Well, I can't yet say whether Stukov is relieved or not about the odds of a daemon out of the head being equivalent to a daemon out the ass. I'll get up a post once the others have had a chance to respond to the Armsman's kind words.
Eisenhorn
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Most Recent Posts
Jerod
Jerod shrugged about the rumor of some Chon'sin group looking to track down Jacob and his Shepards. If they intended to help, great, they could join forces. If not, it would be another slaughter. There really was no middle ground in dealing with this church fanatical group, anyone aligned with them fully intended to murder everyone who stood against them. And that left the rest of the world either standing against them, or bickering amongst themselves. Typical politics at work. But it was a statement worth addressing, and Jerod gave his opinion on the matter while taking another drink from the flask he had been given. "Ach, way ah' see it, tha' C'on'sin group eit'er means 'arm, and get slaug'tered t' th' man. Or t'ey ain' lookin' fer trouble, in w'ich case it get's taken fro' t'ere, savvy?"
Jerod sobered up as he was asked about why Jacob was so special, if he was at all. The Khan gave his opinion on what he saw, and it was valid. Jacob was just a kid way in over his head, and while the prayer comment might be appreciated, Jerod snorted in amusement at it. He had his beliefs, but no god like figures would be in a position to help them, probably. Men made their own miracles and fates, which was what was happening now. These gods and dragons of legend merely made things interesting, for the most part. "T'e champion o' naga? Kid 'as a lot t' learn 'bout 'ow the world works, savvy? An' a world weary drunk like m'self mig't teac' 'im a t'ing or two, eh? Ah didn' do 'alf bad last time I was 'round these parts, ye know tha' much. An' prayers are good an' all, but action mig't git a bit more done."
Niya
Niya sighed, resting the palm of her hand over her eyes. That was not what she meant in the slightest. More words were needed then, and she provided them as such, barely commenting on her partners own little joke. After all, she had thought that the healer was referring to the barbarians, which she was born and raised among so this was nothing new to her at all, and that needed corrected.
"You have the natural advantage of womanhood, for looks at any rate Solanne. And I was not referring to the Feroxians, I know their nature far better than you might think. The Champion of Naga, Jacob, is barely old enough to be beyond being a child and his company is worse. The black mage is psychotic, that damned bastard Jerod is a drunken fool of a mercenary, and the only sane man it seems doesn't appear to have any true command power over any of them. And this is ignoring our addition to the group, before you say anything. These are not the people I expected to be carrying the hopes of the world, it is a grim omen."
It was a lot for Niya to say, compared to her usual attitude and manner of speaking, but if Solanne needed it spelled out, Niya would gladly do so. It was obvious the healer was not happy about Jerod being around, considering her description of him, but beyond that she spoke plainly of her opinion of the group so far. It was not kind, but Niya thought it completely true and confided as such to Solanne, since she had been her companion for some time now.
And I'm working on a post now, I'm on night shift right now, fair warning, so my posts might be a bit more erratic in nature.
Stukov made note of the one who had come in after him, citing a lack of time sense as the key to the reason of his tardiness. Interrogation was above his pay grade, he wasn't kept aboard to try to torture or extract information out of daemons, xenos, heretics, or whatever might come through the next hull breech, or he would run into boarding a hostile vessel. No, that particular skill set did not have a purpose in his line of work. But if it would serve well for the Inquisition and its purposes, Stukov didn't really like the idea of torture, although he would not say so. It wasn't his place to decide ethics and morals in this kind of universe, not after seeing what the Dark Eldar had wrought by their own hands against the innocents many years ago. He could still remember clearly what he had seen that day, so he did realize that torture would not sit well with him then, and now was just another reminder. Not after those dark days years before he ever would have even realized he would be serving on an Inquisitorial vessel, let alone directly under an Inquisitor.
Stukov quietly poured himself a cup of recaff, since it didn't have tanna. Shame, he had gotten his hands on that once and had always hoped to come across it again. Who knows, perhaps this Paradise planet would have some he could appropriate for Inquisitorial purposes. But that was neither here nor there as he drank from the cup, bitter tasting recaff all too familiar as it burned down his throat. Probably should have let it cool off, but no sense trying to regret that sort of thing. But as he drank he took one of the Greensheets, as they were referred to, and read over it while glancing at the holo of the Paradise planet. Well and truly above his pay grade. He didn't even own any attire that wasn't spare combat fatigues, he never had the need for it. Some void gear that was in the emergency lockers, but that wasn't really his, it was just part of the kit one might need to repel boarders. So acquiring new, appropriate attire for the bodyguards of some rich visitor and friends would be necessary. But he hardly got his question in first, as others threw their own two cents in.
Interrogator fellow asked about assets on the ground, name of the island they were going to, and seemed rather unhappy with the idea of going in blind. Dropping into a situation blind was almost part of his job requirement, so it didn't bother him one bit. Going into a compromised part of a ship, friendly or hostile, you couldn't really know what to expect. One lance battery might have heretic gun crews, next cargo deck might have the walls literally lined with daemons waiting to feast. So going into a paradise planet without information was not nearly as disconcerting as others might find it to be. "Can't know everything in advance, Interrogator. Plan for the worse, pray for the best, and expect to enact the worse case plans."
The psyker promptly deflated that little statement with her offer to, what had she said, scry the planet's sphere or some such witchcraft? And a page leaving ripples in the warp made more sense than he would have liked to initially admit. Something powerful would usually rip through Gellar fields anyways, so something resonating in the wrong space that the woman could detect made sense in his mind. Better that than channeling some greater daemon and ripping three fourths of the crew, directly and indirectly, to shreds again. He really didn't need to relive that either. Not with the mission they were being presented with right now. Asking after the age of the guardsmen being taken could match up to a pattern, he supposed. Again, he was no detective nor spymaster, he was an Armsman, give him a tangible threat and he could handle it. This was going to be a learning experience, to say the least. "Forgive the ignorance, psyker, but what would the strain of sweeping an entire planet be like? I don't want to see another daemon come crawling out of your poor head and rip the ship a new ass, most certainly not something I want to see happen again. No offense intended, just a security consideration."
The pop attracted Stukov's attention over to the soldier. Armageddon veteran, if his memory of attire was accurate, he had heard talk about the massive war between Imperials and Orks. Considering the reaction to the word Orks, and his destruction of the glove from the glance he got, probably bionics of some sort. Hell, he had lost the lower half of his leg to daemons, had it replaced with a sturdy yet simple bionic, so that kind of response was more than understandable. He had never dealt with orks, but the stories were grim. His question was right in line with what Stukov had been thinking initially, which was a relief to be sure, so he finally got in his question after having listened to the man finish his question in full. "Along that line of thinking, I don't own anything outside of spare combat fatigues. I won't speak for the others, but if we are going to blend in as visitors and said visitor's bodyguards, we'll need disguises since uniforms are not terribly concealing."
Stukov quietly poured himself a cup of recaff, since it didn't have tanna. Shame, he had gotten his hands on that once and had always hoped to come across it again. Who knows, perhaps this Paradise planet would have some he could appropriate for Inquisitorial purposes. But that was neither here nor there as he drank from the cup, bitter tasting recaff all too familiar as it burned down his throat. Probably should have let it cool off, but no sense trying to regret that sort of thing. But as he drank he took one of the Greensheets, as they were referred to, and read over it while glancing at the holo of the Paradise planet. Well and truly above his pay grade. He didn't even own any attire that wasn't spare combat fatigues, he never had the need for it. Some void gear that was in the emergency lockers, but that wasn't really his, it was just part of the kit one might need to repel boarders. So acquiring new, appropriate attire for the bodyguards of some rich visitor and friends would be necessary. But he hardly got his question in first, as others threw their own two cents in.
Interrogator fellow asked about assets on the ground, name of the island they were going to, and seemed rather unhappy with the idea of going in blind. Dropping into a situation blind was almost part of his job requirement, so it didn't bother him one bit. Going into a compromised part of a ship, friendly or hostile, you couldn't really know what to expect. One lance battery might have heretic gun crews, next cargo deck might have the walls literally lined with daemons waiting to feast. So going into a paradise planet without information was not nearly as disconcerting as others might find it to be. "Can't know everything in advance, Interrogator. Plan for the worse, pray for the best, and expect to enact the worse case plans."
The psyker promptly deflated that little statement with her offer to, what had she said, scry the planet's sphere or some such witchcraft? And a page leaving ripples in the warp made more sense than he would have liked to initially admit. Something powerful would usually rip through Gellar fields anyways, so something resonating in the wrong space that the woman could detect made sense in his mind. Better that than channeling some greater daemon and ripping three fourths of the crew, directly and indirectly, to shreds again. He really didn't need to relive that either. Not with the mission they were being presented with right now. Asking after the age of the guardsmen being taken could match up to a pattern, he supposed. Again, he was no detective nor spymaster, he was an Armsman, give him a tangible threat and he could handle it. This was going to be a learning experience, to say the least. "Forgive the ignorance, psyker, but what would the strain of sweeping an entire planet be like? I don't want to see another daemon come crawling out of your poor head and rip the ship a new ass, most certainly not something I want to see happen again. No offense intended, just a security consideration."
The pop attracted Stukov's attention over to the soldier. Armageddon veteran, if his memory of attire was accurate, he had heard talk about the massive war between Imperials and Orks. Considering the reaction to the word Orks, and his destruction of the glove from the glance he got, probably bionics of some sort. Hell, he had lost the lower half of his leg to daemons, had it replaced with a sturdy yet simple bionic, so that kind of response was more than understandable. He had never dealt with orks, but the stories were grim. His question was right in line with what Stukov had been thinking initially, which was a relief to be sure, so he finally got in his question after having listened to the man finish his question in full. "Along that line of thinking, I don't own anything outside of spare combat fatigues. I won't speak for the others, but if we are going to blend in as visitors and said visitor's bodyguards, we'll need disguises since uniforms are not terribly concealing."
I'll get a post up after I get back from work tonight.
Ask I shall not, @SgtEasy, all you shall have is my condolences on the matter. Burns suck hard.
Heh, indeed @Rithy, and fair warning to everyone, I'm on night shift this week so my posting times might be a bit odd.
Gave em a fair chance, if they haven't said anything, then we can't really hold everything on them indefinitely. In my humble opinion, at any rate.
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
Trying to.
I have just decided that if they dont post by tonight, ill post.
Probably in 10ish hours
Gave em a fair chance, if they haven't said anything, then we can't really hold everything on them indefinitely. In my humble opinion, at any rate.
I think Skyrte is giving the last two (?) a chance to post.
"Again! If I can't be here baby sitting you lot, then you must understand the appropriate response and standard to everything that could go wrong as a Naval Armsman. Now, AGAIN!"
Senior Armsman Alexei Stukov was standing on the walkways above a converted cargo space, now used for the intent of training new and rusty combat personnel aboard the vessel. And this included each and every armed member beneath Stukov's command, so he was seeing to it that each and every one of his senior members was drilled to perfection. Before long he would not be available to lead and command them on a regular basis, if ever, so he was making sure they could do their jobs without him, regardless of who ended up taking over or not. That was not his decision to make. So as the senior men and women beneath his command started the drill again, he walked down the catwalk, every other step resounding with metal upon metal as his replacement lower leg and foot came down upon the catwalk. He was observing their every movement and decision, as each time he reran the drill, he changed something, it was never the same problem twice. He would not let them become complacent that easily. He had gotten this far thanks to luck, and probably some help from the Emperor on occasion. He did not want them to have to hope and pray for that sort of salvation without a damn good reason.
Stukov was in his usual attire, which meant his carapace breastplate was on over a off white top, rolled sleeves revealing two intact organic arms, although the gloves he wore mostly obscured his hands, they were cut off so the fingers were exposed. He wasn't fond of the loss of dexterity that came from gloves, but they had purposes in providing extra grip, so he tolerated the variant he wore currently. Dark green trousers, with obvious modification for his injured right leg of course, and tightly secured boot on his left foot. On his back was his weapon of choice, a Lucius pattern Mk 22c Shotgun. Normally, the biggest users of those were the Death Korp, but one could not deny their effectiveness. Even if their most famous users were suicidal, fatalistic men and women in some hellscape of a homeworld. Beyond that, he carried a Foehammer as his backup, which was sitting on his hip right now, and loaded with slug. It wasn't the most flexible choice, considering the range limitations, but an Armsman rarely needed to hit out hundreds of meters. And slug could still reach a fair ways to rectify that.
And beyond his combat knife, sheathed for easy access on his thigh, a set of grenades and ammo pouches made up his utility belt. A pair of flash, pair of concussion, and as much ammo as he could carry for his weapons. Not a very subtle or complicated load out, but it did its job. A lot of armsman down drilling seemed to like to vary and complicate their set ups and tactics. Stukov, not so much. Keeping it as simple and effective as possible was the goal, complicated schemes invited unforeseen problems and backfires. And no one liked unforeseen problems and backfires, not in their plans and goals. So as the current drill finished, and they managed to get through it with no 'causalities', the general announcement for the Inquisitor's retinue to finally stop wasting time and go meet up with their new boss. Well, new for some. Stukov had never personally worked with the man, so it was a new experience for him. But he wasn't going to go in their fawning and tripping over himself for bowing so low to the deckplate. That might be why he never advanced very far beyond Senior Armsman. Stukov refused to kiss enough ass to get there.
"That's my cue, you lot. We've shifted out of warp space, doesn't mean relax. Get some water and food into you, and keep working on improving. Barely getting by without losses won't cut it in the real deal. Good luck you sorry bastards."
Stukov got his fair share of shit talking sent back his way as he turned and walked out, it was only fair really. They were his troops, and he was very informal about rank and command, so it was natural to see an organic chain of command and respect form in that kind of situation. They talked shit, bullied each other, but if someone outside the family made moves, the wrath of every one of em came down on that sorry bastard. No one outside that kind of family screwed with them. It was a sad thing to see go, but it was inevitable once Stukov had been told the new orders and arrangement. Inquisitor's don't get told no, though, so here he was marching off to see someone far too above his paygrade. Suppose he should probably at least be respectful, didn't need to get shot so soon after all. With that rather morbid thought, he arrived outside the briefing room and sighed, pulling off his face piece and pocketing it before walking in.
Inquisitor stood out rather obviously, armor and weapons kind of did that. Mask didn't help him decide the kind of man he was by expression or amount of scarring. More unknowns, great. Next, trooper of some sort or another, ex Guard maybe? Looked like his sole purpose was to make enemy tank crews regret their choice in careers. Either smart, lucky, or borderline suicidal to take on tanks on foot. Not Stukov's cup of tanna, really. And a pysker, God Emperor help him. He didn't dislike the psyker as a person, the powers freaked him the hell out though. Daemons were one thing, they were wrong by nature, invaders of real space. And nothing buckshot blessed by the local priest couldn't usually handle. Psykers used that very same wrong space to fuel powers, risk possession, and do a hell of a lot of damage. Didn't mean that it didn't unnerve the hell out of him though, which was probably obvious. But he swallowed that unnerved paranoia and nodded to the assembled group so far, damn him if he would let himself act out of his usual for superiors.
"Senior Naval Armsman Alexei Stukov, reporting as ordered, boss."
Senior Armsman Alexei Stukov was standing on the walkways above a converted cargo space, now used for the intent of training new and rusty combat personnel aboard the vessel. And this included each and every armed member beneath Stukov's command, so he was seeing to it that each and every one of his senior members was drilled to perfection. Before long he would not be available to lead and command them on a regular basis, if ever, so he was making sure they could do their jobs without him, regardless of who ended up taking over or not. That was not his decision to make. So as the senior men and women beneath his command started the drill again, he walked down the catwalk, every other step resounding with metal upon metal as his replacement lower leg and foot came down upon the catwalk. He was observing their every movement and decision, as each time he reran the drill, he changed something, it was never the same problem twice. He would not let them become complacent that easily. He had gotten this far thanks to luck, and probably some help from the Emperor on occasion. He did not want them to have to hope and pray for that sort of salvation without a damn good reason.
Stukov was in his usual attire, which meant his carapace breastplate was on over a off white top, rolled sleeves revealing two intact organic arms, although the gloves he wore mostly obscured his hands, they were cut off so the fingers were exposed. He wasn't fond of the loss of dexterity that came from gloves, but they had purposes in providing extra grip, so he tolerated the variant he wore currently. Dark green trousers, with obvious modification for his injured right leg of course, and tightly secured boot on his left foot. On his back was his weapon of choice, a Lucius pattern Mk 22c Shotgun. Normally, the biggest users of those were the Death Korp, but one could not deny their effectiveness. Even if their most famous users were suicidal, fatalistic men and women in some hellscape of a homeworld. Beyond that, he carried a Foehammer as his backup, which was sitting on his hip right now, and loaded with slug. It wasn't the most flexible choice, considering the range limitations, but an Armsman rarely needed to hit out hundreds of meters. And slug could still reach a fair ways to rectify that.
And beyond his combat knife, sheathed for easy access on his thigh, a set of grenades and ammo pouches made up his utility belt. A pair of flash, pair of concussion, and as much ammo as he could carry for his weapons. Not a very subtle or complicated load out, but it did its job. A lot of armsman down drilling seemed to like to vary and complicate their set ups and tactics. Stukov, not so much. Keeping it as simple and effective as possible was the goal, complicated schemes invited unforeseen problems and backfires. And no one liked unforeseen problems and backfires, not in their plans and goals. So as the current drill finished, and they managed to get through it with no 'causalities', the general announcement for the Inquisitor's retinue to finally stop wasting time and go meet up with their new boss. Well, new for some. Stukov had never personally worked with the man, so it was a new experience for him. But he wasn't going to go in their fawning and tripping over himself for bowing so low to the deckplate. That might be why he never advanced very far beyond Senior Armsman. Stukov refused to kiss enough ass to get there.
"That's my cue, you lot. We've shifted out of warp space, doesn't mean relax. Get some water and food into you, and keep working on improving. Barely getting by without losses won't cut it in the real deal. Good luck you sorry bastards."
Stukov got his fair share of shit talking sent back his way as he turned and walked out, it was only fair really. They were his troops, and he was very informal about rank and command, so it was natural to see an organic chain of command and respect form in that kind of situation. They talked shit, bullied each other, but if someone outside the family made moves, the wrath of every one of em came down on that sorry bastard. No one outside that kind of family screwed with them. It was a sad thing to see go, but it was inevitable once Stukov had been told the new orders and arrangement. Inquisitor's don't get told no, though, so here he was marching off to see someone far too above his paygrade. Suppose he should probably at least be respectful, didn't need to get shot so soon after all. With that rather morbid thought, he arrived outside the briefing room and sighed, pulling off his face piece and pocketing it before walking in.
Inquisitor stood out rather obviously, armor and weapons kind of did that. Mask didn't help him decide the kind of man he was by expression or amount of scarring. More unknowns, great. Next, trooper of some sort or another, ex Guard maybe? Looked like his sole purpose was to make enemy tank crews regret their choice in careers. Either smart, lucky, or borderline suicidal to take on tanks on foot. Not Stukov's cup of tanna, really. And a pysker, God Emperor help him. He didn't dislike the psyker as a person, the powers freaked him the hell out though. Daemons were one thing, they were wrong by nature, invaders of real space. And nothing buckshot blessed by the local priest couldn't usually handle. Psykers used that very same wrong space to fuel powers, risk possession, and do a hell of a lot of damage. Didn't mean that it didn't unnerve the hell out of him though, which was probably obvious. But he swallowed that unnerved paranoia and nodded to the assembled group so far, damn him if he would let himself act out of his usual for superiors.
"Senior Naval Armsman Alexei Stukov, reporting as ordered, boss."
Name: Alexei Stukov
Age: 44
Class: Naval Senior Armsman
Equipment:
Light Carapace Armor - Stukov cannot afford to be weighed down in the tight, fast moving brawl of a boarding action, repelling or engaging in, so the only real piece of armor the Senior Armsman wears is a reinforced Carapace chestplate, which also includes his backpack of ammo and oxygen for his rebreathing kit, a model capable of sealing against loss of oxygen, although true void exposure won't make him last long, due to the sheer cold of the Void.
Lucius pattern Mk 22c Shotgun - The shotgun of choice for Stukov, this eight round revolving magazine lets him slam through shells at a frightening rate, with a heavy cartridge that shreds through most enemies not wearing heavy, quality Carapace. And this assumes hits on any given armor's strong points. Like many shotguns, plenty of various ammo types exist for his shotgun, and while Stukov carries plenty of slug and buckshot, he carries a handful of Hellfire and blessed buckshot for handling Daemons in specific. Stukov has no problem using whatever ammo he can get his hands on, or issued for a given mission.
Foehammer - Known by its more humble name the Shotgun Pistol, Stukov uses this as a backup when his larger, bulkier shotgun isn't an option. Unlike his Mk 22c, it is a single shot per load weapon that he usually loads with oversized slug. This is for the reason that if he needs to hit something a distance off, he doesn't need to waste time changing loads in his main gun, or his side arm. And if they are heavily armored, slug has a better chance to punch through than buckshot or most conventional ammo loads.
Combat Knife - Not much to be said for Stukov's knife, it is a fairly standard issue, single edge blade with a point for stabbing as well as slashing. Pretty much a last resort when both his sidearm and main shotgun are of no use to him in a situation.
Flash Grenades x2, Concussion Grenades x2 - Flash Grenades, true to their name, emit a blinding flash of light that blinds both organic and mechanical means of sight for a period of time, making them easy targets so long as they were not protected from the effects. Concussion grenades utilize a shockwave that, while it does little real damage to ship structure or hull, the sheer pressure of the shockwave and the din of noise ensures that, even if the pressure didn't kill a foe, they won't be hearing anytime soon.
Time with Inquisitor: Nearly ten years aboard his vessels, only recently tasked formally to his retinue.
Appearance:
40K Knowledge Question: Erebus of the Word Bearers Legion
Age: 44
Class: Naval Senior Armsman
Equipment:
Light Carapace Armor - Stukov cannot afford to be weighed down in the tight, fast moving brawl of a boarding action, repelling or engaging in, so the only real piece of armor the Senior Armsman wears is a reinforced Carapace chestplate, which also includes his backpack of ammo and oxygen for his rebreathing kit, a model capable of sealing against loss of oxygen, although true void exposure won't make him last long, due to the sheer cold of the Void.
Lucius pattern Mk 22c Shotgun - The shotgun of choice for Stukov, this eight round revolving magazine lets him slam through shells at a frightening rate, with a heavy cartridge that shreds through most enemies not wearing heavy, quality Carapace. And this assumes hits on any given armor's strong points. Like many shotguns, plenty of various ammo types exist for his shotgun, and while Stukov carries plenty of slug and buckshot, he carries a handful of Hellfire and blessed buckshot for handling Daemons in specific. Stukov has no problem using whatever ammo he can get his hands on, or issued for a given mission.
Foehammer - Known by its more humble name the Shotgun Pistol, Stukov uses this as a backup when his larger, bulkier shotgun isn't an option. Unlike his Mk 22c, it is a single shot per load weapon that he usually loads with oversized slug. This is for the reason that if he needs to hit something a distance off, he doesn't need to waste time changing loads in his main gun, or his side arm. And if they are heavily armored, slug has a better chance to punch through than buckshot or most conventional ammo loads.
Combat Knife - Not much to be said for Stukov's knife, it is a fairly standard issue, single edge blade with a point for stabbing as well as slashing. Pretty much a last resort when both his sidearm and main shotgun are of no use to him in a situation.
Flash Grenades x2, Concussion Grenades x2 - Flash Grenades, true to their name, emit a blinding flash of light that blinds both organic and mechanical means of sight for a period of time, making them easy targets so long as they were not protected from the effects. Concussion grenades utilize a shockwave that, while it does little real damage to ship structure or hull, the sheer pressure of the shockwave and the din of noise ensures that, even if the pressure didn't kill a foe, they won't be hearing anytime soon.
Time with Inquisitor: Nearly ten years aboard his vessels, only recently tasked formally to his retinue.
Appearance:
40K Knowledge Question: Erebus of the Word Bearers Legion
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