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Oberon raised his bolt pistol in time to meet the airborne charge of a howling mutant. It was an insane thing, with skin like poorly aged leather, no eyes and far too many mouths. It gibbered inanely as it bounded over the heads of its equally depraved fellows with speed that belied its spindly frame. Only to be blown out of the air as a bolt shell barked and took it full in the chest. It struggled to rise with this new and vast bloody crater taking up most of its torso but eventually collapse again, reduced to a slow death as it bled from its considerable wound.

Oberon didn’t spare another shell to put it out of its misery. Content to let it die, mewling and pitiful. Better for it to suffer for its shameful existence than to waste holy munitions to expedite the inevitable. His fellows were not as precise in the expenditure of their energies. Shouting warcries and litanies, were these proper foes, which is to say traitor astartes or similarly high profile threats he could well understand. But these were mere chattle, mutants and hate-spawn that needed little of of the grandstanding these brotheren were indulging in.

He stood behind his brothers, But in front of the valuable servitors. The battle servitors were unable to open fire with the roar of their integrated heavy bolters. The IFF signals of the battle brothers standing in the way halted their marksman sub-routines unless Oberon overrode them manually. Though tempted to do just that if it meant bringing this pointless conflict to speedy conclusion, he kept their guns silent. This skirmish was just that, nothing more than a waste of time on the path to his goal, hardly the kind of battle that legends were carved from.
Dam right, I stand by my beliefs.
@Dead Cruiser@Valor@Ollumhammersong@Wadesauce@POOHEAD189@Banzai Tracers

Rightie oh, I'm going to need Character Sheets in the next couple of days, or I'm probably going to have to go exterminatus on this RP or, if people are still willing, I'll forgo the sheets and just get to the story.


Honestly I don't think skipping the sheets is a bad thing. We are all the same age, we are all wearing the exact same gear save one weapon choice. And we all have gone through the exact same experiences to get to where we are. It's not like we have had centuries of life experience to shape who we are. As scout marines we are all basically little more than clones at this point.
@CaptainBritton@Dead Cruiser

roleplayerguild.com/topics/172963-war…

The GM has already been at work with that. Head on over and check it out
@POOHEAD189 I remember you were super into this idea back when I tried to make it work. Figured I would let you know that this is thing again.
The assault ram possessed a lesser, but no less violatile machine spirit when compared to the vessel which is was subservient too. Not as ancient as the warspite but It was certainly more aggressive more energetic and youthful. It relished carving its way through the hull of the enemy vessel as a young warrior relishes the opportunity to charge into the ranks of the enemy. Heedless of the danger to itself and concerned onoy with the glory of the charge.

In contrast there was the hate of the enemy cruiser. And hate was the simplest way to describe it. Pure, unrepentant hatred towards those blessed souls come to scour its blighted hallways clean. He had no respect for this vessel's spirit, as potent and vast as it was. Only cold pity. It was a literal cancer plying between the stars, a tumour fit only to be cut apart or bombarded from afar.

Stepping forth into its stinking emptiness, the rust armoured brother surveyed the sorroundings. The various icons and graffiti painted along the walls in blood.... or worse. But he heard the chaplain's request and stopped to analyze. It was still a cruiser of a hallowed imperial design, though if that should make him feel better or worse in regards to its profanity he did not know. And navigating it should be a simple enough matter. 'Should be' being the operative choice of wording. It all depended on where exactly it was they boarded. It was hard to tell for certain but....

“That way.” Hefting his power axe towards the right hand direction. He paused as if re-considering his analysis. Calculations whirling in his head in a rather difficult attempt to take in the variables of their transport. “...yes, that way. And up, at least three decks above us.”

Behind him four servitors lurched out of the assault ram with their ungainly mechanized gait. Two of them sported heavy bolters instead of arms, these massive guns and their associated mechanizisms made up nearly half of their torsos. And their other arms ending in vicious industrial pincers that could shear through steel pipe and copper wire as if it were soft flesh, augmented by mechanical muscle. They clunked heavily ahead of the two more mundane servitors, themselves a mess of wiring and connection cables and little else of use. They stood idle, their faces which were already half destroyed by their machine parts blank and stupid as the automotons awaited orders to continue, or to do anything for that matter.
Thank you for that. I want to keep it going but I just don't think I can
@Andreyich@Kipsateking@Lady Selune@Searat@Irredeemable@POOHEAD189

Hello everybody, I just wanted to say a couple things about this rp, the first is that I do thank all of you for sticking around despite the terribly slow pace and staying with it.

Unfortunately after some thinking and several attempted revisions from a GM's prespective I think I am going to put the proverbial bullet into this rp. Again, I thank you for your willingness to keep going but I don't think I can improve the pace of this any time soon and give it proper attention.
Oberon Accepted the information about the time dilation more easily than most of his fellows. It was common knowledge that warp travel was at best a devil's bargain for the Imperium, and Such occurances were hardly uncommon. It was merely time for it to befall the warspite. The Omnissiah, in his magnificance could still be praised for seeing them all through the warp unscathed, even if they were now a little late... It was not something to be angry or sad over, it merely was. All one could do was accept it as an inevitability of placing ones trust in as fickle a realm as the immaterium. It was like being angry at a star for burning brightly in defiance of the void sorrounding it. A waste of energy.

He had nothing further to say during the meeting until the first first enemy broadside slammed into the warspite's armoured hide. He could feel the rage of the spirit responding to this impudence. Oberon did not like the idea of it being roused while still trying to re-orient itself from reality insertion.

The Techmarine was already heading towards the assault rams. “Agmar” The forgewrite signalled the ships senior forge serf.

“Yes my lord.” The aged voice replied, heavy with defferance to his long time master. “Have a team of servitors sent to Boarding ram sigma-2. Ensure there are two data recovery menials among them.” It was a poor gamble, as any data ripped from such tainted cogitators as found onboard a chaos vessel may likely be corrupted far beyond any hope of proper recovery. But it could also contain invaluable information regarding the last hundred pus years of lost time. It was certainly worth the life of a servitor or two to try.

"Certainly my lord." To his credit the aged serf was remarkably calm despite being as clueless about the current state of affairs as one could be. Maybe it was his indoctrination training or he was simply too old to care much about being under attack yet again. In either case Oberon would regret his soon to be death from old age or violence, the efficiency rate amongst the other forge menials would likely drop at least four percent as a result. An unacceptable fall in productivity for the fighting company to endure. A thought for another day, for now duty must be performed. The Warpsite couldn't be calmed from this newly induced rage even if he tried. Maybe he was wrong and this fight would be a good for it. In any case it was beyond him, So he left it as a problem for the on-board tech adepts to sort out.
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