Candy Cane Elf
AdvancedJ3lly@Kratesis@BCTheEntity@jbeil@Andreyich@Irredeemable
Victorine listened intently to the words of Horacio, as any true servant of the Emperor would, and gave small nods every now-and-then to show that she was listening. As much as she didn't particularly like what he was saying, it did make perfect sense, she had to admit – use them as loyal servants of the God-Emperor, or cleanse them as heretical abominations of the Ruinous Powers.
“Gruk,” she called, summoning the hunchback back over to their group, “listen closely...”
She explained everything that Horacio had told her, how it would ascertain to Gruk and his kin, and what was expected of them; the Celestian had not really been sure what to expect, but is most assuredly was not the sight of heavy tears rolling down the swollen cheeks of the mutant, his bug eyes bulging out even further if that was possible, and spittle dribbling from between his lips in rather off-putting quantities.
“Thank you,” he slurped at the Confessor, “thank you so much,” a loud snort and a wiping of his face with one ragged sleeve of his 'clothing' put an end to the weeping (thank the Emperor), “we will do as you ask, please, follow us.”
Caroline was given point once more, her heavy weaponry quite useful in clearing rooms when it came to it and, should they prove treacherous, would be just as useful in gunning down the shambling mass of bodies now guiding them to where their quarry lay.
The ancient Terran war-sage Son Zoo once said that, should you wish to force a stand, one must place their army in a position where retreat and fleeing is impossible and that army will fight all the harder for it...similar to the saying about getting between an animal and their escape route.
With what was to happen next, Victorine would reflect often upon these phrases in particular.
As it was, Caroline was the first of their group to die, a giant felled by a stone – as it was between David and Goliath – something hissing from the darkness, causing the mutants to scatter mere moments before impact, the Amazonian Retributor pausing in her steps forward and falling to her knees with a clattering of armour, her weapon falling from nerveless fingers.
“Sister Adalard? Sister?!”
Victorine sprinted forward, blazing into the surrounding shadows with her own sidearm, just narrowly avoiding another hissing projectile, coming to face Caroline even as the remainder of the Sororitas spread out in the corridor about; there was only one way out of this section of the vessel, and it was the way they had come.
Caroline was already dead.
“Emperor's teeth,” hissed the Celestian, sliding shut the slack eyelids of the poisoned Retributor, then laying her heavy form down beside her weapon, half-crouched as she slipped back to the relative cover of a nearby crate.
It was Sister Vitruvia who bore the brunt of the next assault, a bolt taking her firmly in the torso. Though it missed any vital organs, it nevertheless sent her reeling backwards, her upper body beginning to bleed profusely as she hit the hard metallic decking underfoot, a crater that would be left to mark her form even if she survived.
It was then that their enemy decided to make his move, rising from his position at the end of the corridor and moving forward cautiously, an empty Needler pistol holstered at his hip while a bolt pistol was held in one fist. Although his other hand was empty, the telltale sheath of a power weapon could be spotted at his waist if one squinted enough in the dimply lit vein of the ships underbelly.
“What do you think?” Yelled Victorine to the others, “lay down some covering fire and rush him? 'Nades in first?”
They were all of them battered and bruised, two of their number out of action, one permanently, and a heavily armoured foe – who was clearly well armed to boot – was now slowly creeping toward their band of holy soldiers.
Victorine listened intently to the words of Horacio, as any true servant of the Emperor would, and gave small nods every now-and-then to show that she was listening. As much as she didn't particularly like what he was saying, it did make perfect sense, she had to admit – use them as loyal servants of the God-Emperor, or cleanse them as heretical abominations of the Ruinous Powers.
“Gruk,” she called, summoning the hunchback back over to their group, “listen closely...”
She explained everything that Horacio had told her, how it would ascertain to Gruk and his kin, and what was expected of them; the Celestian had not really been sure what to expect, but is most assuredly was not the sight of heavy tears rolling down the swollen cheeks of the mutant, his bug eyes bulging out even further if that was possible, and spittle dribbling from between his lips in rather off-putting quantities.
“Thank you,” he slurped at the Confessor, “thank you so much,” a loud snort and a wiping of his face with one ragged sleeve of his 'clothing' put an end to the weeping (thank the Emperor), “we will do as you ask, please, follow us.”
Caroline was given point once more, her heavy weaponry quite useful in clearing rooms when it came to it and, should they prove treacherous, would be just as useful in gunning down the shambling mass of bodies now guiding them to where their quarry lay.
The ancient Terran war-sage Son Zoo once said that, should you wish to force a stand, one must place their army in a position where retreat and fleeing is impossible and that army will fight all the harder for it...similar to the saying about getting between an animal and their escape route.
With what was to happen next, Victorine would reflect often upon these phrases in particular.
As it was, Caroline was the first of their group to die, a giant felled by a stone – as it was between David and Goliath – something hissing from the darkness, causing the mutants to scatter mere moments before impact, the Amazonian Retributor pausing in her steps forward and falling to her knees with a clattering of armour, her weapon falling from nerveless fingers.
“Sister Adalard? Sister?!”
Victorine sprinted forward, blazing into the surrounding shadows with her own sidearm, just narrowly avoiding another hissing projectile, coming to face Caroline even as the remainder of the Sororitas spread out in the corridor about; there was only one way out of this section of the vessel, and it was the way they had come.
Caroline was already dead.
“Emperor's teeth,” hissed the Celestian, sliding shut the slack eyelids of the poisoned Retributor, then laying her heavy form down beside her weapon, half-crouched as she slipped back to the relative cover of a nearby crate.
It was Sister Vitruvia who bore the brunt of the next assault, a bolt taking her firmly in the torso. Though it missed any vital organs, it nevertheless sent her reeling backwards, her upper body beginning to bleed profusely as she hit the hard metallic decking underfoot, a crater that would be left to mark her form even if she survived.
It was then that their enemy decided to make his move, rising from his position at the end of the corridor and moving forward cautiously, an empty Needler pistol holstered at his hip while a bolt pistol was held in one fist. Although his other hand was empty, the telltale sheath of a power weapon could be spotted at his waist if one squinted enough in the dimply lit vein of the ships underbelly.
“What do you think?” Yelled Victorine to the others, “lay down some covering fire and rush him? 'Nades in first?”
They were all of them battered and bruised, two of their number out of action, one permanently, and a heavily armoured foe – who was clearly well armed to boot – was now slowly creeping toward their band of holy soldiers.
