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Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@BCTheEntity That's perfectly fine, I love the idea of a drill-ship!

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

I'll likely grab some kind of bolter for range, don't want those Kroot to get too close, ya know.

@DepressedSoviet

Makes sound tactical sense, which also makes sense for a Chaplain.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Wraithblade6@Necroes@BCTheEntity@DepressedSoviet@Hank@Bright_Ops

Righto, you're all roughly now close enough to board the hulk - how you get into it/where you go, what methods you employ, or whether you even get onto the hulk is up to you. I'll respond to what you write, so no worries there. If you think anything would be 'too far' etc then just ask me first.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Wraithblade6@Necroes@BCTheEntity@DepressedSoviet@Hank@Bright_Ops

Flies love corpses, any worshipper of Nurgle could tell you that...and the drifting, thruster-absent construct of twisted metal that was designated as Ill Fated by Imperial observers was as much of a bloated corpse as one could expect to find in the middle of windless space.

From the observation deck of Outpost 3-12/19 Commodore Harker peered into the vast distance between his own command and the Hulk, the extensively high-powered observation scope allowing even his eyes – weakened by age as they were – to make out both the corpses and the flies that buzzed around it with immaculate clarity.

“So, what do we have so far?” He muttered to the nearest Deck Officer, a gangly creature of a man wearing the rank insignia of a Chief Petty Officer, “what can you tell me about our first guests?” A sibilant hiss of air accompanied his final word, pressed with some force from between his thin lips, his eyes never moving from the eyepiece of the observation scope.

“Well...there is a licensed Trader vessel – the Rigged Fortune under a certain 'Nykerio' – as well as what appears to be a former Astartes Thunderhawk, Iron Hands Chapter.” The man paused and took another long stare at his screen, clarifying what he was seeing, “there is also a pair of unregistered and unidentifiable vessels, including what looks to be a ten-man warp-capable ship and...” yes, he was looking at something, but what was it, “another vessel that seems to have simply flung itself from a warp rift not too far from the hulks prow.”

“Any responses to our call for assistance?” Asked the older man through gritted teeth, annoyance clear in his voice, for he wished to be out there and investigating in person and not stuck here merely observing!

“Some responses sir, yes. Any aid will take some time to reach us though, I'm afraid.”

“Blast.”

---

Half an hour later and most, if not all, of the vessels that had been moving about the outwardly lifeless melange of ships had found some way to either dock – or more likely hammer into the side of – the Fated, perhaps delivering cargoes of warriors or maybe just impacting into a crumbled heap on the wrecks outer skin...

Not too far away, but far enough that even the Outpost could not see them, a small crevice – a fissure in the material of real space – opened to allow the disgorging of a number of space-faring vessels. From this distance it was hard to tell from where or whom they hailed, but it was obvious to anyone that they were on an intercept course with the hulk and those ships gaining entry to it.

They were moving fast, and with purpose.

---

Somewhere in the rancid bowels of the hulk a figure moved, eyes flickering beneath closed lids, the comatose form certainly of Astartes proportions and the armour it was clad in – although coated in a thick layer of dust and refuse – could only be the protective ceramite shell of one of the Imperiums protectors.

It was in a sudden burst of energy that the slumped transhuman lurched forward with a digitalised cry, keeling over with a fall that shook the metallic deck beneath its feet, the eye slits on the helmet slowly but surely beginning to glow a hellish red.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

are we to assume the stuff we brought with us is here

@DracoLunaris

No, if you've read the posts then you'll know that all personal items - weapons included - are in the respective Marines' chambers; those that didn't go to their chambers don't have the weapons they bought with them.

are we going to be in an open field situation or constrained corridors. I.E. is a missile launcher going to be a useful choice?

@DracoLunaris

A launcher would be fine and useful, the truth being that there may well be elements of both environments you just mentioned.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Necroes You making a post, or just hanging about?

I'm writing a post so I'm just curious, don't want to step on any toes.

Warhammer 40k: The Long War (Chaos RP) (Dead, for now, please do not apply)

Also, who would control when or if any plasma weapon I wield blows up in my face?

@Ollumhammersong

That would be me...via a simple dice roll, I imagine.

@Lauder I go with chain weapons, only because I like to imagine the flesh torn asunder...

If you know anyone who'd be interested, get them here too - although I do like the idea of four folks anyway.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

POSTED!

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

@Wraithblade6@DepressedSoviet@DracoLunaris@Andreyich@Dead Cruiser@Zelosse@Hank

The armoury of Fortress Acestes, had it not been locked up tightly within the bowels of the pre-Crusade structure, would have surely been a site of pilgrimage for any of those who professed their sincere devotion to the Omnissiah – Techpriests, red-armoured Astartes and others of their ilk; for within the four walls and through the thrice steeled doorway, a portal armoured against near all weapons known to the Imperium (as well as some that were not...), lay a collection, an arsenal, of the most lethal implements of war to be discovered since the God-Emperor had revealed himself to the people of Terra and looked toward the stars.

It was here that Captain Roa now appeared, his tattooed face a mask of stern professionalism and his helmet held almost leisurely in one hand as he walked, a smile playing across his lips as he saw those already present and awaiting his arrival at this the allotted time and place. The sons of the Gorgon, aye, that was no real surprise! Who else within the Astartes shared such strong bonds between Man and Machine? Beside them but apart from them were those noble – and some might even suggest arrogant – members of the so-called 'Primogenitors', the Ultramarines and their offshoot Chapters; dedicated, unswerving and professional to a fault, their presence was not unanticipated either.

“Sorrow,” he spoke in a half-whisper, turning momentarily upon his heel to gaze into the shadowed corner where the Blackshield lurked, “perhaps you might complete your prayer and join us? I would hate to leave you behind.”

A few more steps carried him to where the immediate Astartes milled about, a number of nods and pats on shoulders counting as his way of greeting, his eyes giving off a small sparkle even if his mouth remained tight and his features without expression.

Approximatively fifteen minutes passed before the Angels and descendants of Dorn showed themselves, including the Flesh Tearer priest and the Crozius-bearing Chaplain of the Black Templars. These were greeted with forearm clasps, a greater show of respect to those of more rank within their own Chapters.

Once all had come, and silence was given as Roa asked for it to be, the Silver Skull opened one fist and removed his gauntlet in a flourish of movement. Stepping to the side of the doorway, the arched entrance three times the height of an Astartes, he slid aside a panel and pressed his hand against it; what may have looked to be but a simple DNA safeguard was in truth so much more. Had Roa been infected, his corpse or simply just his hand pressed against the panel then he – and by extension anyone seeking to use him to gain entry – would have been vaporised by altered archeotech within seconds of trying.

“Welcome to the armoury, brothers. Follow me.”

---

Inside the armoury it was as silent as the grave, croziers of incense burning in brackets, servitors moving on greased tracks up and down the manifold isles that housed what were essentially artefacts of combat; everywhere one looked could be seen weapons and suits of armour, some perhaps coated with a thin layer of dust, but every single item within those walls cared for daily by the Fortresses most skilled artificers.

The room was divided into a number of sections and sub-sections, the broadest being 'standard issue', 'heavy weapons', 'close quarters' and 'xeno-tech' – the last being a section that was off limits unless explicit permission was otherwise given by a ranking member of the Deathwatch.

Here could be found ancient examples of the standard Boltgun and venerable Chainsword, less common variants of the Lascannon and Meltagun, as well as suits of armour spanning assorted 'marks' – including a dozen or so suits of the most blessed Tactical Dreadnought Armour, each as black and as silent as death.

What lay within the parts not often tread were things which no average Astartes could wield, and in truth there are no 'average' Astartes - weapons taken from slain foes to be studied...and to use against them.

The bone-crafted blades of a Tyranid Warrior, for example, Tau weaponry and even examples the Gauss technology of the dreaded Necrons, all were present and more.

“Please treat this sacred space with the reverence it is due,” spoke the Watch-Captain upon their entry, the huge doors grinding shut and sealing behind them, the room illuminated by strips of light that lit well the racks and shelves surrounding the rookie Kill-team, “I advise you that we shall be facing the flesh-eating Kroot, and so I suggest you arm yourselves accordingly.”

Only just before the arrival of the newest recruits had the call-to-arms come from an Inquisitor in a nearby sector, a person known to the Deathwatch only as 'Curvus'; they had never been seen by any of those they ordered about with impunity, only heard through a voice scrambler over the vox, or known by members of their retinue that would appear at the fortress from time-to-time. Nevertheless, they were a verified member of the Inquisition’s Ordo Xenos, and for the Commander of this fortress it was good enough.

“You have ten minutes.”

Watch-Captain Roa stepped stepped with great veneration to a rack housing what looked to be a power weapon of some sort, a sword by the look of it, and indeed the weapon which he gently took from the bullet-proof casing and locked to the side of his armour was a power sword and much more. It was called Merula, meaning Blackbird in High Gothic, a relic of the Heresy and still as lethal as it had been then.

With somewhat less reverence, but far more soldierly expertise, he took a Tigrus-pattern bolt pistol from the wall and checked it over with a practised eye. Like the sword it was an antiquity from an older time, from a lost world that no longer existed, and that had not seen service for several decades at lest – not that you would realise from looking at it, everything as precise and polished as if it had been manufactured yesterday.

---

When all was said and done, the ten minutes having elapsed and their armaments secure upon their persons, the seven warriors and their mentors were taken back to the hangar from whence they had come. Nothing had stopped moving, all was carrying on apace, and the same black cruiser that had bought them here would now take them to their destination, from their proceeding by way of Thunderhawk Gunship to their eventual destination.

“Take one last moment to check your equipment, once we board the Strike Cruiser there will be no stopping between here and our terminus.”

With that said he advanced up the boarding ramp emerging from the ship, wide enough for four Astartes to walk abreast, and after taking one look back at the hangar was swallowed by the behemoth of metal.

PLEASE READ!

Okie dokie, we're on our way to greater things now.

Please each select your weapons – I will except almost anything from the Space Marine/Deathwatch armouries, which can be easily found with a Google search on on Lexicanum/40k Wikia – but please keep in mind the foe we are expecting to face as well.

After that you can proceed to the cruiser and make yourself at home.

Once everyone has posted a round, I'll jettison us off into the void and (finally, some might say) get us into the action.

Any questions, feel free to ask them in the OOC tab.

Warhammer 40k: The Long War (Chaos RP) (Dead, for now, please do not apply)

@Ollumhammersong Pooossibly, but that'd require 1) More folks joining the RP AND 2) A quite good writer, otherwise I imagine the character would be bland and poorly thought out...though not necessarily.