Sarpedon

CIA: Supernatural Division. (Sanquin / Sarpedon)

lol, by vest I meant LBV. it won't be fine XD don't worry, I'll fix it! I'm good at fixing!

CIA: Supernatural Division. (Sanquin / Sarpedon)

the wait's not a problem, I understand that.

just to be clear, this is a domestic, undercover op? so no tactical gear, just whatever they can hide on them?

Dark Angels: The Argyos Heresy (Warhammer 40K)

Marbas advanced as the order was given. Uriel declared that Rayvius was on point. A good decision if ever he had seen one. He watched as Hakael followed the leader closely. The last in line was always Marbas. The marine refused to let anyone fall behind, his sense of brotherhood was strong. That, and he really liked having nice long firing lanes; being used to heavier weapons did that to him, and old habits died hard. He scaled a little pile of rubble that gave him an even better view and rapidly, even violently, emptied half a drum on semi-auto. But every shot was a lethal one, despite the fury in his marksmanship. He had his bolter firmly by the pistol grip, and the left leg of the bipod as he fired, giving him a nice stable grip on the thing for firing on the move. It was also ideal for longer shots given the lack of stable platforms about. With only his iron grip, he made do. Unfortunately, in making do, he had lagged behind just a little, and he dashed to catch up. Thankfully, however, he hadn't caught all the way up when he realized that there was a Tau mech rushing the rest of his brothers. The thing had crested a blind ridge. Rayvius called it out in a timely manner, of course, and the astartes acted immediately, mag-locking his bolter to his thigh and grabbing a pair of blind grenades, which he lobbed as hard as he could toward the thing. The first one burst nicely right in front of the machine, providing a thick screen, and temporarily blocking its sensors as the thing tried to light up one of his squadmates. The second grenade went off in mid-air, bursting just as perfectly right in front of the mech, screening its advance. The thing was blind now, and the clouds were small enough that its location was easy enough to discern, even though it was completely obscured by the cloying mixture of smoke and chaff that hung steadfast in the air.

Everyone was scrambling for cover and doing their best to ruin the pilot's day, and Marbas was no exception. However he wasn't in need of cover just yet. The Tau walker hadn't gotten a bead on him before the grenades had gone off. That hadn't stopped it from trying to light up both Hakael and Rayvuis, though. Both warriors had wisely taken cover before getting blown to pieces. And now its targeting systems were having an awful time, so it was time to strike, time to show the pilot who was in control here. There were still plenty of regular firewarriors about, though. Their counter strike had to be swift and merciless. Marbas would start them off with the first thing that came to mind. With the battlesuit waving its guns about, cutting through the cloud that had stopped it dead for an instant, he had to do something. That something was toss a plasma grenade toward its feet. Then he made the critical realization that the big guns had lured him to where the smaller guns could light him up quite happily. Not so worried about the small-arms fire that was chewing up his breastplate, the marine took a knee and returned fire before the enemies more serious rounds found their way to his helmet. He stayed still for just long enough to clear a nearby shell-scrape so he could avoid getting any kind of backlash from either the grenade he had thrown, or the battlesuit that had to deal with it. Neither sounded particularly pleasing, though he'd tangle with plasma long before he would let the xenos get away with anything.

The Tau who had to give up the trench were obviously not pleased. It was understandable, though. The four of them each got a bolt round to the head. The proximity of the xenos to the astartes, however, meant that the rounds didn't even have time to explode before they were through the squishy alien skulls and into the ground. The kicker charges rammed the bolts right into the brains of the firewarriors, and the rockets ripped them the rest of the way through. Burnt blue blood and fried xeno brains now thoroughly coated Marbas and he chuckled. So much for camouflage patterns. He was almost certain that the machine spirit was chuckling with him. It liked to see the xenos and the heretic die as much as any astartes. To add insult to mortal injury, the fresh corpses were crushed under his weight as he combat-rolled into the trench, poking his head out the other side to provide more fire support to the squad's flank. The last thing they needed was a surprise attack while a battlesuit rampaged around in between them.

Indeed, a small group almost pulled it off. Not that they could do anything. A small group of Tau, leading about the same number of drones was trench-hopping to get into position. Marbas chuckled, smiling as he picked off a few of the drone operators. Then, firing his bolter one-handed, he fiddled with a blind grenade with his free hand, tossing the thing toward the group. He netted four more kills before the explosive went off, scattering haywire chaff and infrared blockers everywhere within the cloud of smoke. Only two drones were left, if the explosions inside the cloud were anything to go on. Machines really didn't like that stuff. But they disliked the Emperor's fury even more. The last of the warrior's drum ripped through the air where the enemy had been. There was nothing left of that attempted ambush, and the marine turned back to his brothers, hoping all was going well with the battle.

"How's it looking, brothers? Are there going to be more of those things?" Marbas would be happy to redistribute some ammunition on the fly if they were going to be facing more of those things, or even other nasty targets. If it had occured to him, the space marine supposed he could have just tried out a drum of kraken rounds on the battlesuit. He supposed he still could if it was going to be a problem. No sense wasting them on regulars, though. The Tau's armour wasn't designed to stop much more than a slap, it would seem...

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

interesting...

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Gram was so offended by Tikki's actions that he didn't even say a word. He had no idea what to say. The weapon was dumbstruck by the actions of this ignorant and cruel woman. She had the nerve to shove him further into the dirt when he protested, and then couldn't be bothered to clean him before shoving the weapon back into its scabbard, a place it was thoroughly tired of. But now it was dirty on top of that. Surtr silently admitted to itself that if it possessed eyes, it would be crying right now. Never in its worst nightmares had someone like this occurred to him. Shocked, appalled, and wounded deeply, the blade shifted in its sheath, projecting a mass illusion with all the power it could muster. Anyone in sight of thing thing would assume it was a near-broken, rusted-through piece of junk that might once had seen glory, but no more.

That wasn't the truth, of course, but it would seem like it until he found someone to care for him. But then, while he was busy being offended, Gram heard the woman who had found him whisper. Apparently she wanted him to be quiet. He was not about to roll with that. "Kill." he stated simply. The projection would sound like someone speaking normally to anyone in hearing distance. Just one word, in a calm, bloodthirsty tone. The weapon began to repeat that word with regularity. Every minute or so, give or take a minute, he'd say it again, "Kill!" sometimes the weapon said it louder, sometimes a little quieter, but always in that same, calm, psychotic tone. And he would not stop until he killed someone, or Tikki apologized, and cleaned up the horrid mess she had made. And if someone rescued it from this new prison, Nothung would be happy to calm down. However someone would be doing some cleaning, as he was not capable of it...

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

you would annoy the sword

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

Gram was enraged when he felt himself being lowered. Not just lowered, though, jammed into the ground like some kind of stake. He was not a stake. He was a sword. Not just any sword, he was Surtr Nothung! No one stabbed him into the ground. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" the weapon screamed, "THIS IS NOT HOW YOU TREAT A SWORD!" it managed to cool its temper a little when it noticed more people approaching though. More people, obviously attracted by the commotion, and he could feel their intent. An intent to kill and take by force. "Now, you've got a trio of bandits coming to get you because you got me all worked up and I had to scream." the blade began to explain, "So in the future, I suggest not being so horribly moronic. For now, I suggest you ready me, that we might effortlessly slaughter these men of mayhem that approach." he sounded much more reasonable when the threat of combat was imminent. All the sword wanted was to kill things. His desire for death was insatiable. And while he wasn't the most persuasive weapon around, he was pretty sure that he could convince someone to fight for their life when they had no other choices.

But then it occurred to him that murderous bandits were on the way. If they killed this hapless adventurer, he'd have a real killer for an owner, he'd have so many more chances at bloodshed. That seemed just as appealing. Suddenly the situation was looking up. Now he had a wielder, but if they died, he'd have a new one. Unless something silly happened, like everyone got seriously injured and then died all the way out here in the woods. If that happened, the weapon decided it would sit there and scream bloody murder until he got to participate in one. Gram chuckled and the chuckle quickly turned into a laugh. "Prepare for battle, little one! Tonight, I feast!" he cackled violently. Clearly this blade had some mental issues to work through. He blamed it on the years of solitary confinement and the uncontrollable bloodlust that had been forged into him. Fire and blood and death were all hammered into his very bones. Bones of precious star-metals that couldn't be unforged and reworked without the help of all the greatest smiths in the world, and another bright, and blinding star-fire to fuel the forge. Thirsty for blood and death, Surtr Nothung continued to laugh, hoping someone would die horribly and that he would be the reason for it...

Tales of Eyreseum - The False King

I'll be replying tomorrow. then we'll see I guess...

Dark Angels: The Argyos Heresy (Warhammer 40K)

Marbas was excited. He had been excited since the very instant he had learned that they would be dropping into combat once again. Of course, his excitement amounted to a whole lot of nothing, at least outwardly. Inwardly, he was jumping for joy, happier than a child being taken to a candy store. The only thing that dampened his spirits was the urgency with which the squad had dropped. There hadn't been time to refit with a plasma cannon, there had barely been time to bomb-up the sheer number of magazines he demanded. That was all right, though. He had his bolter, and his righteous rage, and a whole lot of ammunition and grenades. He was not at all worried about the upcoming battles. No, he was happy. Very pleased to rain down fire and brimstone on the enemies of the Emperor. Even if his equipment wasn't ideal. But when he considered the number of enemies they were supposed to be facing, perhaps his equipment was a little more ideal than he wanted it to be.

Either way, there he was, rocketing downward through space toward a planet covered in heretics and xenos, while anti-aircraft artillery batteries stitched up the air around the vessel he was riding in, and there nothing to do but wait. Wait, and check all of his gear for the tenth time. "All callsigns, this is Marbas, vox-check, over." he growled into his helmet. The little sensor pinged positively and he assumed he was good to go. He couldn't remember the last time someone had answered his vox-check, but it wasn't for them anyway. Then, interrupting his thoughts, a line of small-arms fire ripped up the door in front of him, making plenty of noise but not doing any damage. He chuckled at that, readying his weapon. They were getting close, he could feel it. And then he really felt it, when the reverse thrusters kicked in, flaring to violent life. The jolt brought a grin to the marine's face and he hefted his boltgun in one hand, tucking the stock under his arm so he could fire it with just his right hand. His left hand was busy holding two plasma grenades. They were primed and ready to be thrown, only their continued proximity to their owner holding back the violent detonation.

Very suddenly, they weren't just close any more. The pod ended its plunge by smashing violently into the earth. The jarring end to the vicious descent was every bit as satisfying as the warrior had hoped it would be. The doors blew at the same instant they hit ground, and even before the doors had struck the ground, Marbas was lobbing the plasma grenades he had readied, and simultaneously firing his bolter at a completely different target. There were trenches everywhere, all of them full of hostile aliens. He couldn't make out what they were, but it didn't matter. The grey-clad warrior didn't care either. They were the enemy. "For the Lion!" he bellowed over the roar of his bolter. The grenades he had thrown went off an instant later, vaporizing a swathe of ground and xenos, leaving behind only a smoking crater. Meanwhile he had yet to release the trigger on his bolt gun. Being used to handling heavy weapons, the superhuman simply walked his fire from one target to the next, his supreme reflexes dictating when each enemy would be hit by a round, and moving on even as it happened. There was no need to wait. A single, standard bolt round easily slaughtered whatever these aliens were. And even one handed, he had absolutely no trouble with that. But it did help to have two hands guiding the Emperor's fury, and his left hand joined his right as soon as it could.

He didn't bother triggering his plasma gun, thanks to the frailty of his enemies. As much as he liked the stuff, there was no need to waste it. However, there was a need for more firepower. Sergeant Uriel said something about the enemy being off guard, and then he thought he heard Hakael spout something about his position being secure. The marine didn't care. Sure, there might be no aliens within their immediate vicinities, but there were still plenty targets on his heads-up display. He would continue fighting stoically, seeing no reason to distract his battle brothers just yet. Finally, the massive drum magazine he had fitted to his weapon ran dry, and the boltgun made an angry click, reprimanding him for his lack of focus. He dumped the drum and fitted a new one faster than most might had been able to react, reloading as he changed positions. Taking two strides forward, Marbas planted his left foot on a pile of rubble, and deployed the bi-pod on his rifle. Propping it on his knee, the Dark Angel resumed firing, using his more stable perch to reach out further and mow down more of the foul xenos.

"Off-guard, perhaps, brother, but still coming." he observed to Uriel. He didn't know what it was like on the Sergeant's side of the drop pod, but clearly he had gotten the side that faced the bulk of the enemy, a thought that thrilled the warrior to no end. His boltgun roared ceaselessly as a pack of filthy aliens poured out of a trench, rushing the Astartes for some madness-driven reason. Two dozen or so bolt rounds ended that notion swifter than most could think, spraying blood and earth in all directions as the enemy was cut down like grass before a scythe. So violent were the explosions, that despite the distance between the combatants, Marbas still found his grey armour painted with new and interesting patterns in xenos blood. "I think I should have brought more ammunition." the marine observed over the vox. He was only partially joking. He surveyed the rather interesting scene before him, returning fire as he did so. There really were a lot of enemies out here, and that would explain why there was so much difficulty here. Xenos could defeat anything if there were enough of them. He thumbed the selector switch on his botler and shouldered the weapon once more, bracing his left elbow on his knee to steady his grip further. Conservation of the Emperor's wrath seemed only fitting now. As much as he loved the roar of a boltgun on automatic, such a thing could easily prove wasteful until the xenos began to swarm in earnest. Marbas began picking his targets, watching limbs and heads explode as he reacted to each shot directed at him. He was used to being the Emperor's hammer, but it seemed that this time, he would be serving as the very tip of His spear. That called for a change in tactics, but nothing drastic. Nothing that couldn't be fun if he tried...

CIA: Supernatural Division. (Sanquin / Sarpedon)

The alarm blared loudly, like an air raid siren. Gerry was out of bed in an instant, shutting the thing off. He was half-dressed by the time he made it across his bedroom, and fully dressed before he reached the kitchen that was just down a short hallway. The operator seemed to run his whole life with brutal efficiency. It explained the lack of connections, and also his keen abilities in the field. Nothing was ever switched off with this man. He got his breakfast together while he got ready to go, and despite his completely disorganized appearance, the agent was actually almost a full hour ahead of schedule. He did all of his deliberately, wanting to have time to wait before the mission started. Time to wait was good time. So the man looked like he was doing six different things very badly all at once, when in reality, he was actually running at peak efficiency, getting everything good to go with time to spare. He had taken care of just about everything beforehand, but obviously he couldn't do everything. What little he needed to do was easily done concurrently, however, and Gerry made good use of that.

In under fifteen minutes he was dressed and presentable. He had also eaten breakfast, and geared up as much as he could with what he had at home. Something that most people might take an hour or more to do. Something that most people never considered. Figuring he was good to go, the man headed out to his car. It was evening, but thanks to his adaptability, he was running like it was morning. And that was good, since he'd be on night operations for the foreseeable future. Undaunted, he headed straight for the armoury hidden deep below his office. While he didn't know how they were getting to the target, he did know that they would be doing it with weapons readied, since this was a dangerous operation. But what operation wasn't dangerous? Even the simplest exercise could go drastically wrong in an instant. Gerry didn't plan on messing around.

And indeed he didn't. The agent had his car parked and was booking it down to his new office long before he was required to be there. He figured there would probably be time allotted to getting ready, but his goal was to turn that time into waiting time. Or even move up the mission. Whatever worked for the man in charge. So he wasn't casually strolling when he arrived at the quartermaster. He ran a hand over his head, as he waited, irritably rubbing at his freshly clipped scalp. The man in charge of issuing gear showed up eventually. It was probably only a two minute wait, but that was too long for the operator. He pushed his way in and started grabbing kit off the walls. He was not here to wait around to be served. "No tracers. I'm rocking the UMP45. I want a mark three tactical vest, and the mark two chest rig. Don't fuck me around on that, I want the mark two." he was very particular about his combat gear. The soldier had clearly done this before. Someone showed up to bomb up magazines for him while he loaded up, and the man laughed when he saw what was going on. "Are you loading rubber bullets into that fucking magazine?" he asked. He shrugged on his tactical vest as he looked over the assistant's shoulder at the black rubber capped cartridges being bombed-up into his magazines. The other man didn't answer right away.

"Who told you to do that? Who's trying to get me killed? That's bullshit. Empty those and put fucking black talons in there." he stared the assistant down until the other man started to move. Then immediately regretted his decision. Black talon rounds had projectiles that were the same colour as the rubber bullets he had been trying to avoid. He shook his head and hoped no one tried to fuck him around. The agent had a mission to complete, but he was starting to wonder if he was supposed to fail. "No frag vest. We're running light on this one." he insisted, waving away someone who'd brought out hard body armour. He liked the stuff, but he wasn't worried about being shot, he was more worried about the supernatural stuff that apparently didn't even need guns. It sounded like crap, but he supposed that not having a vest would at least keep him on his toes. And it wasn't like he was completely unprotected. Gerry was always wearing a vest of some kind. And with that in mind, he loaded up his tactical vest with the various things he liked to have on him when he went hunting for high value targets. And then his chest rig showed up. He didn't have time to check the magazines. He just gritted his teeth and strapped the thing on. If someone wanted him dead, he supposed he would find out when the target got back up the first time...