Fandom 40k Deathwatch: WAAAGH!!! Flashmaw

[Soviet Panda]

The Inquisitorial vessel, 'Heart of Hate', screamed through the Warp, perhaps literally given the nature of the realm it passed through. Many aboard were those loyal to Inquisitor Augustus, following his orders without question. Those few that weren't, were the indominable Space Marines of the Deathwatch. They had been sent by Watch Master Eradias, who had considered the Inquisitors request and deemed it one of the more important matters the Deathwatch had to deal with. Aboard were three kill teams, all of whom were currently circled around a hololith display. A floating image if the Inquisitor Augustus was lecturing these marines on what to expect when they exited Warp space.

"The space above Aerom Prime are not in Imperial control, and though the Heart and her crew are more than willing to sacrifice their lives to weaken the enemy, it is not the best interest of the Imperium to waste such resources." His thin, reedy voice cut through the static as he spoke. Many would call him annoying, were it not for the Inquisitorial rosette he had the habit of proudly displaying on his chest. "Instead the majority of our forces will be inserted via mass landers. Kill-teams Makarious and Hanzim will be landing at Aerom Hive Primus where it is expected to be the first target of the Orks. They shall be tasked with preventing the fall of the hive, by any means necessary. Should the Hive fall, the planet will fall. Kill-team Austion, you will be inserted behind enemy lines via drop pod within the ork camp. Find Flashmaw, kill the beast, and bring me his head as proof. You are dismissed."

And with that, the hololith recording cut out, leaving the Deathwatch members to prepare for their given tasks.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The tall, black-armoured figure stood at attention. The careful, slight glow of the hololith display poured over the space marine, uncannily highlighting his armour in a foreboding, midnight blue shade. Though the sharp helmet slits obscured the superhuman eyes of the marine, they were keenly interested in the stratagem. Berastos Naruron Chirosteran of the Raven Guard is not a trusting individual so to him, the plan seemed ill conceived and shabby. He raises his head, the midnight blue sheen faded back into black. Targeting reticules sweep the gathered party. From Austion to inquisitor Augustus, it was as if they could almost tell his shackled disapproval though he offered no word.

"As you say, Inquisitor Augustus." Servos clicked ever so slightly as Berastos nodded to the dismissal. Stepping away, his movement became so light, almost soundless that it betokened predatory cruelty unlike his Raven Guard brethren. The meagre human crew, which serviced the 'Heart of Hate' diligently, froze when they noticed the towering monolith pass them. A twinge of fear in their spine, their gut, and their heart. Despite His Angel being unequivocally on their side, the serfs could not help their emotions.

During the preparation, Berastos requisitioned the standard combination of weaponry; a Hesh-pattern Bolter and stalker bolt-pistol. These weapons did not hold any significance to him other than combative preference. The truly distinguished had been the blade which rested by his hip. Anamnesis. A power sword belonging to the Astartes' former squad leader which he relinquished upon Berastos' joining of Deathwatch. It remained sheathed in the finest reinforced leather edged by an auramite chape and locket. With his firearms maglocked to his armour, Berastos drew the blade free. He brandished it meditatively. By appearances, it resembled a simple blade of shimmering onyx.

He spoke at last. "Four." He voxed to the rest in a low, grumble. "An unpleasant number. The greenskins will be relentless." He commented grimly. "Fortune may be on our side, however - the battle should divert the attentions for many of them, perhaps leaving behind only a skeleton number to maintain their camps." Said Berastos sheathing the blade. "Brothers, I am Berastos Naruron Chirosteran of the Raven Guard." Spoken with a dispassionate edge, almost as if he was uninterested in introducing his own name and Chapter. They would've also known his name from the identification rune in their helmets anyway.

SourK Karcen americanCaeser Soviet Panda

 

[SourK]

Zadkiel stood towards the back of the group so as not to crowd his fellow marines with the hulking mass created by the servo-harness that clung tightly to his back and cocconed the techmaine like a mechinical monster. Despite the best efforts or desire for poignant silence, Zadkiel's very presence denied it with the constant low whine of servos and gears powering the four servo arms at his back alongside the various strange attachments that allowed the techmarine to create, repair and destroy as his work required. Even the scent of the room was disturbed by his attendance as the smell of ungents, incense and oils used by the Cult Mechanicus lingered strongly from his gear and the faint audible crackling discharge of atmospherics from his cog-shaped power axe. Above his left shoulder sat a mounted bolter that moved in synch with his head via the targeting link in his helmet.

The Techmarines footsteps were heavy as he moved slighlty closer as the kill teams assembled to discuss the mission yet his movements had a drill like precision as he walks which was add odds to the bulk and seemingly cumbersome harness and attachments. His right pauldron displayed the Dark Angels emblem and instead of an aquila, a skull-faced cog of the mechanicum sat on his chest. "I agree Brother". His voice was similarly distorted but with an uncharacteristically up-beat tone. "It seems we are lacking in vital information regarding the Xenos concentration or composition of there forces. Yet we have our duty and so will have to make do. I am Zadkiel and i look forward to serving and if needs be dying with you all on this mission." He did not mention his chapter of origin as it would be known to all here and deep in his mind he drew a sense of pride and pleasure from the fact. "Should you need anything repaired or modified then i shall be glad to assist you."

 

[americanCaeser]

"Four is harder to spot than a dozen, and I wouldn't feel confident dropping in the middle of a war camp without a company of backup." Austion affirmed. "But we have all the information we need. The warboss is in his camp, we can improvise from there. The Emperor knows the only uniformity Orks share is a lack of it, especially when it comes to organization."

The Conservator was at first... apprehensive about his assignment as the leader of a kill team, and even approached the Inquisitor about a transferal of new leadership. Surely there was someone more experienced than he, but the Inquisitor had reaffirmed Austion's and his chapters short but thorough history with the Greenskins and his innate understanding of their psychology was necessary for this operation and he aquiesced. If his brothers were rankled at being led by a marine from a distant, no-name chapter then he would just have to address those problems as they came up. Still, he restlessly gripped the handle of his own blade as they walked through the halls of the Heart of Hate, a habit he had formed to reassure himself and focus his mind. He felt no fear, but no matter how much geneseed changed a man he was still just a man.

"I would also prefer avoid the latter outcome, brother Zadkiel. Can't serve the Emperor from the grave." Austion smiled at his quip before turning around to face the three other astartes, bringing a fist to his black breastplate as he walked backwards to keep pace. "I am Sergeant Austion, of the Conservators."

There was a lack of recognition at the name so Austion clarified. "Son's of Dorn, of the Asharn Marches."

Still nothing. He turned around, having tried his best.

"I have extensive experience with the Greenskins, which is why I was appointed commander of the Kill Team. I will of course defer to you all, for you each have experience in fields beyond me that will undoubtedly be useful in our mission."

 

[Karcen]

Librarian Rurion Chror
Location: Heart of Hate​

Xenos were not Rurion's specialty, he had studied them and fought them, but he didn't know them in and out like the deathwatch did. His chapter and calling were in truth in the knowledge and destruction of warp born daemons. He still did wish to study the Xenos and while the group he knew the most about were the eldar, thanks to inquisitorial libraries, he knew the orks were connected to the warp. They had their own gods who must exist in the warp and with the numbers of the green skins where were their gods? That was a question few had but Rurion did and the best way to get an answer was to study the species that worshiped those warp brings. That being said Rurion didn't know ork tactics he understood they always went toward whatever looked like the most dangerous situation. There was plenty more Rurion knew of orks and their ways he had been on Armageddon, but the orks there had been a secondary threat.

One thing did bug Rurion from what he understood of ork commanders why wasn't he at the front? Rurion had understood the warboss lead because he was the strongest like the followers of khrone, but were they not required to prove their strength? There had been more than one occasion where Rurion had stopped at khrone aligned warband by calling out their leader. In understanding the ruinous powers it was good to learn what their followers were expected to do and thus use that against them. The followers of the blood god could not turn down a challenge could a warboss? If they could find the boss and declare a challenge perhaps he would have to engage in solo combat or loss his position? Rurion would have to trust the others to know how best to deal with greenskins and how to disrupt their organizations better than him. Their target was set so they would not fail Rurion would make sure of it he had fought far worse then greenskins and survived.

" Let us just hope these greenskin's leader is not as skilled as the Beast of Armageddon " Rurion spoke shifting ever so slightly as the runes engraved into his armor that had been covered by the black paint reflected the lights with their strange angles. " I am Librarian Rurion Chror of the Exorcists " Ruion introduced himself simply no mentions of great achievements of accolades given despite him having having mentioned Armageddon. Despite his armor being the most recent and him having the improvements that the primaris did Rurion was a first born as they were now called and had plenty to boast about.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Whilst the rest introduced both themselves and their thoughts, Berastos paced around the sombre armoury in a slow, methodical manner. Despite the obvious predatory movement, the thumps of his sabatons had been so mute that it sounded more subtle taps against the riveted floor. A low pitched, guttural laugh can be heard through the grill of the Raven Marine's helmet. It is not mocking, nor mirthful but simply resolute. Accepting of their fates and perhaps, he found humour in the librarian's choice of comparisons.

He gestured to the hooded librarian. "Of that I am certain. This one won't be like the Beast, however the green filth should not be underestimated." He reassured, the orkoid xenos is formidable indeed, but they do not easily accrue into an unstoppable force. Whether by the leader's impulsive decision-making, consistent challenges which temporarily destabilize them, or terrible fortune does not matter why.

His helmet swivels to Brother Austion next. "I am in agreement, four is certainly harder to spot than a dozen. That is if our infiltration is not directly into the heart of their camps, still if we do not find the Warboss then stealth may play an important part in the game. And If we act with haste, the bedazzled xenos would not know what struck them. We cannot afford indolence in either way." Advisement is crucial, they have need of strategy. Or at least general plan. He'd prefer, in the words of gene-sire, "I never care what the enemy intends to do, for they will never be allowed to do it." however in time, Berastos learned that cannot always be the case, a point which hinged on his brothers and the enemy itself.

"What of you, Brother Zadkiel? Have any words, of caution or advantage, to share on the greenskins' technology?"

 

[SourK]

Zadkiel listened to his new battle brother speak but his main attention was on speculatintg and possible formations of the Ork base. It was impossible to guess how it woul;d be structured precisely but in his experience they often had some similarities and the Warboss was almost always camped at the centre in order to enforce control over the other potetial rabble rousers. Zadkiel's primary focus shifted when he heard the question directed to himself. he considered the question for a few moments before answering matter of factly. "It is impossible to say with any certainty. Ork weaponry can range wildly and it mostly depends on availability of resources, time and the inventiveness of their Meks. Usually their weaponry is overly simplistic, they favour blunt brutality and ease of use but on occasion they are capable of overly complex weapons or vehicles that should not work as effectively as they do. It is rare that we are able to replicate the effects of their more bizarre tech heresy and in many cases it is too dangerous to attempt to take the devices apart ourselves. I am sure i do not have to remind anyone here of the destructive capability of Ork weapons and armour. My best advise is to never make assumptions. An Ork missle is as likely to explode on impact as it is to disgorge gretchin or squigs. Orks are a strange breed even amongst other xenos."

 

[Soviet Panda]

The Heart of Hate shuddered, shortly followed by a short command through the ship's vox systems. "All crew, battle stations, prepare for Warp exit." The pace of all mortal crew increased, though it remained disciplined, with no step out of place. It was expected that the space around Aerom would be in ork control, having easily smashed aside the PDF fleet, and so would have to fight it's way close to the planet's atmosphere to drop it's pay loads before having to claw it's way free. They did not, however, expect a battle to still be raging. The fight was centered around one orbital station, where a tight cordon of PDF and Naval ships were weathering the storm of fire coming from hundreds of different and varied weapons. The PDF must have sent a distress signal, and were lucky enough to have been heard and responded to by a nearby naval patrol. It was a welcomed distraction.

Heart of Hate burned towards the planet, intent on it's goal. It's journey, however, did not go unnoticed. Two ork vessels that could roughly be categorized as frigates peeled off from the frantic brawl for the space port, intent on claiming what they deemed an easy kill. Two vessels soon turned to one, however, as the larger of the two vessels opened fire on it's peer, and promptly destroying it.

None of this was seen by the majority of the various kill teams, of course, tucked away in their various transports. The only signs of danger was the sudden lurch as the first of the ork weaponry hit the void shields and the booming report of their own weaponry. It seemed to last for hours, but if one were to watch their chronometer they would know that it was only a matter of minutes before they were signaled to begin their decent.

Those of Kill-Team Austion were hurled from the belly of the Heart, a pin pricks of light descending towards the planet below. The bone shattering impact of their landing was swiftly followed by the chatter of the bolt guns, and the hiss of the drop ramps. The first sight of the ork camp the kill team had was not a pleasing one. They had landed in a Grot warren, many of the dregs of ork society having been crushed to a pulp by the landing pod, burnt to a crisp by it's retro thrusters, or blown to smithereens by the bolter fire. They were given a moment's reprieve, to prepare themselves, before the orks that were left in camp began to trickle in to the fight that had landed on their doorstep.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Berastos nodded succinctly to the techmarine's observation. It had gotten him to stop pacing back and forth, in time to brace the ship's throes. Berastos examined the room with beady lenses, the white thunderbolt that scythed down his eye-guard was bathed in the vessel's glow-globe above him. He concluded that the Heart of Hate's speed had increased, likely screaming towards Aerom Prime with a fury to match its namesake. The Raven Guard spouted off in lowly, tapered syllables. The others could likely not make out the sounds, even with their superhuman hearing and auto-senses, these were foreign words to them either way.

Without another utterance, Berastos and his battle-brothers were folded into the metal seams of the landing pod. The dark-confines of the pod proved both inviting and agonizing. The memory of that event burned so brightly in Berastos mind. He'd been both the first and the last one to catch onto what was happening, to what happened... First came the rapturous song of bolter fire then the maddened warcries, each more blasphemous and profaning than the last, at the end came thuds of ceramite-leaden bodies with smoky trails from newly-formed orifices.

He'd kill many that day, many that he could not believe fell for that treacherous enemy.

The brief reminiscence of anguish was broken when the drop pod broke the planet's atmosphere. He looked towards his new brothers in the Deathwatch, puzzling together their thoughts. Is Zadkiel reciting a prayer to the pod's machine spirit? The new leader strategizing an audacious if perilous plan? And the librarian, is he honing the literal spear that is his mind?

Berastos tossed aside those idle thoughts as a guantlet rose to the pod's harness over his massive form. Seconds later, they touched down on the planet's surface. The ramps hissed open like a flower in bloom. Revealing their position with a chorus of explosive bolts. The rocket-propelled projectiles made short work of the stragglers spared death by the pod's impact and burning thrusters. He wasted no time, moving hastily away from the landing sight with bolter rifle raised and scanning the greenskinned xenos' detestable 'warrens.' He wanted to spit acid at it.

This reprieve won't last long, if at all, but he waits for his team leader's plan.

 

[SourK]

Zadkiel ran final diagnostic checks via the servoharness connection as the drop pod rattled and shaked under the tremondous G forces that would reduce a normal human internals to a fine jelly or paste. The diagnostics came back clear again and he silently recited the litanies of battle taught his chapter before offering a final blessing and benendiction to machine spirit in his armour, weapons and servo-harness. the impact rocked the pod and he waited for the others to deploy first to prevent accidental injury with his bulky form. He emerged from the pod and stretched out his limbs in readiness of potetial threats and becan auspec scannigng for signs of the enemy as his mounted bolter tracked his vision and the activation of his power axe disrupted the air nearby with a crackle of burning ozone.

He stomped forward ahead and braced anchored himself to the ground with one of his servo arms to assist with the recoil. His voice thick with vox static could be heard over thee squads assigned channel ++Zadkiel, taking overwatch position. We should proceed swiftly before the greenskins regroup Brothers++.

 

[Karcen]

Librarian Rurion Chror
Location: drop pod​

Rurion focused as they plunged through the skies down into the green skins. A drop pod assault could be the key to victory a surprise attack where the enemy expected it least or it could leave those in it easy targets for countless enemies with no hope of survival. Ancient words swam through Ruion's minds chants that would be blasphemous to others that did not understand the need for them. Others might be corrupted with the knowledge , but the exorcists chapter was made to not fall, tested for corruption and even made unseen to being s of the warp, he would not fall. Focusing Rurion started to gather power, to take the shapeless energy of the warp and shape it with his mind. While other librarians of other chapter might brute force power out of the wrap and beat it into shape, Rurion was more delicate in his warpcraft. It was not exactly working with the warp, but using what he knew to gather and shape it far more easily than most psykers might.

The the drop pod burst open Rurion took count of the orks and lesser greenskins before him and raised his hand. Rurion in a flash stretched out his hand and lightning leapt from his fingers tot he greenskins. The warp lightning scorched where it hit boiling the insides of the few green skins it hit. Rurion planned to use his psyker might and force weapon as much as possible, he didn't need to waste his ammo if he could help it.

" Shall we seek out the leader or will we need to cause more noise for him to notice?" Rurion asked their job was to kill the warboss so they had to focus on trying to do that fast unless they needed to retreat and return should the boss prove to great for them. Such a notion might make other call him a coward but Rurion had seen what warbosses could become so he would err on the side of caution.

 

[americanCaeser]

"Negative. The challengers must come to the Warboss, not the other way around."

Austion's bolter snapped up and fired half a dozen shots, killing each Ork (a larger runtherder and it's assisstants, most likely enraged how the Marines had murdered their charges) with a clean head shot each. Habit from a lifetime of strict ammo conservation. Pressing a finger to his helmet auspex observing the rough digital map of the stronghold that he aquired from the Heart of Hate before striking, he noted a few familiar building formations the orks often constrcted. A motor pool, latrines, slave pens... No central area where the Boss would most likely be. Instead, Austion marked a point nearby.

"Brothers, I've marked a rally point at roughly the center of the camp. Split up and make your way there, avoid pitched engagements. We must confuse the greenskins to our number and location to prevent them from mounting and offense, so do not get bogged down and watch each others backs if possible. If we let them concentrate around us, we die. Brother Zadkiel, attempt to identify the warboss' headquarters. It will most likely be the largest building in the compound, confirm by matching the markings on it with the warboss' sigil. Transmitting now."

Four individual marines, wreaking havoc at seemingly random points throughout the camp was much harder to track and contain than four Astarte's moving as a unit. The chaos would extend the surprise and confusion long enough to allow them time to identify Flashmaw's location. An Ork boy lept out from the shadows, a chipped cleaver held over his head as he brought it down onto Austion's head. Austion merely side stepped the blow and drew his own sword in an instant. The greenskin stumbled forward for a few more feeting before it's top half tumbled to the ground, bisected at the waist. Austion had already sheathed his sword before finalizing his command.

"Move."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

At his battle brother's call, Berastos lasers off in one of the cardinal directions. The plan appeared judicious although Berastos likely only approved of it because they dispersed in all directions. He is the one most accustomed to this battle tactic. The wretched shadows of this hacksawed, jumbled jungle of scrap steel and gnarled wood. Flanked by orkish symbols cruelly, and inelegantly, etched into the surfaces of their buildings. The shadows had a dampness too that the dark stalker tasted through the respirator of his vox grill.

But this had not been a sneaking mission; Berastos was quick to remind himself. A pair of Ork boyz barrel down a narrow alley-street while he crotches behind a niche. Breathing crawls as Berastos focuses on their uneven footfalls. The sounds of combat: artillery, warcries, weaponfire and the clangs of melee weapons set an amusing orchestra. A background to which he could work to his content. They edge closer. One is larger than other, the Raven guard surmises from its thumping and the distinct tinking of cobbled-together armour. A few paces more. Berastos' right hand falls to the mag-locked bolter pistol. Now! A gauntlet shoots out of the crevice's umbra snatching the green wrist of an Ork. It gurgled surprise and tried to pull away only to fish the Raven Guard out of his hide. Using the momentum Berastos whips the heinous, rough face and pointed "teef" with the butt of his bolter pistol. Sending several molars and gobbets of its gums away. His friend fared no better caught off-guard by the surprise attack, he tried to aim a crude rifle at the space marine only to be perforated by the bolter pistol's retort. Stark terror and boiling rage swept across the larger ork's face, his voice roared in defiance. Only to be silenced as Berastos pointed the muzzle of his pistol at its chest then fired. Dark crimson pools out of its wounds as Berastos tucks his weapon under its jaw and fires again. Splattering bits of skull and whatever amounted for an Ork brain onto the dirt.

Another band of Orkz approached from ahead firing wildly and screaming even more wilder. Berastos snaps to the big choppa dropped by the bigger ork, he sidelines his pistol and throws the crude axe-hammer-thing in a windmill motion. He didn't need to fight all of them, remembering Austion's barked words. He'll continue these strike-and-evade tactics until he reaches the coordinates. With his speed, they'll think there's more than one of him.

 

[Soviet Panda]

The small kill team wreaked havoc on the unprepared ork encampment. Orks and Grots were killed in the dozens, each member carving a bloody path of their own, falling back to the fighting styles preferred by their individual chapters. However, like a great beast slowly awakening, more dangerous threats began to materialize. The most blatant threats were the Flashgitz, who's snazzguns roared death as their wielders hooted and hollered with glee, the volume of fire mowing down any greenskin slow at getting out of the way. These Austion were confronted with, their maniacal laughter all the louder in the sudden silence as they reluctantly pulled their fingers off of whatever passed for a trigger as they were forced to reload or let the weapon cool.

Zadkiel was met with a blasphemous abomination. A Deff Dred marched it's way through the camp, having heard the commotion and wanting a proper scrap, no doubt. Two over sized claws snapped at the air while a flamer and big shoota fired madly into the air around it. It carved a path of destruction all it's own as it crushed through paths to narrow for it. It let out a mechanical roar as it saw the lone techmarine, and charged.

Librarian Rurion was met with one of the two quieter threats. With deft blasts of plasma, strikes from his force halberd, and pulses of psyker energies, he fought his way for into a particularly large section of the makeshift camp. The orks he had just been fighting had seemingly vanished into thin air. There was one, however, hitting it's head with it's hands, grots pulling at copper chains to turn it to face the librarian. Once it's glowing green eyes were visible, it was obvious what the creature sent to deal with him was. The Weird Boy began to open his jaws. Further and further still they spread, impossible even for this breed of xenos. And then it began to roar. It shook the ground, the air quivering with it's might, the the psykic wave that was unleashed was immense, like a physical blow to the librarian.

Berastos met the quietest orks of them all, they were so quiet as to be almost unorky. So skilled were they, that one managed to tap a knife on the Raven Guard's pauldron. "We'z got ourselves a propa stealthy un 'ere, boyz," it whispered, sounding like a rather large and annoyed bee was trapped in a glass jar rather than the usual roar, before ducking whatever blow came at it and disappearing once more into the shadows. "Let's show deez beakies 'ow Mork likes it."

 

[Karcen]

Librarian Rurion Chror
Location: Ork camp, weird boy area​

Rurion felt it before he saw it. The energies of the warp twisted swirled and exploded outwards all at the same time as the boys around him seemed to vanish. Rurion was no stranger to the arcane techno sorcery of the teleportarium. Rurion didn't understand how it did what it did but he knew the devices tore holes in the warp and sent one through it to a location selected by the controller's, most often to a beacon, but this was something else. Well not entirely as he was sure that the boys had been teleported, but it was done without a device to aid them or a beacon. This was something he really only saw the deamons of chaos do for to all others it was beyond dangerous to move even one person through the warp blindly. Then the unfocused forces of the warp congeled and became something primal as the source of the teleportation was dragged out. A weird boy a psyker Ork or from what he understood the most powerful of ork psykers as all were to a degree of some sort.

Rurion barely had a moment to full take in the creature's visage, the chains, the glowing eyes, the smaller green skins seeming to need the shepherd, before Rurion was forced to deal with it's raw might. As the weird boy's jaw opened Rurion coudl feel it seemingly becoming a blackhole for energy as it drank in more and more. Rurion himself had to draw in power all psykers drew in power , but this was different there was no care for how much the beast could take just gathering as much as it could. Rurion had just a fraction of a second for his super human reflexes to trigger and for him to brace himself as the wave of energy the beast had gathered was unleashed. Fighting the forces of chaos, Rurion had come to face many different forms of warpcraft and even employ them, but never had he encountered something primal so blunt as Ork psykers. There was not craft to this, no shaping of the warp into something new and manifesting your thoughts, this was just power. Planting his force spear into the ground Rurion felt the wave of energy wash over him, the wards inlaid in his armor flared to life the energies they were meant to counter powering them just as much as the energies trying to blow him away. Still the wards were meant for more complex spell, meant to tear apart at the order of the energies and force them to dissipate. There was no order to disrupt just force.

Rurion felt himself being pushed back even with his spear planted and could not simply rely on his wards to protect him force had to be met with force or perhaps the lack of it. Rurion focused his mind gathering up the energy of the warp even as it blasted by him and unlike the weird boy he refined it , shaped it, created what he knew and wanted before he unleashed it. Vortex of doom, the power manifested as Rurion let one hand go of his spear and stretched it out. Unseen to tall save Rurion and perhaps the weird boy reality was thinned and thinned as a hole was tore into the warp itself. The very plane where the energy the pyskers used no longer gushed forth energy, but rather started to suck it up. This power could destroy foes hurling them into the warp, but for now all it did was act like a drain in a tub sucking up the energy of the weird boy.

The green beast rather than looking angry about it's power being counter in fact looked like it was feeling better, or at least Rurion thought it did. The ork spoke some gibberish to it's handler and Rurion decided to take this opportunity. He would rather have one foe over two and while the little greenskin was nothing even to it's allies Rurion had seen even other astartes brought low by forgetting these creatures. In one swift motion Rurion raised his plasma pistol and took aim then fired. The shot struck true and the little greenskin was without it's head. Rurion hadn't got for the weird boy because he suspected it would have had some defense, some way to blunt the damage his weapon could do.

The beast roared and Rurion felt new energies swirling about it as it roughly formed a power. Rurion at almost the same instant formed his own and between the two lightning crackled and lashed like serpents as the two mind contested each other. The ork was powerful and if the two were fighting purely on might then it would overwhelm Rurion, but Rurion was no mere man and was skilled far beyond any green skin so even as he maintained the electric duel he called upon yet another power, Might of heroes. Even as the jolts of power threatened to overwhelm him Rurion felt the power flood through him as he let go of his own electricity and rolled out of the way at speeds even other astartes would feel were impossible.

Spear in hand Rurion decided to take advantage of his new might and seep to charge the Ork and try to end this swiftly. Even as Rurion moved with his enhanced speed the Weird boy called upon another power as Rurion sought to bring his spear down he found it's decent halted. The copper staff covered with crude icons had the same glow as the weird boy's eyes. There was but a moment where ork eyes met the lenses of astartes armor and through them astartes eyes before the energies of the weapons exploded sending both of them sailing through the air. Rurion thanks to his training and his own power was able to land and recover without being sent sprawling on his back like the weird boy. Pressing his advantage Rurion charged and once more brought his spear down where the Ork's head was and yet as he did reality seemed to shift and in a blink the sure hit had turned into a miss. This felt Rurion open and despite and ork's stupidity at everything else they were geniuses at combat and Rurion felt himself sent flying his armor's wards flaring as he was kicked from below by a warm infused foot.

Now it was the wierd boy that had the upper hand and instead of charging Rurion on it just laughed, or made sounds that passed for laughing as Rurion got up. He needed to revise what he thought Orks were just as dumb at combat as everything else, just they sometimes were clever. The beast allowed Rurion to get up now sporting a few cracks in his armor. That might have been fatal or perhaps just debilitating for hot for the wards Rurion had inlaid in his armor. Rurion needed to think, he didn't want their duel of power to continue namely as he was coming up short fight now. He thought back to all the information he knew of the xenos and hatched a plan. Rurion renewed the power of last power and planted his spear had first into the ground. Orks while not fully hornrable still had their own sense of, good fun for lack of a better term. Rurion pointed to the Weird boy who seemed dumb struck for a moment then cast away it's own staff as it called forth a power of it's own. rurion and the beast charged each other and engaged at what likely was the last thing anyone expected from two psykers, a fist fight. Still despite their fight no longer having grand displays or power and no more weapons their fight bristled with the power of the warp. Knowing the Xeno's trick Ruirion would counter it's energy field with his own so they competed with their own enhanced strength and speed. The fight took place not only now but also into the future as Rurion sought to see just moments into the future and find a weak spot seeing what punch or kick would land, but even as he watched ahead the future changed as the weird boy stopped the future Rurion wanted.

The two became evenly matched, too evenly matched and it became a game of who would slip up, who would let one to many blows land or misread the next attack. Rurion and his exchanged punches and kicks, blocks, and jabs for what felt like minutes but in reality was mere moments thanks to both pushing their speed to it's absolute limits. This was all part of the plan, the only unknown was would Rurion be able to outlast the beast. Then as the Rurion started to doubt his idea he saw it a moment in the future an attack unblocked and with an uppercut Rurion sent the Ork flying onto it's back. There was no time to get a weapon, rurion coudl not afford the Ork getting up so instead he launched himself onto the ork pinning it down and not letting it get any time to think. His fists no longer blocked battered the Ork's face harder and harder as Rurion put the last of his power into them. Then with a crack he felt the beast's skull break and yet he didn't stop. Rurion continue to punch away his hands slick with green blood then pink brain mush as he destroyed the Ork's skull leaving it looking as if it had taken a bolt to the head.

Victory claimed Rurion stood and walked to his spear. Rurion hoped no other green skin would come to him for a few moments, as he might be able to fight but his mental reserves were all but depleted and even a normal boy might be to much for him to handle till he had recovered even just a little bit.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Berastos scythed through the orkoid forces. In practiced manner most similar to a farmer cutting through crops. His tools had been bolter and blade and shade so he coultered through their backlines. The sabatons on the marine were crusted by mud, blood, and guts. Occasionally the hunter would scrape Anamnesis against the crude metal furnishings of the Ork's buildings producing a gut-wrenching, ear-rending sound. An unorthodox lure if they heard it amidst the cacophonous roar of gunfire. The air in alleys was thicker than the streets, moldier too. Berastos felt as though he were breathing in the liquid decay. The potency was swiftly ignored as the leather-winged Raven took pause in the pitch. His hand catches and replaces the magazines of his weapons. Even this action is as quiet as a nail dropping onto a metal floor.

He is prepared to move again when the honed point of a knife tapped on the noble avian's image. It was the loudest sound Berastos heard since he stepped foot off the drop-pod. A violent storm thundered in the stealth specialist's stomach. Servos stridulated in a high-pitch whine as Anamnesis sliced faster than an eye could blink. Only to menace the air. They're swift. Quiet. The stelf boi'z words hung like a dark cloud in Astartes' mind. He uttered a voiceless curse at the sheer-complexity of this foe. He adjusted his stance ritually straddling the white-hot hatred in his two hearts. Cooling it down in the waters of discipline. "Preysight." Whispered Berastos vocals coloured with venom. It takes less than a second for the helm's lenses to tune into the thermal spectrum. Illuminating all that stood in front of him. Only to catch the briefest glimpse of just one of them. It moved too deliberately to be slow, Berastos inferred that they were toying with him or providing succulent bait. Now they were intelligent. Each act betrayed a fact. This needed to be strategic. Reads needed to be made.

Against better judgement, Berastos leveled his bolter rifle and synced its motion sensors to his auto-senses. He stalked like a wolf abandoned by its pack. Aware that his rivals were hounding his footsteps. Sharpening their primitive implements. The walls appeared to have moved on their own as if they shut the path behind him. The killzone was right in front of him. And he knew it. A measured lift of his foot and subsequent drop was all it took to trigger the ambush. They popped out from all the crevices in the backstreet, from windows, corners, even large barrels and all rattled with subdued shootahs. It sounded like a child playing a xylophone. Were they further quieting the gunfire with their innate orkish powers? Had been the briefest of thoughts that entered his mind. The next one propelled his muscles to push him forward into a roll. He levels his bolter again and squeezed the trigger retorting the eerie sounds with his own, forever silencing the slowest stelf boi among them. But the rest were not languid, they re-aimed their shootahs and fired again. "By the Emperor..." Trailed Berastos as one bizarre stake punctured the thick, heavy pauldron of black steel while the rest narrowly scratched against his pitch-black power armour more closely resembling talons than projectiles. He barreled through two walls, entering and exiting a desolated orkish domicile. Havoc then vanish.

He was hunted, now it is their turn. Though they possessed advantageous knowledge of their camp, Berastos had been armed with the skills of Corvus Corax. And of his own.

The hunter slipped silently in the darkness. Disabling his preysight, he finds when he enters this state that to be a hinderance. True skill is shown not simply when the prey is unaware of the hunter, but the strike as well. That is skillful to Berastos.

He outflanked them. Their movements shadowed by the Raven from above. They had split off into pockets of two, they appear to be wearing goggles of some kind, unidentifiable machinary hooked to certain rectangles on their bodies. A smart decision. If they were hunting more than one man opponent. His knees pistoned upwards. Launching into the air with sword drawn. He angled it down and swooped with amazing stealth onto one of the boiz then changed grips on his humming power sword and skewered the one in front. Only to be pelted by the same whispers from the stelf weapons. He ripped off the goggles and the strange pack and bolted once again into the darkness.

The smartest of the stelf okz halted his henchmen with a hand signal. "'Ircle 'round, Oi'll 'ead 'em ta ya."

He took a moment to examine the faint footprints of the beakie before sprinting into a chase.

Berastos began analysing just what is that they were wearing. These goggles are just... just... Phosphorescent lenses and the hose, stitched from an intestine, which led to the pack is filled with mangled, tangled wiring and parts. Some seem to spark and function, likely an actual power source but a power source that feeds nothing. He shouldn't be surprised, yet it simply couldn't be helped. "If I ever return, Naed will perish from laughter upon hearing this story." He said. Though they appear inoperable, Berastos assumed that it is how they see in the dark. A functionality much like his preysight.

Just as Berastos was about to move, a buzzing taunt plowed his aurals. "Thought u'ze 'overed yer 'acks, eh?" The Raven marine was knocked to the ground into a rolling struggle against the green threat. Two or three of the stelf boiz moved into view with their guns aimed at the morphing tide of black and drab green, they couldn't find a clear shot at the marine. "We'z canzt shoot clerly, boss!" "Shut yer yap!" the leader chastised while still fighting Berastos. It was as if someone shook that jar of buzzing insects.

Eventually, the stelf leader found a chink in Berastos defenses and shot his dagger-holding hand in the left side of his lower abdomen. Berastos finally growled in a bestial manner as he hooked the leader with a right punch and wedged his foot between them. He kicked the leader off and retreated into the night. The dagger had slipped out of his wound leaving a bloodied path. "'e cant go 'ar 'ith dat wound, boss." "Ya git, 'e isn't stu'id! 'e did dat on purpoz." The look of discovery edged its way onto the subordinate's face as it understood the implications of the Raven's wounds. "'e's goin' ta set a tra-!"

He did not retreat however, merely... doubled back. Suddenly one of the adjacent walls buckled and half of the vulgar structure crumbled atop the mewling henchmen. When the stelf leader turned to see who stood on the edge, Berastos fired boltershot after boltershot into the rubble. Killing the lesser stelf orkz. Only the leader remained. "Only you are left of your sordid brethren, vermin." Berastos spat with the centimetre wide hole in his side pulsing life essence. The scabbing will soon take effect and seal it. "Ye'h," remarked the leader. "You and me!" They clashed in a duel that lasted seconds, but felt like an eternity. A parry, a block, a sidestep. Neither gained the upper-ahead until Berastos deflected the leader's right-side slash. With a twisting motion of his torso, Berastos cut him in two. Before the ork could speak, a boot met his throat. "Victorus aut mortis." He said defiantly. But not satisfied without leaving his mark, Berastos took the upper portion of the stealthy ork and nailed him with his own dagger to a wall. "The night takes another."

"I hope the others are faring better than me." He mentions thoughtfully.

 

[americanCaeser]

"I hope the others are faring better than me!"

A literal storm of yellow tracers pounded what was the pile of rubble Austion had taken cover behind and began reducing it to dust and pebbles. He initially tried to pop their heads with a volley of accurate shots, but the Nob had some sort of energy field that zapped the bolt rounds before they reached their targets and causing them to prematurely detonate. Thus, his current predicament as ricochets bounced off of his black armor. He didn't even have a chance to pop up and return fire for what little good that would do. However, his situation shifted when the fire stopped. Austion glanced over to see the Flashgitz in their ridiculous Navy knock-off attire berating their grots into reloading as fast as they could so they could get back to shooting again. Austion settled on a strategy and took his chance.

Leaping over his cover Austion let his Bolter fire do the talking for him, it's full auto more intended to gain their attention than begin thinning their ranks, not yet. Instead, as they ducked for cover he launched himself through the wall of a ramshackle hut nearby. Then the wall beyond, and the next wall, and the wall after that. It didn't take long for the freeboota's to begin pouring in fire into the structure and though the wall of slugs was indeed impressive and ever present following in Austion's wake the Conservator knew that so long as he didn't stop he should be fine. Should be. Instead, as the Orks simply fired indiscriminantly Austion unclamped his bolt pistol and took a pot shot every chance he could. The Orks seemingly laughed at the poor beakies terrible accuracy. They laughed so hard, they didn't notice the poor grots and snottlings at their feet, the little beats who hauled their ammo, being reduced to red clouds of bloody mist.

Austion lept through the final wall and dove behind a trukk and reloaded his bolt pistol as the hail of fire caught up to his position. The Flashgitz roared in excitement as they let loose an unrelenting torrent of firepower on Austion's position. He wondered if the Xenos suffered tinitus from the never ending noise, but counted down as the Orks should be running out of ammo... Now!

True to his timing, the lead Ork's snazzgun made (in orkish words) 'the bad clicky noise meaning no dakka' and was swiftly followed by his peers. The Nob with the large naval cap swore, before turning to the runts and even raised a fist to cuff the nearest one to make his point when he realized all the ammo grots were dead and scattered all over the place from their short chase of the Space Marine. Snarling, he ripped the magazine out from the nearest headless gretchin and barked an order to his boys.

"Stop muckin' about ye space-squigs! Load up!"

The Nob turned and began firing to suppress the marine when one of the orks spoke up.

"Oi boss, look!" A yoof held up a grenade sans the arming pin with a goofy smile. "Dat git dropped 'is boom stikk!"

While the detonation did reduce the orks fingers into bloody bits, the Ork's life was not taken as the flashbang went off. However, his brief show and tell did disorient the orks enough for Austion to move in. Several snap shots from his bolt pistol slammed into the Nob's shield, but some of his lads weren't so lucky and died ignoble deaths. Austion slid underneath the Nob's wild swing with his snazzgun but brought his blade to bear on another greenskin, hewing them in twain. He heard the click of charging handles being racked home and saw a trio of orks level their shoota's onto him and Austion used the closest thing for cover to protect himself, that was the Ork Nob. The larger, half blind ork roared in rage as the space marine slammed into his back and held on, but before he could do anything he saw his boys, all too eager to show off their fire power take aim.

"WAIT YOU GITS-"

Whatever else the Ork wanted to say was lost in the cacophany of violence as the snazzguns opened up. To the Nobs credit, he had evidently paid good teef for this generator pack as it held back the tide of firepower for a few moments. But few things, much less shoddy ork machinery, can withstand such raw violence and soon the Nob was being torn to shreds by his own boys. Unfortunately, the Nob provided substantially less cover than the trukk and rubble from before and though he absorbed a majority of the incoming fire Austion gritted his teeth as slugs punched through the corpse and into the Conservator's power armor. In several places, Austion felt the slugs puncture and cause damage, nothing major but still painful.

With his Bolt pistol in hand, Austion jammed the barrel into the Nobs corpse and, looking over its shoulder, fired off several rounds through the body. The bolts hissed through the air, covered in gore before slamming into the remaining Flashgitz and mulching their chests and skulls. As they collapsed, the Space Marine let the mulched Nob fall to the ground and do a quick count of the bodies. Wait, there should still be-

Click

"Gotcha now, Space Mari-"

Austion leveled his bolt pistol and domed the Yoof. He collected his physical condition, determining the wounds to his body and damage to his armor superficial at worst. Nothing that would impede the mission, atleast. He looked down at the freshly killed Ork and sneered as he resheathed his sword.

"If you're going to kill me, kill me. Don't talk about it."

 

[Soviet Panda]

Da Boss's Hut was easy to find, once the Space Marines of the Deathwatch no longer had to contest with an immediate threat. It was a large, crude thing, with gun emplacements and orkish vox casters crammed side by side. It was an obvious and obnoxious, even by ork standards, display of the Boss's wealth, a truly Bad Moonz thing to do. Regrouping the marines were left to note that a member of their kill team had disappeared, not responding to any vox signals. They would have to assume he perished, and send a recovery team for the much valued gene seed. But not now, there was still the mission they needed to complete. And so the kill team headed out towards the vulgar display of orkish might.

It was an immense wall with a matching gate that stopped them from simply entering the War Boss's lair. Clearly it was a clever beast, and had anticipated a raid of some sort. Though the gate alone would not have posed much of an obstacle, it was the defenders that caused the kill team to falter and seek cover. In true orkish behavior, the wall was studded with an array of weaponry, no two being the same, though it was clear the majority of them fired solid projectiles that would only prove a threat at closer ranges. There was, however, a deff dred also angrily, or perhaps eagerly, stamping around in front of the gates. This was a wounded beast, it's two dred claws bloodied, and a skorcha occasionally coughing out flames, it's other mount having been either severed or completely ripped off in some previous fight. It's front, fashioned to resemble the face of one of their orkoid gods, was bisected by a deep cleave, a red gleam faintly visible in it's depths.

 

[Karcen]

Librarian Rurion Chror
Location: Ork camp, Ds Boss's Hut​

Rurion looked over the sight from cover and noted they had yet to fire on the team and was glad for that. he did not fear the green skins, but still being felled or injured by random gun fire was not something he wanted. The main thing was the def dread despite being injured it still had plenty of power to spare. They could not just run in like the green skins might, they needed a plan. There were a few powers that Rurion knew that could hopefully sew fear in the xenos or even let them bypass the wall of guns to get to the def dread. Still it was not wise to act on his own and just use the powers without letting the others know of his plans.

" Its seems we are blocked, how should we enter?" Rurion asked over the comms in his helmet " We could try to blow open the gate with grenades." He offered " I can also try to unleash fear upon them or move us behind the gate" Rurion continued letting their leader be the one to pick their plan.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Berastos slammed heavy shoulder against decrepit albeit sturdy cover. Peaking over the top to examine the dreaded alien machine powered by mangled parts and heretical faith. The bolter bobbed like on a wave in the marine's hands. The machine spirit in his helmet pinged the wall-mounted foes; too numerous to kill without sacrificing their lives in the process. That stomping machine is the greater obstacle however, it stopped them from sneaking through or getting close to the wall. A small boon from the Emperor that it is injured.

Their librarian spoke into their vox-channel, notifying suggestions to deal with this obstacle. The Raven Guard felt obliged to encourage the kill-team leader, "If our learned brother can port us, that is the most beneficial of routes. But I'm not opposed to fear's shade as well."