[center][@Wraithblade6][@DepressedSoviet][@DracoLunaris][@Andreyich][@Dead Cruiser][@Zelosse][@Hank][/center] It was supposed to be a quick transfer between point A to point B, to be a swift traversing of realspace to the co-ordinates that Curvus had given to the Deathwatch...but things rarely go according to plan. Midway through the voyage of the Inquisitorial Cruiser [i]Arcadius[/i], a Lunar-class Cruiser with some slight modifications made to it by Curvus and their long association with the ship, Watch-Captain Roa was voxed from the bridge and his immediate presence requested. Such an unorthodox command, from the human Captain of the vessel nonetheless, immediately put the warrior on edge and within a matter of minutes he had half-sprinted his way from his chamber on the middle deck to the ships bridge. All eyes turned to watch the armoured giant as he approached the much smaller Captain Calzane, a career officer of the Imperial Navy who had joined the Inquisition at the behest of a superior and showed not an ounce of fear as the Astartes stepped up onto the throne-dais to speak with him. Once you had seen as many members of the Deathwatch as he had, well, the shock and awe simply went out the window. “Captain,” rumbled the bare-headed giant, “you requested my presence?” “It would appear we are being shadowed, my Lord.” Now the unease he had felt at being summoned turned into full blown disquiet. “Elaborate.” Calzane shifted slightly at the lack of manners, but then again he expected as much from a superhuman warrior, “our long-distance scanners have picked up the signatures of numerous ships, yet only periodically, before they disappear once more from our screens. As far as we can tell, the signatures are certainly xenos in nature, but of what form we cannot yet say.” “Current distance?” “Also uncertain...but they are swallowing the space between us with some velocity.” “Estimated time until engagement?” “An hour at best,” the Captain said through gritted teeth, knowing what would be asked next and deftly pre-empting it, “and half that at the worst.” “Alert the veterans and tell them to meet me in the briefing room.” “Aye, Lord.” [hr] The meeting between the Watch-captain and his direct subordinates as a short one, time was of the essence and there was none of it to lose, each Marine giving their own opinions but eventually reaching a conclusion as to the best course of action. “We cannot outrun them then,” questioned Brother Lartius at one point, “so we must stand our ground and show them the might of the Astartes, yes?” All agreed that this would be best, their current transport a Lunar-class Cruiser – a vessel of considerable fire power and, with alterations made by the Inquisition, greater speed and manoeuvrability than usual for such a ship. As such it could handle itself against most adversaries of a similar class, and with the payload of a squad the size of two Kill-teams it most assuredly held a distinct advantage. “So they are fast, faint and without a specific signature,” mused Brother-Veteran Cylaris, “sounds like-” “Eldar.” Finished Rathanael, the only member of the coterie still wearing his helmet around the hololithic table and projector centred between their circle of bodies. “The Eldar, while prone to piratical raids here and there, are not foolish enough to come after a vessel this size without reason...they are a dying breed after all.” “Cylaris is right,” came the slightly scrambled speech of the resident Techmarine, “the Eldar would not trail us or get this close without good reason.” “No, not the perfidious Eldar...but their dark kin?” Mused Koldobika, a large crimson finger scratching his over-large cheek for a moment. There was a hiss from those gathered about the table, acidic bile rising from the glands in the throat of Roa Eritana, “it...would seem logical, probably having never seen a ship such as ours before, and unaware of exactly what it is they are tracking.” “Then let us show them,” suggested Lartius with a grin, his lips peeling back to reveal vampiric fangs, his beauteous façade changing to that of a supernatural predator in a change of expression, “let us put our initiates through their first trial.” “I had hoped to wait until we reached our destination, but I concede that now is as good a time as any; let it be so.” [hr] Ships of the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue - hulls of deep blues and marked with the sigil of a striking serpent, bladed projections jutting from them at erratic angles, and ordnance swivelling this way and that – came upon the [i]Arcadius[/i] in a perfectly devised formation. It allowed enough room for their swifter ships, Torture-class Cruisers and smaller Corsair escort ships, to manoeuvre while still surrounding the larger enemy ships. Dracon S'rath watched over this with an experienced eye, inwardly pleased to have caught such a prize all alone and out in the void, while outwardly appearing as stoic and cold as a block of marble. It was a Mon-Keigh ship bearing odd markings – that being no markings at all, save for a layer of black paint – but to the arrogant commander of this large-scale raiding force it was an insignificant detail that mattered not at all. “Helmsman,” hissed the Dracon through teeth sharpened into points, “attack pattern Soul-Drinker, and be quick about it.” Moments later a void-war began, the batteries of the Lunar Cruiser opening up as spectral vessels swept by and glided skilfully away from torpedoes and macro-batteries, Phantom lances and weapons of dark matter stripping away the shields of their preys defences one-by-one; a lucky strike from a torpedo caused a Corsair escort to implode in a show of light and wreckage, S'rath gripping the arms of his chair tightly and opening comms to his subordinates. “Prepare leech torpedoes and Impalers, we shall leave them like a man without air and drag them screaming back to Commorragh!” Aboard multiple vessels Kabalite warriors prepared themselves, Impaler Assault Modules filling to the brim with bloodthirsty and sadistic killers; soon the Leech torpedoes would drain the power from the [i]Arcadius[/i] and leave it dead in the nothingness of space, a target containing some ninety-five thousand souls to be harvested and killed at the whim of the Kabals Archon. Little did they realise that it was a choice they may come to regret. [hr] They sat together in within the confines of the [url=http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Caestus_Assault_Ram]Caestus Assault Ram[/url], one of three within the bowels of the Lunar Cruiser, and as black as the rest of the vessel, each of the Deathwatch marines linked up to the attack crafts 'misericorde' – a system consisting of multiple retractable inertia suppression clamps which connect with a Space Marines power armour, locking them in place and protecting them from any impact short of one which could destroy the entire craft. Brothers Corbite, Inri, and Ironmarch sat on one side of the ships interior while Felbane, Gadex and Berauth sat directly opposite – 'Sorrow' was given a seating placement of his own, further serving to show him as an outcast to the group. Extremely short notice had been given to the Astartes inside the heavily armoured vehicle, a whirlwind briefing taking place not long before the Dark Eldar had opened fire on the [i]Arcadius[/i]; they had been told in no uncertain terms that they were to be sent into combat while the veterans stayed aboard the Cruiser to help defend it from any enemy incursions that successfully navigated through there shield and weapons fire. Where was it they were going? Captain Calzane had managed to get a lock on the ship that they [i]believed[/i] was leading the raiding party, a Torture-class Cruiser that needed to be 'removed' from the conflict in our for them to survive. It was up to Kill-team Epsilon take the Assault Ram and board the enemy ship, making their way to its bridge and cutting off the head from the serpent, a secondary objective being to lower its shadowfield in order that a more accurate lock could be made on it. Watch-Captain Roa would be monitoring everything from the [i]Arcadius[/i], guiding them as they went. Without windows or view-ports they failed to see the outside battle as their craft launched itself from the bay of the Cruiser, twinkling lance shots hissing past and more solid projectiles both missing them and glancing from the crafts thickened armour plating. Guided by the pilot and gunner servitors, each slaved to their respective positions within the ship, the eighty-five metric ton vehicle blasted toward the shimmering haze of the enemy Cruiser at maximum speed, impacting into the hull and slowly but surely burning through with the Magna-Melta which served as both weapon and boarding device. Had someone glanced, they would have seen the blackened vehicle attaching itself to some haze of a ship – the outline only somewhat visible against the twinkling backdrop of stars. “Five...four...three...two...one...” A hiss of metal that was now molten slag could be heard outside the landing ramp, even as the ramp itself began to descended and the locking mechanisms of the attack crafts thrones released the Astartes and their equipment from where they'd been placed. “You have your orders,” crackled the voice of Roa over the long-range squad-wide vox, heard by those who wore their helmets at least, “the Emperor and I are watching over you, and you shall know no fear.” All that was left was for the Kill-team to disgorge themselves into the corridor of the Dark Eldar ships lower levels, for that was where they had impacted, and prepare themselves to carry out the Emperor's will.