Member
Zeus23
Not a Sayan
Fading Memory
CrypticMeaning
Lurking Krog
Ariamis
Lunamaria HawkeStukov only stopped moving long enough to shrug off the power armored gauntlet of Sis, as he glanced at her as she spoke to him about the sensation only getting stronger and spoke in a somber tone, far different than his usual tone of voice, more reminiscent of before he joined the retinue. "The concern is noted. I've done this before, have some faith. Isn't that your whole thing, anyways? Keep up and keep quiet, machinery should make it easier for you this time." With that he resumed moving forward, each corner he paused and swept the junction that it created, looking for trouble. Nothing, nothing the whole time as they descended into the basement. The pressure increased, but there was something else that only he would have noticed, him and perhaps one other if they weren't nearly as guarded. It was something, there was something innately wrong down here, the feeling strongest from the trap door as it drew his gaze, and he walked over to it after sweeping the machinery area as they walked, kneeling by the hatch and finding it unlocked, muttering loud enough to be heard over the machinery. "Unlocked, either confident no one would come back here, its in use, or they are expecting company. I'm assuming the latter two. Spot me, opening the hatch."
Stukov feel into old terms, referring to the trapdoor as a hatch, pulling it open with his left hand while aiming the autogun with his right hand, aided by the sling attached to the autogun, almost putting a round down the ladderwell on general principle. Nothing, it was dingy but lit. And he could have sworn he heard talking, feint, as he promptly slid down the ladder, feet hooked on the sides of the ladder and using his off hand to guide himself down, landing and dropping to a knee, aiming his rifle down the corridor. The light seemed more intense down here than he had originally wagered, and he was sure there was others down here now. Nevermind he didn't ask if the others knew what he was hearing or not, he voxed up as he took off at a quick, silent pace, unaware that the farther he progressed, the more choppy his communications got. "Move fast, there are others down here. They are not getting away this time..." Unaware that no one else had come down so quickly, he turned the corner at the end of the hallway, a T-intersection forming as he took a left. However, even if someone was not even half a dozen steps behind him, anyone glancing around the corner would find him vanished, an oppressive fog restricting view in either direction for very far and apparently having consumed him completely.
Stukov was moving fast, the voices getting stronger although he could not yet make out what they were saying somehow despite the strength as he ran the gloomy, foggy hallway, rapidly sweeping for any signs of trouble as he ran. The fog almost obscured a large looking, wooden door etched with unholy sigils that seemed to throb, and the voices grew into a chant behind the door. Kneeling, he pressed a finger to the built in vox of his rebreather mask, unaware that the fog would disrupt most of the words he sent back to the group. "Found a door, obvious witchcraft. Ritual going on inside, cannot wait for reinforcement. Catch up when able, respond." Watching through the keyhole, Stukov could see a stomach churning ritual being undergone, some unholy Slaaneshi rites from the symbols and words being said. That would not do, not at all, and priming a flashbang grenade, he put a solid boot to the door handle, slamming the door wide open and sending the grenade in, a blinding flash emitting from the room before Stukov opened fire on the ritual, unaware of the fact that the sounds of machinery and further dark whisperings from that ritual room were false, and beyond the cultists it had been dead silent.
The rest of the retinue, regardless of their location, would hear the feint sound of a grenade, and a disorienting, louder chatter of an autogun on full auto. That would certainly have been Stukov, but his current location was still hazy at best. It would take some effort to track down where he was, coupled with what little garbled communications made it back to the retinue. However, the air grew heavier and Adrianne would notice the air seemed thinner, as if the walls between the real world and the warp had grown thin in this place. The closer they got to the sound of weapons fire, before it cut off abruptly, the thinner that feeling would get. The farther away, the more stable the surroundings and air would feel. Most doors they might stumble across would be locked or lead to blank walls, occasionally they would instead be storerooms or empty housing areas, either abandoned in a hurry or had not seen use in some time, in a nonsensical mixing between the two.
Stukov feel into old terms, referring to the trapdoor as a hatch, pulling it open with his left hand while aiming the autogun with his right hand, aided by the sling attached to the autogun, almost putting a round down the ladderwell on general principle. Nothing, it was dingy but lit. And he could have sworn he heard talking, feint, as he promptly slid down the ladder, feet hooked on the sides of the ladder and using his off hand to guide himself down, landing and dropping to a knee, aiming his rifle down the corridor. The light seemed more intense down here than he had originally wagered, and he was sure there was others down here now. Nevermind he didn't ask if the others knew what he was hearing or not, he voxed up as he took off at a quick, silent pace, unaware that the farther he progressed, the more choppy his communications got. "Move fast, there are others down here. They are not getting away this time..." Unaware that no one else had come down so quickly, he turned the corner at the end of the hallway, a T-intersection forming as he took a left. However, even if someone was not even half a dozen steps behind him, anyone glancing around the corner would find him vanished, an oppressive fog restricting view in either direction for very far and apparently having consumed him completely.
Stukov was moving fast, the voices getting stronger although he could not yet make out what they were saying somehow despite the strength as he ran the gloomy, foggy hallway, rapidly sweeping for any signs of trouble as he ran. The fog almost obscured a large looking, wooden door etched with unholy sigils that seemed to throb, and the voices grew into a chant behind the door. Kneeling, he pressed a finger to the built in vox of his rebreather mask, unaware that the fog would disrupt most of the words he sent back to the group. "Found a door, obvious witchcraft. Ritual going on inside, cannot wait for reinforcement. Catch up when able, respond." Watching through the keyhole, Stukov could see a stomach churning ritual being undergone, some unholy Slaaneshi rites from the symbols and words being said. That would not do, not at all, and priming a flashbang grenade, he put a solid boot to the door handle, slamming the door wide open and sending the grenade in, a blinding flash emitting from the room before Stukov opened fire on the ritual, unaware of the fact that the sounds of machinery and further dark whisperings from that ritual room were false, and beyond the cultists it had been dead silent.
The rest of the retinue, regardless of their location, would hear the feint sound of a grenade, and a disorienting, louder chatter of an autogun on full auto. That would certainly have been Stukov, but his current location was still hazy at best. It would take some effort to track down where he was, coupled with what little garbled communications made it back to the retinue. However, the air grew heavier and Adrianne would notice the air seemed thinner, as if the walls between the real world and the warp had grown thin in this place. The closer they got to the sound of weapons fire, before it cut off abruptly, the thinner that feeling would get. The farther away, the more stable the surroundings and air would feel. Most doors they might stumble across would be locked or lead to blank walls, occasionally they would instead be storerooms or empty housing areas, either abandoned in a hurry or had not seen use in some time, in a nonsensical mixing between the two.