Nubby Nubs
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Fandom The Last Ones Standing
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Nubby Nubs
New Member
M42---Planet:Midas---Current Location..........Unknown
The lot of you find yourselves in a dirty and decaying building. Windows either broken or boarded up,walls filled with holes and general decay,much of original furniture and other house items were either taken or thrown out. All the remained was a small group of lucky survivors....at least some of you are. The many sounds of screams,gunshots,and the general destruction that was taking place in this dammed world could only be faintly heard from the "upper" level in the underhive. Which was ironically the only part of the hive city that remained,You could even faintly see a few rays of sunshine,something the underhive hasn't seen since the very beginning of its construction.
The lot of you find yourselves in a dirty and decaying building. Windows either broken or boarded up,walls filled with holes and general decay,much of original furniture and other house items were either taken or thrown out. All the remained was a small group of lucky survivors....at least some of you are. The many sounds of screams,gunshots,and the general destruction that was taking place in this dammed world could only be faintly heard from the "upper" level in the underhive. Which was ironically the only part of the hive city that remained,You could even faintly see a few rays of sunshine,something the underhive hasn't seen since the very beginning of its construction.
Murdergurl
will turn your insides into your outsides
◁ Click character portrait for CS
𝕊creams echoed down the flickering corridors, the smell of heated ion burning at the back of one's nose. Adrielle pressed herself against the edge of the dark wall, checking around the corner for enemies. The floor was scattered with the viscera of several bodies, unrecognizable in their current state but almost assuredly they were part of the engineering crew. The passageways of the Leonus Rex had become the stage for a slaughter, as the League Black Ship had become stranded in warp space. An explosion in this sector of the ship had led to the eventual failure of the Gellar fields, the bulkheads of the ship sealing off the damaged region to protect the surviving crew and passengers. This had effectively also cut off any hope of restoring the protective barrier that had kept the chaotic denizens at bay. The aberrant beings now stalked the ship, drawn to the energies emitted from the cache of psykers that had been inbound to Holy Terra.
Among others that were assigned to the ship, a troupe of Battle Sisters were meant to guard the psykers. Their duty would now be put to its limit. As the pulp underfoot that was once the crew began to pile high, Adrielle moved alongside her sistren. Their black armor was nearly indiscernible from the shadows of the phasing lights, and a particularly long stretch of darkness left the mission of Battle Sisters as a visage of glowing occulum and visors. A flamer unit towards the front of their formation did much to light the way with her pilot fire. The uniform bob cuts of those without helmets were illuminated by the blue flame. However, as the group walked their steps slowed. Sound became suppressed, and eventually muted altogether. With each inch that the Sororita pressed on, the images of her sisters further faded into the infinite black of the corridor. She reached out to the closest of them, but her gloved hand gripped only the inky blackness as Adrielle's comrades disappeared into the nocturne of her surroundings.
It was then that the warrioress was utterly alone. She hung in the blackness, without sound, without direction. The walls were gone and the floor beneath her armored feet had dropped away into an infinite abyss. It took a moment for Adrielle to realize she was falling. Her weapons left her grip as she flailed in the darkness to catch an impossible ledge. Her platinum hair fluttered before her eyes as she twisted and turned in an eternal descent. And then slowly, the shadows proffered shapes. Obscure at first, but slowly manifesting into feasible form, the Adepta Sororita was now in a tunnel of flesh. Sinew and wet membrane blurred passed as she fell further and further into the carnal chasm. pinks and reds and darker hues of ichor traced in morbid veins across the living walls. And eventually she could espy faces in the writhing mess of guts. Not just any faces, but the faces of her sistren. Dozens of her kindred were trapped in the twisted tangle of entrails, wailing in agony at Adrielle as she fell passed them. Their screams grew louder as she descended the horrible pit, until their shrieks and wails became maddening. Adrielle covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut in desperation. But she could still hear them, and she could still see them. Even her blind eye could behold the terrible visions that flooded her senses. And as her body tumbled down the hole, the bottom suddenly became visible. A huge, gaping maw lay at the bottom of the pit. It was the face of Katha, Adrielle's commander and dear friend. The sockets of Katha's giant countenance were gouged out, weeping pools of blood replacing her brown eyes. And as the pale warrior fell down towards the screaming visage, she was swallowed whole.
Adrielle awoke with a start, the vespers of her nightmare quickly receding to her subconscious. The woman was face down in the rubble of a ruin, fully armored and covered in the debris of an explosion. She'd been knocked unconscious in a wayward blast. It took her a moment to collect her bearings and remember where she was. Picking herself up from the dirty floor, the Sororita shook some of the dust from her white hair. As she coughed, the spectacle of the underhive made itself clear. The place had almost certainly been derelict long before the upper levels had been destroyed. Such was the metric of these habitations. With the upper echelons gone, the gangers and other dismal denizens had vacated the region like so much vermin exposed to the light of day. The echoing din of warfare in the level above mimicked the agonizing cries of her faded dream.
A servo-skull drifted over to Adrielle, a familiar sight to the armored acolyte. It was Katha, or so the Sororita was contented to keep as its reference. The drone had once been the skull of her former commander and Palatine. Now it was a simple familiar, an axiom slaved to Adrielle as a tool of her trade. The servo-skull hovered over one of the woman's weapons, her Godwy-De'az pattern bolt pistol. It had escaped her grip in the explosion that had caught her. A low bleep emitted from Katha in a hailing beacon to its master, signalling Adrielle over.
"Thank you, Katha...", Adrielle stooped quickly to grab her weapon, doing a quick check to ascertain if it had been damaged. Katha merely hovered in place, unfeeling and awaiting further command.
Finding it to be free of problems, the acolyte holstered her boltgun. She then checked her other hip, making sure she had not lost her venerated chainsword. A brief relief washed over the pale warrior as she found it unscathed. The rest of the immediate area was dim, being cut through by the glowing sunlight like a powersword through a hollow chest cavity. Instinctively finding cover, the Sororita switched her Targeter to Preysight. Adrielle scanned the area for other bodies, be they friend or foe. Katha would do the same in a completely different spectrum as it hovered just over its master's shoulder plate.
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
Commissar Victor Soldat, of the 157th Death Korp of Krieg Siege regiment, was feeling very lucky to be alive. Of course it could be argued that he should have died in combat like the rest of his regiment in service to the Emperor. But he would argue that one could serve the Emperor better alive than dead. And so he made his way through the twisting passages of the underhive, lugging the heavy bolter he had grown so accustomed to by his side, with his power blade vainly trying to balance out the weight on the other.
It was around one of these bends that he could have easily lost his life, and by accident no less. For as he entered a decrepit ruin, he caught sight of a servo skull. Quickly ducking back into where he had just come from, he prepares to attack the enemy should he have to. The generals and officers had been infuriatingly vague on what exactly it was they were fighting, and he would not be surprised that heretics were somewhere in the mix.
"I am Commissar Victor Soldat of the 157th Death Korp of Krieg Siege regiment. And by the Emperor's grace, I demand you explain who you are," he shouted around the corner, making sure he remained out of the potential line of fire coming from the probable enemy position.
It was around one of these bends that he could have easily lost his life, and by accident no less. For as he entered a decrepit ruin, he caught sight of a servo skull. Quickly ducking back into where he had just come from, he prepares to attack the enemy should he have to. The generals and officers had been infuriatingly vague on what exactly it was they were fighting, and he would not be surprised that heretics were somewhere in the mix.
"I am Commissar Victor Soldat of the 157th Death Korp of Krieg Siege regiment. And by the Emperor's grace, I demand you explain who you are," he shouted around the corner, making sure he remained out of the potential line of fire coming from the probable enemy position.
Karcen
Ten Thousand Club
The dance had been a swirling all encompassing spectacle that none could tear their eyes from, the followers of Cegorach had without warning joined the fight. The first indentation that they had even come to either side of the conflict was not a hail of fire, or psyker warp fire, but a rolling fog and strange lights. Then they had come weaving in and out of both sides leaving the imperial forces alone but cutting through the other side. Why they had come none could guess for their ways were ever enigmatic to the humans they fought with or against. Even as the Harlequins assembled the fog grew as shadowseers used their powers to set the stage for the slaughter and story that was unfolding. Lights and even music could be heard through the hallucinogenic fog directed by the shadowseers. The Harlequins Would dart about their bright colors seemingly making them easy targets, yet where one aimed there was never the target only the after image of one already gone. The movements of these eldar was swift and timed as friend and foe alike became unwitting dancers to the tune of the jester's followers. The tempo of the music set the speed of the battle without any but the actors realizing it and slowly the speed grew. The music faint at first became louder in every ear and the lights more vivid. The dancers danced faster their movements becoming exaggerated and decadent yet as deadly as ever. Those of the eldar might realize the story being told, and perhaps knowledgeable inquisitors might also know the song of the fall. This was the story of the eldar rising up and becoming powerful and decadent, and their fall that birthed their enemy. This to any that knew the story and knew how the mysterious jesters operated would know this meant they had a very special addiction to their masque.
The music, the lights, the dance that even caused some to die from it's speed came to it's highest point, when the Eldar were their greatest and their lowest, and then as the music was ear splinting, the lights hellish, the dancing to fast it all stopped. Among the Eldar one rose, their face a mask that was neither male nor female, yet was both and had two large horns upon it's brows. The entire battle seemed to pause as this figure, the Solitaire appeared and took a step, then another, and soon was joining the fray and with that the spell seemed to break. Still the dance did not end, the music played and actors not even knowing they were such played their parts. A line of champions came forth each challenging the Solitaire as the eldar gods had done and like those beings they were brought low. Those with a keen eye and a a knowledge of myth might have even been able to tell which champion without knowing it played which now slain god.
That had been their arrival and then had come after much fighting, the blast that had scattered the jesters and had sent many plummeting down into the rotting underside of the tower of metal the humans called home. Still even the plummet into infinite darkness was not something that would for sure slay those like the harlequins who tumbled down or somehow managed to gain a new foothold some even on falling bits of masonry. The Solitaire was one that fell deep into the darkness vanishing their performance seemingly done. Yet from one stage they would likely fall into another that even they did not know they had entered. The deamon masked jester would move from bit of falling hive to another even as buildings were crushed around them and even crashing into their target, another nearby building. Even as a new skylight was made several figures fell down into the building, a strange twist of fate indeed.
Aranelle jumped from one final bit of metal her flip belt making her decent even possible, but her skill making it a reality, she ducked in through a window that had long lost the glass. Aranelle entered ducking into a roll not knowing what to expect friend or foe, likely both in equal measure for no humans was ever truly a steadfast ally except one. Her rose and her caress ready to strike even as she came out of the roll. The role of solitaire lacked any truly ranged weapons, but never had Aranelle needed them for few foes could fire before she was upon them. The room Aranelle had ended up in was actually empty, but the next room over had voices in it, humans for sure, but where they with chaos or their great corpse? The best option for now was to remain hidden in the other room there the humans were not until one of them mentioned something to tell Aranelle what side they were one and if they were enemies then they would feel the kiss of her rose.
The music, the lights, the dance that even caused some to die from it's speed came to it's highest point, when the Eldar were their greatest and their lowest, and then as the music was ear splinting, the lights hellish, the dancing to fast it all stopped. Among the Eldar one rose, their face a mask that was neither male nor female, yet was both and had two large horns upon it's brows. The entire battle seemed to pause as this figure, the Solitaire appeared and took a step, then another, and soon was joining the fray and with that the spell seemed to break. Still the dance did not end, the music played and actors not even knowing they were such played their parts. A line of champions came forth each challenging the Solitaire as the eldar gods had done and like those beings they were brought low. Those with a keen eye and a a knowledge of myth might have even been able to tell which champion without knowing it played which now slain god.
That had been their arrival and then had come after much fighting, the blast that had scattered the jesters and had sent many plummeting down into the rotting underside of the tower of metal the humans called home. Still even the plummet into infinite darkness was not something that would for sure slay those like the harlequins who tumbled down or somehow managed to gain a new foothold some even on falling bits of masonry. The Solitaire was one that fell deep into the darkness vanishing their performance seemingly done. Yet from one stage they would likely fall into another that even they did not know they had entered. The deamon masked jester would move from bit of falling hive to another even as buildings were crushed around them and even crashing into their target, another nearby building. Even as a new skylight was made several figures fell down into the building, a strange twist of fate indeed.
Aranelle jumped from one final bit of metal her flip belt making her decent even possible, but her skill making it a reality, she ducked in through a window that had long lost the glass. Aranelle entered ducking into a roll not knowing what to expect friend or foe, likely both in equal measure for no humans was ever truly a steadfast ally except one. Her rose and her caress ready to strike even as she came out of the roll. The role of solitaire lacked any truly ranged weapons, but never had Aranelle needed them for few foes could fire before she was upon them. The room Aranelle had ended up in was actually empty, but the next room over had voices in it, humans for sure, but where they with chaos or their great corpse? The best option for now was to remain hidden in the other room there the humans were not until one of them mentioned something to tell Aranelle what side they were one and if they were enemies then they would feel the kiss of her rose.
HighSanguinaryPriest
Scifi Commando
Chaos reigned as weapons fire and the clashing of blades rang out, mixing with the screams of the enraged and dying. Unperturbed by all this, a lone figure, hidden away in the hive stalked his prey. As silent as a shadow, MCLVII moved, despite having the added cerimite plates attached to his suit. While many in the Vindicare temple loathed the added protection due to the weight, the assassin welcomed it. The plates and helm had saved his life numerous times from stray bullets and shrapnel, and he would be damned if he removed them for a bit of extra mobility.
Closing in on one of the still standing hovels, the assassin slipped inside, the muffled sound of voices picking up on his mask's microphone. Slowly creeping towards the voices, a loud Boom Shook the underhive as a section of the city above them collapsed. Surprisingly the voices, now becoming clearer didn't panic, despite the light thump in the room beside it. Knowing it would be best to check the room with the voices, now sounding more and more like heretics, MCLVII drew his Exitus Pistol, and his Astartes Pattern combat knife. He could hear their insane cackling as he approached the door. With a mental command, the visor on his mask switched to infrared. His concern only grew as he not only spotted traitor guardsmen, but in the room beside him, his spotted the heat signature and silhouette of the ever mysterious and enigmatic Eldar. "Well, might as well see how the xenos reacts, and pray to the emperor it's not hostile" He thought before opening fire with his pistol. The Immolator rounds causing the heretics to explode in a gory fashion, much like must guardsmen do. As the traitors scrambled to find the threat, the Vindicare charged in, his combat knife sweeping in graceful arcs, cutting down the remaining traitor guardsmen. With a wet Schlorp he removed the blade from his last victim's sternum, his corps collapsing in a heap. pointing his pistol at the eldar on the other side of the wall, he spoke, his voice modulated. "Ally or foe Eldar... Choose your words wisely..."
Karcen
Closing in on one of the still standing hovels, the assassin slipped inside, the muffled sound of voices picking up on his mask's microphone. Slowly creeping towards the voices, a loud Boom Shook the underhive as a section of the city above them collapsed. Surprisingly the voices, now becoming clearer didn't panic, despite the light thump in the room beside it. Knowing it would be best to check the room with the voices, now sounding more and more like heretics, MCLVII drew his Exitus Pistol, and his Astartes Pattern combat knife. He could hear their insane cackling as he approached the door. With a mental command, the visor on his mask switched to infrared. His concern only grew as he not only spotted traitor guardsmen, but in the room beside him, his spotted the heat signature and silhouette of the ever mysterious and enigmatic Eldar. "Well, might as well see how the xenos reacts, and pray to the emperor it's not hostile" He thought before opening fire with his pistol. The Immolator rounds causing the heretics to explode in a gory fashion, much like must guardsmen do. As the traitors scrambled to find the threat, the Vindicare charged in, his combat knife sweeping in graceful arcs, cutting down the remaining traitor guardsmen. With a wet Schlorp he removed the blade from his last victim's sternum, his corps collapsing in a heap. pointing his pistol at the eldar on the other side of the wall, he spoke, his voice modulated. "Ally or foe Eldar... Choose your words wisely..."
Karcen
Zeth
Junior Member
The chimeric union of vitae fluids and oil gushed out despite the careful removal of the rad-shielding and ceramite plate. Armour designed not to be removed for years at the time, Ekteliar had to remove from the dying soldier twice in a span of a single standard hour. Noiselessly, a metal serpent snaked from within his torn rust-red toga, needle at the limb's tip glinting with dripping fluids as it gave way to blinking, bulky, yet collapsible circuitry at its neck. He knelt over her, attempting to stop her sacred admixture of blood and oil from pooling onto the dust-caked floor of their current sanctuary.
Seventeen Skitarii - a maniple and a half. What a waste...
Wounded cyborg protested, with a panicked burst of local novabyte and binharic, emphasizing her protest with a heartbreakingly weak grip on the black hem of his toga.
++ Leaving me - logical response! Internal diagnostics conclude repair a waste of resources. ++
He had no issues leaving others of his escort behind when they couldn't continue, yet he hesitated with this one. Ekteliar tried to coat the guilt with divine providence and excuses that preservation of data is paramount, but the paint was already flaking from such facades.
The bronzed cog-plume of her helmet reflected some of the blue light coming from his bionics but no matter how hard he tried, Ekteliar could not see the glow of her oculars within the black-blood nothingness of her visor.
What a waste...
A sudden calm settled over the dying soldier. The delicate and gentle manner as she shook her head was imbued with such regard for motion that her combat-grade bionics had no right - or way - of emulating. The grace of the dying.
She slowly released her grip on Techpriest's toga.
++ Primary objective: completed. Acquisition of knowledge successful. ++
What the uninitiated would erroneously liken to a visage of death that loomed over Skitarius, nodded back in response:
++ You are right. We got the data we needed but not the one we desired. ++
++ A mere step on the Quest. Magos...decomission this one. Motiv)_:@... ++
His absent Luminant Servo-Skull went ahead to scout for readings returning very curious results - but despite the distance, the drone still detected a radiation spike coming from the Skitarius. Ekteliar stood up as the static started marring the bionic sight of his oculars as Breath of Mars started billowing from within the Tech-Guard in disturbingly high frequencies, intent on consecrating this entire basement around the Vanguard for thousand years to come.
With a thought, he engaged the scent-censer, heady vapour puffing from his mouth, leaving behind a breezy scent of both incense and potent blooming herbs. Stepping back, the memetic recall engaged the Litany of Decommission. For a Magos Cathac, the action was almost subconscious.
++ Master of All Knowledge by my continued function I beseech thee ++
++ accept the pattern-engrams of Skitarius Vanguard Yix-17 Ghelsa of Forge World Venatoria ++
++ so she can be subsumed into the totality of Comprehension that is your Great Engine. ++
++ By her form, Yix-17 Ghelsa made our connection strong. ++
++ By her function, Yix-17 Ghelsa guarded our efforts in spreading the knowledge of the Cult of the Machine to the farthest star! ++
++ Thus do I beseech you to illuminate your dying charge as Motive Force leaves her, ++
++ so that we might one day meet and serve upon the Path of Knowledge again. ++
++ With this plea do we give praise to the God of All Machines! ++
Not even halfway through the transmission of the funeral code-psalm, he had to leave the basement or risk damage to his components from the excessive amount of radiation. Resources wast-invested in this mission was already unacceptably high. Despite Ghelsa's final transmission, he still struggled with seeing this foray to The Bottom of the Hive as anything but disastrous. In hindsight, he too would have been decommissioned if not for the expert guidance from his Luminant.
Its machine-spirit held some mastery over the augury and has led him true throughout all the labyrinthine tunnels of the Underhive. Ekteliar nodded to himself as he wrapped the shawl of his toga around his head, leaving just enough room for the heady vapour from the scent-censer to steam freely from the mouth.
Degree of successfulness of this mission illogical to assume before the mission's end. This quest is not over yet - I am still fit and functional!
Murdergurl
Soviet Panda
Trusting in Luminant's guidance, Magos followed the servo-skull, deciding to investigate the strange readings the drone returned to him. Despite the almost total darkness, Ekteliar still could see the outlines of the incredibly elongated cranium of the forgotten Adept, floating on the top of the half-ruined stairs, waiting for some reason behind closed doors.
Half-way up the flight of stairs and Magos could see why it waited - or rather hear. The dull cacophony of screams and sounds of firefights outside, cradled shouting from the nearby chamber:
"I am Commissar Victor Soldat of the 157th Death Korp of Krieg Siege regiment. And by the Emperor's grace, I demand you explain who you are!"
Magos climbed up more slowly, his agile bionics accounting for a good amount of stealth if not for the creaky stairs. Despite this, whomever the soldier was talking to, Ekteliar reasoned it was not directed toward him. Magos did not hear anyone else, but Luminant's Augur Array picked up the faint buzz of power armour's thermic reactor and the soft humming of a compact gravitic engine nearby.
A heavily armoured individual with a...drone? Waiting for me? Hunting me?
Engaging vox he shuffled through several airing channels, all either too distorted or filled with screaming and panicked shouting. He hesitated for a moment in front of the doors, the decision-making process lighting fast for a baseline human to detect any hesitation in the first place. Still, the hesitation was there.
By the Great Cog if that really is a drone... I cannot disrupt its sensoria. I better act before they detect me, while I still have the element of surprise.
Logic dictates that in an open-ended system, one should always give primacy to the known variables first - anything else is just foolish or worse, ignorant. However, going back to the known - to the basement and working on trying to find alternative exits is not a viable option.
The tiny blue pinpricks of his oculars turned to the elongated servo-skull that levitated beside him. Ekteliar nodded as he reminisced on its guidance so far: Leap of faith it is then.
He was no stranger to combat, but that was not his primary function. Despite this, Cyberneticians left him enough of a limbic system to stimulate emotional responses.
He felt confident but neuro-vault re-routed such chemically-induced thought-processes. Implant detected foolishness, so to speak.
Luminant pinged him an auspex scan of the areas outside.
"Commissar, I am Ekteliar Ohm of the Venatorian Mechanicus!" he shouted through the doors deciding to compromise. Data for data, such is his way. The pleasant basso of his voice was deep enough to instil confidence but stopped short of domineering. In the careful calibration analogous to his birth-voice, the device in his throat tried to accurately convey Magos's venerable age without machine disruption or hoarseness of failing vocal cords marring it.
"You did not address me, but both to you and to that individual I say that I am coming out from what appears to be the basement of this building."
He knocked on the closed doors with the barrel of the Serpenta, waiting for a few seconds. Expecting a lead-sponsored response yet in light of its absence he forced the doors opened, removing some of the debris that Lumiant's augur detected in front of the doors. Showing he is armed, Magos tentatively came out with raised hands, volkite pistol dangling loosely by the trigger-guard from a finger of his right hand.
Seventeen Skitarii - a maniple and a half. What a waste...
Wounded cyborg protested, with a panicked burst of local novabyte and binharic, emphasizing her protest with a heartbreakingly weak grip on the black hem of his toga.
++ Leaving me - logical response! Internal diagnostics conclude repair a waste of resources. ++
He had no issues leaving others of his escort behind when they couldn't continue, yet he hesitated with this one. Ekteliar tried to coat the guilt with divine providence and excuses that preservation of data is paramount, but the paint was already flaking from such facades.
The bronzed cog-plume of her helmet reflected some of the blue light coming from his bionics but no matter how hard he tried, Ekteliar could not see the glow of her oculars within the black-blood nothingness of her visor.
What a waste...
A sudden calm settled over the dying soldier. The delicate and gentle manner as she shook her head was imbued with such regard for motion that her combat-grade bionics had no right - or way - of emulating. The grace of the dying.
She slowly released her grip on Techpriest's toga.
++ Primary objective: completed. Acquisition of knowledge successful. ++
What the uninitiated would erroneously liken to a visage of death that loomed over Skitarius, nodded back in response:
++ You are right. We got the data we needed but not the one we desired. ++
++ A mere step on the Quest. Magos...decomission this one. Motiv)_:@... ++
His absent Luminant Servo-Skull went ahead to scout for readings returning very curious results - but despite the distance, the drone still detected a radiation spike coming from the Skitarius. Ekteliar stood up as the static started marring the bionic sight of his oculars as Breath of Mars started billowing from within the Tech-Guard in disturbingly high frequencies, intent on consecrating this entire basement around the Vanguard for thousand years to come.
With a thought, he engaged the scent-censer, heady vapour puffing from his mouth, leaving behind a breezy scent of both incense and potent blooming herbs. Stepping back, the memetic recall engaged the Litany of Decommission. For a Magos Cathac, the action was almost subconscious.
++ Master of All Knowledge by my continued function I beseech thee ++
++ accept the pattern-engrams of Skitarius Vanguard Yix-17 Ghelsa of Forge World Venatoria ++
++ so she can be subsumed into the totality of Comprehension that is your Great Engine. ++
++ By her form, Yix-17 Ghelsa made our connection strong. ++
++ By her function, Yix-17 Ghelsa guarded our efforts in spreading the knowledge of the Cult of the Machine to the farthest star! ++
++ Thus do I beseech you to illuminate your dying charge as Motive Force leaves her, ++
++ so that we might one day meet and serve upon the Path of Knowledge again. ++
++ With this plea do we give praise to the God of All Machines! ++
Not even halfway through the transmission of the funeral code-psalm, he had to leave the basement or risk damage to his components from the excessive amount of radiation. Resources wast-invested in this mission was already unacceptably high. Despite Ghelsa's final transmission, he still struggled with seeing this foray to The Bottom of the Hive as anything but disastrous. In hindsight, he too would have been decommissioned if not for the expert guidance from his Luminant.
Its machine-spirit held some mastery over the augury and has led him true throughout all the labyrinthine tunnels of the Underhive. Ekteliar nodded to himself as he wrapped the shawl of his toga around his head, leaving just enough room for the heady vapour from the scent-censer to steam freely from the mouth.
Degree of successfulness of this mission illogical to assume before the mission's end. This quest is not over yet - I am still fit and functional!
Murdergurl
Soviet Panda
Trusting in Luminant's guidance, Magos followed the servo-skull, deciding to investigate the strange readings the drone returned to him. Despite the almost total darkness, Ekteliar still could see the outlines of the incredibly elongated cranium of the forgotten Adept, floating on the top of the half-ruined stairs, waiting for some reason behind closed doors.
Half-way up the flight of stairs and Magos could see why it waited - or rather hear. The dull cacophony of screams and sounds of firefights outside, cradled shouting from the nearby chamber:
"I am Commissar Victor Soldat of the 157th Death Korp of Krieg Siege regiment. And by the Emperor's grace, I demand you explain who you are!"
Magos climbed up more slowly, his agile bionics accounting for a good amount of stealth if not for the creaky stairs. Despite this, whomever the soldier was talking to, Ekteliar reasoned it was not directed toward him. Magos did not hear anyone else, but Luminant's Augur Array picked up the faint buzz of power armour's thermic reactor and the soft humming of a compact gravitic engine nearby.
A heavily armoured individual with a...drone? Waiting for me? Hunting me?
Engaging vox he shuffled through several airing channels, all either too distorted or filled with screaming and panicked shouting. He hesitated for a moment in front of the doors, the decision-making process lighting fast for a baseline human to detect any hesitation in the first place. Still, the hesitation was there.
By the Great Cog if that really is a drone... I cannot disrupt its sensoria. I better act before they detect me, while I still have the element of surprise.
Logic dictates that in an open-ended system, one should always give primacy to the known variables first - anything else is just foolish or worse, ignorant. However, going back to the known - to the basement and working on trying to find alternative exits is not a viable option.
The tiny blue pinpricks of his oculars turned to the elongated servo-skull that levitated beside him. Ekteliar nodded as he reminisced on its guidance so far: Leap of faith it is then.
He was no stranger to combat, but that was not his primary function. Despite this, Cyberneticians left him enough of a limbic system to stimulate emotional responses.
He felt confident but neuro-vault re-routed such chemically-induced thought-processes. Implant detected foolishness, so to speak.
Luminant pinged him an auspex scan of the areas outside.
"Commissar, I am Ekteliar Ohm of the Venatorian Mechanicus!" he shouted through the doors deciding to compromise. Data for data, such is his way. The pleasant basso of his voice was deep enough to instil confidence but stopped short of domineering. In the careful calibration analogous to his birth-voice, the device in his throat tried to accurately convey Magos's venerable age without machine disruption or hoarseness of failing vocal cords marring it.
"You did not address me, but both to you and to that individual I say that I am coming out from what appears to be the basement of this building."
He knocked on the closed doors with the barrel of the Serpenta, waiting for a few seconds. Expecting a lead-sponsored response yet in light of its absence he forced the doors opened, removing some of the debris that Lumiant's augur detected in front of the doors. Showing he is armed, Magos tentatively came out with raised hands, volkite pistol dangling loosely by the trigger-guard from a finger of his right hand.
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Murdergurl
will turn your insides into your outsides
◁ Click character portrait for CS
𝕋he heat-vision of the Sororita's Targeter caught the signature of the Kriegsman before he shouted out in her direction. Adrielle remained behind cover, instead switching her visual input to the feed from her floating servo-skull. Katha in turn, darted outward from its station. Dodging between the cracked pillars that held up the compromised ceiling, the drone made an ellipses flight pattern and returned to its original position. Adrielle would not risk putting her head up at a mere declaration. As it so happened, she knew the identity of the name that had been proclaimed: Victor Soldat.
"Soldat?!", Adrielle called out from her shadowy screen of fallen debris. "Tell me. How do you find the temples of Autega these days, Inquisitor?"
When Adrielle had still been fresh into her master's tutelage, he had sent her with another agent of the Inquisition on a joint mission to Autega. They had uncovered a Chaos cult that had converted an entire temple over to their fallen belief. Victor had been an Inquisitor at the time, and she had been assigned to him under her master's recommendation. It would seem Victor was now a Commissar. There was no way he could have forgotten that sortie, as both he and Adrielle had almost met their end at the event of a summoned greater daemon. And if he was not in fact the man he claimed to be, Adrielle would mete him with the explosive rounds of her bolter.
As she waited for a response however, another voice rang out in the darkness of the underhive. This one was further away, and Adrielle risked Katha yet again to seek the exact location of the new target. Her headset kept track of the increasing number of targets and their proximity, and as Katha's data fed back, the locations were locked in. Her old acquaintance was easily within range of her weapon, should she lift herself from cover. The other, allegedly an Ad-mech, was neither within range nor in a line of sight. Katha made out the form of the Magos, ascending from a lower level with a show of submission. Though, Adrielle knew better than to trust only what she could see. Ad-mech's were notorious for having any number of hidden appendages tucked away beneath their robes. Any of which could be holding, or be outfitted as, a weapon. This one claimed the name of Ekteliar, and was completely foreign to the sororita.
Between the three of them, the acolyte would seem the one yet to clearly identify themselves. But she would wait. If Victor could not prove his identity, she would still have the advantage of her cover and lack of identity. The Ad-mech was further out, and would have to go through "Victor" before having any clear designation to herself. Still, a declaration of some sort seemed in order.
"I am a Sister of the Order of our Martyred Lady!", As she spoke, Adrielle shuffled her ceramite suit against the slouching concrete wall. In truth, she no longer bore the sigils of her old order. Now the regalia of the Inquisition were emblazoned upon her black armor, as well as the long, crimson waistcloth that hung down the front of her hips.
"I service the Ordos of the Inquisition!", this came more as a warning than a declaration. The mention of the Inquisitorial ranks often brought those that heard it to take a step backward.
"Divulge your number, or be met with cleansing fire in the name of the Holy Emperor!"
Katha now came closer in behind the cover. Meanwhile the sororita gripped her bolter in one hand and a phosphor grenade in the other. She meant to make good on her promise if the next words coming from either party were of anything other than how many of them were in company. They sounded to be alone, but the battle sister had to be sure.
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Zeth
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
Wait, he knew that voice. "Adrielle?" he shouted back. "I'd much rather be there than here. At least there I knew who and where friend and foe were." As he spoke, he removed the infamous mask that every Krieger wore to prove his identity. Scarred by the claws of a warp beast, a memento of his time on Space Hulk Twilight that sparred his eyes but not much else, the oddly young looking face of Victor would be quite recognizable to those that had seen it in the past.
But as he was about to stick his head around the corner to reveal himself, he heard another voice, one that carried a distinctive tinge of a vox caster, albiet a very feint one. He then heard a door open, most likely the one this Magos had come through. And with the Magos having revealed his position, Victor felt comfortable enough to reveal his own. He could not trust the Magos, not yet and not completely, but a heavy bolter should at least make him consider his actions.
Putting his mask firmly back on and preparing his heavy bolter, Victor rounded the corner, immediately finding the Magos and directing his heavy weapon at him before scanning the room for Adrielle and her ever present servo-skull, Katha.
"Greetings, Magos Ekteliar," he said simply, his weapon not wavering in the slightest.
Murdergurl
Zeth
But as he was about to stick his head around the corner to reveal himself, he heard another voice, one that carried a distinctive tinge of a vox caster, albiet a very feint one. He then heard a door open, most likely the one this Magos had come through. And with the Magos having revealed his position, Victor felt comfortable enough to reveal his own. He could not trust the Magos, not yet and not completely, but a heavy bolter should at least make him consider his actions.
Putting his mask firmly back on and preparing his heavy bolter, Victor rounded the corner, immediately finding the Magos and directing his heavy weapon at him before scanning the room for Adrielle and her ever present servo-skull, Katha.
"Greetings, Magos Ekteliar," he said simply, his weapon not wavering in the slightest.
Murdergurl
Zeth
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Karcen
Ten Thousand Club
Aranell heard as a fight broke out in the other room and could guess one of two things, that chaos had done as it always did and turned on itself, or perhaps an outside force had acted on them. Aranelle had no way of knowing what the case was without seeing the room for herself and there was a good chance that they had not used up all their shots if the weapon was war fueled. She did have a chance though as her grenades were still with her and while they would not harm even a normal human but they would cause a bang and some light a decent distraction. The human could tell she was here so he had something to see through walls and the grenades would knock that out as well giving her mere seconds to be upon him and tell if he was friend of foe. That was more than enough time for a Solitaire to get to their prey and more.
Aranelle moved towards the door swiftly her hand moved to a grenade while her other activated her caress which made her hand glow blue with a power field. Then just before she could enter the other room with the humans she cracked the door and tossed the grenade. All this happening in what to a human might be an instant. Then the grenade went off a bright flash and a loud noise before the electronic devices of the human would be rendered useless. Still that was not all as Aranelle would strike out herself as in moments almost to fast for humans to see she moved from the door to the human in the room. Even as she leapt through the air hand ready to crush his head she made out the human's features, or well lack of them. Head to foot he was in a black suit with a few plates here and there along with a sophisticated looking helmet. This was no flower of chaos or at least not one very far into the worship of the dark gods.
Aranelle could not be fully sure of the human's leaning's, but she had a decent idea that he was not a follower of chaos give the death in the room and the icons of chaos upon them. So that must mean he was while not trust worthy at least he was not a threat and could in theory be of use to her. That was why he man's head was not cut from his shoulders as her blue glowing hand was mere millimetres from his helmeted face a show she could have killed him but chose not to. What she wasn't aware of in truth was the human's gun was back online.
" My cup is full yours is empty i shall share so that we might both drink" She said not normally talking outside of the plays she normally would never talk but right now she would just deal in stories and metaphors for she could not simply speak normally that was not the way of the solitaire.
Aranelle moved towards the door swiftly her hand moved to a grenade while her other activated her caress which made her hand glow blue with a power field. Then just before she could enter the other room with the humans she cracked the door and tossed the grenade. All this happening in what to a human might be an instant. Then the grenade went off a bright flash and a loud noise before the electronic devices of the human would be rendered useless. Still that was not all as Aranelle would strike out herself as in moments almost to fast for humans to see she moved from the door to the human in the room. Even as she leapt through the air hand ready to crush his head she made out the human's features, or well lack of them. Head to foot he was in a black suit with a few plates here and there along with a sophisticated looking helmet. This was no flower of chaos or at least not one very far into the worship of the dark gods.
Aranelle could not be fully sure of the human's leaning's, but she had a decent idea that he was not a follower of chaos give the death in the room and the icons of chaos upon them. So that must mean he was while not trust worthy at least he was not a threat and could in theory be of use to her. That was why he man's head was not cut from his shoulders as her blue glowing hand was mere millimetres from his helmeted face a show she could have killed him but chose not to. What she wasn't aware of in truth was the human's gun was back online.
" My cup is full yours is empty i shall share so that we might both drink" She said not normally talking outside of the plays she normally would never talk but right now she would just deal in stories and metaphors for she could not simply speak normally that was not the way of the solitaire.
Zeth
Junior Member
As the Kriegsman greeted him behind a barrel of a heavy bolter, Ekteliar tilted his head quizzically at the Commissar. The dry humour seemed uncharacteristic when the fatalistic mien of the famous Krieg is involved, but what actually surprised him was that the Korpsman actually guessed his rank. Given his unassuming regalia and most of the more sophisticated blessings hidden either behind the interlocking plates of his armour or within his body, Ekteliar wondered what led the Commissar to draw such a conclusion.
Unless...
After a moment of a silent standoff, Magos inclined his head in return as a sign of respectful acknowledgement and moved forward and close to where Krieger was standing. Magos Ohm's movements were both slow and measured, despite the ruined interior of the hab Techpriest had no issues negotiating it. The exacting manner in which every step was made gave the impression of incredible mindfulness invested in each motion. The last anyone would expect from a scion of the Martian creed is expressive body language. There are those that move in an environment like they own it, but this Techpriest moved around it as if he was privy to some intimate knowledge integral to the space around him. He moved like he has built the place, rediscovering every forgotten nook and cranny, reminiscent at all the intimate secrets only the Creator would have with the Created.
Hands still raised, pistol dangling from his finger, Ekteliar stood at the precipice of the entrance hallway that led on his right to the exist from where he presumed Commissar entered. On his left, the hallway terminated in a rockcrete formation that was still whole enough to be called a staircase, structure zig-zagging in the sharp angles and steep inclines in the pattened shape of Munitorum brutalism, cutting the very space around it all the way to the highest of strata.
Standing several meters away from the Commissar, Ekteliar's oculars turned to the Sister taking cover.
"Nineteen, mere hours ago, with only two remaining now, Sister." he answered to her challenge, clarity of his sage voice cutting through the background noise of bloody anarchy outside. As he indicated the numbers of those accompanying him, Ekteliar slowly gestured with his head to the Sister, the Luminant, servo-skull drone taking the opportunity to buzz past the Techpriest and moving to the left and toward the staircase, as if ignorant of the tense situation.
The drone was much the mirror of Adrielle's own, differing in all the bizarre ways one would expect from the mysterious Priesthood. The levitating automata was pierced with odd antennae and spikes, its elongated cranium defying any possibility of a conclusion as to its baseline human origin.
A moment later, Ekteliar continued speaking, the slight rise of his chest giving an impression that he paused to take a breath. In truth, the gesture was automatic, triggered as he struggled to make sense of the unusual reading that the Luminant just confirmed.
"I detect voices and an astonishing amount of negative psionic activity coming from the roof. Others of your Ordo?"
The Augury within his left arm vibrated as the readings on the Gellar scale were quite literally, off the charts. The fact the source of it might belong to the Inquisition did not matter much at the moment but giving the two something - anything - to chew on - bought him precious seconds before the next trigger is pulled. As an Executor, he was painfully aware of the inefficiencies, the diplomatic chasm and bureaucratic inertia that saps any momentum at cooperation and initiative between many of Imperial Adeptas. Inquisition is a special case - with them it's a one-way street, especially with cases where Mechanicus personnel is involved. Inquisition learned to take and one is considered lucky if they come out of the ordeal with their life and mind intact. Priesthood on the other hand does not take kindly to such intrusions and so enmity festers for millennia.
He personally had two run-ins with the Inquisition and neither of those two encounters ended well. Not that the Sister can confirm she comes from an Ordo, but the punishment for posing as a member of the Inquisition outweighed any scepticism on his part. As a member of the Priesthood, he learned to be very wary of the people regardless if they bear or are pretending to bear Malcador's Sigil.
Finally, he turned his head to the skull-motif shape of the Commissar's respirator mask:
..."You named me a Magos. A curious observation on your part. Have we met?"
Unless...
After a moment of a silent standoff, Magos inclined his head in return as a sign of respectful acknowledgement and moved forward and close to where Krieger was standing. Magos Ohm's movements were both slow and measured, despite the ruined interior of the hab Techpriest had no issues negotiating it. The exacting manner in which every step was made gave the impression of incredible mindfulness invested in each motion. The last anyone would expect from a scion of the Martian creed is expressive body language. There are those that move in an environment like they own it, but this Techpriest moved around it as if he was privy to some intimate knowledge integral to the space around him. He moved like he has built the place, rediscovering every forgotten nook and cranny, reminiscent at all the intimate secrets only the Creator would have with the Created.
Hands still raised, pistol dangling from his finger, Ekteliar stood at the precipice of the entrance hallway that led on his right to the exist from where he presumed Commissar entered. On his left, the hallway terminated in a rockcrete formation that was still whole enough to be called a staircase, structure zig-zagging in the sharp angles and steep inclines in the pattened shape of Munitorum brutalism, cutting the very space around it all the way to the highest of strata.
Standing several meters away from the Commissar, Ekteliar's oculars turned to the Sister taking cover.
"Nineteen, mere hours ago, with only two remaining now, Sister." he answered to her challenge, clarity of his sage voice cutting through the background noise of bloody anarchy outside. As he indicated the numbers of those accompanying him, Ekteliar slowly gestured with his head to the Sister, the Luminant, servo-skull drone taking the opportunity to buzz past the Techpriest and moving to the left and toward the staircase, as if ignorant of the tense situation.
The drone was much the mirror of Adrielle's own, differing in all the bizarre ways one would expect from the mysterious Priesthood. The levitating automata was pierced with odd antennae and spikes, its elongated cranium defying any possibility of a conclusion as to its baseline human origin.
A moment later, Ekteliar continued speaking, the slight rise of his chest giving an impression that he paused to take a breath. In truth, the gesture was automatic, triggered as he struggled to make sense of the unusual reading that the Luminant just confirmed.
"I detect voices and an astonishing amount of negative psionic activity coming from the roof. Others of your Ordo?"
The Augury within his left arm vibrated as the readings on the Gellar scale were quite literally, off the charts. The fact the source of it might belong to the Inquisition did not matter much at the moment but giving the two something - anything - to chew on - bought him precious seconds before the next trigger is pulled. As an Executor, he was painfully aware of the inefficiencies, the diplomatic chasm and bureaucratic inertia that saps any momentum at cooperation and initiative between many of Imperial Adeptas. Inquisition is a special case - with them it's a one-way street, especially with cases where Mechanicus personnel is involved. Inquisition learned to take and one is considered lucky if they come out of the ordeal with their life and mind intact. Priesthood on the other hand does not take kindly to such intrusions and so enmity festers for millennia.
He personally had two run-ins with the Inquisition and neither of those two encounters ended well. Not that the Sister can confirm she comes from an Ordo, but the punishment for posing as a member of the Inquisition outweighed any scepticism on his part. As a member of the Priesthood, he learned to be very wary of the people regardless if they bear or are pretending to bear Malcador's Sigil.
Finally, he turned his head to the skull-motif shape of the Commissar's respirator mask:
..."You named me a Magos. A curious observation on your part. Have we met?"
Murdergurl
will turn your insides into your outsides
◁ Click character portrait for CSAs the trio exchanged a semblance of formalities, an overhead explosion shook the tentative ceiling. A cascade of dust showered down on the imperials. The dirt illuminated as it passed through the cutting light showing through the cracks to the surface. This place was not long for standing, and Adrielle wished to vacate the premises before the fighting brought the structure down upon their heads. Through Katha, she had seen the countenance of Victor; a face only the Emperor could love. Ther ewas no mistaking that, and Adrielle considered it proof enough. As for the Adeptus Mechanicus, he seemed innocuous enough so that the acolyte belted her grenade. And he freely gave information that made him vulnerable. Cautiously, the sororita moved herself out from behind the concrete screen. Despite her worn and haggard form, Adrielle still possessed the poise and confidence of a warrior with purpose.
"By the grace of the Emperor, you have an ally here, Commissar.", Adrielle stated to victor plainly.
She wondered what events had unfolded to bring the Commissar to his current rank, but that would be a conversation for another time. Right now, duty required her to vacate this war-torn world. An entire regiment of guardsmen had been requisitioned to accompany the Sororita in her latest mission. She had expended them as necessary to attain the object in her possession. Adrielle herself had almost failed her task with that chance explosion hat had splayed her across the floor. However, the Emperor had blessed the half-blind woman with new allies to achieve her means. Despite her familiarity with Victor, Adrielle knew better than to divulge her reasons for being here. And with a past in the Inquisition himself, Victor would know that she would not openly give it. Regardless, Adrielle subconsciously stood with her robes poised to cover the kitbag at her side, the leather pocket hiding away a relic of daemonic origin. It ground contention into Adrielle's soul to have the item so close to her; a foul and defiling relic of the element she abhorred most in life. But the Sororita understood its nature, and understood her orders. She was to bring the key back to her Inquisitor master, Oslo. Or die trying. The latter was not an option Adrielle intended to explore.
In answer to the Ad Mech, Adrielle was curious as to the other survivor. "Where is the other you mentioned? Are they capable? Are they a combatant? I've a need to leave this place immediately, and any extra competence would be beneficial." With that last part, she cast her gaze at Victor, implicating the Kreigsman in her request.
"The battle above is not my concern. Though, my transport was shot down upon entry. I have exhausted the resources given to me by my Ordos, and I am requisitioning your services to expedite my departure. Are you able to comply?"
After a brief pause, Adrielle reiterated herself. "My Apologies... Magos?, Adrielle glanced at Victor momentarily with mention of the title, as the Commissar had addressed the Mechanicus as such.
"I am Adrielle Vais, Acolyte of the Inquisitor Oslo.", She made a quick bow to Ekteliar .
"I have a Writ of Proxy if you need confirmation." At this Katha hummed in accordance, ready to bring up the holo-text if needed.
Adrielle's neophyte mannerisms shown through her speech. A fully-fledged Inquisitor would not have given an option. Neither would they have been so courteous in demeanor. They would have seized both the Commissar and the Ad Mech for their purposes without delay. But despite her time under Oslo's tutelage, Adrielle was still not used to giving orders. This lack of assertion was what had kept the acolyte from climbing the ranks in her former Order, afterall. As she awaited the summary of the trio's discourse, yet another explosion sent the grey walls around them into a shudder.
"We should not stay here any longer than needed."
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Zeth
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VomitIcicle
Junior Member
Sigma-0012 awoke with a start, rising from the pile of rubble he had landed in. He checked himself. Arms. Legs. Functional. Servo-skull. Functional. He stood up, the din of chaos and death reigning around him a familiar cacophony. He payed little attention, advancing in an almost trance like state, down... down... down towards the din of voices. He had been seperated from the rest of his company, one of dozens that had been deployed to the Hive World in an effort to quell the chaos. They were nothing but test beds. Experiments. A way for the Magos to subtly brag about his expertise in the modifications of the human form, an army of disposable shock assassins, each worth at least five skitarri, created in a matter of years.
Most died within hours.
Seperated from his team, Sigma-0012 defaulted to his base programming.
Rendevouz with Imperial Forces.
Sigma-0012 had no idea how long he wandered the halls of the catacombs. Time measured only by the number of cultists he had slain.
Eventually he came to a halt.
He saluted.
"Sigma-0012, reporting as instructed." His posture would have been perfect, were it not for the slight twitching of his person as the drugs ran their course through his augmented body.
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Zeth
Murdergurl
Most died within hours.
Seperated from his team, Sigma-0012 defaulted to his base programming.
Rendevouz with Imperial Forces.
Sigma-0012 had no idea how long he wandered the halls of the catacombs. Time measured only by the number of cultists he had slain.
Eventually he came to a halt.
He saluted.
"Sigma-0012, reporting as instructed." His posture would have been perfect, were it not for the slight twitching of his person as the drugs ran their course through his augmented body.
Soviet Panda
Zeth
Murdergurl
HighSanguinaryPriest
Scifi Commando
MCLVII had not even blinked when the Eldar attacked. Her attempt to disable his gear with those infernal grenades of theirs would have worked and mostly did, were it not for the redundancy measures he had implemented into his exitus weapons upon their customization. Despite the precarious position he was in, he pressed the muzzle of the weapon against her abdomen as she was poised to strike, his finger but a twitch away from discharging the immolation round into her. Yet the two held back, as she spoke. Like most of her kind, always cryptic and flowery with their words, but the meaning still caught on. Taking a breath, he finally spoke. "Well then. If your words ring true then, perhaps I shall accept your offer. It would be a shame for us both to die. Especially since upon death, the muscles of the body react... and i think you get the point..." He said prodding her with the muzzle of his exitus pistol to make a point. If he were to die, it would be a cold comfort to know, he would be taking the xeno with him, but still, the assassin hoped it wouldn't come to that.
As if by some unspoken agreement, the two disengaged. Kicking with both feet, MCLVII launched himself into a standing position. As a sign of good faith, he holstered the pistol and drew his Exitus rifle in it's stead. Giving his unlikely ally a quick look over, he was able to ascertain her order or field of specialty. "Shall we go then, Harlequin? Just don't get too put off if other imperials try to shoot at you." And with that, the two exited the hovel, and into the war-torn remnants of the underhive.
It didn't take long for the unlikely duo to find loyalist survivors. His form, had blended in with the environment, but he knew the Eldar could make him out well enough to follow. holding up a fist, to signal for her to stop he crept forward, till he spotted the survivors. like he and his companion, they were a motley crew of survivors. A Commissar from Krieg, a Sister of battle bearing the sigil of the inquisition, a Magos, and what appeared to be a heavily modified Eversor if the twitching were anything to go by. "Peace brothers and sister. It seems the Emperor has deemed to bring us together." He said, deactivating the camouflage as he stepped into sight. "And it appears he made a deal with the remaining eldar gods to aid us."
Karcen
Soviet Panda
VomitIcicle
Murdergurl
Zeth
As if by some unspoken agreement, the two disengaged. Kicking with both feet, MCLVII launched himself into a standing position. As a sign of good faith, he holstered the pistol and drew his Exitus rifle in it's stead. Giving his unlikely ally a quick look over, he was able to ascertain her order or field of specialty. "Shall we go then, Harlequin? Just don't get too put off if other imperials try to shoot at you." And with that, the two exited the hovel, and into the war-torn remnants of the underhive.
It didn't take long for the unlikely duo to find loyalist survivors. His form, had blended in with the environment, but he knew the Eldar could make him out well enough to follow. holding up a fist, to signal for her to stop he crept forward, till he spotted the survivors. like he and his companion, they were a motley crew of survivors. A Commissar from Krieg, a Sister of battle bearing the sigil of the inquisition, a Magos, and what appeared to be a heavily modified Eversor if the twitching were anything to go by. "Peace brothers and sister. It seems the Emperor has deemed to bring us together." He said, deactivating the camouflage as he stepped into sight. "And it appears he made a deal with the remaining eldar gods to aid us."
Karcen
Soviet Panda
VomitIcicle
Murdergurl
Zeth
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
The impassive mask of Krieg stared at the Mechanicus member, the bearer not answering the question that had been asked of him. Victor had met many people while an Inquisitorial Acolyte, something Ekteliar did not need to know. "A lucky guess, Magos."
Turning his head towards Adrielle, he answers her unasked question with a simple phrase. "In life, war. In death, peace. In life, shame. In death, atonement." Hopefully that would be answer enough for the whereabouts of his regiment. They had only fallen back so far before realizing their situation and stubbornly holding. He tried to explain to them that they were more important to the Emperor alive than dead, but they would not listen. And so he gave them all a quick prayer, and with their accusatory stares chasing him, he left them all to die.
It wasn't long after that, that another figure came in. Judging by their equipment, this was an Eversor assassin. Though judging by how calm they were, it was some variant of them or another. Perhaps a new ingredient to that cocktail of chemicals they called a combat drug. He looked towards Adrielle as it saluted and waited for instructions, surely it was directing itself towards her, an Inquisitor, rather than this lowly Commissar.
'By the Emperor, there's more' he thought to himself as another revealed themselves, their sudden appearance as if they had been merged with the landscape marked him as either Catachan or a Vindicare assassin. He would not be to surprised by either one, truth be told. Not when compared to the rest of the group that had materialized as if just to meet each other.
Turning his head towards Adrielle, he answers her unasked question with a simple phrase. "In life, war. In death, peace. In life, shame. In death, atonement." Hopefully that would be answer enough for the whereabouts of his regiment. They had only fallen back so far before realizing their situation and stubbornly holding. He tried to explain to them that they were more important to the Emperor alive than dead, but they would not listen. And so he gave them all a quick prayer, and with their accusatory stares chasing him, he left them all to die.
It wasn't long after that, that another figure came in. Judging by their equipment, this was an Eversor assassin. Though judging by how calm they were, it was some variant of them or another. Perhaps a new ingredient to that cocktail of chemicals they called a combat drug. He looked towards Adrielle as it saluted and waited for instructions, surely it was directing itself towards her, an Inquisitor, rather than this lowly Commissar.
'By the Emperor, there's more' he thought to himself as another revealed themselves, their sudden appearance as if they had been merged with the landscape marked him as either Catachan or a Vindicare assassin. He would not be to surprised by either one, truth be told. Not when compared to the rest of the group that had materialized as if just to meet each other.
Zeth
Junior Member
At Kriegsman's reply, sinewless skull stared for a few moments longer at the flak version that hid the Kriegsman's face, following with a deliberate nod. If Ekteliar's delayed reaction conveyed anything, it was a lack of appreciation for the skull-faced man's flat answer.
As Victor followed this with a recital of the sombre imperial adage of duty and death, Magos nodded again even if he was oblivious of its precise context. He picked up on the loss and the grief or rather the implied waste of life stemming from his own personal guilt, as Victor's quote resonated with the recent losses under his guidance.
Putting his hands down as hostilities abated, Ekteliar mag-locked the dangling Volkite Serpenta for long enough to interlock his knuckles. Despite the armoured gauntlets, the material around his hands seemed flexible enough to allow him such delicate movement, creating what was ubiquitously known as Sign of the Cog - an ancient Martian salute, a sister to its counterpart in the Ecclesiarchy. This was followed by a soft inclination of his head in answer to her bow, the heady vapour escaping in-between his steel teeth with scented aroma spreading around the ruin in a mix of exotic herbs and heavy incense:
"Apologies are appreciated but unnecessary on your part, Acolyte Vais for I am the one who was tardy with identification. Commissar Soldat's insight did not fail, as I am an ordained Magos, acting as an Executor to this planet on behalf of the nearby Forge World."
While the Sister-Acolyte's courtesy was kind, Magos realised it could be seen as a weakness, considering whom she represented. One who embodies final authority does not need the approval and cooperation of their inferior. However, Ekteliar's very calling often reminded him in his dealings with outcasts, reclaimators, trade and workers unions that in such callous approach information and thus resources are inevitable lost. If anything, the lack of need only emphasizes the degree to which one must go to connect with those one presumes to guide, not lessen it. Contradictory, but data at the fundamental level often is, as desires of the mind struggle with the needs of reality. This clash of opposing dualities Ekteliar has come to advocate as an omnipresent principle, visible at every level of experience and perception.
In hindsight, as a Venatorian Ambassador, he would be first to admit that Machine Cult could learn from this lesson the most.
His oculars irised at Adrielle's request for aid, not because it was framed as a request rather than flat out conscription, even if Ekteliar appreciated the difference, but how the illusion of choice made the urgency of her quest seem so dire. He continued on the previous train of thought, wondering if the cause is inexperience, innocent nature or simply an inferior position that she knows she cannot enforce demands from?
Despite the transhuman speeds at which his cognition operated at, even for him this amount of reflection was approaching laxity. Snapping from introspective mood, Ekteliar realised his Quest will continue down a very unexpected path.
Echoing Victor's salute to Adrielle's request, Ekteliar pledged himself to the Inquisition, if only as a henchman to the Acolyte:
"Authorizations can wait for more civilised circumstances," he said unclasping the volkite from mag-lock, "faithful of the Machine God heard you, Acolyte Adrielle and answer your call for aid."
On a cusp of his pledge, Luminant buzzed back into the corridor, the elongated skull-drone chirruping news to the Techpriest.
"This is the second survivor I mentioned, Acolyte Adrielle" Ekteliar gestured with his head toward the drone: ", and it tells me that those readings from the roof are making their way down."
Nubby Nubs
"We should not stay here any longer than needed."
Partially to prepare for combat, and in part as preparation for departure, Magos moved toward the exit of the building, spying through the door the environment and any legible communications transmitted in the local radius in order to ascertain the situation outside. This time, the spiked servo-skull followed him closely, adding its abilities to Ekteliar's efforts.
Looking back, down the corridor, he carefully ascertained the combat potential of the new arrivals. He was no soldier but it was truly the will of the Omnissiah that the diverse gathering has not started tearing each other apart, so naturally, he presumed them to be already part of Adrielle's cabal.
Standing out the most, was another masked individual, this one colourfully dressed wearing a face-simile of an archaic demon of ancient past. Its appearance, poise and lithe form reminded Magos of rumors of those, suddenly appearing theatre-troupes, that are known to perform plays for the citizenry in the middle of cities before likewise disappearing. While its graceful movement and strange, androgynous appearance certainly made one's head turn, the negative psionic readings were the focus of Ekteliar's bionic scrutiny.
Trace effects detected in his organic brains told him of the tell-tale effect that the mythical Blanks had on sentient beings, though that effect was almost negligible on Ekteliar, virtue of his transhuman state and previous exposure to such psychically-deadening phenomena. In all of his years, he heard of only one Blank being born on Venatoria and with what everyone else around him said, Magos had a hard time believing this to be an alien, even if doubts of his own formed about it.
Waiting at the exist with serpenta at the ready, Ekteliar observed the situation, curious if the behaviour models he constructed for the Sister and Commissar would hold true to reality.
As Victor followed this with a recital of the sombre imperial adage of duty and death, Magos nodded again even if he was oblivious of its precise context. He picked up on the loss and the grief or rather the implied waste of life stemming from his own personal guilt, as Victor's quote resonated with the recent losses under his guidance.
Putting his hands down as hostilities abated, Ekteliar mag-locked the dangling Volkite Serpenta for long enough to interlock his knuckles. Despite the armoured gauntlets, the material around his hands seemed flexible enough to allow him such delicate movement, creating what was ubiquitously known as Sign of the Cog - an ancient Martian salute, a sister to its counterpart in the Ecclesiarchy. This was followed by a soft inclination of his head in answer to her bow, the heady vapour escaping in-between his steel teeth with scented aroma spreading around the ruin in a mix of exotic herbs and heavy incense:
"Apologies are appreciated but unnecessary on your part, Acolyte Vais for I am the one who was tardy with identification. Commissar Soldat's insight did not fail, as I am an ordained Magos, acting as an Executor to this planet on behalf of the nearby Forge World."
While the Sister-Acolyte's courtesy was kind, Magos realised it could be seen as a weakness, considering whom she represented. One who embodies final authority does not need the approval and cooperation of their inferior. However, Ekteliar's very calling often reminded him in his dealings with outcasts, reclaimators, trade and workers unions that in such callous approach information and thus resources are inevitable lost. If anything, the lack of need only emphasizes the degree to which one must go to connect with those one presumes to guide, not lessen it. Contradictory, but data at the fundamental level often is, as desires of the mind struggle with the needs of reality. This clash of opposing dualities Ekteliar has come to advocate as an omnipresent principle, visible at every level of experience and perception.
In hindsight, as a Venatorian Ambassador, he would be first to admit that Machine Cult could learn from this lesson the most.
His oculars irised at Adrielle's request for aid, not because it was framed as a request rather than flat out conscription, even if Ekteliar appreciated the difference, but how the illusion of choice made the urgency of her quest seem so dire. He continued on the previous train of thought, wondering if the cause is inexperience, innocent nature or simply an inferior position that she knows she cannot enforce demands from?
Despite the transhuman speeds at which his cognition operated at, even for him this amount of reflection was approaching laxity. Snapping from introspective mood, Ekteliar realised his Quest will continue down a very unexpected path.
Echoing Victor's salute to Adrielle's request, Ekteliar pledged himself to the Inquisition, if only as a henchman to the Acolyte:
"Authorizations can wait for more civilised circumstances," he said unclasping the volkite from mag-lock, "faithful of the Machine God heard you, Acolyte Adrielle and answer your call for aid."
On a cusp of his pledge, Luminant buzzed back into the corridor, the elongated skull-drone chirruping news to the Techpriest.
"This is the second survivor I mentioned, Acolyte Adrielle" Ekteliar gestured with his head toward the drone: ", and it tells me that those readings from the roof are making their way down."
Nubby Nubs
"We should not stay here any longer than needed."
Partially to prepare for combat, and in part as preparation for departure, Magos moved toward the exit of the building, spying through the door the environment and any legible communications transmitted in the local radius in order to ascertain the situation outside. This time, the spiked servo-skull followed him closely, adding its abilities to Ekteliar's efforts.
Looking back, down the corridor, he carefully ascertained the combat potential of the new arrivals. He was no soldier but it was truly the will of the Omnissiah that the diverse gathering has not started tearing each other apart, so naturally, he presumed them to be already part of Adrielle's cabal.
Standing out the most, was another masked individual, this one colourfully dressed wearing a face-simile of an archaic demon of ancient past. Its appearance, poise and lithe form reminded Magos of rumors of those, suddenly appearing theatre-troupes, that are known to perform plays for the citizenry in the middle of cities before likewise disappearing. While its graceful movement and strange, androgynous appearance certainly made one's head turn, the negative psionic readings were the focus of Ekteliar's bionic scrutiny.
Trace effects detected in his organic brains told him of the tell-tale effect that the mythical Blanks had on sentient beings, though that effect was almost negligible on Ekteliar, virtue of his transhuman state and previous exposure to such psychically-deadening phenomena. In all of his years, he heard of only one Blank being born on Venatoria and with what everyone else around him said, Magos had a hard time believing this to be an alien, even if doubts of his own formed about it.
Waiting at the exist with serpenta at the ready, Ekteliar observed the situation, curious if the behaviour models he constructed for the Sister and Commissar would hold true to reality.
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Karcen
Ten Thousand Club
Aranelle followed the human, she did not like the idea of relying on them, but she had proposed the alliance and the humans were most likely to more numerous when it came to survivors of the fall. They would come to an area with several more humans, one wearing a lighter version of gene spliced super humans armor and something about her seemed a little off, there was another that was far more machine than human likely a worshiper of machines, a mask clad officer that was likely to kill his men as often as the enemy, and some poor tortured twisted soul that reminded Aranelle of the servitors of humans as much as a normal human. This group would have to do for now as Aranelle needed to get to the webway to get off the world and that was the most likely place any other Eldar survivors would go to rally. The question was what to do with these humans when she got there as exposing such a secret to humans was inviting trouble in the webways, though that would trouble the dark ones more than anyone else. Aranelle doubted any would know the structures of her people as even now they broke taboo after taboo of even acknowledging a solitaire.
Aranelle removed her mask exposing her face which like most eldar was beautiful almost painfully so, still it left no room for any to doubt what she was below the mask as deamons could easily pretend to be something they weren't. The machine man seemed the most interested in her and she felt his odd gaze but ignored it having to translate her own thoughts few times to get to something humans would understand and was blunt enough for them to comprehend its meaning " A Shepard guides their flock from the wolves into the gate that promises safety" She said her way of telling them she knew a way off the world.
Aranelle removed her mask exposing her face which like most eldar was beautiful almost painfully so, still it left no room for any to doubt what she was below the mask as deamons could easily pretend to be something they weren't. The machine man seemed the most interested in her and she felt his odd gaze but ignored it having to translate her own thoughts few times to get to something humans would understand and was blunt enough for them to comprehend its meaning " A Shepard guides their flock from the wolves into the gate that promises safety" She said her way of telling them she knew a way off the world.
VomitIcicle
Junior Member
"Enemy of the Imperium, be purged!" Sigma-0012 screamed from behind his impassive mask, spittle and saliva coating the inside of his respirator, his eyes darting wildly from the xenos to his superiors, were they traitors? Consorting with the alien? Or was he the traitor? Was this an Imperial agent in disguise? Utilizing some sort of advanced camouflage? In his panic, he turned to the most trustworthy figure he saw, the one who had called herself an Acolyte of the Inquisition. The sister of battle. He averted his eyes immediately, they burned. He was not meant to look upon a daughter of the Emperor, so pure, so faithful. A far greater servant to Him than a poor wretch like himself would ever be.
"Orders, sister." Sigma croaked out, gun still trained on the inhumane and profane creature before him.
Murdergurl
Murdergurl
will turn your insides into your outsides
Nubby Nubs
(I believe you said you were going to interject with a plot advance now?)Users who are viewing this thread
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