Forum adverts like this one are shown to any user who is not logged in. Join us by filling out a tiny 3 field form and you will get your own, free, dakka user account which gives a good range of benefits to you: No adverts like this in the forums anymore. Times and dates in your local timezone. Full tracking of what you have read so you can skip to your first unread post, easily see what has changed since you last logged in, and easily see what is new at a glance. Email notifications for threads you want to watch closely. Being a part of the oldest wargaming community on the net. If you are already a member then feel free to login now.

WARORK93 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:You should go save the manservant in some heroic and awesome way, as you do, then we can both mock everyone else for being useless.

OOC: Oh really? Finding the manservant, protecting the manservant, providing the team with up to date info on their targets, defending the base from corrupt arbiters, saving Wilson and Ronan, and to top it all off, losing an arm in the process...

What the feth am I? Chopped Kroot jerky?

"Hey Soric, I've been living off hive sludge for too long.. you feel like some chopped kroot jerky tonight?"
"Sounds good. But I like mine to have a certain.. ah.. Mechanicus Crunch."

Nah, I jest. You can join our two-man party as well.

Darko, do not piss off the Ork.

Scrazza wrote:Darko, do not piss off the Ork.

OOC: On that note I would like to apologize in advance, I will be absent from Dakka from today until Monday, so until then...

Have fun dying!

WARORK93 wrote:Have fun dying!

Hehehe.. don't worry Warork, I'll look after your character whilst having fun dying.

(OOC: On a related note I'm away until a week on Sunday at best. Darko, you are NOT touching Aygapus . EF, he's all yours.)

Little lord Fauntleroy wrote:(OOC: On a related note I'm away until a week on Sunday at best. Darko, you are NOT touching Aygapus . EF, he's all yours.)

>.>
<.<
o.o

-touch-

ehehehe.

I was going to have him have a scruffle with the World Eater... but maybe not.

Also,

http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/480/363638.page

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Might just reveal myself.

Tempted..

I too, am dissapointed to say I can't roleplay starting from tomorrow, until the 21st of august.

First I'll be leaving to the coast with my parents for a couple days,then I am staying with some friends at another part of the coast, then I'm leaving for Pukkelpop (BOOYAH, I'll be seeing Rise Against, the offspring, Foo Fighters and many more Live!)

So can EF please take care of my character untill I'm back?

@Darko: Any unnecessary touching of my character will be noted and reprimanded in due time.

Rise Against <3

Well you have fun with that good sir.

But the way it's going, we might as well call a halt to the game.. Just as things were picking up!

Well, it's EF's call, I want to carry on, seeing as we still have a majority of the players left to carry the game.

But we will carry on. Just because real life tends to get in the way of my little imaginary character it doesn't mean I won't continue after real life is over.

I say don't stop this, it's way to cool. Just wait for a bit.

Scrazza wrote:But we will carry on. Just because real life tends to get in the way of my little imaginary character it doesn't mean I won't continue after real life is over.

I say don't stop this, it's way to cool. Just wait for a bit.

Regardless, I'm still going to wait for EF to chime in before I go killing off that Marine.

Although I'd do it in a suitably painful fashion for all those concerned.. can't be a hero without getting a wound now can we?

I can always accidentilly get Soric to shoot you. Accidents do happen you now.

Scrazza wrote:I can always accidentilly get Soric to shoot you. Accidents do happen you now.

"Oh gee, I'm real sorry Soric, I didn't see your face there when I was aiming this Lascannon.."

*a vicious virus bombing opens up on Khan's last coordinates.*

Scrazza wrote:*a vicious virus bombing opens up on Khan's last coordinates.*

-Khan stands victorious, as he knows that nobody uses asterisks to show action anymore. It's all about the hyphens nowadays. Awww yeaaah.-

RP post inbound, am lacking inspiration though have a few idea's. Just wanted you to know I haven't walked off or anything

HellsGuardian316 wrote:RP post inbound, am lacking inspiration though have a few idea's. Just wanted you to know I haven't walked off or anything

should I wait for you to make a IC post, or can I go ahead and do a piece myself?

I'm kinda bored now, and I want to push Soric to the limit.

Meh,gonna do it anyway.

BIC:

Character: Soric
Location: Sacraficial chamber
Situation: gravely wounded. Gunshot wound to the shoulder and a stabwound in his right side.


Looking from over his cover, he saw the Khornate Champion limping towards Khan, who was working up his Magiks. He felt his skin crawl again, the sentation of the fight with the brutish cultist had forced his mind to concentrate at the fight at hand. Now, he felt the rush of cold air again, the spark of Wizardry. Soric despised wizards, back on Ousia the Ousians used to burn wizards and witches on huge pyres. In some views, Ousia was still a backwater and medieval planet, though with the technological benefits of Imperial Rule.

He cast his gaze away from the wizard working his Magiks, and wondered where Slavro was. He eventually spotted him behind another piece of cover, reloading his pistol and getting up to fire at the Khornate Legionairy. Most of the cultists were either dead or dying, or frantically trying to get away from this charnel room. They were only a dozen odd remaining cultists in the room. The majority of the slaves were cowering away from the gunfire. Some cultists killed their capures with gutting knives, no doubt trying to gain more favor from their false God. Fools. He wished the manservant was still safe, lest their actions and sacrafices were of no value.

He ducked back behind his cover, as small fragments erupted as a slug round hit the wall close to him. The pain, that relentless feeling of pain. He opened his first aid kit again, and swallowed another two pain killers. Under an unseizing fire from the enemy, Soric attempted to seel off the wound in his side. That wound would likely kill him sooner then his shoulder wound. He could already feel his lifeblood seeping away from him. He got out a piece of synth-skin with shaking hands, and applied it after he had ripped his tunic appart to make room to for his hands to reach in. He could alreay feel the pain killers working, anf felt the pain ebbing away. Either that, or the blood loss had been to great and he was just dying. After having applied the synth-skin, he tried removing his wrecked shoulder plate, but it hurt too much. The round had not only punched a hole in his shoulder plate, but the armour exploded inwards. The sides of the hole had punched inwards, right into his flesh. trying to remove it himself was to rip most of his shoulder away as well.

He stopped taking care of himself, it was hopeless. He managed to rip out his machete from the dead brute's belly. he gripped his Hellgun, holding it as tightly as a man shot though the shoulder could. He remembered Ousia once more, a place he would never come back to again. The Imperium's bureaucracy had him captured in an endless wave of violence and death. Death would be his only release. There was no way he could be able to break free from this Inquisitorial grasp. He uttered a small prayer to Saint Myria, the patron saint of Ousia.

Soric lifted his Hell gun, and got up, releasing bright blue las in the Traitor Marine's dirrection. Another two holes were punched through the ancient power armor of the Marine. Something seeped through the puncure holes. Soric settled that for blood, but it didn't look like human blood. True, this marine was a demi-god once, or a son of one at least. The bleeding stopped a couple of seconds after, the marine's enhanced biological features sure were a wonder of the Imperium.

Stormtrooper Ghast quickly ducked back behind cover. He had sucessfull drawn attention from several cultists. Slavro gunned two of them down as they got their heads over their cover to get some shots off at Soric. These Cultists were terrible bad shots, and all of the shots fired at Soric missed their target.

"Slavro, cover me!" Soric yelled, and Slavro once again fires shots at the cultists, and Soric took this opportunity to move up to the next piece of cover. He ducked behind it, dodging bullets and lasbeams. From where he was, he had a perfect shot at another cultist. He aimed and pulled the trigger. The cultist flopped sideways, his exposed side punched through by high powered las. He got down behind the cover,and saw a cultist holding his knife over a weeping women. The woman made no attemt to protect herself, obviously she had taken peace with her death. Soric brought up his rifle, and took the head off the knife-swinging cultist.

The woman seemed tp praise the Emperor for her survival. Or at least, Soric hoped it was the Emperor she was thanking...

Oke, I'm going to sleep, and I'm gone from tomorrow until the 21st of august. EF,would you please look after Soric while I'm gone?

((Unfortunately, internet access at my place is down (I'm typing from a friend's) so I won't be able to do too much this weekend.

There are some really fantastic posts here, and we should finish this objective soon becuase it's looking pretty dire straights.

In the meantime, I think someone else should have a turn to kill friendlies. Dispose of Interrogator Claudius. ))

Emperors Faithful wrote:In the meantime, I think someone else should have a turn to kill friendlies. Dispose of Interrogator Claudius. ))

It shall be done, my lord. Now where'd I leave my rusty garden spade?

I am away next week at camp... so... once again I will follow the Inquisitors orders... Unless it is something ludicrous like, "Jager take one for the team."

Apologies on the delay, writers block and all that mixed with crappy RL


Character: Brother Ronan
Location: Just inside the Observation Post Door
Situation: Wounded



Although he was too proud to admit it, Mikal and the wounded Wilson had just saved his life. Few words were spoken as Mikal limped Ronan inside the building before returning to his post, such men had little use for words as they understood the tomes of battle.

Wilson crouched painfully with the medkit in his hand, fumbling for the various devices needed to help stave off death from the wounds suffered. The loud din of battle outside seemed to increase in volumn, the deathening sounds of heavy stubber fire from the implacements, the shouts and screams from Arbiters falling and louds bangs from the grenades being used in their attempts to gain entry to the building.

Ronan's face still felt hot from the blow he had taken, the wound in his stomach still hampering him as the wound finally clotted enough for him to gain his movement. In a swift movement he raised himself up straight, clenching his boltgun and a face filled with rage and hatred he strode back to the door. If it weren't for the blood soaked armour you could be forgiven for thinking that he had not even been wounded as he came to the door, leaving Wilson to tend to his own wounds lest he finally sucumb to his injuries.

His face clenched in anger as he booted the door clean off its hinges, Boltgun in right hand, blade in the left as the door smacked a Arbiter straight in the chest, throwing him to the ground, the broken door laying on top of him as he tried to regain his senses. At the same time Ronan released a shot at the Aribiter left of him while throwing his knife to an Aribter on his right. The blade sliced through his neck causing him to stagger as blood sprayed from the huge gash as the bolt round blew away the top part of the other Arbiters head. Within just 3 seconds 2 Arbiters lay dead with a third wounded.

Ronan barely had time to jut backwards through the doorway as shots whistled past him as the other Arbiters raced towards him. A shot struck Ronan through the left forearm, cleanly exiting through the otherside and embedding itself into the wooden doorframe as Ronan looked back into the building too Wilson .

"Wilson!!" he cried, "Prepare yourself!!" Backstepping into the room and away from the door that was about to be overrun and grabbing a desk, flipping it over to use as a makeshift barrier. The noise around him was deafening, it was not distracting though, living the life of war one soon gets used to the constant noise of battle. Wilson saw another desk and seemingly decided that a second piece of cover would allow for degree of crossfire.

A smoke grenade suddenly shot into the room from outside, clanging off the wall and then rolling across the floor as it released the gas. Ronan let out a grin at their stupidity, despite their training they clearly had not taken any notice of the enemy they wished to engage. And now they had actually given a good amount of screening to a Guardsmen wearign a gasmask and an Astartes capable of breathing even in hostile environments. Ronan saw Wilson looking at him, if he was a guessing man he would guess Wilson's expression to be one of being greatly amused.

Two Arbiters raced into the room wearing gasmasks, falling almost immeadiatly to a mixture of boltgun fire and flame as they tried to gain a bearing on the hidden Astartes and Guardsman. Another bounded in quickly behind them, only to meet the same fate as they shot almost blindly into the smoke filled room. Wilson and Ronan both knew they could not stay here, with the Arbiters surrounding and advancing on the building they would soon lose this tempory foothold. They had the advantage of numbers and firepower, tactically Ronan knew it would be better to withdraw and take the firefight through the building giving the reinforcements more time to get here.

OOC: Alright, I'm back and I think I have something in mind....stay tuned...

EDIT: BIC:

The next few minutes of Mikal's life were hectic to say the least. Mikal, however, did not find that dwelling on the fact that his life was hanging in the balance made the situation any better so he dispelled any thoughts of despair. It was his duty, his directive, to continue to operate until his mind was united with that of the Omnissiah's.

He had a problem he could not fix...The stubber's were running out of ammo and it seemed that the arbiters had cleared a way through the minefield and were now trying to force a way into the building. They were surrounded too and it was impossible to keep all the hostiles from getting into the building. Below him, he could hear the chatter and whoosh of Ronan's and Wilson's weapons respectively. There was a large amount of pained and frantic shouting as well, there was no doubt that the arbiters had taken massive losses but still they came. One of the stubbers dry clicked and a servitor brought it another box of ammo...the last one...

With no contact with the promised reinforcements, Mikal knew there was only one thing to do, he picked up his plasma pistol with a clarity that only he could have. The blessings of his order had given him peace in the cold efficiency of steel and machine. It was now that he embraced that part of himself, he often rejected it in practice but here and now, it was the only thing keeping him operable. Mikal marched to a window and leaned out, acquiring a target immediately and firing through the smoke and haze. He fired a searing blue bolt that took the right arm off a screaming arbiter, went through it, and carved half the head off of a second one who dropped without a scream. Fire spanked up at Mikal wildly and he took a stray shot in the chest plate of his exoskeleton. It bounced of and sent him a step back, he regained his footing quickly and fired another shot from his smoking pistol.

"For Emperor and Omnissiah!" He shouted through the window, somewhere behind him he heard a stubber click dry and the bootfalls of hostiles. For some reason, he recalled a phrase Commissar Milan shouted once while the Cadian 45th were defending a bridge from chaos forces...

"To the last man, with the last round!" He boomed and fired another shot. His plasma gun, though old, burned blue white. Suddenly the vox amp behind him barked to life with shouts for someone to acknowledge. Mikal limped over to it and placed his sizzling pistol on the table, he picked up the vox phone and...

the ground shook...something exploded close by and threw Mikal from his feet. He registered the sounds of missile launchers, autocannons...and jet engines...

"This is Firehawk lead with Firehawk squadron...We are seeking to assist the forces affiliated with Inquisitor Avare, the boots are on their way but we have arrived in advance. I need a visual marker of your location so we can provide accurate fire support." The voice coolly stated. Mikal analyzed the sound of the jet wash and found that it lined up with the nuances of Imperial Vulture gunships...three of them to be exact. Mikal said a small prayer of thanks to the Omnissiah for salvation and keyed his vox.

"Gaz, deploy smoke on the roof, we must make sure our support does not mistake us for the enemy." Mikal said and picked up the vox phone. "This is Techpriest Mikal, our hostiles surround us on all sides, one of my comrades is triggering a visual marker for you now and I will activate the beacon on the vox in the building. We require close air support, danger close, Omnissiah be with you." Mikal said and hung up, flipping a switch on the vox amp to set the infrared beacon on.

"Roger that Engineseer, stay down, this is going to be a close shave, the Emperor protects." The replying voice said. In a few moments the sounds of missiles and autocannons opened back up, shaking the ground once more and obliterating the lines of the arbiters so horribly that they were forced to take cover in other nearby buildings. They continued to fire but their force was severely depleted now and it was becoming sporadic. Mikal and the others still could not move outside the building but at least they had been saved from immediate destruction.

The World Eater, though injured from the weight of fire wrought upon him, was still standing tall and strong and was most certainly as terrifying as ever. To normal men that is. Narciso Claudius was not a normal man. He had long since shed himself of any mortal fears that had once hindered him. A righteous oath on his lips, he raised his Inferno pistol, the flames from the ornate weapon searing the traitor, melting and fusing the Berserkers' ceramite chest plate. In retaliation, two Bolt rounds hit him in the gut with pin-point accuracy, the powerful shells detonating and spilling what few remains there were of the Interrogator's innards on the ground. Claudius collasped with a cry, more of anger than pain. His would-be executioner stood over him, snapping off a few shots to suppress the rest of the retinue, before looking down at the Interrogator. "Your skull goes to Khorne!" The giant Astartes declared, raising his Chainsword to deliver the killing blow.
Claudius was undeterred even in the face of death, his eyes full of fiery rage. "The Emperor protects!" He retorted, intercepting the swing with his Power sword, severing the power-armored hand. The World Eater roared in rage, before crushing Claudius' skull underfoot. He emptied his pistol before discarding it and reclaiming his Chainsword in time to swing it at the foe he sensed behind.

Khan ducked the whirring, gore-soaked Chainsword before thrusting the Phase sword into the titan's still smoking chest, the blade passing through the melted ceramite like a knife through air. He leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding a downwards sweep from his deadly opponent, the monomolecular teeth of the Chainsword biting into the ground. He scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked back down as the Khorne Berserker kicked him in the chest, breaking several ribs and fracturing his ribcage. He raised his hand and unleashed a burst of warp lightning into the terrible warrior before him, though it did little but scorch the already brutalized Power armor. The Berserker expertly removed Khan's outstretched hand with an almost graceful swing of his vicious weapon. The lightning ceased and Khan screamed in pain. The traitor Astartes prepared to claim his fourth kill of the fight, when a glowing blade exited his chest.
"Blake, now!" Avare called, as the Chaos Marine spun round and sent Avare flying with a vicious backhand, leaving her in a dazed crumple a few metres away, her jaw crooked and broken. The Berserker turned back to face his Psyker opponent, only to have a dazzling blade plunged into his primary heart. The room suddenly became cold as Khan drew upon his deepest reserves of power, channeling it straight through his blade into the Marine. The blade glowed white hot and the Khorne Berserker roared in anger and pain as his life was extinguished, an aura of power surrounding his killer whose eyes overflowed with intense energies beyond even a champion of Khorne's control. In a hopeless attempt at survival, the Khorne warrior weakly swung his Chainsword at Khan, but his strength was all but gone, he felt it being stolen from him. Still, the teeth of the sword bit into Khan's side, before the arm holding it fell limp.

Then it was over. The light faded. The chamber returned to its original temperature. The Berserker fell back with a clunk, his form lifeless and still; three blades portruding from his ravaged form. As for the slayer of the beast, he too fell down, blood leaking from his wounds. Though he lay still, life continued to flow through him. Everyone in the room was stunned momentarily, however Aygapus was the first to react two seconds later, gunning down the cultists that had revealed themselves to watch their supposed "God" slaughter their foes. The rest scattered, either trying to find some refuge from the Inquisitorial fury or falling on their knees to beg for redemption or mercy, however they were gifted only with death.

One however, remained resolute in the face of overwhelming and absolute defeat. He was known as Scarface and with good reason; his face was a mess of scars, perhaps earned in battle or self-inflicted. None could know for sure, for the second-in-command of the Crimson Jackals was mysterious and uncompromising in his ways. He stood, holding a man who was supposed to have been a sacrifice, a Plasma pistol pressed against the side of the short, overweight mans' head. Scarface said nothing, his eyes betraying his rage well enough. He was a big man and held his squirming prisoner in an iron-hard grip. Perhaps this was an attempt at escape, or maybe he sensed his prisoners' importance. Whatever the reason, it was irrelevant, for all that mattered was that the person he held was the manservant.

Those members of the Inquisitorial retinue who had not been killed or otherwise disabled grouped together, weapons raised and aimed at the sole remaining cultist. None shot. They all knew the importance of this moment, yet none knew how to proceed without jeopardizing their mission. Scarface made an expression that resembled some sort of satisfied grin. Perhaps whatever plan he had in mind had a chance to succeed after all.

It most certainly did not. A bloody soldier appeared behind Scarface, wrenching his pistol-weilding arm down as he plunged a trench knife into the ganger's throat, using it as leverage to throw him to the ground. As the man fell, his Plasma pistol fired and struck the terrified manservant in his right kneecap, separating the leg and causing the pathetic man to scream out in pain as he slumped to the floor, grasping the burnt stump that remained of his injured leg. His cries of agony were drowned out as several members of the retinue shot Scarface into messy chunks of mutilated gore. Soric spat on what remained of Scarface before collapsing to his knees.

It was over. They had won. Aajz had already started to treat the manservant and the others were applying what first-aid they knew to their own and others injuries. However, little did they know of the battle that still raged above them...

OOC: Hopefully that was suitably epic. Edited it a few times to fix a few spelling or grammar mistakes.

Edit: Heh, the irony. The one time I post something reasonably long, nobody's around to see it.

OOC: Snarky, not entirely sure what's going on in your post.. and as for the Marine exploding.. where'd you get that idea?

Not trying to stamp on your creativity.. it just seems.. random and unnecessary. Also, considering Khan is half a metre away from the CSM..

Well, I tried to go for Kill Claudius, but you managed to kill the traitor marine and all the cultists beforehand, so I thought back to what would make a corpse dangerous?

And I of course thought back to Dawn of War, with the exploding corpses as sacrifices to Khorne. But, as it's too zany, I'll just edit that out

Ah, I get ya. But Claudius was already dead anyway.

Subject: Wilson
Location: OP
Status: Defending Position.

With the arrival of friendly close air support, the number of hostiles entering Wilson and Ronan's killing ground had dropped significantly, judging by the noise, they now had to deal with at least two gun-ships, one of which was using its punisher gating cannon rather excessively.

Good thing they had arrived when they did, Wilson mused, while the few Arbites still standing poured shot after shot into a space about five feet to the guardsmen's right, as if he was going to stay were he had just sprayed them with burning fuel even with the smoke cover, idiots.

"I'm dry!" he yelled to Ronan, then incinerated the first Arbite who tried to rush the defenders through the perceived opening, then laughed mockingly as the corpse hit the blood slick floor. That trick never got old.

His flamer really was empty, so he ran back to his previous position, scooping up a fallen shotgun as he moved, dragging an arbite corpse with his so he could scavenge more ammo from him, when the man's helmet fell off.

Wilson, thumbed random shells into the breach, then racked the slide and ducked out of cover to blow the head of another Arbite with a round that seemed to follow the man's movement, the next round was a conventional shell, and tore open the chest of an Arbite trying to flank him.

"Oh yeah, I'm keeping this." WIlson muttered to himself, his next shotgun blast only wounding his target, who was then messily executed by Ronan's descending boot.

WIlson was suddenly aware that there was no more incoming fire, and he carefully raised his head above the heavily shredded desk, through the rapidly dispersing smoke all he could see were corpses, some still ablaze.

"Wilson to Mikal, we're all clear out here, Ronan and I are going to sweep the lower levels, and thank those pilots for me. Out"