[@Jarl Coolgruuf][@Dogematix][@Poi][@AdvancedJ3lly][@Andreyich][@CaptainBritton][@Superboy]


“I believe she was going to shoot you, Major,” spoke Sergeant Latentius in a half-whisper, turning his back on the group as they got themselves organised, “I still think she may.”

Bonham peered at the Cadian whom the other had just addressed, and this 'Steiner' was not wrong, the fragile-looking Guardswoman appeared to be practically on the edge of collapse. Clearly her loyalties had been scrambled by his appearance and that of the body he had dragged in, a feeling he knew much more than she could ever guess.

“Sergeant Latentius will take up the rear as we form a single-filed column, I shall take point,” he announced after a moments thought, “keep your weapons prepared and your senses sharp. We are heading to the ships armoury to get you something better to wear than your undergarments.”

After a quick glimpse into the corridor beyond the chamber he strode out and gestured with his pistol, placing himself at the head of the group – his trusted Sergeant bringing up the rear for obvious reasons – blueprints that only he seemed to recall allowing he and the squad to move through the hallways and corridors like phantasms; here and there they came upon bodies, either clad in black like himself, sometimes crimson and black, and sometimes figures more atypical of Chaos cultists clad in rags and with rusted pipes and aged autopistols in their twisted grip

From all around them the echoes of battle came, familiar to everyone present, sometimes sounding nearer than they were and sometimes further, yet somehow they managed to avoid any direct confrontations and came upon the thrice-blessed and sealed doorway of the armoury in good order. From the bullet-shredded carcasses spread before the chamber, cultists for the most part, it was obvious that they had made at least one attempt to breach the room and failed miserably – even those that had taken cover behind the crates strewn about or bulkheads they thought safe had been annihilated.

Soon they found out why...

The hulking form of a Charron Pattern battle servitor loomed large from the shadows, the multiple barrels of its assault cannon whirring as it prepared to shred them all into a bloody mess, the dead and ivory white features of what had once been a man making no expression as it primed itself for murder.

“Cease.”

Turning to 'look' at the Major, a thin beam of red light made its way over the officers body, the cannon (a flamer replacing the other arm) slowing to inactivity and the servitor withdrawing.

“Identi-tags in the armour,” he said by way of explanation, giving a pearly-toothed smile to the others over his shoulder, “now for the pay-off.”

He waited a moment, holding his altered version of a rosette up to the doorway, counting from ten to one and giving another smile as the mechanisms of the door began to move. One after another the door opened, three layers of adamantium between them and the interior, each peeling away to reveal the armoury and allow them entry.

“Inside everyone, now if you please.”

Once inside he thumbed a number of buttons and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind them, turning about to face the group and waving a hand at the racks and shelves of well-kept equipment.

“Get kitted up, we [b]will[/b] have to fight our way out of here, I assure you.”

Black was the shade of the day it seemed, every piece of flak and carapace armour (all standard Cadian-pattern) and every lasgun the same. For ease of use the armoury had been split into various sections, one containing 'standard issue' equipment – flak armour, lasguns, bayonets and the like – while another was categorised as 'heavy support', rocket launchers, flamethrowers and human-sized plasma weapons (as opposed to those wielded by the Astartes) studding the walls. Lastly was 'close quarters', chainswords, daggers and even the odd flensing knife visible.



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Outside of the armoury the forces of Chaos were already gathering, a large splinter of the main force having detected the Major and his followers, and now – several Stormtroopers at their head – a swarm of mutants and shrieking cultists swept through the corridor to take their places, forming a crescent pointing toward the triple-locked doorway of the room.

They had not counted on the Battle Servitor, the construct lumbering out of the gloom once more, flamer spurting liquid promethium and cannon thrumming as it gunned down fanatics and traitors in righteous but programmed fury.

Many were those cleansed by fire or torn apart by bolts, but even the servitor eventually succumbed to damage, the traitors blowing apart its legs to hobble it and, finally, putting charged Hellgun shots into the half-machines cranium until it ceased to move. The damage had been done though, the warband-sized group whittled down to a dozen or so individuals wielding autorifles, a couple of lasguns, and at least two Hellguns in the hands of enemy Stormtroopers.

Still slightly shaken, although their fanatical faith held them firm, the group turned as the doors began to open...