesn't hurt. Sabina, do you mind preparing too? Your help would be invaluable"

[Erulasto]

"Only the mutant ghilliam I have pulled from the labyrinthine dark of this veseel." Iskarya said to Verg, "But feel free to disect. Or vivisect. I am not picky."

With Baltasar's statement they may be going down to this strange planet's surface, Iskarya turned on her booted heel and stalked off down the corridors of the ship to her quarters. If she was going planet-side, she would need her kill-recorder before returning to the bridge.

For posterity.

[Janwin]

"We can certainly try through the normal communications array. If it is a ground facility or a crashed voidship, it should have the necessary receivers to pick up and respond to our comms."

He glances over to one of the crewmen manning the comms array. "See if you can get any sort of response from anyone living down there."

[MechaMaestro]

"Let me fetch my sidearm and arrange for another astropath to stand ready on the bridge Captain!" Sabina says, smiling, before curtsying to Baltasar and departing.

As Sabina walks off, her eyes begin to glow as she sends a telepathic message to Ordoius, her choir subordinate telling him to be on standby as she will be likely heading to the planet's surface.

[The Glyphstone]

Half-seen and barely heard during the sweep of the ship, Ghost had remained privately amused by Iskarya's increasing moodiness, even if he privately felt the entire search was a waste of their time. The mysteries of the warp would not be so easily revealed by mundane eyes, however skilled - but it gave the Boss orders to issue, and a sense of being in control would as much for Baltasar's health after the incident as any medicae.

When the away team was announced, though, he did perk up. The cold, sterile corridors of an Imperial starship were an unpleasant experience he had adapted to, but every chance to breath the air of a planet and test his fieldcraft against its surface was a rare treat.

"A hunt issss alwayssss enjoyable forrrr itssss own ssssake, though lesssened by the lack of ssssspecific prey. Perrrrhapssss we will be luckierrrr this time."

[Forum Explorer]

Without a pre-existing bioscan of such a creature, such an operation would be a waste of time. Verg said. He paused at the announcement, and headed back to the Enginearium to stand down their readiness and prepare for the ground trip.

[Henry the 57th]

"Aye aye, my lord," the man Ambrus spoke to, Sentanis, says with only a slight tinge of uneasy to his voice. There is a bit of activity as the ship's technicians and communications officers briefly test to see which frequencies seem capable of penetrating the nebula clouds and atmospheric interference alike, before eventually seeming to settle on a narrow band with apparently good odds of success. What follows is a short broadcast requesting identification, followed by a minute or so of static in response. Just as the officers seem ready to abandon the obviously hopeless effort, Sentanis' console gives a high-pitched squeal that echoes easily throughout the vastness of the bridge.

"Pra..." a crackling voice framed by horrific levels of static manages to force its way out. "-ar Emperor! People! Act... are he..." The celestial interference continues to eat most of the other side's voice.

Even while the officers are scrambling to try and tune out some of the interference, the voice disappears. When one comes back on a moment later, it seems noticeably deeper and less exuberant than the first.

"...name of... Authority and... -peror," it says, somewhat harshly. "Identify yourse..."

[Erulasto]

”That sounds…promising.” Iskarya said wistfully as she listened to the garbled transmission now that she had returned to the bridge of the voidship. ”They encountered something they did not expect. Is this planet listed as one of your mon-keigh colonies, my Lord?”

[Valmark]

"Don't think so, Iskarya. And this doesn't look like a colonizing process" he said, before answering the trasmission.

"Here is Baltasar Paradus, Rogue Trader of House Paradus and captain of the Impiorum Requies. We stopped by because of your distress signal that somehow reached us from outside the system. And who are you?" while Baltasar didn't like that tentative of imposing autority, he was willing to let it be. Apparently, they had already their own share of problems.

"Am I correct in assuming that you need help? You know, distress signal and all. If you can give us precise cohordinates we can come down and help out as possible. We can still come down, but you know, wanted to avoid a useless trek is a jungle or something like that"

[Henry the 57th]

“Rogue Trader, thi...” the deep voice continues to be afflicted by static, though as the bridge crew hone in on the exact frequency there seems to be less and less of it. “...Volantis Sovereign Colony Authority. Heavy xenos incursions. Repeat, heavy...” more crackling static. “...ting immediate assistance and evacuation. They... from nowhere in the dead of night, and... with the sun. In the name of the Star Emperor... us.”

There is a noticeable pause before the voice continues, now seeming to be the lighter one originally heard.

“Coordinates 33.6119988" N, 112.103003" W,” that first voice says,” as though giving away some great secret. “Watch the ski... aircraft. Come armed.”

[Valmark]

"We'll come immediately then- not all of my crew is human, so don"t get alarmed. See you soon" he said, taking note of the cohordinates then told the bridge to end the communication.

He opened a broadcast then.
"Teleportarium, We've got our cohordinates- 33.6119988 north and 112.103003 W. Everyone going down to the planet, meet there. To the crafts hangar, prepare some fighters- they said that there are enemy aircrafts, so it's likely we'll need them" he closed the communication and turned to Iskarya, smiling "Looks like you'll get to have fun, finally"
He turned towards the exit.
"Very well- standard procedure from when I'm not on the bridge. Ambrus, you are coming too, yes?"

[Erulasto]

Iskarya listened to the transmission being received on the bridge, shifting listlessly from the ball of one foot to another. It wasn’t as outright predatory as pacing, but it was clear she was anxious, or frustrated. When Baltasar eventually confirmed they’d be going down, she grinned toothily behind the monstrous mask of her helmet.

”I am your weapon to wield, my Lord.” She practically purred, before turning on her heel with a flourish of her skin-cloak and made her way to the teleportarium.

[Forum Explorer]

Perhaps this Xenos species was responsible for the mental attack. We should aim to capture one to interrogate later. Verg suggested.

[Janwin]

"Xenos attackers? I wouldn't miss it for the world, cousin. I just need to grab my gear."

With that, Ambrus heads off to his quarters to grab his armor and weapons, and meets them at the teleportarium.

[Valmark]

"Knew I could count on you!" Baltasar smiled and slapped Ambrus on the shoulder on the way out.

After having gathered his equipment he met them all at the teleportarium.
"I like Verg's suggestion- if they are intelligent enough we should force their surrender. Or just hit them on the back of the head, either works" he told them when everyone had gathered. The technicians of the teleportarium already had all the required info, so he was good to go at any time.
"They'll probably be weary of Iskarya and Ghost, since they've been dealing with hostile xeno forces- in case one of the humans tries to pull a gun on us, let me and Ambrus smooth things over. If someone tries to shoot a gun at us, they are idiots and deserve whatever concequences fall on them. I'm not going to save someone that's trying to kill me or anyone else present"

[MechaMaestro]

With a laspistol now holstered around her hips, Sabina arrives in the teleportarium, ready to make planetfall after reciting her usual prayers of protection to the Emperor.

[Henry the 57th]

As the Impiorum Requies picks up speed, pushing its way through the endless clouds of cosmic dust, the distant sphere begins to appear in the viewport. At first it is just a tiny black dot, notable only for not being more of the bluish-green streams flowing around the ship. But as the minutes tick by the planet grows larger and larger, the nebula growing thin enough that some of its traits can start to be made out with the naked eye. It appears as a greyish-white ball in the sea of starstuff, the weak light of the system's primary only just enough to keep it habitable. The seas of liquid water found on most naturally habitable planets are notable for their complete absence, cloud cover for its intensity. The old ship's sensorium soon establishes the atmosphere to be relatively thin, but breathable. Without the swathes of green and blue that normally oxygenate the air, it isn't immediately clear how that is possible.

By the time the ship makes low orbit only just above where day transitions to night, the apparently ailing planet has become a great white marble in the sky, great shards of grey that can only be staggeringly vast mountain ranges piercing through the otherwise endless stark white. Despite the colonists' allegations of attack, the cruiser's arrival is completely unchallenged, the planet's lonely grey moon the only other celestial object in the vicinity. Streaking fightercraft can be seen cutting through the wispy nebula like bullets almost as soon as the ship reaches optimal launch position, hurdling towards the atomosphere and whatever xenos abominations await.

The launch of the fighters is the last thing those on the initial landing party get a chance to see, as the optimum time for a teleportation coincides with their departure. Deep in the bowels of the ship, surrounded by chanting tech-adepts waving censors of sacred incense and burning oils, the six of them get only a moment of warning, a single crack in the air, before something grabs them by the stomach and pulls. What follows could best be compared to being dragged by the intestines through a pipe only a few centimeters wide. The pressure from all sides is enormous, the talons wrapped firms around their guts, almost unendurable. But praise be the God-Emperor, the situation only lasts the scantest fraction of a second.

https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/3a91e317-f9b8-4191-94a7-cb69f8586c5b/d6jh7o6-beb830b4-9f2c-416c-992c-b8aaf0d3b5f1.jpg/v1/fill/w_1371,h_583,q_75,strp/1500_sig_by_tnounsy-d6jh7o6.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1 NiJ9.eyJpc3MiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhN WYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwic3ViIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg 4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsImF1ZCI6WyJ1c m46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl0sIm9iaiI6W1t 7InBhdGgiOiIvZi8zYTkxZTMxNy1mOWI4LTQxOTEtOTRhNy1jY jY5Zjg1ODZjNWIvZDZqaDdvNi1iZWI4MzBiNC05ZjJjLTQxNmM tOTkyYy1iOGFhZjBkM2I1ZjEuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTEzN zEiLCJoZWlnaHQiOiI8PTU4MyJ9XV19.I2p3CH2kEcMLT3iDjk GnOKYRA5uNeILWPGQok7Zj2tU

Cold.

Immediately, each and every member of the landing group are slapped across the face with a horrible, mind-numbing, bone-chilling cold that seems to be actively trying to suck the life out of them. No matter how well-armored or well-insulated they might be, the sheer shock of transitioning from the mild if somewhat stuffy depth of a starship to the subzero surface in an instant is enough to discomfit and stagger them for those first few seconds. Hearts beat frantically and breath seems to all but crystallize in front of their faces, limb instinctively huddling close to chests for warmth. Fortunately, this too passes.

After a few seconds of minor adjustment, the group is able to get a better picture of their surroundings. The teleportarium has deposited them in the midst of a wide mountain valley covered with tight-packed snow. Jagged formations of grey rock litter the valley floor seemingly at random, casting long shadows in the dying sunlight, leaving the terrain deeply uneven and visibility poor at best. From their position in a relatively flat area amongst these numerous small peaks, the six of them can make out the distinctive gunmetal grey of an artificial structure jutting horizontally out from a mountainside, bearing the distinctive heavy and blocky appearance so characteristic of human manufacture. Similarly-colored aircraft of unknown design are scattered across the valley floor, wrecked and so weather-worn that they have obviously been of no use for some time.

As their eyes cast about for a clear route through the jumble of rocks, snow, and ruined machine, the six of them catch the sound of a brief and slight hiss over the whipping of the wind in their ears. Before they can make out where it came from, it is followed up by the much louder and distinctive cracking of solid slug projectile discharge, this time clear emanating from just beyond a nearby rock formation.

[Valmark]

Baltasar almost thought that he would've been better off staying on the ship to cohordinate the fighters when he was horribly ripped from his thoughts and landed on the planet. He repressed a curse, kneeling down and hugging himself to try and keep the heat in.

After a fair bit of jumping in place in quite an embarassing way to warm up, he turned to inspect his surroundings.
"Honestly, I expected better. Well- let's follow the gunfire!" he said, pulling out his autopistol "Just in case. If they are human, don't shoot first of course"

Sorry, I thought I sent it but I did not. Can check the book right now, so I have no idea what my Awareness (is that the skill?) Is, so I'll just roll:

[roll0]

EDIT: with that roll it doesn't matter what stat it was. Anyway, yeah, awereness to not fall into any trap.

[Janwin]

As he gathers his senses after the shock, Ambrus quickly pulls his cameleoline cloak tightly around himself, both for its concealment and its small amount of Emperor-blessed warmth. He takes a quick look around to try and find a path they might safely take toward the gunfire.

Awareness: [roll0] vs TN 59

Also, reminder for the GM, Ambrus has Paranoia. In case we're being ambushed in the near future and you want to use it. :smallwink:

[Forum Explorer]

Verg draws his Hellgun as he follows along. He listens to the sounds of gunfire, trying to identify which weapons are being fired. Both the snap-hiss of the first rounds fired and the solid slug rounds.

I'm not sure which rolls these would be, so here is my best guess:

Awareness [roll0] vs 50

And a Knowledge of some kind so Int [roll1] vs 60-80 depending on the knowledge. I doubt it's Archeotech, but if it's Common Lore Tech than it's 70. Otherwise 60.

[MechaMaestro]

Sabina is far more concerned with keeping herself warm than tactically prepared, and keeps her hands under her arms for warmth.

"C-c-c-c-captain might I s-s-s-s-suggest th-th-th-th-that n-n-n-n-next t-t-t-t-time we analyze th-th-th-th-th-the weather b-b-b-before t-t-t-t-teleporting? I h-h-h-h-h-had a f-f-f-f-f-fur c-c-c-coat in m-my c-c-c-closet th-that w-w-w-w-would ha-ha-have b-b-b-b-been s-s-s-s-splended t-t-t-t-to h-h-h-have."


Awareness [roll0] vs 63

[The Glyphstone]

At the sounds of conflict, Ar'khaat perks up immediately. The Boss had promised a hunt of some kind - the Kroot hadn't been paying a great deal of attention to the details, or whatever was going on down on the surface. But there was a fight at hand already, and close by it seemed. He bounded forward towards the noises, power maul dropping into hand even as his skin turned blueish-white to blend with the snowy terrain.


Awareness: [roll0] vs. 58
Concealment: [roll1] vs. 100
Silent Move: [roll2] vs. 100

[Erulasto]

The wicked cold seemed, to Iskarya, like the unholy chill that came with the Mandrakes in Commorragh. It was soul-numbing, piercing the fitted form of her black armor – even as the barbs and needles within the armor that burrowed into her flesh to tickle nerve clusters allowed that cold to seep even deeper into her flesh.

But the exiled Kabalite was not one to show weakness, especially in front of the mon-keigh, so she simply ranged ahead, following Ghost as he loped towards the sounds of conflict. Hopefully, some physical exertion would be enough to keep her ancient blood from freezing in her black veins.

The shardcarbine was up, and ready as Iskarya moved swiftly behind the Kroot. Keeping a keen eye out for hostiles.



Awareness [roll0] TN 60
Concealment [roll1] TN 51 (71 if the Night Cloak's +20 to Concealment applies in dark areas)
Silent Move [roll2] TN 61

[Henry the 57th]

As the group unanimously decides to draw weapons and approach the gunfire, the two xenos, naturally being the most expendable, make their way to the front. Ar'khaat's chameleon skin and light footsteps soon make him all but invisible amidst the steadily-darkening winter landscape, but Iskarya's armor is still black enough to stand out amidst the white and grey, her armored boots making audible crunching noises in the snow despite her best efforts. As the entire group makes its cautious advance, the sound of gunfire gets louder and yet more intermittent, interspersed with a faint hissing echoing easily through the rocks. Faint shouting, or what might be screaming, can be heard over the wind.

The small group moves quickly up a nearby rock formation that seems like it would give a vantage point over the immediate area. They are almost halfway up when a hideous shriek that obviously came from no human throat blasts across the valley, warbling inconsistently between a high-pitched, pained wail and a deep-throated hungry roar. Immediately following that come the sound of several less powerful but equally as insistent screams, and gunfire rises in intensity. Just before Ar'khaat is able to crest the hill and get a view of the situation, the autoguns fall ominously silent. As he peaks it, and others soon after, what greets him is a grisly sight. What looks to be about half a dozen humans in bright white jumpsuits and improvised bronze armor are scattered amidst the snow and rock a good distance further down the valley floor. A seventh limp form is being ravenously torn into by some manner of alien foulness perhaps three times the height of a man. With three pairs of bulging arms, extended jaws that appear all but detached from the rest of its face, a quadrupedal reptilian lower half, and mottled brownish-green skin, this beast is an awful thing indeed. But it isn't the only thing present. As the six beings look on, several more shapes seem to materialize from the many stony peaks and crevices surrounding the downed humans. Even from this distance it is possible to make out their nature - Eldar.

There can be no mistaking it. Though their armor is a stark greyish-white save for black pauldrons and helm edged with a bright blue in sharp contrast to Iskarya's dark plate, there is no confusing the design similarities nor the weapons they carry. Most of all, no one could fail to notice the same sleek way that they move, each step imbued with a dancer's grace just touched with an edge of predatory eagerness. There are three of them in view, descending from a perch amidst a different snow-covered rock face with such ease that they almost appear to be gliding. Except for a straggler, who even at this distance seems to have just a touch of deep crimson on its white-armored leg and appears to be limping. They don't seem to have spotted the new arrivals yet, their attentions apparently entirely given over to the humans laying sprawled out on the rocky ground.

You all can get a surprise round now, at approximately 120m from the Dark Eldar below. Or you can try and sneak up closer to them to them, but that allows them the chance to try and detect you. Choose wisely.

[Erulasto]

Iskarya was, for a moment, halted as she crested the hill behind Ghost. Seeing the monstrous creature tearing through the Mon-keigh was a pleasing to the exiled Kabalite, but if the hostility was turned towards them, she was not as keen on engaging it herself.

The hue of the armor was not immediately familiar to Iskarya, but the Kabal or Coven that these Drukhari served did not matter as much. They were still potential enemies. But, if nothing else, she grinned wolfishly at the prospect of taking some spoils of war from their corpses. Drukhari armaments were not easy to come by as an exile.

And no soul tasted as sweet at the moment of agonized death as that of her own kin.

They were, for the moment, out of range of her weaponry. But whether Baltasar had planned on their crew advancing closer was yet to be decided.

Iskarya dropped to a low crouch, shardcarbine held at the ready as the exiled kabalite warrior watched the ensuing scuffle with rapt attention and glee at the violent bloodshed hidden behind the imposing mask of her helmet.

”Are we to engage in battle now, my Lord?” Iskarya asked of Baltasar. He could, perhaps, make out the nuanced giddiness at the prospect in her cold tone.

[Forum Explorer]

Verg didn't say anything. He merely took aim at the closest of the Dark Eldar not named Iskarya. The beast was new though. Verg wanted to dissect the thing, and see if it was some new xenos species, or some bio-engineered weapon that the Dark Eldar had created.

[Janwin]

Upon cresting the hill and seeing the scene before them, Ambrus does his best to bunker himself down between some of the rocks and sets up his pulse rifle. He takes aim at whichever of the xenos group appears to be its leader and awaits instructions from the Captain on what their plan of attack would be.

Perception to try and see if there's any others that might be sneaking around: [roll0] vs TN 59
Full Action: Aim

[Valmark]

Baltasar unsheated his power sword, nodding.
"A ground littered with corpses is enough of a business card. But let's leave the limping one alive- he should help provide info on what the hell is happening. And fire away on the beast, I don't want it anywhere near us while alive" he said, before creeping towards them.
"I've got the bad feeling that they might kill the wounded one since it's slowing them down... Dunno if it's something eldars do. Ghost, you can take a shot even from here right? If you notice something like that shoot freely, it would be harder to take one of the others alive"

You all should probably go before me, since I don't have any skill to stealth around. At least those who have it. Anyway, stealth check! Can't remember the name vs TN 23

[roll0]

I'm sticking to covers.

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat doesn't bother to answer Balthasar, creeping along in the shadow of the snow-covered cliffs towards the fight. When the others open fire and start drawing attention, it would give him the chance he needs to close to combat range. The Boss wants at least one of them alive, apparently, and Ar'khaat would do his best to comply; shock mauls weren't the most precise of instruments in that regard, unfortunately.

[MechaMaestro]

Sabina, not seeing much use of her skills elects to simply hunker down and see what happens.

[Henry the 57th]

Seconds tick anxiously by as some of the intrepid explorers opt to attempt to close in on the foul aliens without being detected. Creeping between jagged outcroppings of rock, praying that the wind drowns out the sounds of boots on snow, is no task for the faint of heart. Every step from the beginning is accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh and muted grunting, hot blood splashing audibly across the ground as the titanic beast takes its fill. For those who still have a heart, the situation grows steadily worse as the sounds of human screaming begin to intermingle with the bloody feast, accompanied by the occasional musical bark of alien laughter.

As they get close, the tearing ceases, leaving the wind and shrieks carried upon it as the only ambiance. Peering out from where they crouch in low cover much closer to the Eldar, the explorers can see the three aliens hunched over several writhing humans, apparently making a game of slicing them with obviously poisoned knives according to the outcome of some black metal icosahedron. The towering monster, jaws and a pair of forearms now soaking with softly steaming blood, starts towards one of the humans they haven't gotten to yet. Almost instantly, one of the three rounds on it.

"Síos, a mhon-cias!" The white-armored Eldar snaps at the creature easily thrice as high at itself, with arms as thick as its thin xenos body. "Bhí do scair agat!"

The creature backs down easily, cringing back from the small alien like a whipped cur.

Anyone creeping forwards can get to within 30m of the closest Dark Eldar and 35m from the giant beast before the terrain become open enough that sneaking closer is nearly impossible. You still have a surprise round available.

The alien said "Down you mongrel! You've had your share!"

As you creep slowly forwards, you scan the area around you for hidden threats. It takes a minute, but a telltale gleam of the fading sun on metal draws your eyes to one of the rock formations that the Eldar descended from. Nestled on top on its alien stomach, white armor seemingly all but one with the packed snow, is a fourth Eldar with an oddly elongated rifle. Unlike the others, this one doesn't seem to be breaking cover to play with the humans.

[Janwin]

Over the micro-bead, Ambrus quietly whispers, "Hostile sniper on overwatch. Give me a moment, and on my mark once you're in position, we move."

He then adjusts his position slightly to adjust his aim to the Eldar with the long rifle. As the others slowly pick their way forward, he takes his time to observe his foe through the optics of the xenos weapon. Once everyone is in position as close as they can get, a few lengthy seconds go by as he slows his breathing, concentrates on his target, and finally pulls the trigger of his pulse rifle. A hail of fully-automatic pulses of plasma flies toward the sniper, signifying Ambrus' certainty that there could be no question about removing that threat before it might cause any of them harm. It was probably overkill, but it was better safe than sorry when dealing with Eldar with what appeared to be sniper weapons.

Forbidden Lore (Xenos) to try and figure out what the rifle is: [roll0] vs TN 60

Full Round: Aim (Delaying)
Half: Full-Auto Attack | [roll1] vs TN 117 (BS 47 + 20 Full Auto + 30 Surprised + 20 Aim)

Up to 4 shots can connect.
Damage 1: [roll2]+3 | 14 Pen 4 Head
Damage 2: [roll3]+3 | 16 Pen 4 Head
Damage 3: [roll4]+3 | 12 Pen 4 Arm
Damage 4: [roll5]+3 | 18 Pen 4 Body

Possible Righteous Furies:
[roll6] vs TN 117 | [roll7]
[roll8] vs TN 117 | [roll9]
[roll10] vs TN 117 | [roll11]
[roll12] vs TN 117 | [roll13]
[roll14] vs TN 117 | [roll15]
[roll16] vs TN 117 | [roll17]

[Valmark]

"Everyone, as Ambrus said" Baltasar whispered to them and took position waiting for Ambrus sign, sheating the sword and pulling out his other gun, ready to jump up.

So, I've got an autopistol, a laspistol and a Good Handcannon connected tl the MIU.

The Autocannon shoots in Full Auto:
To hit [roll0] vs TN 91 (assuming +30 for surprise)

Damage up to six hits with pen 0:
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]

The laspistol shoots in Single:
[roll7] vs. TN 71

Damage pen 0: [roll8]

The hand cannon shoots in single:
[roll9] vs TN 71

Damage [roll10] pen 2

All the hits are on the nearest Eldar- possibly not the limping one homewever.

[Forum Explorer]

Verg opens fire on Eldar tormenting the humans, confident that the barrage Ambrus released eliminated the sniper.

Semi-Auto into the Eldar

[roll0] vs 45+20 (Aim)+10 (Semi-Auto)+30 (Surprised)=105. 1 additional Hit per 2 degrees of success, max 3.

Damage
[roll1] Pen 7 Hits [roll2] Body!

[roll3] Pen 7 Hits Body! Righteous Fury! for +7 Damage

[roll4] Pen 7 Hits Arm!

[roll5] Pen 7 Hits Head!

Righteous Fury
[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]

[Erulasto]

Iskarya crept towards the fight, low and swift. Her ears pricked at the coldly beautiful tongue of her people, and the words brought a grin of vile pleasure to her masked features. Of course. It was the pet of the Haemonculus covens that dwelt in the Dark City.

The exiled Kabalite all but ignored the voices of her comrades over the vox, instead carefully lining up her shardcarbine towards the monstrosity. If anything, that was the target that would likely be the most deadly to them.

A heart-beat later, Iskarya opened fire on the beast, her shardcarbine silently releasing a salvo of toxin-infused splinters.



Semi-Auto Burst of 3 shots.

Shot 1 [roll0] TN 54
Damage [roll1] Pen 3
Shot 2 [roll2] TN 54
Damage [roll3] Pen 3
Shot 3 [roll4] TN 54
Damage [roll5] Pen 3

Storm weapon doubles successful hits. Toxic is a Toughness test at -5 per degree of success or take Impact damage.

Possible Poison Damage Rolls?
[roll6]
[roll7]
[roll8]

Dodge if attacked this round…

[roll9] TN 61

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat continues to skulk closer to the Eldar raiders, his skin mottled with blue and white in a perfect blending pattern against the snow and ice. The distraction of his allies should, with luck, let him get into range to attack an unwary target.


Full move towards the nearest enemy.
Concealment: [roll0] vs. 80

Fate, if necessary on a failure: [roll1]

[Henry the 57th]

The mountain valley erupts in a sudden blaze, cruel alien laughter cut off by the righteous blaze of weaponry. Balls of burning blue plasma fly overhead, catching the perfidious Eldar nestled atop his perch before he even has a chance to scream. His armor seared through and his xenos flesh boiled away in milliseconds, the smoking remains of his carcass are already tumbling down the rock face when more gunfire erupts from below. Baltasar erupts into a veritable storm of energy and ballistics, firing three guns simultaneously into the distracted xenos warriors. While many of his shots go wide of the mark, several bullets from his autopistol rake an Eldar across the chest and it drops to the ground. Verg opts for a more controlled spread, firing several las blasts in quick succession at a second foe, burning several holes through its chest armor and in one case right out through the other side. Needless to say, that alien likewise falls and does not rise. Iskarya's slender but elegant weapon ignores her kin and opts to spit several razor-thin shards of toxic crystalline ammunition precisely into the towering monstrosity, neatly penetrating its hide right about where she calculates its vitals might be.

The apparent sole survivor of the initial barrage, the Eldar with a visible and bloody wound about his leg, immediately snaps to attention as his comrades die around him. With reflexes doubtless honed by uncounted years of bloody internecine warfare on the streets of Commorragh, he takes a rolling dive across the ground for the nearest cover, a pistol appearing to match the blade in his hands before he has even gotten back to his feet. Meanwhile, the flesh-eating brute simply starts forward, apparently unconcerned about the poisonous crystals embedded in its torso.

Proper combat begins now. Please roll initiative in the OOC thread.

Kabalite Warrior Initative: [roll0]

Monster Initiative: [roll1]

Awareness vs. Ar'khaat: [roll2] vs. 45

[Erulasto]

No Haemonculi-crafted monstrosity would go down in the first volley - of that, Iskarya was sure. So its lumbering approach was no surprise.

Skipping back to keep distance between herself and the beast, the exiled Kabalite fired once more at its advancing bulk.



Single Shot [roll0] TN 54
[roll1] Pen 3
-5/hit Toughness test or take [roll2] impact damage.
Storm doubles hits.

[The Glyphstone]

With a high-pitched feral shriek, Ar'khaat bursts from his stalking crouch and flings himself through the air at the crouching Eldar, power maul sweeping in for a brutal and carefully calculated strike. If he can take this one alive, he will - there will be plenty of meat to feast upon from the other dead enemies.


Charging and attacking.
WS vs. 58,+5 Weapon, +10 Charge, +30 Unaware, total 103. [roll0] 6.6 Degrees of success.

On a successful hit, using Take Them Alive to trade -4 damage for 4 Fatigue.
1d10+11=12 Energy, Pen 4.
If the damage doesn't kill him and 4 Fatigue doesn't knock him unconscious, a Toughness test (+0) or be Stunned for 1 round per DoF.

[Henry the 57th]

The white-armored Eldar, thrust suddenly back into combat with his companions slain and only a monster by his side, reacts with speed and sureness suggesting this is not his first time in this situation. The splinter pistol in his hand is already targeting the human that made the most noise - Baltasar and his three guns - with hissing shards of poisonous crystal.

"Maraigh iad go léir!" he screams simultaneously at the towering brute. "A-"

Whatever else he intended to say is cut off by the sudden appearance of a screaming, mottled white and grey Kroot brandishing a crackling maul. Before the xenos has time to do more than jerk his helmeted head in the vague direction of this latest enemy, Ar'khaat's sweeping blow knocks his already-injured right leg right out from under him. The Eldar warrior falls face-first into the snow, and does not get up.

Semi-Auto Burst with Splinter Pistol against Baltasar: [roll0] vs. 51, additional hit for every 2 DoS, maximum three.

Damage: [roll1], Pen 3
[roll2], Pen 3
[roll3], Pen 3

-5/hit Toughness test or take [roll4] impact damage.

Since he doesn't know Ar'khaat is there, he doesn't get a reaction.

"Kill them all!" said in a noticeably hurried manner.

[Forum Explorer]

Verg switched his aim to the monstrosity and opened fire upon it.

Semi-Auto shots

To hit [roll0] vs 55 (45 base+10 Semi-Auto) 1 additional Hit per 2 degrees of success, max 3.

Damage: [roll1] Pen 7 Hits [roll2] Body!

Damage: [roll3] Pen 7 Hits Body!

Damage: [roll4] Pen 7 Hits

Rightious Fury
[roll5]
[roll6]
[roll7]

Ammo Count: 27 => 24

[Valmark]

Baltasar stood his ground, trailing his guns on the giant monster.
"Can those that speak Eldar make him understand the position he's in!?" Baltasar said, trailing his guns on the monster.

So, I've got an autopistol, a laspistol and a Good Handcannon connected to the MIU.

The Autocannon shoots in Full Auto:
To hit [roll0] vs TN 61

Damage up to six hits with pen 0:
[roll1]
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]
[roll5]
[roll6]

The laspistol shoots in Single:
[roll7] vs. TN 41

Damage pen 0: [roll8]

The hand cannon shoots in single:
[roll9] vs TN 41

Damage [roll10] pen 2

At the giant monster!

[Janwin]

"Looks like Ar'khaat took him down, so I think he knows now. Bring down the beast! I doubt that can be reasoned with!"

He shifts his target to the massive monstrosity, and opens fire once again.


Half Round: Aim
Half: Full-Auto Attack | [roll0] vs TN 77 (BS 47 + 20 Full Auto + 10 Aim)
Fate (if needed): [roll1]

Up to 4 shots can connect.
Damage 1: [roll2]+3 |
Damage 2: [roll3]+3 |
Damage 3: [roll4]+3 |
Damage 4: [roll5]+3 |
Messed up my rolls. Needed to use rollv for the purpose of knowing if Righteous Fury. Rerolled in OOC with correct code.

Damage 1: (2d10)[10][1](11)+3 | 26 Pen 4 to the Body
Damage 2: (2d10)[2][4](6)+3 | 12 Pen 4 to the Body
Damage 3: (2d10)[5][9](14)+3 | 17 Pen 4 to the Arm
Damage 4: (2d10)[4][5](9)+3 | 12 Pen 4 to the Head

Possible Righteous Furies:
[roll6] vs TN 77 | [roll7]
[roll8] vs TN 77 | [roll9]
[roll10] vs TN 77 | [roll11]
[roll12] vs TN 77 | [roll13]
[roll14] vs TN 77 | [roll15]
[roll16] vs TN 77 | [roll17]

Ammo: 28/36

[Henry the 57th]

Poisonous crystalline shards, bullets, beams of energy, and balls of plasma all rake across the thick hide of the Eldar's monstrous beast, punching and burning ragged holes into its flesh. Smoke, black and oily, drifts out of the wounds like some kind of gaseous blood, but the monster does not fall. Instead it shrieks like a starving hawk about to set upon meat and bounds forward on its four legs, using its lowermost pair of arms for even further speed, hurrying towards its downed master's side. The ground beneath Ar'khaat shakes with every step and as the roaring, screaming beast comes within arm's reach, it lashes out simultaneously with all three pairs of arms, fists the size of a human body raining an avalanche of blows down upon the Kroot.

Full Action: Charge against Ar'khaat. The monster's multiple pairs of arms grant it one extra attack per pair each time it attacks, even when charging.

Charge: [roll0] vs. 55
[roll1] vs. 55
[roll2] vs. 55

For every attack that hits:
[roll3], Pen 2
[roll4], Pen 2
[roll5], Pen 2

[MechaMaestro]

From an ideally safe vantage point Sabina watches the rest of the group at work, cheering them on at a reasonable volume as so not to reveal her presence and likely immediate demise.

[Erulasto]

Iskarya hissed in disgust. That the loping monstrosity still stood was aggravating, though the exiled Kabalite still felt a pang of amused wonder at the ferocity of it. The Haemonculi did good work.

Seeing it abruptly turn and besr down on Ghost, Iskarya howled with glee. Slinging her shardcarbine over her shoulder by its strap, she leapt forward into a serpent-swift charge. The power field on her savage agonizer talon flared to life as she sought to carve into the beasts hide.



Charge Action
[roll0] TN 69
Damage [roll1]E, Pen 7

Dodge if necessary [roll2] TN 61

[Forum Explorer]

With so many allies near the monstrosity, Verg decides to switch to single fire to ensure there is no friendly fire. He takes careful aim, and takes a shot.

[roll0] vs 55 (45+10 for Aim)

Damage: [roll1] Pen 7 Hits [roll2]


Righteous Glory
[roll3]

Ammo: 24 => 23

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat calmly watches the monstrosity bear down on him, not even flinching as it flails haphazardly in his general direction with its claws. Adding insult to injury, he disdainfully turns his back on the creature to examine the downed Eldar's vital signs. Whatever he finds doesn't appear to please him, but he gathers up its discarded weapons even as his skin blends into the blue-white hues of the snowfields once again, disappearing into thin air before the monster's frustrated eyes.


Half action to check vitals, half action to pick up weapons, Free action to Conceal.

8.2 DoS on the Concealment check.

[Janwin]

As the monstrosity doesn't go down in the barrage of fire from his xenos rifle, Ambrus is briefly surprised. I had heard stories about the creatures these Eldar create, but I always assumed they were exaggerations...

When Iskarya charges into combat with the monster, he curses under his breath and switches his xenos rifle over to semi-automatic. Continuing his rate of fire would pose an unnecessary danger to their xenos ally, and he didn't look forward to the idea of having to watch his back more than usual for the next few weeks if a stray shot were to hit her.

Half Action: Aim
Half Action: Standard Attack

Attack: [roll0] vs TN 57 (BS 47 + 10 Aim)
Damage: [roll1]+3 | 17 Pen 4 to the Body

Possible Righteous Fury:
[roll2] vs TN 57 | [roll3] [roll4] [roll5]

Ammo: 27/36

[Valmark]

Baltasar holstered a gun and pulled out his sword.
"Come on, it's almost down! I sure of it!" with that he shot a single bullet from his handcannon.

Changing from las pistol to power sword while shooting the Good Handcannon connected to the MIU.

The hand cannon shoots in single:
[roll0] vs TN 21 (not considering anything besides -20 because of melee)

Damage [roll1] pen 2

At the giant monster!

Also +10% to Iskarya's next test

[Henry the 57th]

The incoming fire slackens as the explorers further back slow their shots to attempt to avoid hitting their own comrades, and while not hitting the titanic beast seems all but impossible, far fewer of their projectiles seem to be getting through its thick hide or drawing its gaseous "blood". Iskarya too learns this lesson when she rams her Agonizer Talon onto what seems like a vulnerable joint on one of the beast's legs, only for it to bite on shallowly, drawing modest amounts of oily black gas at best. In turn, with the sudden apparent vanishing of Ar'khaat, the monster's attention immediately falls on the lone Eldar not wearing the colors of its masters. The beast doesn't hesitate to attack her, raising its torso high up above her head before bringing down all six of fists in a single sledgehammer blow.

Full Action: All Out Attack vs. Iskarya

Attack: [roll0] vs. 65
[roll1] vs. 65
[roll2] vs. 65

For every attack that hits:
[roll3], Pen 0
[roll4], Pen 0
[roll5], Pen 0

[Forum Explorer]

Verg opens fire once again, as he mentally begins to run down what he knows of Dark Eldar biology and what he can do to reattach a missing limb.


[roll0] vs 65 (45+10 for Aim+10 for Hulking)

Damage: [roll1] Pen 7 Hits [roll2] Body!


Righteous Glory
[roll3]

Ammo: 23 => 22

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'kaat gives another piercing war-screech as he leaps up at the back of the vat-brute's unprotected head, swinging his maul with all the force he can muster.


Making a Called Shot against the Head.
[roll0] vs. 58+5 Weapon+30 Unaware+10 Size = 103.
Damage of [roll1], test vs. Toughness or be Stunned.

[MechaMaestro]

From her vantage point, Sabina continues to watch the battle, debating if maybe her laspistol could bring down the giant monster. Probably not.

[Henry the 57th]

Even as it comes down on Iskarya like the wrath of an angry god, the beast is struck by more deadly blasts of energy, a Kroot warrior seeming to leap from nowhere onto its back. As it roars in equal parts pain and surprise, the savage xenos lands a vicious blow to the base of its skull, tearing open its thick hide. Ar'kaat is rewarded with a thick cloud of inky black smoke right in his face, a foul odor of rancid meat and inedible chemicals filling his nostrils. The monstrosity staggers, struggling to balance on its many limbs, before at last surrendering to the inevitable. Ar'kaat hops free of the creature just as it stumbles and collapsing onto the icy ground with a good deal less of an impact than its sheer size would suggest. Even as the hesitant survivors look on, its aspect rapidly diminishes, more and more smoke pouring from its body until a virtual column of the disgusting, oily stuff is reaching for the sky. The next moment the wind picks up, and the black smog vanishes as if it had never been. The bodies of humans and Eldar, some twitching and moaning, now lie sprawled out across the clearing, but of the titanic monster there isn't the slightest trace remaining.

[MechaMaestro]

Seeing that the coast is now clear, Sabina shuffles her way down to the rest of the group.
"Well, smashing job everyone, excellent use of extreme violence...and the xenos did well too I suppose."

[Forum Explorer]

That was an interesting phenomenon. Some form of self destruct? But why bother? Verg muttered, walking down to the dropped Eldar. He headed towards the incapacitated Eldar, planning on securing it.

[The Glyphstone]

Ar'khaat gives a human-like shrug and turns away from the oily stain. "Nothing left to eat. Who carrrrrres?"

Leaving the incapacitated-but-alive Drukkari to Verg, the Kroot instead turns to one of the dead Eldar and tears off a handful of meat to sample. Pronouncing it acceptable, he takes out his butchery knives and begins carving off the choicest bits of the lean, lanky xenos's flesh.

[MechaMaestro]

Sabina shivers uncomfortably, a combination of the cold and watching the Kroot start butchering one of the bodies. She unfolds her fan and uses it to block the latter from her vision. "Right, so I um...where to next Captain?"

[Henry the 57th]

As Verg moves forward to secure the wounded Eldar, he finds that the hateful xenos scum is no position to resist him. Dark red blood continues to ooze out of its wounded leg as he binds its limp hands, tainting the snow with such a deep crimson it appears almost black. His white-grey armor is covered in an unnecessary amount of spikes and blades though, such that making such he can't use them to cut his way out of any bonds is a challenge in and of itself. Ar'khaat for his part finds the meat of Eldar to be rather stringy and tinged with strange chemical substances. Not quite inedible, but odd tasting and probably not the best choice for a long-term diet.

Speaking of xenos scum, Baltasar and Ambrus are kneeling over the limp form of their own pet Eldar. Iskayra lies where she fell beneath the fists of the beast, dark blood and black armor blending together easily. The Rogue Trader and his second are engaged in hushed conversation, as though debating over whether she is salvageable or not. When Sabina gets close enough to be heard, Baltasar looks up at her.

"We're taking Iskayra back up before she bleeds out or freezes to death," the Rogue Trader tells the Astropath. ""I want you lot to keep going. See what all this is about and..." he looks around at the human bodies, clothed in white, laying sprawled out across the clearing. "See if these men have anything to say."

[MechaMaestro]

"By your word Captain. Shall I contact the teleportarium or would you prefer a shuttle be sent down?" She looks down at one of the twitching human bodies. "That said, are you planning on press ganging these ones? Because I could find out everything, but I cannot guarantee they will survive the process."

[Forum Explorer]

I recommend taking our prisoner with you. An open field is not conductive to a proper interrogation. Verg suggested, dragging the fall Dark Eldar over.

[MechaMaestro]

Seeing the good captain is distracted, Sabina walks over to whichever wounded human is looks to be the highest rank and still alive. "Hello there. I understand you seem to be in a bit of distress, but I was hoping you'd be able to say, give a bit of an explanation as to why you were in a battle for your lives with a collections of xenos. There might just be medical attention in it for you..." she asks, crouching down next to them.

[Henry the 57th]

"Wasn't planning on press-ganging them..." Baltasar mutters, before shaking his head. "Anyway, call a shuttle and tell them to bring medical servitors. She's lost a lot of blood. And some restraints for that one." He indicates the white-armored Eldar, who continues to slowly ooze dark red blood onto the snow.

The human dressed in the fanciest of their thick white clothing, even accented with fur, continues to twitch and moan from where he lies on the ice, blackened wounds visible where the xenos knife was almost delicately sliced across his skin. He struggles to sit up for a moment, pressing himself onto his elbows, before collapsing onto his back once again with a miserable-sounding groan. It's hard for anyone to make out his expression between the goggles over his eyes and the cloth covering most of his lower face, but from the sound of his voice, he isn't too happy.

"We... live here..." he pants in response to Sabina's question. "Generations... waiting... They attacked... no warning..." He gasps audible for air. "Weeks ago... in and out..." here has to pause for still more air. "This is... our home..."

[Forum Explorer]

Verg moves towards the wounded man, idly scanning him to see how injured he or any of his companions is.

Medicare check [roll0]

[MechaMaestro]

"...Hmph, a raiding party of some sort. Iskayra may be more knowledgeable. Tell me, is there anything of any value on the planet? I mean, to xenos, like a facility of some sort?" Sabina hopes to parse a little more information out before she sends a message up to the ship.

[Henry the 57th]

"Help us... damn you..." the injured man wheezes up at the astropath. "Others... not far..." He manages to point a single, trembling finger towards the west, where the sun is setting and the grey structure emerges from a mountainside. "Get help... before more come."

The men (and one woman) are obviously in a great deal of pain, deathly pallid skin crisscrossed with blackening veins. Most of them aren't fit to speak, much less walk, mostly twitching on the ground with faces contorted into what the Eldar obviously felt were amusing pictures of silent agony. Looking carefully over them, though, you notice pretty clearly that the aliens avoided fatalities wherever possible. The poisoned cuts are only skin deep, what shards of toxic crystals you can see are embedded far from anything vital. Only one of the eight humans is actually dead. The others won't be going anywhere fast and have much to suffer, but they don't seem like they're going to expire any time soon unless they freeze to death.

[MechaMaestro]

"...No need to be rude." Sabina says, getting to her feet. She takes a few steps aside to a clear spot and unfolds her fan. Any observer nearby watches as she begins to move her body in a slow graceful dance, as she calms herself in preparation for an Astral Telepathic message back to the ship.

[roll0] Invocation Target 74

[MechaMaestro]

Now properly focused and calmed, Sabina holds her arms wide as her eyes begin to glow a gradually growing stronger purple, as she carefully prods her mind into the churning storm of the warp, her target being Ordoius, currently standing on the bridge. As she is projecting her own voice into the warp, those who can hear her speak feel a strange array of emotions, covering the entire spectrum of humanity, her refined high gothic becoming warped and unusual, but calming at the same time.

"Ordoius...thy Mistress speaks."

[MechaMaestro]

[roll0] Target 89 (WP 44+25 (Buffed Psy Rating of 5 due to successful Invocation Roll)+20 Routine)

[Henry the 57th]

"My lady," comes Ordoius' reply a few seconds later. "How may I be of service to you this day?"

Meanwhile, from high above in the darkening sky, there comes a sound like a wailing banshee. A horrible, shrieking wail of a thousand souls being torn apart mixing with the groan of tearing metal. Anyone looking up sees a flash of some impossibly dark light, followed by a brilliant orange fireball. Baltasar, still trying to staunch the worst of Iskayra's bleeding, winces as the burning wreckage of what looks uncomfortably like part of an Imperial craft crashes into a mountainside, raining debris down its slopes.

"Sabina, make it quick," he calls over to her, eyes looking up as though become unpleasantly aware of just how exposed the group is from the air.

[Forum Explorer]

"Help us... damn you..." the injured man wheezes up at the astropath. "Others... not far..." He manages to point a single, trembling finger towards the west, where the sun is setting and the grey structure emerges from a mountainside. "Get help... before more come."

The men (and one woman) are obviously in a great deal of pain, deathly pallid skin crisscrossed with blackening veins. Most of them aren't fit to speak, much less walk, mostly twitching on the ground with faces contorted into what the Eldar obviously felt were amusing pictures of silent agony. Looking carefully over them, though, you notice pretty clearly that the aliens avoided fatalities wherever possible. The poisoned cuts are only skin deep, what shards of toxic crystals you can see are embedded far from anything vital. Only one of the eight humans is actually dead. The others won't be going anywhere fast and have much to suffer, but they don't seem like they're going to expire any time soon unless they freeze to death.

The poison should be non-fatal, no matter how agonizing it is. Verg informs the man. However, you will likely freeze to death before the effects fade. What cold weather gear do you possess?

[MechaMaestro]

"Our illustrious Captain requires the following, Sabina begins, "A light transport shuttle, medical servitors, and a couple of ratings to take control of a captured xenos. Have them bring restraints."

A sudden gust of wind reminds her of her current clothing situation.

"And send down one of my selections of cold weather clothing. Closet Section W, Selection 33...no 39. And hurry!"

[Henry the 57th]

"I hear you, milady," Ordoius replies a few moments later, followed by a short pause. "The shuttles you requested will be on sight within two minutes," he says following his silence. "I hope that will prove satisfactory."

"You... cold-hearted... machine bastard..." the injured man continues to grit his teeth up at Verg, in between twitching and low moans of agony. "Wearing... our gear," he manages to wheeze, sounding for all the world as if he'd like nothing more than to strangle the cyborg on the spot. Indeed, the men are wearing thick, insulated, hooded white clothing alongside protective goggles and some with wraps around their lower faces. Besides the obvious points wherein the clothing has been pierced with crystal shards or slashed open with blades, it seems to be covering them relatively well.

The two minutes spent shivering in the cold, waiting for the evac shuttles to come seem to drag on a good deal longer than they ought to. The world around the explorers continues to darken, shadows lengthening everywhere across the valley as the sun vanishes completely behind the mountains. The already horrid temperature only drops further as bitter winds pick up, carrying the echoing sounds of further gunfire and screaming from across this rocky terrain. Overhead, another aircraft plummets in flames, though its crash is so distant no one can tell quite who it belongs to. The men of the this outpost continue to writhe miserably on the ground the whole time, as alien toxins continue to stoke fire in their nervous systems.

Finally, floodlights hit the explorers' position from on high. An atmospheric insertion shuttle, having somehow managed to slip by the ongoing dogfight amidst the black skies, touches down in a hurry. A small team of armsmen, hellguns in hand, are the first down the boarding ramp, sweeping the area for potential threats with admirable swiftness before a tiny medical team and two servitors emerge. The latter quickly race towards Baltasar and Iskayra, the former begin dragging off slain or wounded xenos to experience the dynasty's hospitality.

"I still want you lot to keep going," Baltasar tells the explorers. "Find out what this place is all about, and what it might have to do with... well, you know." He looks around at the locals, still lying sprawled out in apparently undiminished agony. "Think we should take all these bastards back up with us, or you want one to give back to their friends?'

[Forum Explorer]

I would advise taking them back, Captain. In their present condition, they would only be a liability if fighting were to break out. And if we were to fail in our mission, they can provide a back up source of information once they recover. Verg suggested.

[MechaMaestro]

"I concur." Sabina says, now thankfully wrapped up in a long white winter coat made of incredibly expensive Valhallan Stirchi fur, trimmed with Astropath Green, matching mittens and a white fur hat on her head. "Besides, I am certainly not carrying him, and once they've been healed you can always return them before we leave this wretched ice ball."

[Henry the 57th]

"Wise enough," Baltasar nods as the white-coated humans are loaded onboard after the Eldar, masked armsmen ignoring their pleas or feeble threats along the way. "We'll see to them in orbit. You lot press on and see if you make contact with their friends. I won't leave you all alone, though," the Rogue Trader nods at the armsmen, and a trio of them detach, standing at ready next to Verg and Sabina. "Let me know if you find anything interesting."

With that, the Rogue Trader backs up the ramp into his shuttle, which shortly thereafter seals up behind him. The already-active engines whir into full life in seconds, lifting off almost the moment that the men on the ground are out of the way, punching hard and breaking for the atomosphere about as fast as any pilot would dare. It doesn't take long at all for the transport to vanish into the darkened skies, faint engine trail soon eclipsed by the flash of missiles and lascannons, peppering the sky with further explosions. Across the valley itself, the sounds of gunfire seem to be increasing in intensity and yet seem to be coming from ever more distant locals. The grey metal structure sticking out from the mountainside is briefly illuminated by a ruby red lascannon shot coming from within.

"Orders, sirs?" one of the armsmen, voice muffled by his all-concealing helmet. "Take it slow and steady or try and rush to the poor bastards in there?"

[MechaMaestro]

"Let's just get moving." Sabina says, starting to head off in the direction of things exploding and shooting.

[Forum Explorer]

It is best that we take our time. There is no benefit to blundering into the middle of a fight to try and save strangers.

[Henry the 57th]

The masked trooper looks at one of the explorers, then the other, and then the other, and then nods. The group trudges slowly and carefully through the darkened valley, with only starlight and the occasional fireball from overhead to illuminate their pathway. As they approach the facility, the sounds of autogun fire and the light hiss of Eldar weaponry grow ever louder, mixing with the thrum of engines far too soft to be Imperial in origin. Occasionally a blur of motion can be seen in the distance, something impossibly fast racing nimbly through the rock protrusions. The small group keeps their eyes peeled and their weapons to hand, but nothing more springs from darkness to attack them.

After an almost glacial slog through tight and confusing mountain valley, the Explorers arrive within what passes for visual range just as the sounds of combat seem to be winding down. Beneath the aegis of the protruding grey structure is spread a network of trenches painstakingly dug into the stony ground, reinforced with steel bulwarks obviously improvised from welded hunks of scrap, protecting a sealed set of double metallic doors built directly into the mountainside itself. But what is far more noticeable than what is left of the defenses are the bodies. Well over a hundred obviously human bodies can be seen sprawled out across the ground in various levels of intact-ness, from almost lifelike to scattered fragments of limbs. Whorls of exceptionally dark blood are spread almost artistically through the crisp white snow, forming intricate patterns that some might even call hypnotic. The ghastly scene spread out before the intrepid explorers is silent and still.

[MechaMaestro]

"Ah how...pleasant." Sabina says, looking around. "I suppose it's just as good we arrived late, or else we likely would have ended up like this lot." She murmers uncomfortably to herself upon seeing a particularly gruesome corpse. "I erm...I suppose the large doors would be our likely destination, yes?"

[Forum Explorer]

Indeed. Do not bother to inspect any corpses, at best you will disturb yourself, at worst they will be traps. Verg said, ordering their escort.

[MechaMaestro]

"Very good then." Sabina says, turning to the supporting team of voidsmen. "Right, let's go, lead on."