# In Service to the Emperor - A Deathwatch RP (Action)



## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++Vox Transmission XJ-909. Sender: The Voidtooth. Receiver: Watch-Commander Gastaron.

+++Message begins,

Commander. I've just received word from our picket ships that the transport carrying the latest batch of recruits has arrived. The ship's captain reports that we have twenty-five new recruits for the station, though I doubt that any of them will make it through the training you've decided on.

Once they arrive i'll separate them into squads and have them run through the basics, then i'll bring them to you for the briefing. I'm told it's a good crop this time, though once i'm through with them they'll either be Deathwatch or dead.

My full report will follow once i've met them on-board the ship.

Voidtooth out,

Message ends.+++​_

*All:* You are all in the docking bay of the Inquisition ship _Assured Guilt_. You have all been on the ship for two months and have each spent that time differently, in your own ways. At this moment you are all awaiting the arrival of the Deathwatch training sergeant that you have been told will be meeting you. You know he is called the Voidtooth, but not which Chapter he hails from or even what his real name is. You are standing next to each other, and have been for the last hour. Around you are twenty other marines all in different colours of Power Armour, except one marine who is already in the black of the Deathwatch and who bears no insignia. None of you, except for him, know why this is.

*Fith Bloodaxe:* As you wait you reflect upon the time you have spent on the ship. Your joking and irreverence have caused a few troubles on the straight-laced Inquisitorial craft, and with some of the other brothers here, none of whom unfortunately are from the Space Wolves. One or two marines eye you with undisguised loathing after some unfortunately misunderstood comments. One thing in the hangar keeps drawing your eye, a sleek and clearly non-human craft is sitting in one of the bays. It is an Eldar craft and it does not look like it has been secured, which means an alien could be aboard this ship. You think on that, and the possibility that you may have to deal with aliens peaceably during your service term.

*Miloslav Sidorov:* As you stand with your brothers around you you think about the diverse range of brothers here. One brother bears the markings of the Iron Hands, your parent-chapter and clearly a figure of long service if the level of bionics he displays are anything to go by. You also think about your chapter and the nature of your departure, why joining the Deathwatch was the only way to atone for your sergeant's end. At the end of your row you notice the marine who has received the matte-black colours of the Deathwatch and who bears no insignia. You alone know what this means, having been told by the Deathwatch marine who brought you to this ship. He is a Black Shield and has also left his chapter in atonement, but his is a permanent departure and his shame is so great that he has abandoned all connections to his chapter. You could have been like him, could still be if you choose to do so.

*Gryin Wyrmfist:* You notice that several marines are looking at your armour and it's attachments. The bear-skin cloak that you wear has drawn several glances. Many of these marines are younger than you, sent for service not for the veterancy that earned you a place, but for heroic acts, penitence in the case of that iconless marine at the edge of your row, or other reasons. You glance at the marines in your row, each of them is very different to you, though the Space Wolf has a good amount of fight in him as does the Bogatyr marine though he is very laconic. Your chainsword is also a subject of some attention, it was not easy getting the Deathwatch commander that you spoke with before to agree to allow you to keep it but he has done so provided that you also carry the monomolecular chainblade that you will be issued on board the station you are approaching.

*Türgen:* You look around you at the number of marines surrounding you. You are the only unhelmeted marine, and the only Marauder aboard. Though you can see two White Scars here, the chapter you are descended from. You have already met them during your time on this ship, how that meeting went is up to you. You glance at the marines in your row, the Space Wolf, the Bogatyr, the Storm Warden and the iconless marine. What do you think of them so far??

*Hastir Jorvane:* You are silent in the crowd. You can tell that many are staring at you, some who know what you are look at you with curiosity or pity, those who don't know what you are look at you in ignorance and wonder why you bear no chapter markings. You were told by the Black Templars Deathwatch marine who brought you here, whose name you never learned, that you are not to tell anybody where you came from and why you are in the Deathwatch and in turn nobody will ask you. Those who know what you are would not dare, and those who don't will be warned not to do so. They are all initiates to this order, their placement not yet guaranteed. Yours is. You have already been through the tests that really matter, hence why your armour is black.

*All:* A Thunderhawk, matte-black and bearing the *I* insignia of the Deathwatch floats into the hangar bay above you. None of you move a muscle. The craft slowly turns around to present it's already-open hatch to you all. A single marine stands on the edge of it, and without warning he takes a single step and falls to the ground. He lands with a large clatter, denting the metal floor and yet is unshaken by it. His armour is completely black except for his shoulder-plate, which is a dark grey and bears a black shark as it's symbol. He is a Carcharodon, a notoriously bloody and aloof chapter whom you all have only heard of and never seen before, yet there is no mistaking him for anything else. He is bare-headed and his hairless head, almost translucent skin, completely black eyes and sharply filed teeth are the markers of this mysterious chapter. He takes a few steps forward and runs his eyes across you all, his gaze briefly stops on the Black Shield, but then continues to roam. When he speaks his voice is remarkably soft and quiet, you have to really listen to hear him.

_*"Listen up wretches. I am the Voidtooth. And you are not Deathwatch, not yet and maybe never. Your Chapter Masters, the Inquisition, they are the ones who have decided you have the right to stand here. You all do have that right. But when it comes to who will wear the hallowed black, who will join our august order and fight the true fight against the xenos enemies that assail our Imperium. It is MY opinion that matters, and mine alone. The words of your Chapter Masters or the deeds you have performed before now mean nothing here. Either you will prove to me that you are Deathwatch material, or you will be sent back to your Chapters in shame.

Any questions?"*_

*All:* You all can clearly see that despite his prompt, it may be wise not to ask questions.


*[Sorry for the genericness of this start but there's not a lot of material to work with. I've tried to give each of you a little bit to post about regarding the two months you have spent on this ship. If you want to add a little bit more, maybe mention what you've been doing all this time in details that I have not considered please do so. If it's anything big ask me first, or if it involves another player ask them first. But other then that feel free to pad out your post with some extra details if need be.

Other then that, welcome to the RP and let's make it a great one.]*


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo felt new, and not in the good way either. He was eerily reminded of the first time his father had taken him into the ruined metro system to hunt. It was a dim memory, fragmented from over two centuries of subsequent experiences—but the anxiety he recalled well enough. The feeling of not belonging. He was new to this, and he didn't like it, not one bit.

Now, as then, came the nagging urge to fidget. His right index finger twitched, wanting to prod at an unseemly gap between the teeth of his chainsword. One of the teeth had come loose during his drills yesterday. The _Assured Guilt_ had a plentiful stock of practice servitors, as it turned out, and Milo had no compunctions about taking advantage of the opportunity. The corpse-machines hadn't stood a chance against him, but hacking them apart had killed some time, at least--and more importantly, kept him somewhat in practice. Unfortunately, during his final practice session his chainsword had gotten into a chewing match with a sprocket. One of its teeth had been wrenched out, and the ship’s armory had no replacements in stock.

So not only was he a stranger in a strange place—but he looked like an imbecile as well.

Thankfully, his fellow Astartes either failed to notice or pretended to. Just a few strides away sat an Iron Hand, decked in the sable livery of his chapter. His bionic alteration was rather extensive. Hydraulic pipes gleamed from gaps in his thigh plates; evidently both his legs had been amputated. There was the obligatory bionic right hand as well. Milo hadn’t caught the brother’s name, but he could appreciate his pursuit of strength. Before he sat, he’d faced the marine and clenched two fists at his sternum—a sign of respect on Medusa. The Iron Hand had caught the gesture, and returned it.

Another figure in black armor had drawn his eye as well. The sight of the blank shoulder pad might have made a lesser man frown in consternation. Not Milo. Expressionless as his face remained, he wondered what sort of monstrous crime this Black Shield had committed to earn his shame. He supposed the answer didn’t matter. They both had something to repent for. If this Black Shield was anywhere near as eager to kill Xenos as Milo was, then he would be glad to serve beside him.

As the training sergeant made his entrance, and fell into his welcoming speech, Milo’s hopes fell. It seemed he—and his black-armored brethren—would have to await the blood toll a little longer. So he sat, stoic and expressionless as ever, and raised no question when the sergeant asked for them. This was just like the novitiate after all. He would meet his destiny… but only once his superiors allowed it. Best not to delay things.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin Wyrmfist flexed his joints as the thunderhawk appeared, none he had challenged aboard the Assured Guilt had proven a match against him and the training programmes had become nothing but mere chores for Gryin a very long time ago. He was looking forward to some decent combat. Gryin, overall had not enjoyed his time aboard the Inquisitorial vessel a whole lot, having held the Inquisition in suspicion ever since he was told of the nemesis incident Gryin found it hard to relax and really think about the challenges that were about to present themselves as he embraced the Deathwatch. He had discussed some history with some Inquisition officials but they were none the wiser. Only one of them had even heard of the incident which did not please Gryin. He stayed in the cage for nearly 16 hours after talking to the last official, he looked like he was about 15 years old. Gryin cursed the youth’s lack of respect.

Gryin turned to inspect each of the marines lined up beside them, he seemed to be the eldest of them by at least 100 years but one could never be sure of age with an Astartes. You had to be familiar with the chapter and its genetics to make anything near an accurate guess. Gryin didn’t think much of The Bogatyr, he had fought alongside The Bogatyr once before when he was a mere battle brother and they did not impress him with their philosophies or combat ability. Gryin did however have high hopes for the Marauder, Gryin had never experienced them first hand but the little he had heard of them from his battle brothers was all bursting with praise. Then he noticed a black clad marine, Gryin cared not of a persons past but this marine had a sombre aura that irked Gryin. Before he had a chance to finish surveying the other marines a black armoured Deathwatch commander jumped down from the thunderhawk onto the ground.* “Listen up wretches. I am the Voidtooth………”* Gryin was amused by the commanders statement. He had fought with the galaxies xenos many times. Each and every time he threw them into their respective hells and laughed at their screams of pain. Gryin was looking forward to the trials Voidtooth would set out for them, and the moment when he steps across the finish line with a grin on his face. Voidtooth best be careful, Gryin did not just heed to just anyone’s orders. 

Mid-way through Voidtooth’s speach Gryin noticed the space wolf, *“Hail Fenrisian, I fought beside Engir Krakendoom on Uthualns moon against the greenskins. What company do you hail from?”*


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

As the lone thunderhawk sails into the hangar bay and from high drops the pale herald, Türgen feels for perhaps the first time upon this vessel a vestige of collectedness. For the past two months on the _Assured Guilt_, he had been less in control of his instinctive emotions than he had been in centuries.

Two months; shock had set in deep. The usual veil of peaceful calm he'd masked over his true feelings had been lacking. Not that he'd acted like a mother whose child had left her - it was just, for the first time in his life, that he was away from everything he'd known and held dear.

It was the utmost honour to represent his chapter. Should it had not been the case, he would have objected to his forwarding to the Deathwatch. This ship had many similarities to the ones he'd been stationed on, but never had felt so different. It was empty, lacking a vitality and clear bloodline. Cold stone walls that spoke nothing of a brotherhood bound and made legendary over centuries.

Upon first seeing them, Türgen had tried to mingle with the duo of White Scars. He'd approached them with an unintentional, almost boyish reverence. They had not been so welcoming. Whether through disdain or some superiority complex grown strong by their blood-ties, neither spoke to him. Thereon, Türgen had become withdrawn. He felt numb, relying solely on the sensation of his sabre slicing deftly through yet another servitor to bring him some sense of purpose.

His hand now rested on the hand-guard of the melee weapon as he astutely stood. His eyes did not flicker away from the Carcharodon. His full attention was upon him as a sheer sign of respect, and he kept quiet. This did not mean, however, that he wasn't using the gift of his Lyman's Ear to read the tell-tale movements of his company. He took in everything within the immediate proximity, even, with full clarity, the Voidtooth's braking-in speech. 

He'd only seen the others before now. Not to one of them had he introduced himself. And not five seconds in and the agéd Storm Warden had crossed a line. He'd seen him before in the arena. He'd almost challenged the entirety of the garrison. He was possessed of both a killer instinct and brutality unlike any other here. This skill at arms, Türgen suspected, may be the cause of his near-arrogant surety. Despite his impressive swordplay, he neither had the speed or finesse that Türgen knew to be of his own strengths. Alas, his muffled whisperings drew more attention than was respectable. He prayed the Space Wolf would be wise enough to withhold a response until later. A formidable veteran he'd be glad to have fight alongside him, but not one he'd want anywhere near a diplomatic envoy.

No report was to be heard of the Black Shield. Ordinarily, this would mean that no heed was paid to him. But by the very nature of his station, one could not help but dwell on the mysteries surrounding him. It set the hair's on the backs of Türgen's hands on end. This grim champion was seemingly unmoving, and unemotional, and something about this unnerved the Marauder. Of all of the Astartes here, this one he'd not seen without his helmet before. _Why?_ That was the most nagging of his questions.

His fixation was suddenly broken by an Astartes poking at a gap in his chainsword. It was a bad portent to go to battle with a broken blade, even a breakage so small. His feeling on the matter melded away into the recess of his mind, as for once he found something he could relate to: this Astartes felt as detached as he did.

As the Carcharodon's opening came to a close, Türgen finally felt his composure regain. The introspective session had given him strength. For a second he was disgusted at how self-centred he'd been. Türgen was not the only one called upon such an undertaking, nor the only one to receive a jolt to the system at such cultural changes. Here, he thought, was one he might call brother.

The Carcharodon closed. *"Any questions?"* Intuitively, not one word left the Marauder's mouth.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir stood perfectly still, nothing but the slight rise and fall of his chest giving away that he was more than a black sentinel. He had stood like this a few times before and was accustomed to how it would work. Their commander would issue challenges and they would complete them or be sent back to their chapters in disgrace. For Hastir, that was not an option. His chapter was burning itself out in the flames of damnation. They were all heretics as far as he knew, and so he would either die or continue his service as had been the case since his acceptance to the Deathwatch. The challenges kept him on edge and kept him a sharp sword for the inquisition to use to slay the Imperiums foes. It was the least he owed for his brothers betrayals.

He knew that several of the other marines here were staring at him, but Hastir payed them no heed. The were all curious as to why he was already armoured in the jet black of the Deathwatch and why his shoulder pauldron was surprisingly vacant. Anyone with a semblance of knowledge would know that he was either the last surviving member of a chapter, or a repentant from a band of heretics. He was mildly curious to know which they assumed of him, although he was reasonably confident that it was the latter. He would have done.

No one had been stupid enough to ask him why he already wore the black armour of the Deathwatch and, just as he had been told to by the Black Templar who guided him onto the _Assured Guilt_, he had not told anyone which chapter he hailed from nor the conditions of his service. It was a form of lonely existence, but after a year of warp time, which was far greater in real time, he had grown accustomed to being alone. Truthfully, the strangest part for Hasitr had been being around people once again. Even though he had been with the Deathwatch a while now, he still found integrating to new circles difficult and the presence of others around him was still not normal to him.

The harsh rumbling of a thunderhawk's engines snapped Hastir out of his internalized thoughts. His eyes focused onto the thunderhawk, painted the same shade of an oblivion black as his armour was and bearing the inquisitorial *I*. The front ramp was already lowered and and a figure was standing on the edge of it, ready to jump. Hastir knew this would be Voidtooth, but because he was lit from behind, Hastir could not make out any details of the man or his armour.

Once he jumped down, Hastir could see him clearly. The grey shoulder-guard marked by a large black shark marked him as a Carcharodon Astra. Hastir had heard of this chapter even before his chapter's journey into the Eye, and knew that the were known for being utterly ruthless. Nothing in the appearance of the man gave anything to contradict that description. His skin was almost translucent, revealing several major veins beneath the skin on his hairless scalp. His almost soul-less black eyes fixed each of them in turn with a predatory stare, his gaze lingering on Hastir a fraction longer than anyone else. Why, Hastir couldn't guess. Perhaps their commander could not help but wonder why he was here just like everyone else.

Even the man's voice was feral and brimming with brutality. Hastir knew that the request for questions was a false one, no everyone else seemed to realize that to, thankfully. But, where others might feel threatened by Voidtooth's promise that they might not make it into the Deathwatch, Hastir was unperturbed. He has already passed the trails, he wore the armour of the Deathwatch. His challenge was simply one of survival and proving he was still useful and, above all, loyal to the Imperium...


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

The Inquisitorial ship _Assured Guilt_ was appropriated named, thought the Space Wolf, as he stood in the docking bay of the craft sporting his full armour. He had been on the ship for two months, two months away from his Battle Brothers and two months away from the Rout. There were no other wolves here - no other brothers in arms. 

Fith awaited the appearance of the training sergeant with the armoured bulk of his right arm on a railing. No other Astartes was anywhere close to the Space Wolf, not that it mattered. The only warriors that he could ever call brothers were back home. He was among strangers here - an Iron Hand (were all their hands made out of Iron?), Bogatyr (These must be new or unimportant, he'd never heard of them before), a Storm Warden (Did they truly understand the Storm as well as he did?), and the iconless marine that posed an interesting question. But none of them were of Fenris, none of the Rout - so it didn't really matter. As long as he got to kill some Tyranid. The Training Sergeant had an interesting name - the Voidtooth. That was all that Fith knew about his new _Commander_ - the Astartes hated that word and all allocations that came with it, after the mess that his so-called superiors had landed him in on past campaigns - and it would be interesting to see if he really could command a wide amount of Astartes from other Chapters.

Ignoring the loathing looks that he got from other Astartes after a few misinterpreted comments about other Chapters, Fith glanced out across the docking bay to discover a craft that bore the markings of the Eldar. It was sleek, and clearly non-human - which meant it was the enemy. What was it doing here? Scowling beneath his helmet, Fith realised that it was unsecured. It hadn't been captured. This meant only one obvious answer - an xenos could be walking aboard this ship freely. His gaze now focused on the ship, Fith was beginning to realise that there might be a possibility that he could have to deal with enemies of the Imperium peacefully during his service as a Deathwatch Astartes. '_I thought the Deathwatch killed xenos, not allied with them. I guess the Commander will have to come up with a damned good excuse_.' 

He was distracted from his thoughts by the noise echoing out from a matte-black Thunderhawk that had just entered the Hanger Bay from the sea of stars, bearing the single *I* symbol of the Inquisition. He didn't move a muscle and the Space Wolf could tell that nobody else in the room was doing the same. This was it, he knew. This was the moment that he was going to meet his new Sergeant - and this was when he would learn the truth about the xenos spacecraft. 

As he watched, the craft turned around to face Fith and his fellow Astartes - they hadn't quite earned the honour of being called 'brothers' yet, revealing the hatch to be already open. Inside, Fith recognized what must be Voidtooth, and scowled again beneath his helmet at the figure of authority that had arrived in the craft. Without warning, the single Astartes took a single step forward out of the Thunderhawk, and clattered to the ground in front of them, denting the floor yet leaving himself unshaken. His armour was completely black apart from the shoulder plate, which was dark grey and bore the symbol of a black shark in its centre. The Chapter that he belonged to was obviously a Carcharodon, an Chapter famous for being bloody and aloof, and one that Fith had not encountered on the battlefield before. He is bare-headed and his hairless head, almost translucent skin, completely black eyes and sharply filed teeth are the markers of the mysterious chapter. He decided to take a few steps forward in order to run his eyes across you all, his gaze briefly stopping on the Black Shield, but then continued to roam before speaking, in a tone that was soft - but echoed across the whole room.

"Listen up wretches. I am the Voidtooth...."

During the Commander's speech, the Space Wolf noticed a Storm Warden approach him. “Hail Fenrisian, I fought beside Engir Krakendoom on Uthualns moon against the greenskins. What company do you hail from?”

"Engir Krakendoom, you say?" Fith asked, raising an eyebrow - the gesture unnoticed by the Storm Warden and therefore pointless beneath the helmet that he wore. "Bjorn Stormwolf is my Wolf Lord, although I have not fought alongside Storm Lords before." 

He didn't bother to list where he had fought, for the chance for war stories was bound to come later. He also frowned when he told the Storm Warden his Commander's name, for it was Stormwolf - in a way, that was responsible for Fith's hatred of xenos and prehaps one of the many reasons why he was here in the first place. If not for Stormwolf, he had never been given false information about the Tyranids, and would never have lost so many battle brothers. And yet because it had been a victory, it was Stormwolf who received all the credit. 

"Any questions?" A moment of silence greeted the room following the Voidtooth's speech, and even though he did end it with a question, Fith didn't think it would be wise to respond. And neither it appeared, did anybody else.

(OOC: Vlka Fenryka and the Rout are informal terms used by the Space Wolves that both mean the same thing, their Chapter - and were first encountered in Dan Abnett's _Prospero Burns_ and have seen use in Chris Wraight's _Battle for the Fang_.)


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++Vox Report OZ-178. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.+++

+++Message Begins,

I've reviewed the new recruits, most are passable enough and none were stupid enough to ask me any questions after I told them their place. But we'll find out if their Deathwatch material when we reach Entyron Minorus, and if any of us survive what's probably there now. I'll put them all through the training gauntlet, we should have enough time for each squad to make a run before we arrive.

I will state my disapproval of our sources on this mission once more sir. I do not like relying on _them_ for information, even if their being honest about why they've told us at all. But i'll follow orders, as will all of the new recruits. Though I caught the Fenrisian staring at our guest's ship. I don't think he'll be trouble but if he barks, i'll muzzle him.

Voidtooth out,

Message ends.+++_​

*All:* The Voidtooth nods at the lack of questions. He pulls out a dataslate and begins reviewing some information, occasionally glancing up to look at a marine in the group. Eventually he nods and stows the slate, then begins calling out names. The names are of the marines, and after he calls five names he gives a squad designation. He is pairing you up with your new brothers, those that you will fight alongside for the length of your service in the Deathwatch. Eventually all the marines are called away until only the five of you are left standing alone.

_"Bloodaxe. Sidorov. Türgen. Wyrmfist. Jorvane. You're all Omega Squad. Form up!"_​
You look at your new brothers, you are all now of Omega Squad of the Deathwatch. Each one is from a very different chapter to your own, you may have heard of their chapter or you may not have. Before you can introduce yourselves to each other as the others have been doing the Voidtooth points towards the gunships that are awaiting you all now.

_"On the ships, now!"​_
You do not waste time waiting to obey his command. The five of you board the matte-black Storm Eagle gunship that is waiting for you, the Inquisitorial *I* sigil is very prominent on it's side and the craft itself appears brand new. It is a reminder that the Deathwatch are issued only the highest level of equipment and that most new technology goes through them and other organizations before it will ever reach your own chapters. As the Storm Eagle takes off you all take the time to introduce yourselves to your new brothers, giving whatever details about yourselves that you choose to give, or remaining silent if that is your preference.


*All:* As the Storm Eagle lands in the bay of the new ship you are quickly ushered out by a pair of servitors waiting at the ramp. Your's was the last craft to arrive. You are now on-board the Strike Cruiser that you were told would arrive. It's name is unknown to you, but you all saw it's matte-black colouring on the ride here and the *I* sigil that is emblazoned on it's prow. This is a mighty vessel and again appears to be relatively young. The hangar that you are in is big and filled with Storm Eagles, Thunderhawks, Predators, Rhinos and Razorbacks and even one or two Land Raiders; all of which are in the matte-black of the Deathwatch. All around you your fellow marines are amassing, and the Voidtooth is speaking with another Deathwatch marine whom he appears to be deferring to. His armour is very ornate and rather than an aquila on his chest there is a silver *I*. A cloak rimmed with a wolf-fur mantle falls from his shoulders, two bolt pistols are holstered at his waist and a rather large scythe is strung across his back. His shoulderplate is visible, it is a lighter black than the rest of his armour and bears two yellow scythes crossing each other. He is a Scythe of the Emperor, a member of a Chapter that has been nearly driven to extinction by the Tyranid scourge.

Before you can do anything the Voidtooth calls for everyone to form up. You do so without hesitation, forming into Omega Squad in a single line at the back of the row of lines formed by each squad. The Scythe paces past each line, meeting the eyes of each marine there before dismissing them. Before long he is at your line. He passes each of you, pausing for a moment to look at Hastir Jorvane before moving on and speaking to you all in an iron tone that is emotionless.

_"Omega Squad. Your squad will be first into the gauntlet. Report to the armoury to have your armours detailed and your gear assigned to you. Move out."​_
His curt dismissal done, the Scythe walks away. The Voidtooth stays behind, waiting until the Scythe has left the hangar bay and nods at you all. He expects you to follow him, which you all start to do without waiting.

_"In case your wondering recruits, that was Commander Gastaron. And while your here, think of him as your Chapter Master."​_
You are all surprised. The Watch-Commander himself, overseer of the Deathwatch for this entire sector and even some of the sectors beyond, was here to meet you all personally?? The Voidtooth keeps quiet on the subject, but you get the sense that he does not care if you speak amongst yourselves so long as you do not bother him. As you move through the ship you see crew scurrying about on their tasks, they are all wearing black robes with the Inquisition sigil embossed in silver on their chests, even the servitors bear the sigil on their chests. You pass through the dormitory section, where you can see the other squads in the training cages that do not seem different from what you are used to in your chapters, but quickly pass into the Gauntlet.

The Gauntlet's entry room is an armoury. It is an immense room bathed in dim light from the lumen-strips in the walls, the ceiling rises so high that a Warhound Titan could fit into it unstopped. And all aroud you are shelves and chests that bear weaponry of all types. Chainswords, Bolters, Bolt Pistols, Plasma Pistols, Power weapons of every shape and form you have ever seen or heard of and a few that you have not, and many esoteric weapons. You see a weapon shaped like an Old Earth lantern, a sword that appears to be made of bone with a barbed hilt and is locked behind a glass cage, what appears to be a claw made of what appears to be a strange crystal mix of rubies, emeralds and sapphires.The Voidtooth catches you looking at the crystal and grunts,

_"Dracolith talon. Took that one myself."​_
He does not say anything else, but the feat is impressive though you all can tell he did not say it to get your respect, merely to inform you of what it was. You have never heard of the Dracolith, but they must be an unheard of enemy if the Carcharodons that wander the edge of the galaxy have faced them. You are brought before another Deathwatch marine who is working at a bench on some broken weapons, this one is just as interesting a sight as the Voidtooth. He is tall and swathed in a robe of white wolf fur, his helmet that is placed on the work-table before him is carved to resemble a snarling wolf and an impressive looking power axe marked with runes is slung at his side, and a trio of mechadendrites that emerge from his back are currently fusing a broken bolter together on his work table. And if all that were not odd enough a rather massive wolf with dark grey fur lounges at his feet, if it were to stand up it would be as tall as your chests and it's claws look capable of easily tearing through your armour. It's right hindleg and left foreleg are bionic as is it's left eye which glows an icy blue. To *Fith Bloodaxe* it is clear that the Techmarine is an Iron Priest of his own chapter, but to the rest of you he is just a Techmarine.

The Techmarine looks up at you and smiles, bearing a pair of sharp canines tipped with black iron that are very visible through his coarse beard. His left eye is also bionic and glows icy blue just like his wolf's, while his right eye is amber. His hair is unkempt and is a dark black, as is his beard. The wolf whines and looks up at you all as well.

_"New meat eh shark? And some Fenris blood among them! Good Good! This crop don't look so bad, eh Greyloc?"​_​
The Techmarine speaks to his wolf Greyloc who does not respond but to bark at *Fith Bloodaxe* in recognition. The Voidtooth sneers and turns to face all of you.

_"This is Haakon Ironfang, he will issue you your gear and repaint your armour. Once that's done send them to me wolf."_​
With that the Voidtooth turns and heads towards a door in the eastern side of the armoury, passing through the weapon stacks without glancing back. Haakon laughs heartily at this and draws your attention back to him, he is smiling still and chuckling softly.

_"Ah pay that one no attention, he's as sour as you can expect from one whose not used to dealing with anybody whose not in his own Chapter. He'd rather be getting clubbed by xenos beyond the Allfather's light then speaking to you lot even for a second. I'm Haakon Ironfang, Space Wolf if you can't tell, this here is Greyloc and welcome to the armoury, especially you brother of Fenris."​_
The Space Wolf's friendly attitude, and extra greeting to *Fith Bloodaxe*, is quite different from what you have experienced so far. Ironfang turns to look at a machine behind him, it appears to be an armour assembler as some chapters have been known to use. An automated machine that armours a marine who sits in it. But this one appears modified.

_"Now if you'll just take a seat in the Remarker we'll have you in the black in a moment."​_
Haakon nods to *Miroslav Sidorov* to step forward. Each of you take your turn standing in the Remarker, the machine's mechadendrites slowly repaint over all of your armour but the left shoulderpad that bears your insignia. After *Miroslav*, *Türgen* goes next, then *Fith Bloodaxe*, then *Gyrin Wyrmfist* last. *Hastir Jorvane* does not take a turn.

When you all emerge you are struck by how different you all appear. Each of you is now armoured in the matte-black of the Deathwatch, only your chapter icons giving away what you once were. All of you now appear as *Hastir* does for the most part, as a part of the elite Deathwatch.

Your service truly begins now.


*[That's it for this update, hope you all like it. I have not done anything personal for each of you since I couldn't think of anything for this update as it's really a walkthrough to the Gauntlet. But the Gauntlet will have some personal updates for each of you, so look forward to that. Also just a quick reminder, none of you bar maelstrom48 and Deus Mortis actually know what a Black Shield is yet. To the rest of you he is just an iconless marine, you'll learn what a Black Shield is later.

So until the next update, have fun.]*


LotN


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

A ship transfer, even one within the shortest distance, would take a good while waiting. Should one become used to these transfers, they went by unnoticeably. Conversation was commonplace. Save these weren’t warriors that had been at each-other’s side since their initiation. Anticipation wrought time to an sluggish crawl, and the complete lack of turbulence in the calm black sea didn’t help. For all intents, each marine had solely different reactions. It seemed that the Warden and the Wolf, already on a name basis were at odds as to whether speaking was permitted in the company of The Voidtooth. His disdainful nature kept them all from speaking, but as the flight was underway, his notice seemed to slip from them. His seemed not to care, nor did he indulge the presence of the marines.

By now, the lack of conversation had Türgen drumming the rise of his greaves. It was not intentional. In honesty, he didn’t even notice until the irritated eye of the marine lacking heraldry alerted him. He respectfully subsided. Reclining into his brace he eased a little. His slumped form welcoming whatever may pass next.

*‘It strikes me by now that we should know each-other by name.’* His broken Low Gothic still had an almost harmonious flow. A friendly smile curled slightly into being. *‘I am Türgen.’*

Milo acknowledged the speaker with a dour nod, appreciative that someone had chosen to break the silence. Maybe now the anxiety they all felt--but refused to acknowledge--would dissipate, he thought. *'I am called Miloslav,'* he said, pronouncing the syllables slowly to offset his rolling accent. He clasped his fists below his neckguard in respect, a gesture he turned on each Astartes in turn. *'It is my honour to serve beside you and call you brothers.'*

*'The Storm Warden over there already knows my name,'* The only son of Russ among them, Fith Bloodaxe, said, cutting short anybody that would have interrupted him. *'Seeing as I am forced to serve with you for the rest of my career as the Deathwatch, there is no harm in telling you that I am Fith Bloodaxe, of the Rout.'*

There were a few raised eyebrows from those who were not familiar with the term Rout, but Fith ignored them all. And seeing the confused looks of the non-Wolves, he added, *'The Space Wolves for all of you who are not familiar with the informality of our Chapter - After all, there are some Chapters here who are more formal than others.'*

*'Aye,'* interjected the Marauder flatly, *'I've heard the 'Wolves are a barbaric chapter who attack viciously without compromise. If you ask me, it sounds all too familiar of where I come from.'* For a second it could be debatable if Türgen had taken insult to the Fith already. His voice seemed void of a humoured note and what emotion his face mired on was truly difficult to tell. *'I'm sure we'll mesh perfectly,'* he concluded - a devilish rumble underlining his now-apparent welcoming sentiment.

*'What of you Warden? and our mysterious Deathwatch Brother?'* he continued, attempting to keep the flow going.

Gryin was only half listening to the conversation. He studied each marine’s body language more intently than his words. When the Marauder addressed him Gryin looked up sharply and took a moment to process his words. *'I am Gryin Wyrmfist, I look forward to fighting alongside you. I care not of your past deeds; all I ask in order to get along is that you don’t fall behind while I cut a bloody path through the Xenos.'* Gryin’s voice was rasp and made him sound as if he was in pain, but it had a joking tone and he had a wide grin on his face which conveyed his words real intent.

The Black Sentinel had chosen the seat closest to the door, at least two seats away from the main party. In past times he would have found it easier to dive right in and become part of this group, but such jovial times as these were long gone of the marine all clad in the black colours of mourning. He found it difficult being passed from group to group within the Inquisition like some sort of cheap whore, but he knew it was his lot. The price he had to pay for atonement. It was time for him to make bonds with these marines that he knew could not last, but must be strong enough to keep them together through the coming trials. 

Everyone had spoken and he had listened carefully to what each had to say, trying to gain a measure of each man by his words. Everyone had introduced themselves and so it was only right the he introduce himself, but not before some other words. *'Brother Türgen, the key to the Vlka Fenryka is similar to that of the Deathwatch and the Inquisition; they are never what you expect of them.'* Underneath his jet black helm, the Black Shield's lips split into an unseen smirk. *'Hastir Jorvane at your service',* was all he added before letting the Storm Eagle ride progress as it would.

As the words of the heraldry-void marine seeped in, Türgen muscles gradually tensed. A slow jolt of shock grasped him, which was followed by a cold sweat. As the Hastir closed, introducing himself, Türgen remained fixed upon the Deathwatch Brother. He nodded in acknowledgement before rolling into a distracted stare.

The Vlka Fenryka? He supposed that was some referential term for the Space Wolf – some part of his or their language. He struggled to find some ounce of understanding of his comment. Unfortunately, it remained cryptic to the Marauder, and his eyes keened upon some ether-spot, nowhere near the other Astartes, and not even looking upon what he was staring at.

None among the ensemble of warriors yet shared a vox-channel, and the voices of his new brothers echoed harshly though their transmitters, amplifying their voices to loud barks with only a slight vestige of their true sound. All that was, but Hastir, whose voice seemed mostly unchanged. He was the only one among them with a smooth, clear and collected voice. It sounded not deviant to an Astartes in his prime, whom spoke Low Gothic as his only tongue. That or his accent was implacable. But Türgen couldn’t imagine some one-hundred-year-initiate behind that helmet. He felt it, this marine had a deep-flowing wisdom of centuries, and perhaps also, a worldly knowledge of other Chapters.

Unintentionally, Türgen remained lost in his thoughts for the rest of the flight. Whether the others spoke or not he couldn’t tell. He swam deeply in his mind, and he was almost too deep in to be stirred.


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

With a sudden great joining tremor, Türgen snapped back to the present. There had been no noise beyond the interior, but any marine would know it; the ship had arrived. With bare seconds before the door opened, he hurriedly scrambled his respirator to his mouth and pushed the bracer upwardly free of him.

As their transport opened into the hangar, the harsh sub-zero outside drowned the craft’s interior and bit his face. The mucranoid inside him flooded a coat of almost gelatine-feeling liquid across his face nigh-instantaneously. Should it have not been for this, he would’ve become an ice-donned statue in seconds. He sauntered out behind the rest of the fresh inductees, but also aside them slightly. The titanic doors of the hangar bay were just now rolling ominously shut. At this rate it’d be a few more minutes until the hangar was rid of ghostly void-silence.

As he passed by the Storm Eagle, he noticed something he hadn’t before. Everything about it was fresh. No discernable repairs of battle-scarring. Paint that was neither in any way faded or chipped. The metal showing shone clearly, despite the forming icicles crystallising the surface. Vessels like this had been around since the Great Crusade, but this was new.

He continued his path, eyes forward now. Ahead, a Scythe of the Emperor stood ready to greet them. Omega Squad came to a halt by the Voidtooth’s order so as they stood just some four feet away from him. 

He gave his address in the chill atmosphere, somehow already knowing and attuned to each vox-channel of the gathered six. There would be no report otherwise, but it bugged him that he knew this. Perhaps his Captain had made this information known. He’d have liked it to be that, but something made him think it improbable. So his name was Gastaron, and he was the Watch-Commander?! The Marauder’s curiosity latched onto this. Why should the Watch-Commander be here to address regulars of such new status? His own Chapter Master had not once directly addressed the squad he was in until some half-century in the reserve company had come to pass. The man must have plans for them; this he liked, not that he showed an inch of it.

The Scythe departed, and the tour began truly. Into the ship, and its artificial atmosphere; through mazes of corridors, the dormitory came next and as they progressed, the Marauder decided to try gathering the most pressing of his answers. He broke into a rumbling trot, jogging down the line to somewhere between Miloslav and Fith.

*‘My pardon Brother Bloodaxe, I have a question you may be able to answer?’* Türgen no longer held the respirator to his mouth now they were inside properly. It bobbed alongside his right hip as they entered the Gauntlet, and its armoury. All stared at the towering shelves of weapons – both standard and exotic – with a sense of wonderment. A few of these weapons he’d never even seen before. He didn’t let his boyish awe hold his question in though. *‘Brother Jorvane called you Vlka Feryka – what does that mean?’* His tone was unhindered by the presence of this place. His face? Quite the opposite.

Further down the line a large claw, looking like a mix of different earth gems caught Türgen’s eye. This was something else. It stood out both in its uniqueness, and underlined mystery. A hand to the shoulder of brother Miloslav brought him to quick attention. Lost for words, the Marauder simply pointed at the impressive talon.

Almost immediately, the newest question to mind was answered; a grumbled line from Voidtooth that wasn’t meant to bring respect, but rather information. The claw looked to be sharper than any Genestealers’. It couldn’t have been easy acquiring that. For it to have been hard, would itself have been an understatement. 

As they passed this glorious trophy by, Türgen’s eyes were again ahead of him. The narrow walkways between shelves open into an infinitely more spacious area. Here a techmarine has set up station, welding together a bolter. It took a few moments to realise what was blatant, but it eventually sank in – he was another Space Wolf.

This new Fenrisian’s manner was much more accommodating than any he’d met had been so far. Maybe it was that he was accompanied by a half-bionic pet. Really it was just as simple as this; he’d already taken a liking to him.

The Fenrisian gestured to a machine, clearly built to repaint and re-armour the marines. As they were called, quickly, co-efficiently and just audibly, Türgen established a squad channel for Omega. Then, when his turn came, he stepped into the machine.

Mechandrites strafed in several directions, purging the Marauder yellow. The pauldron sporting Chapter heraldry was moved from left shoulder to right and finished with a shiny silver trim, and the left arm and pauldron are replaced completely by a set to match the trim of the new right. The new left pauldron was much more ornate, with runes and an Inquisition logo. In whole, it is a much nicer, more mobile arm-piece. His mouth gaped half-open in joy. It would suit his sword-arm perfectly.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir was standing even as he felt the Storm Eagle decelerating to land. The Marauder had a strange air about him, almost nervous. He had tapped is fingers against his knee pad for the first half of the flight. Hastir had looked at him as he did so, trying to discern if it was just a nervous tap or some ancient battle mantra as one might expect from a White Scar successor. However, the moment Türgen noticed Hastir’s thoughtful stare, he had stopped. Perhaps he had mistook the vacant stare of his visor slits at malevolent. Or perhaps Türgen was thinking of who Hastir might have been. Perhaps the stare of a potential heretic was something Türgen wished to avoid, if he even knew why he already wore the black of the Deathwatch.

Hastir had been quite for most the journey, speaking only to introduce himself and to offer some advice to Türgen. He had not meant to be cruel, but his words had seemed to silence the marine. Certainly, the fact that even his involvement in the conversation seemed to stunt it was not making his inclusion in this squad any easier. Still, when they were all in relative calm they could think about their pasts and the persons who they were before their service to the inquisition. But when the killing started and the only thing between you and certain death was the man to your right, somehow whoever they had been no longer mattered. All that matter was that they could kill whatever was trying to kill you. This was a truth Hastir had learnt in his service.

He scanned the hangar and noticed the Carcharadon was talking with another marine. The coloured shoulder pauldron reviled him to be a Scythe of the Emperor. From what Hastir knew, the man’s chapter was close to extinction. Hastir thought that this ornate marine was not so different from himself. Except that the Scythe’s chapter was not burning Imperial worlds screeching praises to dark gods. That thought made Hastir’s face twist into a vicious sneer. Voidtooth broke the conversation to bellow out that everyone should form up. Hastir obliged and held his muscles taut to stop himself from shaking with rage.

One by one the squads were dismissed until the Scythe stood before them, once again holding Hasitr’s gaze longer than any other. _"Omega Squad. Your squad will be first into the gauntlet. Report to the armoury to have your armours detailed and your gear assigned to you. Move out."_. Hastir moved with the rest of his squad in formation behind Voidtooth. As they walked he spoke.
_ "In case you’re wondering recruits, that was Commander Gastaron. And while you’re here, think of him as your Chapter Master." _This news surprised Hastir. Even in his years of service, a watch commander had never come to inspect new recruits personally. Something about this was very strange indeed. Still, secrets would always abound in an organisation such as the Inquisition.

They walked through into the armoury and Hastir remained impassive. He had been in several armouries and each held an array of weird and wonderful collection on trophies taken from the many foes of the Imperium. He had seen a few, but never this Dracolith of which Voidtooth heard of. He was sure that it was impressive feat for the Carchardon to have mentioned it. However, Hastir was unphased by this achievement, knowing Voidtooth did not say it to impress them, but rather show them what was required of them. 

Voidtooth lead them all to stand in front of a wolfish techmarine. _ "New meat eh shark? And some Fenris blood among them! Good Good! This crop don't look so bad, eh Greyloc?"_ *Fenris blood? Ah, this was one of the Space Wolves techmarines.* Hastir thought to himself. He knew they had a specific name, but could not remember what it was. He held scraps of information he had gathered over the years, but this one eluded him, so he let techmarine stick in his mind, even though he knew it was not correct. He was introduced as Haakon Ironfang and Hastir was pleased that for once special attention was paid to someone other than him. This man had clearly seen his share of Black Shields. He had probably made many marines into Black Shields. 

Hastir didn’t have to sit in the Remarker. His turn had come over a century ago, and everything about his past had been erased. He felt a moment of jealousy that once these marines finished their service, their armour would be repainted and they would go back to their chapters. For Hastir, he would move on to become just part of another squad until their time was up too, or until his body grew cold. Türgen had just be repainted black. Hastir decided he would make another attempt at a stunted conversation. “Now we are not so different, eh Brother?” He said with a warm tone of kindness which had once been his normal tone. The Marauder cut through the air with an ornate sabre a few times. Finally, he stopped the swordplay that had been drilled in him and honed to an edge beyond most. Bring his sabre up, a most contented look reflected back at him. A wide grin flashed briefly as he slid it nimbly back into his scabbard. With a tone bathed comfortably in weighed acceptance, he replied simply, "Indeed." For a moment one could see that it took much for this Brother to make enemies. No stubborn air or mood of black. But, through his recent introvert mask of thought, any but the skilled at reading other might wonder...

(OOC: Last bit was given to me by Blackwire so my post could include a response, so I have just edited it in.)


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Astartes vehicles of all models cluttered the hangar floor. Like the Strike Cruiser that housed them, they were in pristine condition. Milo's eyes, safely hidden in the confines of his helmet, glinted with short-lived envy. He wondered to himself if he could trust all of this equipment--fresh off the factory floor, untested in the fire of glorious battle. Chapter Master Sidor went to battle in a suit of ancient Mk III armor, old as the Betrayal itself. New... was that improvement, or deviancy?

Looking on the Watch Commander for the first time brought Milo little closer to the answer. A Scythe of the Emperor, scion of a chapter doomed to slow decay. They, like the Bogatyr, had clung to the old ways as well, and died just the same.

His thoughts were further soured as the Scythe made his rounds. In his experience, men of rank rarely bothered with new rank-and-file--and when they did, someone was in deep trouble, or something was about to go irrevocably wrong. _No matter_, he decided. He had long given up hoping that there existed such a thing as justice in the world.

Milo and Omega Squad were led through the Gauntlet. Hooded acolytes and dry-rotted servitors scurried out of their path, leaving them free to study the various accoutrements of warfare surrounding them. He caught sight of a combi-plasma, and his mind conjured an image of an Eldar rendered to a heap of black, mewling slag. He almost smiled at the thought. Then someone touched his pauldron and jarred him from his wistful imaginings.

He made an interrogative grunt, then followed Türgen's gaze to the rainbow-hued claw.It had belonged to a Dracolith, apparently. Milo had little clue what that was. He told Türgen, "On my world, we kill cockroaches. Big cockroaches, size of Rhino. Perhaps I take his leg and display as proudly as this, _da_?" His attempt at humor was lost on the Marauder, who looked at him flabbergasted. At least Milo assumed so; the helmet made it difficult to tell. Sighing, he trudged on.

The Space Wolf, at least, was an affable enough fellow. Milo found himself liking him, even if he smiled too frequently to be trusted. He was distinctly grateful that the man didn't refer to 'Rout'. His two new brothers kept on saying it, and it baffled the Bogatyr to no end. His Low Gothic was certainly passable, but some of its nuances were lost on him. He was reasonably sure 'rout' meant 'flee', and he wasn't sure why Space Wolves were so proud of running from things.

Pleased that the bewildering term failed to surface even once, Milo gladly entered the Remarker, eager to embrace the spirit of this Brotherhood he was now a part of. The machine was remarkably dextrous. It somehow knew not to paint over the words of litany carved into his armor's surface. Steadily, the sable of the Deathwatch obscured the ivory of the Bogatyr--though the etched golden lettering remained. The Firebird representing his Chapter was deftly transferred to his left shoulder pad.

Milo stepped from the Remarker transformed. At least, he felt that way. It was amazing what wonders a new layer of paint worked on the mind. As his eyes found the crimson *I* emblazoned across his now-silver pauldron, he felt more than ever like he had been given a second chance. A chance to destroy, and atone.

He wasn't sure which he craved more.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin rebooted his body into action after the long ship transfer; he rolled his neck and stretched his arms as he followed the rest of the squad out of the Storm Eagle. His fellow squad members hadn’t been very lively which disappointed Gryin, but he hoped that would all change once the Chainswords were loose. Speaking of Chainswords, Gryin detached ‘Scale-Bane’ from his mag-belt and tucked it in its holster behind his cloak, he did not know where he was going but the Chainsword got in the way when it was on his hip. The Deathwatch commander had said to get it approved by something called the Ironfang but Gryin did not know when, or where he would find out about it. He decided he would ask Voidtooth on a more opportune moment.

Gryin moved swiftly into rank when the order was issued. He was bored of ceremony and wanted to get underway with something a little more exiting so he wanted to get everything done with as little drama as possible. Then a marine wearing a wolf skin cloak began inspecting each marine. When he looked Gryin in the eye, the warden looked defiantly back. His gaze was not dis-respectful, it said that Gryin could handle anything that was thrown at him, and not that Gryin was better than the marine. He would prove that later. The Storm Wardens feelings remained unchanged even after Voidtooth explained who the marine was. If the Scythe had a problem with an eager Astartes he would have made that clear. 

After the watch-captain dismissed the squads for the gauntlet Gryin followed Voidtooth directly. Although it might have been a better idea for him to take in his surroundings, Gryin let his body go on auto pilot. Such was an Astartes training that they can defeat most in the galaxy on instinct alone if they had the right training, Gryin had spent endless hours into conditioning the muscle memory so that it served impeccably when it was called upon. Gryin did not know a single marine who trained more regularly than him.

As Omega squad entered the armoury Gryin remained relatively unsurprised. He was no stranger to relics, some parts of his armour dated back to the purging era just after the heresy and his Chainsword was a relic that would be the envy of any collector in the galaxy. 

*“This is Haakon Ironfang………”* Gryin’s memory was triggered by the word ‘Ironfang’. He began to unclasp ‘Scale-bane’. Gryin gave it a few practice swings to make sure it was in correct condition before taking it in both hands and offering it to the wolfish Techmarine. “I was instructed to have you bless my weapon before I am permitted to use it as a member of the Deathwatch.” The techmarine nodded and took the weapon. He took it over to his bench and said,* “I’ll take a look while you’re in the re-marker lad.”* Gryin nodded and said with a wide grin on his face, *“Careful, she bites.”* Before moving into the re-marker.

Gryin emerged from the machine while still inspecting his armour. Sacris was a primal world so Gryin did not know of any technology when he was young and even with several hundred years to get used to it, machines still left him amazed. *“Oy, didn’t get any on my cloak did they?”* Gryin grunted to the nearest marine. He wasn’t sure which marine it was due to them all being newly painted.​


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As the Storm Eagle landed in the bay of the new ship, Fith Bloodaxe walked alongside the rest of his fellow Deathwatch members, onto the Strike Cruiser that he had been told would arrive. Whilst its name was unknown to Bloodaxe, it bore the symbol of the Inquisition on its prow, fully informing the Space Wolf that from here on in there would be no going back. They were here to serve The Voidtooth, whether Fith liked it or not. 

The Fenririsan noticed that that the entire layout of the Strike Cruiser that was now their home was clean, either being freshly built or having gained a really good cleaning job from the Servitors before the Wolves arrived, which Fith doubted - The Voidtooth didn't the sort of Astartes to clean up a ship just for the arrival of new recruits. 

It wasn't long before Omega Squad found themselves greeted by a Scythe of the Emperor, causing the Astartes to be brought to a halt after orders from The Voidtooth. The Scyth passed each line that Omega Squad had formed, observing each member of the Deathwatch individually, dismissing them after meeting eye contact with each Astartes. Fith noticed that his gaze lingered on the Black Shield more than the others, but didn't speak until he addressed the entirety of the group, and when he did, it was in a short, blunt and emotionless tone. "Omega Squad. Your squad will be first into the gauntlet. Report to the armoury to have your armours detailed and your gear assigned to you. Move out."

And then he was gone, leaving The Voidtooth alone with Omega Sqaud. Not bothering with words, the leader of the newly formed squad nodded at them to follow him, and they obeyed. When they were walking, he finally broke the silence. "Omega Squad. Your squad will be first into the gauntlet. Report to the armoury to have your armours detailed and your gear assigned to you. Move out."

That was when the tour began. Fith noticed that several Astartes were paying more attention to their new home than others, observing every passageway, looking for escape routes, defensive positions and their weaknesses, just in case they got attacked by pirates, or worse. Fith had encountered too many pirates for his liking back before he became a Space Wolf, on the vicious and unforgiving seas of Fenris, and he hated them almost as much as he hated xenos. It wasn't long before he was addressed, by the Astartes named Türgen. "My pardon Brother Bloodaxe, I have a question you may be able to answer?

"Brother Jorvane called you Vlka Fenryka – what does that mean?"

The Space Wolf let out a deep chuckle upon hearing the warrior's question. "The Wolves are a different Chapter to what you've encountered before, Aye Marauder?" He did not wait for the Astartes' response, continuing. "The Space Wolves are what outsiders call us. We call ourselves The Vlka Fenryka. When we're being formal. The Rout otherwise. Most of the time."

It wasn't long before they were taken to the Armoury, which even Fith had to admit was impressive. It was an immense room bathed in dim light from the lumen-strips in the walls, with the ceiling rising so high that a Warhound Titan could fit into it unhindered. And all aroud the Wolf, there were shelves and chests that bore weaponry of all shapes and sizes, stretching from combat specialsed weaponary such as Chainswords, all the way to the longer ranged weaponary such as the Missile Launchers. After encountering an unfamiliar crystal which the Voidtooth explained he had taken it himself, Fith was relieved to see that the first Space Marine that they encountered in the Armoury that was willing to respond to them was none other than a fellow Space Wolf - an Iron Priest, with a bionic wolf by his side.

"New meat eh shark? And some Fenris blood among them! Good Good! This crop don't look so bad, eh Greyloc?" The Iron Priest was speaking to his wolf, it seemed, which did not say anything that the Space Marines could understand - Fith didn't expect it to. He'd yet to meet a talking wolf, but was pleased to at least see that it barked at the Astartes, obviously knowing a Fenririsan when he saw one. 

Voidtooth spoke after a moment of silence. "This is Haakon Ironfang, he will issue you your gear and repaint your armour. Once that's done send them to me wolf." 

Then, the Sergeant departed, leaving the Deathwatch Astartes alone with the Iron Priest, who was chuckling softly. "Ah pay that one no attention, he's as sour as you can expect from one whose not used to dealing with anybody whose not in his own Chapter. He'd rather be getting clubbed by xenos beyond the Allfather's light then speaking to you lot even for a second. I'm Haakon Ironfang, Space Wolf if you can't tell, this here is Greyloc and welcome to the armoury, especially you brother of Fenris."

'_Well, at least we have one thing in common_,' the Space Wolf thought, referring to the Sergeant. He too would rather be fighting xenos than standing around on board a ship. Fith nodded in response to the Iron Priest, and it wasn't long before they were all forced to don the matte black colour of the Deathwatch. It was truly the beginning of a new era for Fith as he watched the last of his Wolf paint aside from his right shoulderpad vanish from his body once he was in the Remarker, the machine that took away his chapter's colours, repainting them with something a darker shade of black altogether. 

Now all of them were Deathwatch. And only now could the training begin.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++Vox Report TQ-441. SENDER: TECHMARINE HAAKON IRONFANG. RECEIVER: THE VOIDTOOTH.+++

+++Message begins,

The pups have been outfitted, the matte-black suits them. Sending them to you now.

Tell me how they do in the Gauntlet, assuming any of them pass it.


Message ends.+++​_
*All:* You assemble once more in a row, your black armor shining in the dim lighting. Ironfang gestures to a table that contains five sets of gear for Omega Squad. A Bolter and several charges of ammunition including some rounds you are not quite sure you have seen before including a scope that modifies your Bolter into a Stalker Bolter, a chainsword with monomolecular teeth and a matte-black guard. Frag and Krak grenades as well as a Power Knife lie below the chainsword and a Bolt Pistol lies to the side. You all gather your gear and file towards the double-doors that the Voidtooth left through a few minutes ago.

_"Good luck pups."_​
Ironfang's last words are just barely hearable over the grind as the doors, marked with the Inquisitorial sigil open revealing a vast open space. It is cavernous and the Voidtooth awaits a few paces away from you. The room is completely unadorned and the ceiling is cast in shadow, you cannot see what is hidden in the gloom. But the Voidtooth quickly grabs your attention by barking your squad designation, the sound echoes through the room until fading away after quite a few repeats.

_"Omega Squad! Welcome to the Gauntlet."_​
He streches his arms wide as if to welcome you to this place. Before any of you can ask a question the room beguns to flicker, it is as if you are caught in a teleport and you are seeing what is on the other side. However as the image becomes clearer it is obvious that you are not teleporting, the room is changing before your eyes. Once an unadorned chamber that could fit half of a Titan Legio, now it appears as an ancient hangar bay with rusted ships and tools rotting in it's berths and shadows casting from odd angles all across the room.

_"The Gauntlet is our training deck, a fully holographic interface chamber that allows us to use different environments to train our warriors. What you are seeing now is the interior of the Space Hulk​_Captor of Sin_, and your training will take place in it's halls. If your wounded here your armor will mimic whatever damage you would normally receive, if you are killed your armor will seize up and your participation will end."_​

The level of technology is stupendous. Even the First Founding Chapters do not have such powerful technology, this is truly a sign of the Inquisitorial backing that the Deathwatch boasts. Only they could have something so powerful to use as a training device. Those of you who have seen a Space Hulk are impressed by how lifelike it appears, had you not walked into the room and seen the change for yourselves it would be entirely possible that this hologram could have fooled you. The Voidtooth gestures to a corridor entrance that lies directly ahead of you, it is open and only a series of flickering lumen strips provides any sight into what is within.

_"Your mission here is simple. Recover the data storage device that is located somewhere within the hulk. Survive the hazards and return to the hangar for recovery. We'll be watching closely."​_
With that the Voidtooth walks to the side of a rusting Thunderhawk and leans against an empty ammunition crate. He is waiting to see what you all will do next.

There are three options ahead of you,

A: Venture ahead through the primary corridor and see if you can find the data device quickly. The faster you start moving the more ground you can cover before any possible enemies make themselves known, and the centre of the hulk is likely located along a central pathway. The corridor is nearly pitch-black, only being illuminated for a few heartbeats every few seconds though your helmets will allow you to see perfectly anyway, but the lights might disoriente any attackers.

B: Form a plan. You will not get anywhere without a plan, and the Voidtooth does not appear inclined to give you one. Remain in the hangar, while remaining alert, and decide on a course of action to recover the data storage device. The hangar is a large open space, any enemy that comes in here will be visible almost immediately, though there is no cover to protect you should an enemy assault you en-masse.

C: Take another path. There are several other doors here that you could go through, though there is no way of telling where they lead, or what could be moving along those paths. It is a riskier option but risk often gives reward, and there is the chance that the Voidtooth is trying to point you towards an easier and ultimately incorrect objective. These paths are narrower however and will make an enemy ambush more effective.

What will you do?​

[A shorter update this time but with multiple options to choose from on what you want to do next. The Gauntlet is a training scenario designed to test you as a squad, and you will have to choose what is the best course of action for you all to take on this first step. Your choice will directly affect what happens next, and what type of enemies you face. Deliberate amongst yourselves on which pathway you want to take. Since this is the first choice like this, there will be more down the line, I will give you one piece of information about the choices. No matter which one you pick, the next update will contain a battle. But your success will depend on you making the correct choice that a Deathwatch team would make. Also, you can think outside the box here, but I won't say anymore on that because it would become too obvious.

Hope you enjoy your options.]


LotN


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Ironfang gestured towards a table with what seemed to be new war gear for Omega squad mounted upon it. Gryin walked towards it to see pristine conditioned gear laid out for the marines. Gryin picked up the ammo first and mag-locked it onto his belt. Then he picked up his boltgun and scope. Gryin had relatively little experience with long ranged marksmanship; his chapter’s doctrine did not encourage such tactics in any major way. Never the less he attached the scope to his boltgun then holstered the gun onto his right thigh. Gryin picked up scale-bane first and took a moment to give it a once over to see if Ironfang had done anything to it. Satisfied that the Chainsword was in working condition Gryin stored it under his cloak. Gryin attached his grenades to his belt before picking up the Deathwatch Chainsword. Gryin did not need to Chainswords, if he needed to boost his close combat prowess he could use scale-bane two handed instead of wielding two one handed weapons. However Gryin did not think arguing the case would be wise, he stored it under his cloak. Gryin imagined that it would stay there for a long time.

With his gear stored and combat ready Gryin followed the others through the doors into a vast chamber. Voidtooth barked at the squad, welcoming them into the gauntlet. Gryin began to wander how hard the Voidtooth’s bite was, and whether or not it matched his bark. Gryin was impressed at the size of the room, his Astartes eyes actually had to adjust themselves to see the far reaches of the room. Gryin estimated that an entire imperial guard battle company could form up with room to spare. Whatever the marines were about to face was not to be underestimated as a simple training exercise, Gryin new all too well that the inquisition did not do half measures. 

Gryin noticed electricity flickering suddenly in his peripheral vision, His instincts told him he was being teleported but his brain fought his instinct, while his body stood like an ancient stone sentinel. After a few moments a rusted and worn down hangar bay appeared in place of the wide open room. Voidtooth began to explain the situation to the squad, “…..space hulk…..”. Those were the only words Gryin listened to. It was all he needed to know. Gryin had cleared an entire space hulk in his time with 1st companies terminator squads and had fought on them more than the average marine of his calibre even if Gryin’s speciality was massive scale wide open battles. 
Gryin paused for a moment to survey the room. There was nothing useful to aid their mission and it was tactically unsound for defence. Gryin new that they needed to move, if they stayed in one place as soon as the enemy knew their location they would be overrun within hours.

“*Our path is simple, on a hulk we are almost guaranteed to encounter heavy combat, so it does not matter which route we take so long as we keep moving. The problem is that a small squad can be easily overrun by a numerous enemy if they concentrate everything they have on us. I suggest we split into two squads and take two separate tunnels in order to divide and conquer our enemy in more manageable chunks. Our destination should be the centre of the hulk, any controls we do have access to will be there. The problem is that we do not know our enemy or how numerous he is, if we are outnumbered ten thousand to one it will harm us to split. I leave the choice in your hands but I advise splitting brothers.*”


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo surveyed his new gear lying spread across the table. A melee fighter by preference, the chainsword caught his eye first. In the confines of his helmet, his lip twitched as if to smile as he hefted the blade. The weight was perfectly distributed. Its monomolecular teeth glinted menacingly in the twilight. Satisfied, he magnetized the weapon to his thigh and put his gap-toothed chainsword in its place, glad to be rid of the embarrassing thing.

He hefted the boltgun next. A series of harsh metallic clacks sounded as Milo performed a brief functions check. He racked the slide repeatedly, tested the trigger pull. With that done, he secured the scope to the top rail and plugged the trailing wires into the boltgun’s casing. A reticle winked into life on his HUD. He panned the firearm left and right. A line of opaque blue squares marked the bolt’s projected flight path. The squares disappeared as he clamped the boltgun onto his other thigh. Next came the bolt pistol, a power knife and a brace of frags.

Just as he’d finished, he heard the amiable Techmarine murmur, “Good luck, pups.” The doors opened to reveal a cavernous space. With spare room at such a premium on a starship, this vessel must have been special indeed to merit such excess.

"Omega Squad! Welcome to the Gauntlet." As the Voidtooth spoke, the room morphed before Milo’s eyes.

He squinted, suspecting witchery—but there was none of the buzz at the edge of his consciousness that would suggest warp manipulation. A marvel of technology, then. Not that he liked the new setting any more. He found himself in the hangar of a space hulk, crammed with vessels in a spectacularly-awful state of repair. He had never fought on a hulk before, but the place seemed suitably realistic. Despite the size of the simulated hangar, it felt somehow constricted… ominous.

He listened to the Voidtooth’s briefing and wondered what manner of creatures they would be fighting.

The training sergeant stood aside and waited for their first move. 

Gryin was the first to speak. “Our path is simple, on a hulk we are almost guaranteed to encounter heavy combat, so it does not matter which route we take so long as we keep moving. The problem is that a small squad can be easily overrun by a numerous enemy if they concentrate everything they have on us. I suggest we split into two squads and take two separate tunnels in order to divide and conquer our enemy in more manageable chunks. Our destination should be the centre of the hulk, any controls we do have access to will be there. The problem is that we do not know our enemy or how numerous he is, if we are outnumbered ten thousand to one it will harm us to split. I leave the choice in your hands but I advise splitting brothers.”

Milo nodded—not necessarily out of agreement, but gratefulness that someone had decided to take charge. He was a good fighter, but leadership didn’t appeal to him. Killing was easier. Still, he knew that core tenet of leadership: make and execute a decision immediately, whether wrong or right.

“I agree, brother. I will pull up our positions on my visor. I suggest you all do same.” He triggered his HUD again, this time to display a holo map. Their surroundings remained blank, but five green wedges blinked in a cluster. 

He nodded toward the main passage. “*This one looks good. Perhaps too good to be true. But as you say, Brother Gryin: We divide and conquer. I go into big tunnel. Which of you will come with me?*” He hefted his boltgun and chambered a round with a resounding clack. Not waiting for an answer, he tramped toward the yawning mouth of the corridor, confident that his brethren were just as keen for action as he was.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

Once more, the newly black clad Astartes of the Deatwatch were stood in a row, facing Ironfang, who gestured to the table in front of them containing the five sets of gear for Fith and his squad. A Bolter and several charges of ammunition including some rounds the Space Wolf was not quite sure he was familiar with would be his main weapon, and he also noticed a scope that switched his Bolter into a Stalker Bolter. He was also the owner of a chainsword - not an axe like his namesake, but it would do for the time being - and a pair of Frag and Krak grenades and the standard power knife and bolt pistol. It wasn't long before the Astartes gained control of the weapons, immediately feeling comfortable with them.

As the Astartes gathered their gear and marched towards that the Voidtooth left through a few minutes ago, Fith could hear his fellow Space Wolf, his only link to Fenris - the Iron Priest, say, "Good Luck Pups," but even those words were barely indistinguishable over the grind of the double doors, which bore the sign of the Inquisition - opened to reveal a vast open space that resembled a cave - although it was obviously a man made structure. Scowling at the sight of the Voidtooth waiting before them, Fith couldn't help but notice that the room was completely unadorned and the ceiling was cast in shadow, preventing the Vlka Fenryka from seeing what was hidden in the gloom. But the Voidtooth quickly grabbed Fith and his fellow Astartes' attention attention by barking the name of his new Squad. "Omega Squad, Welcome to the Gauntlet."

What at first glance appeared to be stretching his arms to welcome the Astartes to the Gauntlet soon turned out to be something else entirely, as the room began to flicker - soon the Space Wolf realised that he was being caught in some sort of teleport. But as more was revealed, it was quite obvious that they weren't being teleported, for the room was changing before their eyes, leaving the Astartes in a hangerbay that made a distinctive change from the cavern that had come before it. 

"The Gauntlet is our training deck, a fully holographic interface chamber that allows us to use different environments to train our warriors. What you are seeing now is the interior of the Space Hulk _Captor of Sin_, and your training will take place in it's halls. If your wounded here your armor will mimic whatever damage you would normally receive, if you are killed your armor will seize up and your participation will end."

Fith knew that this was a simulation, and snarled - causing the nearby Astartes to look at him in confusion. "I don't know about other chapters, but the wolves prefer fighting in real-time. Not in blasted simulations. Back on Fenris, we would not need for such a thing. The land would provide us with everything we needed."

A glare from Voidtooth ended Fith's comment, and the Wolf couldn't help but admit he was somewhat awed by the technology presented before him - not even the First Founding Chapters had access to a fully holographic interface chamber. Not that they needed one, anyway. After being briefed on the mission by their new Sergeant, the Space Wolf was about to go wondering off down the primary corridor - but then something stopped him. It seemed almost too good to be true. It would be the fastest route, yes - but they did not know the extent of their enemy. '_Better to work together than to die alone and unremembered_', Fith mused. His bravado would have to wait for now as the other Deathwatch members discussed their tactics, a chance for battle would hopefully come which ever way he took it. Seeing as the big tunnel was where the action was most likely going to be, the Space Wolf ended up throwing his lot in with the group that took that route. It would also give the Astartes a chance to learn more about the Bogatyr, a Chapter that he had not encountered before. It would be interesting to see how they waged war, so when he spoke after activating his HUD, the Wolf proclaimed, "I will go with the Bogatyr. On the condition that I am the vanguard."


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Türgen had been about to join Brother Sidorov. The marine, who’s Chapter still escaped him, was perhaps the one he connected with best. Then again, that’d be a folly of its own, assuming from meagre minutes of introduction what really took years of work. All the same, he was ready to join him.

Wyrmfist’s tactical assessment was as hard-headed as every other statement he’d made. But, he wasn’t about to argue with it. Türgen had long ago given up on the idea of leading a squad. His strengths were many, but he lacked all but diplomacy and an Astartes’ basic tactical understanding in the way of skills meant for leadership. Besides, he also wasn’t about to argue with sound tactical advice – even if it was as about as mouldable as a diamond block.

Before he could join Miloslav, the Wolf took him up on his offer. Now, should he join them he could only see a lopsided squad. He took the few steps that were required to join Gryin and unsheathed his sabre. He wondered why he’d earnestly bothered disarming. It’d only been for a minute at most.

*‘I will accompany you, Wyrmfist’*, the Marauder spoke with an impish half-grin that defied his deep and sincere announcement. There were a few belying reasons for this. Türgen had witnessed that he and the Warden were the two best blades in the squad. Should things become too clustered, they would easily have each-other’s backs. Maybe they might even learn something of each-other, maybe find some respect as of yet still earthed. Who knew? But, at his most childish, Türgen saw this as an opportune competition. He knew they’d both fight all the better if they were trying to top the other’s kill-count. And he suspected a stroll through a space hulk, even one artificially constructed as this was, would be filled with swathes of enemies.

His sabre he had kept with not one second glance to the chainsword. That still lay in the armoury. Truthfully, he could attack faster, and with equal power, with this curved sword native to his homeworld. At the presentation of new Deathwatch equipment Türgen had met the eyes of Ironfang when he faltered to pick up the chainsword. In possibly the most respectful way at the time, he simply shook his head. All other Deathwatch equipment he’d taken was far superior to his own, but taking that chainsword would be a dishonour to the spirits, and his own fighting capabilities. Maybe the Techmarine had understood that, for the lack of ill-temper when he left. He hoped this was the case.

As his choice of grouping headed into the “space hulk”, Fith’s comments echoed again, and for the last time through his mind. Would simulation, even as convincing as this, be any match to the real thing? He let a distrustful sigh go tactfully unnoticed. Well, he wouldn’t be caught off-guard. That was for sure. He walked in tune with the other marines. Until his questioning came into play, he’d be okay with Wyrmfist’s decisions. Now came their time of proving.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir stood with the others in a row of black in front of the techmarine. The others hefted their bolters and chainswords, testing the weights and sights of their new weapons. Hastir had received equipment frequently enough to trust the services of the Inquisition and that they would provide him with equipment, likely, fresh of the manufacturing line and made to the exacting standards of the Deathwatch. Nothing would be at fault with them, their overseers would have seen to that. All that Hastir needed to do was strap his weapons to himself in the most versatile manner. His power knife was mag-locked to his right thigh, since his default stance was to have his left hand gripping the main body of the multi-melta and his right hand was used just to balance the weight and offer stability. It meant he could quickly reach and grab his knife to defend at close range and then go back to firing without much of a pause. His chainsword was strapped so that the handle of the weapon protruded over Hastir's left shoulder, again allowing him quickest access his close combat weapons. 

They had all armed themselves and were now as ready as they would ever be. Hastir knew that they looked similar to anyone glancing at them, but he also knew it would only take a moment's more investigating to determine that something was subtly different about him. One shoulder, but every marine would know what it meant. He was still marked and would never wear any other colour but black, but it offered him some solace that at least he did not wear it alone anymore. They would now be tested, and Hastir could feel a small bundle of muscle slowly knotting itself in his stomach. He swallowed it as memories of his first initiation into the Deathwatch lurked just under the surface of his thoughts. Clarity. Clarity was what he needed if he wanted to prove he was still useful and help those marines around him succeed. 

Ironfang's words were lost over the din of grinding doors and Omega squad, as they had been named, entered the Gauntlet. The hologram flickered and the dank room Voidtooth was in became a Space Hulk. Hastir had seen this before, but some of the others seemed impressed by it. The Fenrisian was not, thinking it some form of cowardice that they would not be fighting real enemies on real terrain. Hastir was confident he would learn. It's not like he had a choice. His complaints would not change anything. The Inquisition would do what it pleased, regardless of how any of them felt about it. It was their prerogative. 

_“Our path is simple, on a hulk we are almost guaranteed to encounter heavy combat, so it does not matter which route we take so long as we keep moving. The problem is that a small squad can be easily overrun by a numerous enemy if they concentrate everything they have on us. I suggest we split into two squads and take two separate tunnels in order to divide and conquer our enemy in more manageable chunks. Our destination should be the center of the hulk, any controls we do have access to will be there. The problem is that we do not know our enemy or how numerous he is, if we are outnumbered ten thousand to one it will harm us to split. I leave the choice in your hands but I advise splitting brothers.”_ Hastir wasn't sure about this plan. They had no intel, no guarantee that the two tunnels they would pick would not take them miles away from each other, stranded and easier to overwhelm.

Before he could raise a voice in dissent, everyone seemed to clamor in agreement. Hastir sighed to himself. No one had raise any other options or concerns or how they would communicate. This could barely be called a plan and Hastir doubted it would hold up once the battle started. "We should definitely get more intel and the controls at the center of the hulk will aid that infinitely. But we need to make sure that the separate tunnels we follow don't take us too far to assist one another. We cannot become isolate from one another, or else our foes will simply overwhelm one group and then the next, neither of us able to help the other. I say we proceed with Wyrmfist's plan but only on the condition that we stay no more than ninty seconds from one another. Be that by corridors or falling back here, we should not isolate ourselves. Mark corridors or stairwells linking our paths, so we know which routes to follow. As for who gets the pleasure of my company..." Hastir chuckled a mirthless laugh before continuing "...I will accompany Türgen and Wyrmfist. We'll be taking the smaller tunnels so this..." Hastir lifted his multi-melta slightly higher to show exactly what he mean, in case anyone was in doubt "...will be useful in the more confined spaces if the enemy tries to choke us." All things being said, Hastir guessed there was nothing more but to put their vague plan into action. Still, words of Guilliman he remembered gave him small comfort. "No plan ever survives contact with the enemy"...


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++Vox Report AY-012. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.+++

+++Message begins,

It appears you were right. This group shows promise. Already they've made the correct decision tactically and divided their forces to cover more ground. They have the right mindset for the Deathwatch so far. The Storm Warden appears to be the most inclined to lead among them. The Space Wolf has a big mouth but i'll beat that out of him. The Marauder appears to be a stabilising influence, one that can provide a diplomatic solution both in and out of the squad. The Bogatyr seems steady and reliable, adn the Black Shield appears to be assimilating well.

Now let's see if they have the combat skills.

Message ends.+++​_

*Fith Bloodaxe and Miloslav Sidorov:* As the both of you pass through yet another widely spaced and high-ceiling corridor, appearing much the same as the last six you have already passed through, you both begin to wonder if there are any hostiles aboard this craft at all. Fifth leads the way as point-man while Miroslav follows closely behind, and you are both moving through the Space Hulk simulation at a good pace. Still you have been moving for an hour and have not encountered anything, though you have heard sounds that are no doubt simulated, yet indicate hostiles are nearby.

As you both enter another chamber, this one a bit larger than before, you hear something rustling. But the room is empty on all corners, the vents giving off cool wisps of air and the fans spinning slowly. You hear the rustling again. It is above you! You both quickly look up to see a chitinous form drop towards you, it's claws extended. It falls quickly but you can either start shooting it and chance being hit by it or dodge it's attack and attempt a counter-attack. You both catch a good glimpse of the creature and recognize it instantly. It's chitinous body, a mix of blue and dark purple colouring, it's sharp claws and the insectoid appearance marks it as a Genestealer, a vanguard organism of the Hive Fleets.

All around you Genestealers begin crawling out of the vents. There are seven of them in the room now, including the falling one. You must kill these xenos before you can proceed ahead. The newly arriving Genestealers are across the room from you, giving you a chance to shoot them before they close into close combat.


*Gryin Wyrmfist, Türgen and Hastir Jorvane:* The three of you exit the tightly spaced accessway after having traversed the Space Hulk for an hour, moving from one cramped corridor to another and always being forced to move in single file, and find yourself in a large spherical chamber, the ceiling so high that it is lost to shadows. You are overlooking what appears to be some kind of throne room, a narrow walkway suspended over a chasm leading to a dais containing a pedastal. On it there is a small black disc suspended by anti-grav technology. The STC! But you are separated from it by several hundred feet, too far for you to drop and you have no rappelling gear. There is no walkway to access the lower level, only a door ahead of you on your level that may lead you down there.

Before you can go through it the door explodes off it's hinges, just narrowly missing Hastir Jorvane, and slams into the wall behind you. Four armoured figures step out, and you all tense immediately. They are Space Marines, armoured in black and gold armour. But they are decked in spikes, flayed skin and skulls hang from their belts. The loathsome Eye of Horus is on their chestplates where the Aquila once was. Chaos Space Marines, of the hated Black Legion. Three are helmeted and carry bolt pistols and chainswords, but the fourth is unhelmeted and carries what appears to be an ornate power axe shaped like a Daemon's head. His face is pallid white and his teeth are nightmarishly sharp, his eyes are blacked out and the star of Chaos is burnt across his face. For a moment he reminds you of the Voidtooth, before he shouts a battlecry.

*"Death to the False Emperor's dogs!"*​
The traitors charge, gunning their chainblades and snapping off pistol shots at you all as they do. The Aspiring Champion barrels towards Gryin Wyrmfist, singling him out by his sword and position at the front. Two of the marines charge towards Hastir Jorvane, the remaining traitor moves towards Türgen. One of their shots catches Türgen on the shoulderpad, the clang echoes across the room and forces him back a step. Any doubts you had about the reality of the simulation are now gone. 

Defeat the traitors to proceed. They are far enough away that you can shoot at them, but you will have to switch to close combat quite soon to put up a good fight.


*[That's the update. Sorry it's a bit late but I hope you enjoy the first taste of combat in the RP. I only have two rules for this. Number one is do not rush it or just make it passive, really describe your fights and make them cool. Number two is that I will tell you how many posts it should take for you to kill an enemy and you will stick with that. For this update just one post is enough, by the next update all of these guiys will be dead. But Genestealers and Black Legion marines are not pushovers, so don't overpower them easily. I want to see detailed posts of these fights.

I hope you note I have added some personal options into the fights, and there is always room for thinking outside the box, small things but they will determine how the fight plays out as much as what you decide to do. They may even result in you taking a wound if you make the wrong choice. Hehe. Let's see how it goes.

Hope you enjoy the update.]*


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin walked forward at the head of his group, scale-bane balanced in his right hand. He slowly clenched and unclenched his left; it was a habit that Gryin had developed as a scout. It had become famous within his chapter to fear his unclenched fist. Gryin’s bionic eye made a constant humming noise as it scanned the forward area, to Gryin the murky darkness with as bright as the sun itself. He was almost glad he lost his natural eye.

As the group emerged into the chamber Gryin instantly felt uneasy. He didn’t like the wide open space, as unlikely as it was some enemy armoured vehicle could easily lumber into the chamber and the three marines would have a very hard time doing anything against it. Gryin’s fear however was interrupted by a loud explosion. He whipped around as Türgen shouted, *“Heretics!”* to see Hastir quickly step aside to narrowly avoid being slammed by a flying door. Gryin’s eyes fell upon their enemies. He felt rage slowly build up in the pit of his stomach, Gryin had fought the favoured sons of chaos before. It was not a battle Gryin looked back on fondly.

_“It was not a black crusade, The traitor legions simply sought to sow anarchy along the eastern fringe yet even then they caused dismay and havoc like nothing Gryin had seen before. Gryin had, along with many other veterans from many different chapters, been tasked with halting the black legions central assault long enough for the imperial guard to regroup and set up a gun line. 

Gryin let his terminator armour absorb the small arm fire as he strode towards the thick of the fighting, He had a firedrake on his right and a wolf guard on his left. They zeroed in on a group of 17 terminator clad veterans duelling ferociously against the Warmaster and his retinue of daemon princes. The trio initially hung back and stopped any chaos re-enforcements from helping the champions of chaos but it soon became apparent that without substantial aid, even the Adeptus Astartes would fail. *“Gryin, we must single out the Warmaster, his bodyguards are deflecting every blow we strike.”* Announced the firedrake. *“aye Dra’ken, into the belly of the beast we go.”* replied the wolf guard.

The three made their way into the fight. Gryin ducked under a massive red fist, the Wolf Guard caught the blow with his storm shield. He was sent flying but the marine would be fine. Gryin proceeded to swing scale-bane upwards to slice at the soft skin on the daemons armpit. The Chainsword screamed like hell itself as it cut into sinews and tendons. The prince bellowed his distaste, Abaddon slashed across the terminator he was fighting with drach’nyen. The daemon blade screeched as it cut the terminator in two.

The Warmaster made to move towards Gryin and the other newcomers but his path was barred by another storm warden. One of Gryin’s closest battle brothers no less, the pair had served in the same squad since he had been inducted which was roughly 20 years after Gryin. The Warmaster however was having none of it, The talon of Horus sliced though the marines thunder hammer. Then buried itself in the Wardens torso, Then Abaddon unleashed a volley at point blank range into the Astartes unhelmed face. Gryin’s face contorted with rage, he was about to charge the Warmaster when the daemon princes undamaged arm sailed into Gryin’s chest, breaking 5 ribs, puncturing Gryin’s primary lung and sending him flying 6 metres. 

He made his way to his feet with the help of the Wolf Guard. He was about to charge back into the fray but the space wolf held him back, *“It was stupid of us to go in there, we will just throw away our lives if we take the same path.”* Gryin nodded and gestured towards an area being swarmed by rotting daemons………”_

Gryin snapped back to the present, *"Death to the False Emperor's dogs!"* The champion charged straight for Gryin, who changed his stance to take the attacker. Bolts flew around the chamber but none were accurate enough to hit the storm warden. As the Champion was two strides away Grin vaulted from his right foot at a thirty degree angle as if he was trying to sidestep the marine. Instead Gryin then vaulted off his left foot towards the champion. Scale-Banes pommel hit into the flat of the power axes head and Gryin’s armoured gauntlet smashed into the side of the traitors face. The blow sent the Legionnaire stumbling backwards slightly. However Gryin gave him no respite. He took Scale-Bane in both hands and slashed overhead at the Champion who narrowly parried the blow. Gryin did the same again; he was driving the marine backwards and not letting him retain his footing. Gryin’s rage told him to make the traitor pay and give him as much pain as possible before ending his pathetic life. Gryin went to slice backhand leaving his right side deliberately open. The champion took the bait and swung. Gryin winced as his right torso was bitten by the power weapon, but now the traitor’s outstretched arm was wide open. Scale-Bane sailed through flesh and bone alike, leaving the arm to drop to the ground. Gryin smiled as he kicked the champion in the chest.

Now that the traitor was on the floor Gryin un-holstered his bolt pistol and shot him in the head twice. Gryin did not have to take the wound to defeat the black legionnaire but Gryin welcomed the pain, it made him feel like he had atoned slightly for his brother’s death at the hands of the Warmaster by sharing his pain.


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

*‘Heretics!’* Türgen shouted, shifting in a syllable from shock to anger. A light rain of bolts shrieked and snapped past. One caught him in the right shoulder-pad a mere nanosecond after his warning. A light thud and after-burst was all he felt, but not one iota of shrapnel had reached his skin. His mind was too absorbed on these new arrivals, and instinctively he paid the shot no heed. No, he already had his bolter raised. At best, he estimated he had seven seconds until they were set upon.

Pointing the gun at the closest on-comer, he let his MIU calculate a rough overlay of aim. He hammered away a dozen rounds on semi-automatic, pointing roughly at the pistol-hand and head. The volley was just more than half-accurate, Most of the clustered shots blasted away whatever armour it fell upon. Much of the armour surrounding the neck and upper chest was now exposed and a raggedy mess of flesh and blood quickly became blurrily visible. The shots that were aimed at the hand hit far less effectively. The instant the Traitor had taken fire he’d raised his arm across his face, and a few craters lacking depth to injure were any and all of the Marauder’s landed shots there. The barrage may not have injured his target enough, but they’d performed his primary want, to distract. 

Just as the Black Legionary broke into a blind charge, he ran into a two-step leap. Sailing into his opponent, he jabbed forward with his blade – a destabilising blow, especially for one so unprepared. Catching his feet, the Marauder ran on while he still had time. He let out two loud cries of exertion as he cut twice powerfully – once at the mid-joint of the traitor’s leg, and once at the mid-joint of his sword arm. Both connected with a particularly fleshy bites he felt punch through the mutated Mk. V subsuit. Truthfully, his opponent would be in the way of confusion well enough. His alacrity had sped him harmlessly behind the enemy glob. All of this in melee he’d achieved in a handful seconds. He had been named Türgen for good reason.

The Marauder continued in less than a heartbeat. He’d have checked to see precisely what damage, or lack thereof, he’d done. Hesitation, however, even for a Space Marine, could mean death. He’d wait until he knew they were matched evenly. He kept his eyes and ears in tune to the combat with sharp connectivity. Instantaneously he noticed a brother in struggle. With how little the Marauder was wasting time, he couldn’t tell who. But even with all the black armoured figures, the spikes and flayed skin divided friend from foe.

With no real momentum, he swung around and batted the traitor swiftly with the flat of his blade. It rung hard against the ex-Legio Astartes' left pauldron. That’d be enough to gain his attention, and shift it from his fellow Deathwatch brethren. The struggling Astartes, whose void heraldry fast determined him as being Hastir took quickly upon his opportunity. It’d be more than enough for him to win the fight on. 

Without further time wasted, he went defensive, sidestepping a bulrush that almost caught him off guard. The marine he’d injured in so many ways was not spent, but as he blundered past he’d noticed he was limping, and his sword arm was now no more than a flailing barely-attached extension from the elbow down. With defiant quickness he ran calculatedly backward to join his brothers in a rough line. He was keeping an eye out for the fourth when he ran through a sludgy rock-like substance. He’d call it a rock, save that it stuck to his magnetized soles for a few seconds after he’d pack-paddled through it. The black and gold swirling oily transfusion would’ve been enough to summarize his assumption. Then he noticed an arm, in paralysed spasm of nightmarish pain, edged by spikes. He’d been far too encompassed in his own fight to notice the hellish handiwork of Hastir Jorvane.

His hair stood up on the back of his head. He’d let his guard down. He looked ahead. The injured adversary had his bolt pistol raised, quivering. Türgen stared down the barrel as black as the gates of oblivion. His hearts raced. The gun was at honed inaccurately in at his head. The enmity and crushing hatred of this marine was clearly outlined as he shook. The amalgamation of pain and fury cried a silent roar of death. Even the impossible mouth along his right greave raged a babble of incomprehensible spiel.

Blam. Blam. Türgen turned at the moment the shots roared damningly into his backpack. He retorted by way of a single flustered shot which whined unerring into the exposed flesh of the traitor’s chest. A violent bloody spurt and the Legionary was sent forcefully onto his back. At first he remained still there, then, in slow rebellion of defeat he pushed himself up, shaking all over. A wall of fused bone, shattered from the centre and coated in a soup of crimson blood, fragments of armour and specs of flesh, was now the evolution of ruination caused by his previous hail of shots.

Despite the sickening lack of soulfulness, Türgen still felt uneasy as these events played out achingly slowly. He sauntered over – he wouldn’t be caught off-guard again. The marine had worked himself into a prop of the lower length of his gun hand. Had he been able to fire, Türgen suspected the Legionnaire’s last moments would have been a few more well-placed shots to the neck. With pathetic concentration, though, this seemed to be what the Legionary was trying to do. More of him looked as if he was trying to will it to happen, than think of other ways this could be won. His whole thought process must be a one long struggle by now.

With a series of tepid gut-wrenching cracks, Türgen put all of the pressure of one foot on the dying Astartes gun hand. As he did this he looped the end of his sabre through the Bolt Pistol trigger, and swatted it away. For a while after he ground his foot against the segregating hand. When he finally removed it, three fingers had detached and the bloody nightmare this marine was in was reaching its certain climax. There was no way he’d get out alive.

*‘You serve a Corpse Emperor who cares nothing for you’,* spat another whose time was at an end. The Marauder pulled his quarry to his knees before he delivered his coup-de-grace. *‘I have looked into the eyes of your “gods”,’* replied the voice of Hastir, coldy impassioned by a rage he’d not heard of him. A personal injustice he wished to atone for. He could hear it all flowing through the low notes that staggered from his usual smooth vocals, to a roar of displeasure, and back, *‘and I have found them lacking. Now... go to them.’*

It was the voice that enacted the judgement of the just. He absorbed it, and not a moment later slid his blade almost clean through the heretic’s neck. A few last tendons tried in desperation to keep the head from rolling back, but nothing could stop fate and inevitability. Not in a simulation. The thought shook him slightly as Brother Jorvane reported to the others. He’d been completely absorbed for, well, he couldn’t remember.

As Jorvane led the way onto what should hopefully be the STC, he mused. *‘Are you always such a show off, Türgen?’*. The Marauder didn’t understand banter well, and he responded bluntly, *‘You looked like you needed help. Besides...’,* he continued looking down to the splashed coating of melted armour crusting his feet, *‘Could you perhaps make less mess next time? My armour will not respond well to this.’* His voice was subtly jestful, and also equally concerned.

From here onward, Türgen kept his weapons drawn. He also made a mental note to keep hostiles from Jorvane long enough for him to draw his chainsword. Wyrmfist could handle himself more than passably.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir exited the tightly spaced accessway into a much larger room. He had been at the front of the group. If anything or anyone had of come at them, they would have been staring into the muzzle of his multi-melta and that would have been their last sight. This room however, was much larger. So much so that the ceiling was completely hidden in the shadows. Hastir wondered how much room there was to go up, or what could be nestling up there. He had seen his fair share of xenos and knew that it was possible something could be over-watching them right now. The feeling made him uneasy and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. An itch.

Hastir peered over the edge of the section they stood on and saw the walkway and dais below. Suspended above the dais was their objective. The STC. But it was several hundred feet below and none of them had any rappel gear. Of course it would not be so easy. Still, Hastir blink marked it his HUD. “Call-sign Omega…” He spoke smoothly into the vox, opening the channel between him and his team-mates “…we have visual on the STC. Approximately 400 below our current position. Bloodaxe. Sidorov. Are you at the control room yet? We need path down…” His voice trailed off as the door opposite them exploded off its hinges, Hastir only just turning to avoid being hit by it.

Black armoured marines burst from the door frame. They looked similar to them, except not. Their black was not in reverence, it was in shame for their crusade’s failure ten thousand years ago. It was a futile attempt to expunge the failure of their once esteemed leader. Yet, still the blazing eye of the fallen god leered from their chest plate where Hastir and the others had the noble Imperial aquilla. Their armour was adorned with flayed trophy skins and skulls, which were as much a sacrifice to the Dark Gods they served as it was a sign of their prowess. 

*“Heretics!”* Türgen shouted and then a moment later came the cry *“Death to the False Emperor's dogs!”*. They legionnaires were gunning their chainswords and losing bolt pistol shots. Hastir heard the dull thud of one impacting into either Türgen or Gryin. He did not see which. Two of the traitors were running at him, one faster than the other. Hastir could imagine the savage grin across the marine’s face as he closed the distance. The thought of burying his blade into Hastir’s gene-forged flesh was probably euphoric. He was probably too busy with the thought of killing Hastir that he did not realise that he was running straight along the line that was traced out from the barrels of Hastir’s weapon. He probably didn’t even realise as the air around him became super-heated and his armour flesh and bones were all incinerated. Ten thousand years of battle only to become a super-heated puddle of slag.

His comrade however had been more intelligent and run in a longer arc to avoid being hit. Even as Hastir turned his weapon to fire again, he knew that his multi-melta would not cool itself quick enough for him to fire again before the traitor’s blade was buried in his chest. Hastir reached for his own chainsword, but he still needed one hand to hold the multi-melta, having not had time to sling it over his back. With only one hand to fight with, the heavy weapon blocking some of his arc of movement and the traitor having the momentum of the charge, the disadvantages were mounting against Hasitr. 

When the legionnaire struck a moment later, he hit hard. The momentum behind the first blow staggered Hastir back a few steps and he was forced onto the defensive. He swayed from side to side, conscious that the marine still had a bolt pistol in his hand, quite likely to still have rounds in the magazine. Even at close range, Hastir’s movements kept the marine from firing. Hastir lashed out with a simple strike, which was easily blocked and a counter-attack made. All Hastir could do was black the attacks the warrior made, not being able to launch an effective attack with his movement restricted. 

Just then a dull crack resounded off the heretic’s shoulder. In the midst of his own fight, Türgen had managed to land a blow on Hastir’s opponent. The man was an adept with the sword, Hastir would be forced to concluded. The legionnaire had to check where the blow had come from, in case another one was likely to land and he needed to defend from it. That opening was all Hastir needed. He swung the multi-melta so it was slung over his shoulder where his chainsword had been. Now the fight could begin in earnest.

Before the traitor could realise his error, Hastir lashed out with a brutal rapier strike which tore into the exposed waist joint on the heretic’s older model of armour. The teeth of his chainsword tore the plastisteel fibres apart and bit into the soft flesh underneath. Now the marine’s attention was back on his true adversary. The heretic responded with a strike which nicked the shoulder guard of Hastir’s armour, causing scratches to the paint and ceremite beneath, but only superficial damage. Hastir’s free hand came up and punched into the wrist of the marine, forcing his hand away. 

The traitor had to act quickly to bring his weapon back to parry Hastir’s strike intended to slice open his neck. The next blow was similarly deflected, but the traitor had lost the initiative and was now on the defensive. More blows were launched and defended, Hastir not giving any quarter. His fighting with the Dark Eldar had made him a formidable swordsman. Not as good as some, but clearly better than this marine had anticipated. Finally, on one blow, their chainblades locked, monomolecular teeth whirring frantically against each other creating small sparks. The traitor pushed back with all his might, determined to regain his dominance in the battle. For a moment the chainsword just stayed in mid-air, neither marine having overcoming the other.

Then, inexplicably, the heretic’s arms sagged. Hastir’s chainsword rushed forward, forcing the traitor’s back into his own skull, dazing him for a moment. Still Hastir’s black helm hung mere inches from his face, the vacant expression all he could see as his strength began to fade and he dropped his weapons. As Hastir dragged his powered knife across the heretic’s chest, its razor sharp blade severed untold number of arteries, burst his primary heart and punctured at least one lung. Blood flowed out of the savage gash in the marine’s chest in such quantity that it flowed over the hilt of Hastir’s blade and stained his gauntlet a murky crimson colour; the colour of tainted blood.

Hastir wrenched the blade out of the chest of the heretic, quickly sheathing it. The marine swayed there, barely having the strength to stand. Hastir’s slick gauntlet grabbed him by the throat and dragged him to the edge of the section they had fought on. He held the marine’s tired and exsanguinating body over the edge by his throat. The marine issued a spiteful whisper with what must have been the last of his strength, as his already exhausted body was starved of oxygen by Hastir’s merciless gauntlet _“You serve a Corpse Emperor who cares nothing for you.”_ 

Hastir’s leering helm offered no reply for a moment before a voice which was thick with what was a mixture of disgust and hatred hissed out of the vox grill “I have looked into the eyes of your ‘gods’, and I have found them lacking. Now…” Hastir said as he let the marine drop to certain death “…go to them.” Hastir watched him fall and miss the walkway below, continuing to fall for an untold distance before his body was finally broken on the floor which could be over a mile below. However far it was, it was certain he was dead. 

Hastir turned back to his brothers to see Gryin enter a duo of bolt rounds into the face of the champion he had defeated. Türgen had disarmed his opponent, three of the marine’s fingers lying next to the chainsword where it had fallen once Türgen had severed them from their previous owner. A moment later Türgen’s sabre licked out and sliced through the heretic’s neck joint and the muscle beneath it. The head rolled back, hanging over the back by a few un-severed tendons and muscles. The neck fountained arterial fluid into the air and drenched the chest plate of the traitor. It took a moment before the rest of the body realised it had died and it crumpled to the floor, the crimson liquid spilling onto the floor now in a small puddle. 

Hastir opened a vox channel to Sidorov and Bloodaxe. “Sidorov, Bloodaxe, sit rep. We are going to push onto the STC, try and find our way down. Tell us when you reach the control room.” Hastir turned to his comrades “Are you always such a show off Türgen?” His voice had a serious tone too it, but Türgen should know well enough that he did not mean it as a hurtful barb. “Come on. We need to get that STC and get out ASAP. We should keep moving.” Hastir turned towards the door the heretics had come from. There was no way to reach the STC from where they had come, and the only way to get down was to find a stairwell. And that was only going to be where they hadn’t been yet. He hoped the others reached the control room soon. A schematic layout would make retrieval a lot quicker. He sheathed his chainsword and unslung his multi-melta, confident he would need it again before this was over…


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

The pair moved through the space hulk at a pace just shy of brisk, yet progress seemed somehow tedious. Milo surmised that this had much to do with the corridors. Each was identical to the last: broad enough for a Land Raider to drive along with room to spare. The bulkheads were layered with pipes, some of which hissed and trembled as if they were about to burst at any moment, others idle and holed with rust.

Milo and Fith kept to one side of the corridor as they walked. Conversation was nil; their focus was on their surroundings, and the queer scratching noises that kept echoing about them from no discernible direction. It kept them on edge—kept their bolters tracking from shadow to forbidding shadow. Fith, taking the lead, kept his attention forward. He advanced hunched behind his bolter, finger loose on the trigger, his movements crisp and assured. Already, Milo found himself respecting the Space Wolf.

For his part, Milo kept his gun barrel roving across the darkness-veiled ceiling. He periodically whirled around to check the corridor behind them. No enemies presented themselves. And the scratching continued.

After an hour of silent trekking, the procession of wide corridors came to an abrupt end. The pair of Astartes found themselves in a large chamber. Despite its size, the room seemed to have no real purpose. It was devoid of control consoles, memory banks or much anything else. What it did have were industrial fans that covered the walls and ceilings. The lethargically spinning blades cut holes in the cool wisps of air wafting from the vents.

“I do not like this,” Milo growled. His gaze tore between the numerous crawl spaces. Some of the grate coverings looked to have been torn off—and recently.

Fith grunted in agreement. Before he could say anything, the noise came again. This time it was close. Close enough that Milo could recognize it as the rustle of chitin plate.

Fith knew the noise, too. Their heads jerked upward simultaneously—just in time to see the insectoid creature drop from the ceiling. Its bulbous head was turned their way, beetle-like eyes glinting with ravenous hunger. Razor-sharp claws spread at the ends of its lanky arms.

“Suka!” cursed Milo as he launched himself backward. The floor grates rang with the impact of ceramite as he tucked and rolled, boltgun cradled against his breastplate. Fith had the same reaction. The Astartes dodged just in time; the genestealer’s claws whistled through the air where they’d both been standing. 

The marine came back to his feet. His boltgun snapped onto the genestealer just as it landed. He squeezed the trigger, and the weapon roared to life. Strobing muzzle flashes lit the chamber as he and Fith opened fire, the reports of their weapons deafening in the confined area. He felt the concussions from Fith’s bolter washing over his armor, but the genestealer bore the true punishment. Sanctified bolts punched into the gaps between its chitin plates—the underbelly, the neck, the armpits and mouth. The high-caliber rounds did their share of damage as they penetrated. A daisy chain of muffled thumps sounded as the bolts detonated, shredding the genestealer’s body. Severed limbs spiraled in all directions, trailing gouts of purple ichor.

A chainsword revved. Milo glanced over to see that the Blood Claw had drawn his blade. A brief survey of their surroundings proved the Wolf correct; half a dozen more genestealers were skittering out of the vents.

“Stay in center,” he barked. 

Fith made no argument. They did away with the small distance between them and stood back-to-back. They checked their weapons. Milo had six rounds left in his magazine. Plenty, he thought with a glimmer of humor.

He peered over his shoulder. “No routing, yes?”

“What?” said a harried Fith.

“Nevermind.” Milo sighted on the closest xenos—an ugly little bastard with a scythe blade jutting from its forehead—and squeezed off a fresh burst. The beast somehow managed to dodge the first pair of rounds, which burst harmlessly against the bulkhead. Another bolt found its chest, but the chitin prevented it from penetrating. It exploded, staggering the genestealer. Milo switched to semi-automatic with a thought, and put two bolts in its mouth. The headless corpse fell, but six more genestealers remained.

And they were fast. They came sprinting toward the pair on splayed claws, screeching for revenge. Milo’s bolter was empty and he didn’t have time to reload, but maybe Fith would be able to even the odds before the genestealers closed the remaining distance. Milo tossed the spent weapon aside and drew his bolt pistol and chainsword in one practiced motion. “Come on you bastards,” he bellowed. He braced his back against Fith’s and let loose with a fresh salvo.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

Both Astartes, Miloslav and Fith, made their way through the enormous interior of the Space Hulk simulation keeping pace with each other and keeping alert for enemy threats all the time. Whilst this wasn't the Space Wolf's favourite type of mission, preferring the close-combat brawls against xenos, the son of Fenris hoped that he'd be thrust into combat soon - after all, it wouldn't make any sense for the Sergeant to pit them against an empty ship. Not that the authority figures in the Space Wolf's life hadn't let him down in the past, of course.

By the time they passed the seventh interior of the Hulk, the Vlka Fenryka's belief that they were being made to look like fools was reinforced. There was still no sign of any enemy opposition apart from the taunting scratching sounds that were clearly simulated could be heard every now and again, which caused the Wolf to scowl as the other Astartes seemed to lack the initiative to actually talk to him. 

After an hour where nothing but the clunk of metal armour could be heard, the procession of wide corridors came to an end and the Wolf and his fellow Astartes found themselves in yet another large chamber. Surely, a room as large as this one should have some purpose to its construction? But alas, there didn't seem to be any occupants in the room. However, what it did have - was a vast array of air vents and - The Space Wolf stopped short, hearing from above him, the scuttling sounds that he had recognized before. But ovbiously, the other Astartes had beaten Fith to it, for before he heard the sounds, his ally had spoken, "I do not like this".

Fith didn't need to say anything in response, acknowledging that they were probably walking into a trap. But this noise was different from the others that came before it, the Space Wolf knew. He knew that noise, and had heard it many times before in his career as one of the Emperor's Finest. Both Astartes jerked upwards in unison just in time to spot an insectoid creature that clearly resembled one of his hated enemy - a genestealer, drop from the cieling above them forcing both Astartes to launch themselves backward.

The sounds of Astartes Armour on floor grates could be heard as both rolled away from the threat of the xenos, opening fire with their weapons as they launched back onto their feet. It wasn't long before the Wolf decided that the close combat approach was clearly the best - he loved to get up close and personal with creatures that were actually a threat to him, rather than hiding behind cover and shooting. That wasn't how Astartes waged war - _this_ was. This was what a Wolf was born for, Fith Bloodaxe believed, as his chainsword revved into life. "Stay in center," his fellow member of the Deathwatch barked and Fith could see no point in disagreeing - the Genestealers would come to them anyway as they had no ranged weapons.

Now stood back to back, the Wolf heard Miloslav say in a humorous manner, "No routing, yes?”

Fith could only respond with a short and simple, "What?", despite knowing that the other Astartes thought that the term Rout was for fleeing. Well, in a sense - it was, but not a capitalized Rout. That was the informal name of the Space Wolves Chapter - he would have to make sure that the Deathwatch member learned that at some point. But not right now. Now was time for battle.

Not catching his response, the Astartes attacked his prey with his chainsword, grappling in close combat with the Tyranid, putting all his hate into the fight, and all his strength behind the blow that would eventually bring him down. It wasn't long before he did so. More went down to his blade, one by one - and even though the Astartes took blows here and there, he could tell that his fellow Astartes was watching his back - which reinforced Fith's strength as he need only fight to the front. The mighty chainsword slashed through Genestealers once they had relented their assault, and it wasn't long before both Astartes had whittled their numbers down by working together as a team.

Part of the Wolf actually realised how he had missed working with other Astartes - but Miloslav would have a long way to go yet before he was considered his brother in arms. After all, he wasn't even a Space Wolf.


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo swung, the chainsword’s screeching altering in pitch as hurtled through the air. There was a genestealer in its path, and the creature shortly paid the price. The weapon sawed through a splindly arm, tearing through chitin and biting into the gelatinous flesh beneath. Hissing, the beast swatted the blade aside using one of its remaining three arms—and it lunged straight in for the kill.

The Bogatyr staggered as the alien smashed into his front. Two of its arms wrapped him in a death grip while the last raked across his armor, searching for an opening. A bleeding stump pressed against his helmet grill, filling his nose with the reek of alien.

He growled. If close was the way this simulated creature wanted it, fine. He returned its affections in kind. Servos whined as he wrapped the creature in a macabre embrace. Immediately he began to tighten his grip. The creature struggled as realization took hold, but too late. Chitin crackled and split, the sound identical to a shellfish being cracked open at a dinner table. The victim went limp. With contempt, Milo let the pulverized corpse drop.

In the same motion, he threw out a blackswing and sent a closing genestealer stumbling. He pivoted his torso with the swing and raised his pistol. A trio of bolts slammed into the genestealer’s stomach in quick succession. Leaving the two writhing halves of the beast to die on their own, Milo turned his attention to the remainder of the fight.

To his satisfaction, Fith had held his own rather well. The Bloodclaw fought with unrestrained tenacity, eschewing all technique with his bladeforms—not to say it didn’t work well. The trio of smashed, dismembered corpses in front of him spoke for his effectiveness. Presently, Fith decapitated a genestealer midair. Milo put two bolts into body as it crumpled against the Space Wolf’s shins—just to be sure.

Suddenly, the sounds of battle were gone. The idling of their gore-streaked chainswords was the only sound as they panned their smoking gun barrels around the chamber.

“Clear,” Milo said curtly.

Fith nodded. “Clear.”

Clamping his weapons back onto his armor, Milo turned to regard his fellow Astartes. “Well fought, Space Wolf,” he said. He clasped his fists at his breastplate in salute.

He stooped to retrieve his emptied boltgun, which he’d tossed aside earlier in the fight. He muttered an apology to its machine spirit. The weapon seemed to accept his contrition; the new magazine rammed home, and the round chambered without malfunction.


His vox crackled into life. "“Sidorov, Bloodaxe, sit rep," came Hastir's voice. "We are going to push onto the STC, try and find our way down. Tell us when you reach the control room."


Milo pressed two fingers to the side of his helmet and keyed his vox. “Hastir, this is Milo." He rattled off a brief, accent-laden report on what had just transpired. "We will find control room. Proceeding. Out.”


He and Fith exchanged a nod. Boltguns at the ready, the Astartes moved out.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_++VOX-REPORT TAR-99. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.++

++Message begins,

The recruits are doing better than I expected. They dealt with the ambush by both Traitor Marines and Tyranids with the kind of teamwork that a kill-team needs. And their closing in on the objective faster than any of the other teams are managing. But they aren't done yet.

We'll see how they handle the final obstacle. If they can work together and defeat it, then they may just be Deathwatch material after all.

Message ends.+++​_


*Fith Bloodaxe* and *Miloslav Sidorov:* As the final Genestealers fall before you both, their corpses flickering out of existance as the Gauntlet program recognizes their 'deaths', the doors ahead of you slide open slowly. Beyond is another corridor leading into the darkness, only intermittent lumen-strips showing the way in any clarity. You both proceed forward, there does not appear to be any signs of enemies in the passage ahead or the passage that follows it. The Genestealers must have been the only opponents within this sector because you do not encounter any more enemies as you traverse the corridors and high-vaulted rooms that lead you further into the Space Hulk's interior.

After what feels like another hour you emerge into a large spherical chamber with a ceiling so high that it is lost to shadows. Across a large pit that seems to be bottomless there is a altar, and floating above the altar in an anti-grav net is a flat black disc. The STC! It is within reach, only a narrow bridge separates you from the prize. But before you can move towards it on of the doors nearby opens, revealing your brothers. They have arrived as well.


*Gryin Wyrmfist*, *Türgen* and *Hastir Jorvane:* As the Traitor Marines die their bodies flicker and fade away, the hologram program recognizes their deaths and they are removed from the simulation. The doors ahead of you open, revealing a large corridor with arches for a left wall allowing you to look over an immense room that is directly connected to the STC chamber. A set of doors below will allow you to access the room, and the door appears unlocked. But the drop is still too high and there does not appear to be any stairs or elevator within this chamber either. But a small set of maintenance doors ahead of you slide open slowly, the screech as their rusted hinges crawl open draws your attention. No enemies emerge from it, but the pathway beyond it appears to slope downards slightly.

As you go through the thin passageway, once again in single file, you do not encounter any more enemies. It appears the Traitor Marines you faced and the Genestealers your brothers faced were the only threat aboard. After what feels like an hour you emerge into the immense room. The doors ahead that lead to the STC chamber open, revealing your brothers on the other side.


*All:* As you reunite the STC still awaits ahead of you. The air seems lighter as you approach the prize, but before you can reach the narrow bridge that leads to the prize it becomes apparant that the air has literally become lighter and hotter. It is shimmering and you can see a crackle of energy in the air. You all recognize the signs of a teleport when you see one, and know instinctively to back away or risk catastrophic flesh change. A few seconds later a whoosh of air sucks most of the air out of the chamber and causes the lights to give out, there is a loud sound of clanking metal and rustling chains.

As the lights turn on again you realise you are sharing the room with a monster. It is twice as tall as any of you and box-shaped with clawed and splayed feet. It's metallic frame is covered in rusty chains, patches of dried blood and sigils daubed in various other substances that glow and hurt your eyes when you look directly at them. It's right arm is a long-barrelled autocannon, it's left arm a razor-sharp power claw covered in dried blood. A screaming metallic skull with horns observes you with glowing red eyes. A Helbrute, one of the most horrific creations of Chaos stands between you and your prize. It howls, the sound is horrific and sounds equally like a daemon laughing and a human crying in pain. It's claw begins to snap open and closed as it spools it's cannon and charges towards you all. Kill the Helbrute and recover the STC in order to complete the objective of the mission.


*[That's it for this update, and the Gauntlet simulation is nearly over. Kill the Helbrute and recover the STC in order to finish the Gauntlet simulation. This fight is going to be harder and will require all of you to work together to defeat the Helbrute, and to fight smart rather than hard. It will take two posts in order for you to defeat this mini-boss, the next update will advance the fight to it's final moments and determine whether or not you will be able to defeat it. For now stick to surviving and giving it some light wounds, and you will likely receive some wounds in turn. The room is wide enough for you to space out in and get behind the Helbrute in case your wondering.

Hope you enjoy this one.]*


LotN


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

The bodies of Türgen and Gryin’s foes flickered and faded as the Gauntlet recognised their deaths as final. Hastir, for his part, looked down at his gauntlet which had been covered in slick arterial fluid, but now was the jet-black it had been when he entered. At least it was confirmation that his foe was dead. “Hastir, this is Milo." His comrade’s voice rang through the voice, thick with his home-world accent. He reported that they had just fought a brood of Genestealers and were proceeding forwards. "We will find control room. Proceeding. Out.”

“Acknowledged. Hastir over and out.” He replied curtly. “It appears the others have had some fighting to do of their own. They had a brood of Genestealers to content with. However, Milo reports that they are both unharmed. They are moving, and we should be too.” With that, Hastir walked into the room where the traitors had come from. It was a similarly large room, and it overlooked a room which was joined to the chamber with the STC. From up here, Hastir could not see and blockage or obstruction, and it did not appear locked. It was, however, still too far down for them to reach.

There was no stairwell or elevator leading down. Hastir doubted they would have made it that easy, but it didn’t stop him being mildly disappointed. The only other door in the chamber was a small set of old maintenance doors. They slid open slowly with a tortured screech. Hastir kept his multi-melta trained on the door frame for a moment in case anything came out. When nothing did, he decided to enter, having no other route to take. He motioned for the others to follow him. The passageway was only big enough for them to travel single file, and Hastir took the head of their column, betting that anything which might try and catch them unawares would have nowhere to hide from his multi-melta.

They marched for an hour through the confined maintenance tunnel until if finally spat them out in the room they had seen from above. Looking up at where they had been is seemed that it was even higher that Hastir had first thought when he looked down. The doors to the STC chamber slid open and Hastir saw that his brothers were there. By the looks of it, they had just arrived too. Hastir let his lips creep into a slight smile. They had made it thus far unharmed and victorious and their objective was in sight.

Just then, Hastir stopped. They had made it this far and found minimal resistance. This was unusual. His previous trails had never been this easy. Then he noticed the air was significantly hotter than it should be. He had first put it down to elation or some nervous reflex, but he thought more of it now. The air was shimmering and he could taste ozone. “Teleport! Get back!” Hastir shouted as the realisation dawned on him what was happening. He should have known it was never going to be this easy.

With the sudden crackle of energy, all the lights went out and they were shrouded in darkness. Still, the unmistakable sound of creaking metal and rattling chains could be heard not far off. It sounded almost like some disgruntled spirit had come back to punish them for their sins, but this was preposterous. Once the lights came back on a few seconds later, Hastir had almost wished it was just a phantom, for the beast that stood before them was something spawned from the nightmare world he had always hoped someday he would be able to leave behind in his memories to grow cold.

Its armour was the colour of dried blood and ancient chains rattled as it howled in the most atonal, tortured, deranged voice Hastir had ever heard. Small globs of daemonic spittle issued from the grill of its helmet. Only after the deafening noise had subsided did Hastir hear the small whine of the autocannon mounted on its arm. “Move! Now!” Hastir bellowed over the vox, already strafing to the right as the first rounds started to be fired against them. 

The high calibre rounds bit into the decking and Hastir tried to assess the situation. He was the only one with a weapon which could so substantial damage to the Hellbrute, but even then he could not beat it in an even fight. None of them could. They needed a plan. Priorities, he had to think of priorities. First, the autocannon, then they needed to take the beast down itself. The autocannon was meshed with the daemonic flesh of the beast. Perhaps if it was purely mechanical, a joint could be attacked, but this amalgamation of daemon and machine would not be brought down by that. But, maybe it didn’t need to. Hastir realised it still needed ammunition, and he could destroy that. But how? 

He had not yet fired, and he doubted the Hellbrute understood the ramifications of him wielding such a high-powered weapon. He could split from the group, them keeping the beasts attention. Flanking it from the side, he would have a clear shot at the ammo drums being fed into the weapon. If he was really lucky, the ammunition would explode and blow the arm clean off. At the very least, the weapon would be rendered useless with no ammunition. And how to bring it down? 

Once he fired, he wagered that he would have the beast’s full and undivided attention. The two of the others could support him, keep him from being pummelled into the dirt, and the other two could use krak grenades to blow the beasts legs out. It was risky, but krak grenades were made for blowing holes in most tank armour, certainly enough would incapacitate the beast. The autocannon rounds kept flying, and Hastir kept strafing. It would have to do, and if his plan was flawed they would find out very soon; now or never.

He picked the two he thought would most willingly get so close to the beast when he threw a krak grenade to each. If they each gave 2, they would have 10 to attack with; certainly enough to take down one Hellbrute. “Gryin! Bloodaxe! Catch!” He said as he threw a grenade to each. “Keep it occupied. Milo, Türgen, give Gryin and Bloodaxe your krak grenades. Frag grenades and bolt rounds; concentrate on its face. I’m going to flank it, kill the ammunition drums in its arm. When I do, Milo, Türgen, move up and support me. When we have its attention, not a second before, plant the grenades at its feet. On them if you can, but don’t get yourselves killed. No one dies.” Hastir didn’t wait for them to respond. They didn’t have time to waste discussing and debating. 

The first plan was always going to be the one they went for, whoever suggested it. Hastir pulled out his bolt pistol and fired a few rounds as the others executed his plan. He holstered his pistol and moved behind the group, in the opposite direction to the way he had just come. All of their bolters barked in some sort of guttural symphony. Hastir took a frag grenade from his belt, arched his arm back and launched it so it exploded within close enough proximity to the beasts face for the shrapnel to become imbedded in the metal flesh that could be loosely called a face. 

The others had its attention, so Hastir moved quietly against the wall round to the beast’s side. He watched for the moment it would turn and face him, but it never did. It started to move ponderously towards the large group of marines. Hastir realised he was nervous his plan would fail. Something he didn’t want to think about, the prospect of failing. There was no time to change anything now. “For the Emperor!” he bellowed across the vast room, loud enough to hear over the cacophony of barking guns as his multi-melta unleashed a super-heated beam into the arm of the Hellbrute, striking right where the ammunition for the autocannon would be. Within the next second, if his plan had worked, the gun would grow quiet as it spent the last of its rounds and he would find out if Omega squad would fail at the last hurdle or emerge victorious…


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

*‘Hastir, this is Milo. We will find control room. Proceeding. Out.’
‘Acknowledged. Hastir over and out.’*

*‘It appears the others have had some fighting to do of their own. They had a brood of Genestealers to contend with. However, Milo reports they are both unharmed. They are moving, and we should be too.’*

With little in the way of pause, Jorvane proceeded to summarise any possible pathways. So too did Türgen and Gryin. As the apparentness of a lack of choice ran home, all eyes centred on the singular option left – a set of maintenance doors. Before any of them had the chance to step forward to bypass their keycode, which as Türgen saw it would have been more likely to have been resolved with a forceful kick, the doors began opening of their own accord. In unity, they brought about guns. When nothing burst through, they all eased and continued down the tunnel. 

Underway, Türgen let down his guard little; strafing his ’sights across flanking walls, double guessing his allies’ helmet movements and keeping the path they’d freshly trod in check. About the only respite had been early, in the break after fighting the traitor marines. He’d seen how Gryin had taken apart the Chaos champion. It had stirred him deep within. It was a feat he himself was fully capable of, but the fury Gryin had let lease was as a force of nature. And for that, as they’d commenced the exercise, he made sure to let on a nod of quiet respect.

Claustrophobia. That been eliminated from his mind at age fifteen. He personally remembered it only fleetingly, like a blurry dream that seemed all too familiar. All that these gratingly snug tunnels did for him now was irritate him. There was little room to dodge or swing a weapon. He kept his feelings under a lid. Rather, he assessed how he could best use this disadvantage to best any opponents that might appear.

When they emerged into a dome so large as to house a small colony, he was still assessing. The STC was now in sight, but now definitely wasn’t the time to be assuming victory. His eyes came across the others as he checked the outer perimeter. Within a minute they had all sauntered into formation.

*‘Brother Bloodaxe, Sidorov. It is good to see you’ve kept well,’* he greeted with blunt sincerity. He spoke to them as if he hadn’t seen them in years, yet he only was able to keep eyes on them for a nanosecond. His paranoia didn’t give in at the caged joy he had on being reunited with the rest of his squad. As he scanned the ceiling, a whiff of tar, or maybe sulphur, crept into his nostrils. Wait! He knew that smell!

The urgent shout of Hastir Jorvane filled his ears. *‘Teleport! Get back!’* He hooked onto the words at the moment he realised just what Brother Jorvane was warning, just as he warned them of it.

Lights flickered. The room shuddered. Silence. And following the sound of creaking metal and rattling chains, what blinked from the shadow into existence in front of them churned his guts in sinking despair. He gritted his teeth as he prepared to rebel against what was almost certainly their undoing. He felt stupid for not bringing a helmet.
He had no time to do anything but react. The Hellbrute broke into a charge right for them spewing dual barrels of death. He let out a loud disparaged roar as he pressed hard on the trigger. Dense automatic fire clattered like hail around the beasts face. Shoulder-height explosions kicked the metal grating of the bridge into fragments in tensely close proximity. Hastir broke into a sprint down the right flank. 

The ugly head of the hell-warped dreadnought spasmed uncomfortably as the rain of fire clattered within mere centimetres of it, blasting tiny fragments of his toothy crown across his face. Even with such distraction, the autocannon rounds still hammered uncomfortably close. Türgen actually had to run closer to the closing giant as an emerging hole was blasted right where he was standing. One particularly close shot cracked his left greave.

Hastir was now just within the flank of the Hellbrute, and unnoticed by the Chaos Dreadnought he uncoupled a duo of krak grenades, passing them cleanly to Gryin and Fith who had advanced with bolters belting a symphony of insufficient rage. Clearly, his voice was transmitted unto them all, barking clearly over all outside noise.

*‘Keep it occupied. Milo, Türgen, give Gryin and Bloodaxe your krak grenades. Frag grenades and bolt rounds; concentrate on its face. I’m going to flank it, kill the ammunition drums in its arm. When I do, Milo, Türgen, move up and support me. When we have its attention, not a second before, plant the grenades at its feet. On them if you can, but don’t get yourselves killed. No one dies.’*

Through the duration of the plan the Marauder had managed only a brief few scuffled looks at the others. Through some miracle he’d not been hit, but the bridge around him was fast turning into tatters. It was almost completely broken off behind him. Desperately, he uncoupled his krak grenades in one hand whilst keeping the other on the bolter. As he did so the magazine ran dry emitting a series of clicks. With a brief look, he threw his payload roughly at Fith, who was closest. He didn’t think they’d be an easy catch, but he didn’t want to wind up dead either.

The Hellbrute was within twenty meters now. He had no retreat, and the damn thing hadn’t run low on rounds. A quick sliding from his belt to his hand entered his first reload of the fight. That’d be the third of his four magazines. Half of his ammunition was gone. All he could do in the next three seconds was dodge, or more than likely be rammed flailing to the bottom of the pit this damned objective hung over.

A sudden muffled burst preceded a cloud of shrapnel that burst right in the hellbrute’s twisted face. It let out an angered shriek somewhere between the vocals of a distressed ass and shocked toddler, but as though this mixed torturous noise was amplified tenfold through a harsh vox relay. The Dreadnought’s charge had been stopped in place. Without a moment’s hesitation he knew what to do.

*‘Miloslav! Grenade assault!’*

He uncoupled fragmentation grenades, one after another, throwing them as instructed as he strode away from the chasm behind him. The barrage of grenades forced the Hellbrute to cover his face with his claw. It wailed more disturbingly than any daemon he’d ever heard. What horrible display of long-term warp exposure was he witnessing? This was no Astartes entombed in a mighty war-machine. At least, not mentally.

With the expenditure of his final frag, he was sure he’d given the others enough time. Clearly, he saw Hastir ascending a bridge segment, curved into a slightly raised slope by a stray autocannon round. A blast of molten energy burst from the mouth of his multi-melta. What followed was one hell of an explosion. It shook the bridge, and took the squad clean from their feet.

In the fray his bolter flew in a direction he couldn’t ascertain. The Hellbrute still stood, staring at his gun arm. It was as if a fiery acid had eaten into it. All section surrounding the magazine was gone. The lava-hot barrels of the reaper peeled from their stumps and crashed right through the bridge below.

The first of the responses to be heard was a grunting roar, like an attempt at starting a chainsaw. Then a louder one, which raged a few violent seconds longer than the first, which vibrated along the bridge. Finally, a bellow of fury incarnate echoed throughout the dome. Hastir had injured it, but now he’d really pissed it off.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As the final genestealers fell beneath Miloslav and Fith, their corpses flickered out of existence as the Gauntlet program took into account that they had been slain by the Adeptus Astartes. Growling as this wasn't real xenos blood that he was shredding, the Vlka Fenryka followed Sidorov anyway as the doors ahead of them opened slowly. 

Beyond the doors, there was another corridor - only this time they were not met by xenos leading the Astartes to believe that there was no more enemies to face, or at least - no more genestealers and not right this second. Raising his weapon in the direction of the room ahead, Bloodaxe sprinted in unison with Sidorov, as they attempted to navigate the interior of the Space Hulk towards the centre of the ship.

After what felt like an hour, Fith emerged into a large spherical chamber that sported a ceiling so high it was lost to the shadows. A large pit stood out in front of them, and at the centre of which - suspended on an altar, stood their prize - the STC, a Standard Template Construct. Holographic and nonexistent, but at least - they had reached something.

Only a narrow bridge separated the Astartes from their objective, the flat-black disc of the STC was suspended in an anti-grav net above the Altar. Warning signs were screaming all over the Space Wolf's head here, and he kept glancing around the pit, scanning for threats, but finding none. 

That was, of course - when one of the nearby doors opened, revealing his fellow Deathwatch recruits. Their names flashing up on his HUD to reveal Hastir Jorvane - the Black Shield, Türgen - the Maruader and Gryin Wrymfist - the Storm Warden. Together, they made Omega squad, in training. Along with The Bogatyr, who Fith seemed to know the most. The Maruader hailed them, but the Wolf chose to ignore it. There was no time for conversation, as he couldn't help but have that nagging feeling that this was far too easy. 

As the five Astartes approached the prize, Fith seemed to notice that the air was getting lighter. He wasn't the only one, as the other Astartes seemed to be noticing the same thing. There air was now shimmering, with a crackle of energy in the air that alerted the Wolf to the threat of an inbound teleportation. Readying his Bolter, making sure it was fully loaded, Fith backed away from the incoming object as the lights in the room began to switch off. This was the ultimate obstacle, the final battle in the simulation room.

It wasn't long before the lights began to switch on once more, revealling a monster registering on Fith's HUD to be a Hellbrute, but he did not need to know its name to identify a creature of the Warp - he had seen one before. He had fought one before, and he had killed one before.

Not on his own of course, but neither was Fith Bloodaxe alone here.

A whine of an autocannon mounted on the monster's arm could be heard, as it started to gear into life. The Black Shield shouted, "Move - Now!" over the vox, but the Space Wolf was already moving away from the first rounds that came their way. Again, after avoiding the creature's fire, the Bloodaxe gave similar orders, "Gryin! Bloodaxe! Catch!" 

The Wolf obeyed, any weapon that he was thrown would be one that he needed. Catching the krak grenade with one hand, the Wolf didn't immediately pull the cord and throw it, but waited for the Black Shield to issue orders again. He understood that he would have to listen to his self-appointed superior in order to overcome the threat. For now, of course.

“Keep it occupied. Milo, Türgen, give Gryin and Bloodaxe your krak grenades. Frag grenades and bolt rounds; concentrate on its face. I’m going to flank it, kill the ammunition drums in its arm. When I do, Milo, Türgen, move up and support me. When we have its attention, not a second before, plant the grenades at its feet. On them if you can, but don’t get yourselves killed. No one dies.”

"Aye, I hear you," Bloodaxe replied in response through the vox, but it was unnecessary. Avoiding the Hellbrute's guns, Bloodaxe made sure sure that the Black Shield successfully flanked the beast, prompting Miloslav and Türgen to move up and support him. Türgen ended up giving some of his payload to Bloodaxe, as he was the closest, and the Space Wolf didn't really pay much attention to what the Maruader had given him - for he had more pressing matters. The Hellbrute was within twenty meters, and closing.

"Now this is where the fun begins," barked the Wolf. It was a cliched saying, but it was true - the Space Wolf was always better in melee than he was at long range, for melee was where the fun was. Logan Grimnar, the Old Wolf, had far more of his glorious conquests achieved by getting in close with the enemy, and that was exactly what the Wolf intended to to here.

But before he could, he heard the Maruader shout, "Miloslav, Grenade Assault!", which was of course followed by a variety of grenades thrown at the Hellbrute in all directions, the Wolf angered by his lack of close combat.

Then the creature roared, and Bloodaxe knew that roar. Despite their best efforts of dealing with the demon, they'd only managed to annoy it. Which was good, because it would make it more of a challenge.


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

‘Brother Bloodaxe, Sidorov. It is good to see you’ve kept well.”
Milo nodded and rapped his armored knuckles against his breastplate in greeting. After another hour of trekking along with the irascible—though entirely competent—Bloodclaw, it was good to be in amiable company again.

Omega Squad was reunited, but all too briefly. Around them, the air crackled with electrical discharge. The sour reek of ozone founds its way through his helmet grille. Instantly recognizing the signs of an incoming teleport, Milo stumbled backward.

The lights flickered and died, and the air went cold as the oxygen was sucked from the chamber. The tense silence was quickly interrupted by the clatter of chains and the creak of heavy servos.

Milo’s stomach went hollow as the Hellbrute shambled out of the darkness. To their credit, no one in Omega Squad hesitated. The air instantly erupted with the staccato crack of boltgun fire. Bolts hurtled into the daemon engine on searing contrails, exploding on impact. The machine was unfazed. It returned fire, its autocannons chugging as it spat high-caliber rounds at the Astartes.

The Bogatyr’s weapon clicked empty. He continued to strafe, keeping his movements irregular in case the Hellbrute decided to focus its fire on him. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to have decided which Marine it wanted to murder first. Its aim spasmed from marine to marine.

Just as he reached for a fresh magazine, he heard Hastir’s voice. ‘Keep it occupied. Milo, Türgen, give Gryin and Bloodaxe your krak grenades. Frag grenades and bolt rounds; concentrate on its face. I’m going to flank it, kill the ammunition drums in its arm. When I do, Milo, Türgen, move up and support me. When we have its attention, not a second before, plant the grenades at its feet. On them if you can, but don’t get yourselves killed. No one dies.’

Milo swiveled his head and found Gryin. “Wolf! Here!” He rolled a pair of kraks across the grating. Seeing Fith laying fire into the Hellbrute, he sprinted over and skidded to a halt beside him, adding some fire of his own to the fusillade. The beast staggered under the sustained volleys, shrapnel pinging off its body, many bolts finding their way into the jagged-toothed maw that passed for its face. It was an obvious weak point, and the marines exploited it mercilessly.

"Now this is where the fun begins," Fith barked. A grin colored his voice.

“Fun indeed,” Milo commented. He plucked a frag grenade from his belt.

‘Miloslav! Grenade assault!’

At Turgen’s command, Milo primed the frag and hurled with all his might, torqueing his power-armored body with the pitch. It was a rocket of a throw—more power than accuracy, maybe, but precision is wasted on high explosives. The frag glanced off a toothed rim before bouncing into the Hellbrute’s hole-face-thing. The ensuing detonation sent the daemon engine staggering. A daisy chain of explosions followed as he and the Marauder hurled frag after frag, buying Hastir precious time.

The Black Shield made good use of the distraction. His multi melta sheared off the Hellbrute’s gun arm. The beast stared at the molten remnants of its weapon and bellowed with fury. The noise reverberated around the chamber with such intensity that Milo’s autosenses dulled the volume; likely he’d have been deafened otherwise.

Great. They’d pissed the stupid thing off. Milo raised his boltgun, making ready to receive a fresh dose of punishment.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin took a moment to look around the room to probe for possible routes. Regrettably Gryin did not see any easy paths; the three Deathwatch had no choice but to play along with the simulation. It dawned upon Gryin that they were in a simple simulation, there was no danger here. He had been caught up in the fight and let himself be fooled by his eye. 

Gryin was drawn back from his thoughts by a voice over his vox-comm, *“We will find control room. Proceeding. Out.”* Hastir replied to the others and settled the path the three would take. Gryin followed, he was more conservative than before. He held his boltgun rather than scale-bane. He walked at the rear, rather than the front. Gryin was not certain why he felt uneasy, he did not think it was due to his present company. The veteran had fought alongside more warriors than he could remember and never had a problem that couldn’t be solved. After some debilitation Gryin decided to put his Unease down nervousness. Although he was still not sure.

The trio emerged into a large chamber with the STC in the centre. Türgen and hastir, made to greet Bloodaxe and sidorov. Gryin made to follow however he was slightly behind. The marines exchanged a few words before there was a sudden increase in temperature. Each of them knew that this was not co-incidence. As the first flash of electricity appeared in the air Gryin leap backwards and into a defensive kneeling position. He quickly detached his stalker scope; it would be no use at this close range.

Gryin’s bionic eye was disabled momentarily as a very large pulse of energy sounded and the air was sucked from the room. When the eye re-booted there stood a lumbering heap of chaos incarnate. A Helbrute. It gave out a snarl before setting its eyes upon the marines. Hastir issued the command and the squad leaped into action, Gryin caught his grenade with his left hand. He glanced at Bloodaxe quickly before erupting into a sprint. Milo and Türgen did their job keeping it occupied, allowing Gryin to take an elliptical course around to the back of the metal behemoth Milo rolled a pair of grenades towards Gryin who scooped them up and added them to his pile. His bionc eye scanned the beat for a good target, it highlightled an area just above its knee, it sat above a vital joint and it had the correct gradient to keep the grenades in place. *“Bloodaxe, on my target.” *Shouted Gryin as he marked the location on his HUD. Gryin slid to a halt just as the multi-melta issued its fiery challenge to the warp infused metal of the reaper autocannon. Gryin hoped to all hell that the aim was true, at the feet of a dreadnought was a bad place to be at the best of times, when the dreadnought was pissed off the effects were tenfold.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_++VOX-REPORT REZ-25. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.++

++Message begins,

The recruits are nearing the final phase. Now we'll see if their Deathwatch material or not.

Message ends.+++_​

*All: * Your efforts pay off as the Helbrute shudders, it's autocannon destroyed in a fiery explosion, which knocks you all off your feet. It's howling fills the chamber and causes your ears to bleed even through the safety of your helmets, and despite the fact that none of this is real. The melting slag that was it's autocannon arm however begins to stem it's bleeding, it will heal very soon and will only become stronger and angrier. The grenades have blown off it's face-mask, revealing a tangled cluster of wires and an almost flayed skull behind it. The skull howls in rage at you, it is the Helbrute's pilot! But before any of you can react it turns around faster than appears possible and scoops up Hastir in it's claw. It screams and begins applying pressure, however it appears to be unable to fully focus on Hastir and it's gaze continually flickers towards the rest of you.

*Hastir Jorvane*: As the Helbrute grabs you your vision is washed in red from the alarms and alerts that appear in your helmet's auto-senses. Warning alarms and armor-seal klaxons go off in your head. Your armour, and you, are being crushed to death, and if the Helbrute continues at this pace you will not last more than a few seconds. Your multi-melta is still in your hand, which is caught outside of the monster's claw. You could fire point blank into it's face, but if it sees you raising your weapon it will likely finish you off quicker or throw you away before you can trigger the weapon. The creature is also stumbling around, it's left leg has damaged in the explosion and is slowly healing, but not fast enough. It ambles towards the edge of the chasm, stopping just as it notices where it is, with it's back to the edge. Your squad can see your predicament, and the Helbrute's gaze continually flickers towards them, but it does not keep you out of sight long enough for you to bring your weapon up and fire. You must figure out a way to kill the Helbrute and avoid "dying" in the simulation.

*Gryin Wyrmfist*, *Türgen*, *Fith Bloodaxe* and *Miloslav Sidorov:* Hastir is in trouble! The Helbrute will kill him in a few seconds, even Power Armour cannot handle the strain that Hastir's suit is currently undergoing. He still has his multi-melta but if the creature sees it it will likely finish him off even faster, it appears to be toying with him which might be the only reason he has not been eliminated. The Helbrute's gaze, it's real face now uncovered by the grenade explosions, continually flickers towards you, taking it's attention from Hastir, but not for long enough for him to do anything with that time. The Helbrute's left leg has been damaged and it is stumbling around the room towards the chasm standing before the STC. It stops before it steps over the line, but it's back perilously close to the edge, but you are all too far away to be able to tell if it has noticed it's predicament yet. You must kill the Helbrute and ensure that Hastir does not "die" in the simulation.


*[That's it for the update. It's a bit short but you are nearing the end of the Gauntlet. Finish the Helbrute off, the way to do so should be clear to you all, and the next update will focus on you recovering the STC and being informed of what is to come for Omega Squad in the future.]*


LotN


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin was thrown backwards by the explosion, he was thrown back a metre or so before thudding down onto the ground. Just as Gryin began to scramble back onto his feet the Helbrute emitted a sound that was nothing short of death incarnate. Gryin tensed as he battled through the pain, he felt blood trickle down his neck and his hearing began to dim slightly. Gryin howled as the brute stopped screaming, it was time the chaotic machination was put down. With that Gryin made it to his feet and drew Scale-Bane while stalking menacingly towards the giant lump of metal. Gryin noticed that the thing had grabbed Hastir with its power fist. The marine would need help, but it was far from impossible for him to survive. Gryin had seen tougher marines than him pull through worse injuiries. Gryin did however allow himself to commend the fine job Hastir had done with the autocannon, the molten slag wouldn’t spit any more fire. 

As Gryin drew in range of the Helbrute it turned to face him, Gryin’s bionic eye whirred excitedly as it noticed the exposed pilot. Gryin let out a laugh and shouted, *“Your mine now beast of chaos!”* Without and arms to block, the Helbrute would have no chance to avoid Gryin’s thrust unless it let go of Hastir. It was a win win situation either way. So Gryin proceeded to lunge at the Helbrute’s face, the emperors vengeance lined the sharp of his blade and lightened his step. 

However the Helbrute valued it’s life too much, lightning fast it dropped Hastir and swung at Gryin, who managed to go to ground as the fist flew not 2 inches above him. Now the Multi-Melta was free, only problem was that now Gryin was in close combat with a very angry dreadnought. He was strong but even still Gryin would need to pore every ounce of his strength in order to match a single limb of the Helbrute. He hoped to hell that the others knew what to do.

(OOC: There we are Hastir is free to line up his melta shot, just shout at Gryin and he will dodge out of the Helbrutes way when your ready to shoot. Also I’ll edit in Gryins point of view of events after once you guys post your actions.)


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

The shot Hastir fired impacted a millisecond after he pulled the trigger. The beam of pure incandescent heat bored like an acid into the ammunition drums in the Hellbrutes arm. The heat vaporised the rounds it touched, burning clean through the warp-flesh and metal until it burst out the other side, the energy of the beam expended. But that was not the most effective damage done by Hastir. The heat from the multi-melta’s shot caused the rounds, flesh and metal surrounding the impact zone to rise in temperature with incredible pace. Their temperature rose by several thousand Kelvin in a matter of milliseconds. The heat changed caused the surrounding rounds to melt, their explosive innards exposed to the searing temperatures of the arm. The heat ignited the explosive powders and set off a chain reaction, each round responding the adjacent round as the exploded one at a time. In less than a second after Hastir had fired, the whole ammunition drum was one glorious explosion, tearing through the arm of the Hellbrute and damaging the surrounding areas with the force and heat of the explosion.

As the sensors fed back into the pilot’s nervous system, the thing that had once been a man felt the pain of his arm being torn apart. It let out a most inhuman wail of pain and rage. The scream resounded all throughout the room and the force of it made it excruciatingly painful to hear. Even with his helmet dampening the noise, Hastir instinctively dropped to his knees and brought his free hand up to try and cover his ears. Even that did not help, and Hastir could feel warm blood trickling down his neck as his ear-drums burst. A dull ringing replaced any sound Hastir might have heard. Although he did not need his ears to feel the floor reverberate as the Hellbrute charged at him. The exposed head of what had once been the pilot was still twisted in a contortion of uncontrolled rage. Some small part of him wondered if any of the ancients of his old chapter now looked like this monstrosity. He hoped not. He hoped they had stood against his chapter’s decline or been killed. It was a kinder fate than this.

Before Hastir could fully rise and bring his weapon to bear again, the Hellbrute was on him, its mighty power claw grabbing him off the floor and starting to apply pressure. The pressure gauge on the inside of Hastir’s helmet climbed rapidly from the standard atmospheric pressure it had rested comfortably at into the mega-Pascals. His armour would not withstand much more pressure, and the sensors on the inside of his helmet flashed red and started to give him snow. The bare skull of the pilot glared at him. Hastir knew he was dying slower than was necessary and he also knew that it was because whatever semblance of sentience was left in this twisted Astartes warrior was enjoying watching him die. His multi-melta was still free in one hand, but he could not bring it up to fire at the pilot without him noticing. At that point, the Hellbrute would probably crush him like a ripe fruit. He couldn’t angle his weapon to harm the powerfist.

Even as Hastir searched frantically for a way to free himself, the Hellbrute’s attention shifted elsewhere and it dropped him. Hastir hit the deck with a hard bang. Hastir’s helmet reader returned to normal quickly, but some of his sensors were irreparably damaged and would need to be repaired after this fight. Well they wouldn’t, since it was all a simulation and every sensor was being remotely disabled as if it had been damaged. But if it this had been real, they would need reparation. Hastir saw the Hellbrute take a swing with its powerfist at Gryin, its heavy form passing just inches about his head. The daemon-engine over balanced slightly on its weak leg, and Hastir saw his opportunity. Rising to his knees and lined up his shot. He was about to shout for Gryin to move out of the way when the Hellbrute slammed its powerfist down and Gryin dodged to the right. As the heavy metal fist came back up in order to swing at the marine again, Hastir’s voice echoed across the vox “The bigger they are…” His voice was a quite throaty rasp. His breathing was still shallow from where his armour applied pressure to his chest to simulate a caved in chest-plate and potentially broken breastplate. 

He fired from his knees at the Hellbrutes damage leg. The knee joint was mostly vaporised on impact, less than a third of the original structure surviving after the explosion and the multi-melta shot. The beast turned its attention to Hastir, realising its grave error in leaving him alive. It started towards him, and took two steps before its own weight forced the leg to buckle at such and angle that it was sheered clean off. The beast stumbled and almost fell flat on its face. However, it reached out and used it’s powerclaw to keep itself upright. Now, if it wanted to attack them, it would have to do so in such a short time that it did not fall over. Omega squad closed in for the kill, like a pack of wolves bringing down a much larger beast…


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As the Space Wolf watched his fellow Deathwatch recruits do battle with the Hellbrute, Fith Bloodaxe leapt into action. He noticed the diversions that Wrymfist was pulling as he drew in range of the hellbrute and decided to lay down some covering fire with his bolter. He let the bullets spray towards the beast of Chaos, hoping that one of them would at least make its target without hitting his fellow Space Marine in an act of friendly fire.

"For the allfather!" bellowed Bloodaxe, runnning to avoid scathing fire from the monster before it focused its attention back on the Astartes that was currently charging it. Fith was too far away to help Wrymfist and could only watch as the Astartes played out his gambit, knowing that the hellbrute would have no time to act unless it dropped Hastir Jorvane.

Lunging at the hellbrute's face, it seemed that Wrymfist's gambit paid off, and Hastir was dropped as it rose to cover the Astartes' onslought. Moments later, the trigger was pulled from Hastir's weapon and Fith watched his brothers from a distance rip the Hellbrute to shreds. The beam fired from the heavy weapon vapourised the ammunition rounds in the Hellbrute's arm, burning right through the flesh that stank of the warp. He watched Hastir struggle to add further damage to the beast, adding in supporting fire where he could knowing that now was not the time to risk close combat as much as he wanted to, and the more time wore on, the more the beast was brought down, and soon, he could tell that Omega squad, Hastir and Wrymfist between them, had done severe damage to the beast.

It was certainly displaying signs of weakness, and sensing that the time had come for close combat, the Space Wolf let loose yet another warcry and hurled himself towards the beast, having been denied close combat whilst his brothers fought at the creature, he now relished in anticipation at wanting to slay the beast. After all, close combat was the preferred fighting style of Leman Russ, and so it would be for him.


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

"The bigger they are..." Hastir's voice rasped with the pain of his ordeal. Milo felt the beginnings of contempt for that, but he supposed he shouldn't judge so quickly; other chapters hadn't embraced the virtues of stoicism as freely as the Bogatyr had. It wasn't every day you got fondled by a daemon engine, either.

He let loose with a fresh burst of fire. A line of shrapnel-wreathed explosions stitched across the Hellbrute's front plate. Combined with the rest of Omega's covering fire, the beast found itself hard-pressed to finish Hastir off. The Blackshield heaved his multimelta level.

When the corona of superheated air vanished, the Hellbrute turned to finish the job it had started--only for its mostly-vaporized knee to buckle under its own weight. It teetered, squawking, but rammed a power claw into the floor and kept itself upright.

Ecstatic at the opportunity for close combat, Fith Bloodaxe hurled himself into a dead sprint, his exultant howl competing to be heard above the revving of his chainsword.

Not to be outdone, Milo charged in at his side--mutely, for his part. His stamping boots left indents in the floor grating, marking his path toward the wallowing Chaos dreadnought. It lurched to face its twin assailants, but with only two limbs at its disposal, there was precious little it could do to halt them.

Fith reached it first. His chainsword hurtled into a daemon thing's inner thigh. The whirring teeth bit and burrowed into the decayed metal with a shower of sparks, the Space Wolf bellowing all the while.

The power claw was a ready-made leg-up, and Milo shortly took advantage. Without pausing in stride, he planted a foot on the elbow joint and propelled himself onto the dreadnought's glacis plate. His gauntlet found a handhold. His fist closed on the rim of the gaping maw that the was thing's face. Teeth crunched in his grip. The decayed head within bellowed, but its rage was of the helpless kind. Milo clung to it one-handed, propped his feet against the lower half of the glacis plate--much as rappeller would on the face of a cliff, only it wasn't a rope in his free hand, but a boltgun.

"Shut up," he growled, stuffing the barrel into the maw. He squeezed the trigger.

The roar devolved into a keening wail as a hail of automatic fire was injected into its carapace, bouncing and dinging around inside before detonating with series of wet thumps. Blackened hydraulic fluid sprayed out like arterial blood, spattering Milo's armor.

The weapon clicked empty. More angered than anything, Milo hauled himself on top of the beast. A claw scrabbled for him as if he was some kind of awkward back itch, but he lay flat to avoid it. 

Through the rancid exhaust belched out by a pair of smokestacks, he caught sight of a bundle of what could have been tendons or power cables--no telling which. "That looks important," he called to the daemon thing. With a whine of armor servos, he tore them out. The dreadnought's remaining arm immediately fell limp. "It _was_ important! Here, some payment for your trouble!"

With that, he primed a frag and crammed it into the crevice where the cables had been.

Whether out of desperation of some last vestige of spite, the depraved creature's reaction was entirely unexpected. It pivoted on its remaining leg--and faced the chasm.

Hidden within his helmet, Milo's jaw dropped open. "Son of a--" He scrabbled to get off. Too late.

The beast pitched forward and tumbled off straight off the bridge.


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Türgen started running, he wasn’t even up, and he’d not retrieved his boltgun. Of all his fellow marines, he was furthest behind. He pushed himself upright within the first few scrambling footsteps, braking into equally hasty speed just behind Misloslav.

Gryin was already occupying the attentions of the beast, with scant help from the roaring fire of Bloodaxe’s bolter. Their attempts had saved Hastir. Moments later a molten blast took it from its own legs. The beast stumbled, reluctant to let his legless disposition immobilise him. It slowly arched, putting forward its claw for stability it caught itself. The bridge rumbled violently still, but not with the force that knocked them to the grating before. They ran on, Fith joining them in their maddened rush for the glory of the kill.

Sidorov was first in, onto the Hellbrute directly, and with immaculate timing. The propped Hellbrute reared up. Using one leg to juggle it’s balance, it swung hard, cutting off both Türgen and Fith. He was out of arm’s reach of Fith. Türgen dodged nimbly. Had the abomination been about as before, he could’ve easily had internals mushed. Above Miloslav took about the giant with a newly ignited passion. He positioned and braced near the howling face of the beast. *‘Shut up’*, he growled irefully, letting off a burst of rounds that impacted with ripe meaty thuds within its sarcophagus. Tenacious helpless wailing responded to his attempted coup-de-grace as his weapon clicked empty.

He hauled himself to the creature’s back, which belched thick smog from a pair of smokestacks. Milo paused momentarily – he had spied something through his lens-enhanced sights. Though they couldn’t see the glint in his eye, he’d obviously he’d picked up on a weaker spot within. The beast was done, and the other Astartes waited shiftlessly, enthralled by what the climax to this fight may be. All were killers, and this was their fix. They willed it to happen. Like a pack of vultures, they waited for their quarry’s death.

*‘That looks important’*, Miloslav called to the beast with sadistic glee, whose attempts at clawing its back for the marine had proved luckless. With herculean abundance he took up the exposed power cables within with firm clasp, ripping them out with brief effort.

*‘It was important!’*, he continued with masochistic reprieve, uncoupling a frag and pulling free the pin, *‘Here, some payment for your trouble!’* Impetuously, he crammed it inside, and to the cables within. What happened next took them all by surprise.

*‘Son of a –’*, broadcast the unfinished shocked cry of Miloslav as the beast wheeled and let gravity take it clean over the edge of the bridge. With no time to think, Türgen dived. All was a blur. His best arm, outstretched, latched onto something. As he regained his acute senses, he saw; he’d caught Milo uncomfortably by the joining of his helmet. Much to his relief, he wasn’t attached to the Hellbrute, which plummeted to an explosive demise.

Within a coupled heartbeat, Milo hauled an arm to grip the gauntlet which was slipping from his helm. For a few seconds, Türgen’s hearts felt like they’d left him altogether, only to come hammering home at a rate expedient. He latched his free arm to Milo and began to haul him up. The full weight of an armoured marine rested fully on his legs. He took the ordeal slowly, not wanting to twitch or unbalance. First by just enough for a handhold, then for full rest of everything over his waist, Türgen pulled Miloslav back up. By the time of the latter, Gryin also joined, assuring no final misfortune claimed the both of them.

As they all regained themselves, all attention turned to the STC. Victory was so very close now...


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-REPORT TEH-01. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.+++

++Message begins,

They did it. They actually did it. I guess I was wrong sir, they are the ones to deal with Site Alpha.

Message ends.+++_​

*All:* The Helbrute screams as it falls into the pit, the scream is cut off as it disappears from the program. Before you can approach the STC the program flickers and the Voidtooth appears in front of you all. His abyssal gaze takes you all in, and it is a surprise when he smirks and chuckles softly. Without looking he holds out his hand towards the STC which then shoots towards him, landing in his hand. He holds it out towards *Hastir Jorvane* and passes it over wordlessly. The flickering continues until the Space Hulk disappears completely, replaced with a featureless room. The Voidtooth is not alone however, standing behind him is Watch-Commander Gastaron. His gaze is hidden behind the gold-plated helmet he wears, but you all get the sense that he is pleased.

_"Congratulations Omega Squad. You passed, and more than just the Gauntlet."_​
The Watch-Commander's comment is odd. Is it possible that you were all being evaluated for something else at the same time you were training to become true Deathwatch? The Watch-Commander clearly catches onto your confusion and steps foward, the Voidtooth stepping back to allow him space.

_"I imagine you are all curious about what I mean. Your questions are about to be answered, if you will follow me."_​
Not following him of course being utterly out of the question you all do so. Gastaron leads you through the Strike Cruiser and into a briefing room. An octagonal table is set up, with chairs sized for Astartes, the remainder of the room is filled with data-slates and computer-ports designed to download information. The table contains a holo-generator in it's centre which hums softly. Gastaron takes a seat at the head of the table, the Voidtooth stands behind him like a sentinel, his grim and silent presence a reminder of Gastaron's power that such a fearsome Astartes would follow him without question or hesitation. Once you are all seated Gastaron looks over each of you in turn. The holo-generator flickers to life in front of you, casting the room in a blue light. A planet is depicted, data streaming at the bottom right of the hologram is in such quantity that it cannot merely be glanced at to be understood. Gastaron begins to speak, his noble-sounding voice carrying across the room without audible effort.

_"This is Kastor Primus. Or as it has become known to us, Site Alpha. For the last century this planet has housed an Inquisitorial research base, examing some xenos ruins that were discovered buried underneath the planet's surface. We have no images of the structures due to a red-level secrecy order, and to contain any potential moral threats. Now I imagine you're all wondering what this has to do with you. Well it's simple really. We've lost contact with Site Alpha, and you are going to investigate what happened, deal with potential hostiles from without and within, and secure the research data that was amassed there before communications went down."_​
Gastaron's explanation stuns you all into silence. You have not even been Deathwatch for a standard year and you are already being entrusted with what appears to be a high-profile mission. Though some of you may be uncomfortable with the idea of research into xenos and their technology you realise it would be unwise to voice such thoughts in front of the Watch-Commander, who will undoubtedly respond badly to such insubordination. Before any of you can ask questions he resumes his speech.

_"Two standard Terran months ago Site Alpha claimed to have unearthed something of great importance. Enough to request Deathwatch marines as guards for the outpost. We were in the process of ratifying this when we received a second message from them. We knew it was something of great importance when the message burned out three of our best Astropaths and left them gibbering husks on the floor. The lead researcher, an Inquisitor Kiral, was the sender and informed us that the base had come under attack from within. We were unable to understand most of the transmission, but she mentioned some kind of madness sweeping through the compound before the message devolved into incomprehensible chatter."_​
Gastaron changes the image on the holo-screen. This time it depicts an Imperial facility, there are several levels above ground and many more below on the holographic terrain. The facility appears to be very large and is linked to something underground, however the hologram only shows the entrance point and does not show what might be beyond.

_"This is Site Alpha. This is where the frigate_ Deliverer _is waiting to take you when you leave this room. Your mission is simple. Find out what happened to Site Alpha, recover any research that you can, and contain any moral threats that may have arisen from inside the base. The Voidtooth will be accompanying you as your team leader, but for the purposes of this mission I am bestowing command-level authority upon you all. Should you encounter anyone still alive in the base, even an Inquisitor, you will have the authority to command them. And if they refuse your commands, execution is authorized. The Voidtooth will inform you of anything else you need to know."_​
With that Gastaron rises, moving towards the doors. He stops at the edge and turns to look at you all one last time.

_"And one final matter. Before the distress message was ruined there was a brief mention of a perimeter breach... from the outside. Something triggered one of the orbital perimeter drones, but destroyed it before the drone could identify it. It may be that some presence from the outside has invaded the base with the intention of stealing our research, or penetrating the ruins below. Whatever it is, they are without a doubt our enemies and will pay the price for violating our territory, and if they are Imperial then they have forfeited their lives to enter Site Alpha. Should you encounter any force that does not belong on the base, even fellow Imperials, destroy them."_​
With those final words hanging in the air the Watch-Commander leaves without ceremony. His words begin to sink in fully with you all, you are being sent into a compromised area with possible intruders that you know nothing about to recover research into a mysterious xenos ruin that you also know nothing about. And you have been given the authority to execute anybody on the base that does not comply with your orders immediately, and ordered to destroy any interlopers into the base even if they should be another Astartes. The Voidtooth slams his fist down onto the table to draw your attention.

_"Your squad was chosen for this due to your results in the Gauntlet. And because all of our more experienced squads are either in the field dealing with their own missions or are assisting Inquisitors with their duties across the sectors. If you have any problems with the nature of the research we are recovering, keep them to yourself. Assemble in the hangar bay. We'll be leaving immediately."_​

*[That's it for the Gauntlet, and now we move onto the real story. This update is mainly information, the next update will be travel and the landing on Kastor Primus. But this is mainly to get all the background out of the way so that we can really get into the main segment of the story. Hope you enjoyed the Gauntlet, because what comes next will be even better, I hope.]*


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

*"Good catch,"* Milo wheezed as the Marauder pulled him upright. As he straightened his helmet, he permitted himself the tiniest of smirks. *"Perhaps you dive earlier next time, though."* Still clasping Turgen's wrist, Milo peered into the chasm. There was no sign of the beast he'd just helped slay. It had already gone. Their struggle had lasted half the day, so long that he'd almost forgotten that the encounter had been wholly simulated. Hours of effort, and all along they'd been battling apparitions born of long lines of binary code. The reminder was a bitter one; it made their victory seem hollow.

That was, until the the program itself flickered--revealing their sergeant-in-training, the Voidtooth. It seemed he'd been lurking invisibly for some time. Whether entertained at Omega Team's shock, or gratified by their victory, he wore a disconcertingly rare smile.

The STC flew into his gauntlet without any noticeable bidding. Wordlessly, the Voidtooth passed the wafer over to Hastir. Around them, the virtual chamber continued to flicker like a dying strobe.

The Commander appeared, the golden plates of his helmet winking in the half-light. _"Congratulations Omega Squad. You passed, and more than just the Gauntlet." _Noting the squad's perplexed state, he continued, "_I imagine you are all curious about what I mean. Your questions are about to be answered, if you will follow me."_

Gastaron led them through a series of corridors--all of which held a comfortably-Imperial look, far preferable to the moldering Space Hulk. The briefing room they came to was opulent, to a scion of a chapter that prided itself on its utter lack of wordliness. He cast a dark look at the Astartes-sized chairs. "*In my home, we stand*_," _he muttered to himself.

He listened to what the Watch-Commander had to say, giving no hint of reaction throughout. He didn't much like the thought of going in blind. But killing aliens did bear some appeal, he thought dryly. Killing Imperials, slightly less so. It wasn't as if he hadn't executed humans before. Cowards who'd retreated in the face of the enemy, pissed themselves or otherwise demonstrated their uselessness. He had little trouble with expending the expendable.

"_We'll be leaving immediately_," finished Gastaron.

Milo nodded in satisfaction as he made up his mind: he liked this officer.


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

They were all safe now. The scene before them disappeared in a maelstrom of blended-spectrum artificial light. Türgen let Miloslav’s last words dwell in mind. He chuckled wryly. *‘If it had been anyone else, we’d be recovering your splattered remains from the floor below’*. He turned to the helmeted marine and winked – a sign that he’d have his back in many-a battle to come. His grim humour seemed almost innocent in the aftermath of the holographic onslaught. And it had constantly tricked him into believing its authenticity.

As the Watch-Commander and Voidtooth appeared from the blue, he thought he shared Miloslav’s feelings. The sinking feeling of a hollow success, followed by the masked achievement they’d forgot they were striving for. He wasn’t sure how this empathic connection had come about. He could just feel it.

He sunk once again into his thoughts, highlighting key words from his briefers. His hearts came into a triumphant trotting accordion when the mission actual was announced. And one so important, how had they rendered this amount of trust upon themselves? Regardless, as the Commander progressed, he felt there was something ill afoot. This mission spoke bad omen more and more the more Gastaron spoke & the more that he mentioned. Then it hit him. *“Contain any moral threats”*. _Daemons_. That must be it. He caged his mention of his suspicions as he sat in one of the many tall chairs surrounding the holo-display. He’d wait, and he’d see. But his couldn’t avoid obsessing the point. It all seemed to fit together too well in mind’s eye.

With command given to all, he had no problem following orders. What price was the death of a few to stall daemonic invasion, and maintain the Imperial calm?

*“We’ll be leaving immediately”*.

He hadn’t realised how he’d gone cold and clammy until he arose from his seat to leave. As soon as he realised, he shook it off. If, however, his suspicions were true, he’d be loathe to face such an unnatural foe, and be all too happy to send them back to whence they came.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin watched the beast fade into the darkness and let a smile creep onto his face. The group weren’t half bad, nothing compared to the tempest blades but omega squad would do for now. Gryin chuckled to himself, “I can only image your face when the brute grabbed you Hastir. Still, I’m glad you and your melta were here.” Announced the storm warden in a jovial tone. There was no doubt that Hastir was pivotal to the squads success, the marine had earned Gryin’s respect and his blade. 

Omega squad barely had time to pause before Voidtooth revealed himself to the marines. Voidtooth then began to laugh to himself uncharacteristically. Then the STC that had been the most valuble thing in the world not moments ago, was silently and quickly given unto Hastir and nothing more made of it. Then out from behind Voidtooth, Gastron stepped out. Gryin had expected Voidtooth to be around somewhere but not the watch commander. He felt uncomfortable as his instincts told him there was a hidden agenda here. “Congratulations omega squad. You passed, and more than just the gauntlet.” Began the watch commander as he turned and started walking away from them. Omega squad followed him until eventually they reached a briefing room. 

The Astartes were seated around an octagonal table with a holo-generator at the centre. Gastron began to explain the situation to Omega squad. Gryin listened intently, having all the facts was essential. As the watch commander ended his explanation on a much more eerie note he turned and left the room. Gryin however had some questions, “what kind of research is it exactly that went on in site alpha? It would be good if we were accompanied by an expert of some description. I don’t want to end up battling an enemy whose name I do not know.” Other than that, Gryin was excited to be getting into action so quickly again, the deathwatch’s technology was not significant enough to impress Gryin, its standing with the inquisiton not important either. However the fact that every single squad was out on active duty was something Gryin liked. He had a feeling that there would not be a single dull moment. Even if the time wasn’t spent with his true brothers Gryin was certain it would be fulfilling.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

The Space Wolf watched with grim satisfaction as they defeated the hellspawn of Chaos, its death cries being cut off as the creature vanished from simulation with all the dignity of a beast on its last legs.

Before Omega Squad could approach the STC however, the program flickered briefly, before the Voidtooth appeared, and Fith scowled beneath his helmet at the sight of an authoritarian figure. His gaze drew the attention of not just the son of Russ, but all of the Astartes in the squad who were interested to see what his verdict would be. It wasn't long before smirked, and a soft chuckle escaped from his mouth. Without looking, their commander held out his hand towards the STC, which shot towards the Astartes in response.

Taking their prize, he handed it out to Hastir Jorvane without speaking a single word. Then, the Wolf noticed that more flickering could be seen throughout the room and couldn't help wondering when the real fight was about to begin. After all this fighting simulations and creatures that were nonexistent, he was ready to fight the real thing.

He tensed his weapon in anticipation, just in case the Voidtooth had one last trick up his metaphorical sleeve. But it appeared the Wolf was being too paranoid, for there was no enemy to fight. Instead, not only was the Voidtooth standing there, but also Watch Commander Gastaron. His face hidden behind the golden plated helmet that he boasted, the other figure of authority's next words were somewhat odd. "Congratulations Omega Squad. You passed, and more than just the Gauntlet."

The fact that the comment was odd bothered Fith Bloodaxe. There was something more - another layer to the comment. Was it possible that they were becoming members of the Deathwatch? Was that part of the test?

"I imagine you are all curious about what I mean. Your questions are about to be answered, if you will follow me."

Fith didn't waste time in obeying. Sooner or later, all of the members of Omega Squad began to follow their Watch Commander through to the briefing room. An octagonal table was established, with chairs designed for Astartes over human counterparts. The table was filled with data slates and computer ports, one for each seat and designed to download information. This could only mean one thing - a mission.

Once they were all sitting in their seats, the Watch Commander activated the holo-generator, flooding the room with blue light. Depicted in front of them was a planet, with data streaming continuously in the right corner of the hologram that there was no way it could be glanced at to be understood. Speaking, Gastaron explained, "This is Kastor Primus. Or as it has become known to us, Site Alpha. For the last century this planet has housed an Inquisitorial research base, examine some xenos ruins that were discovered buried underneath the planet's surface. We have no images of the structures due to a red-level secrecy order, and to contain any potential moral threats. Now I imagine you're all wondering what this has to do with you. Well it's simple really. We've lost contact with Site Alpha, and you are going to investigate what happened, deal with potential hostiles from without and within, and secure the research data that was amassed there before communications went down."

Nobody spoke once Gastaron had finished. Changing the hologram on the screen, the Watch Commander now showed them an Imperial Facility, containing several levels above as well as below ground, the latter dwarfing the former. Not waiting for any questions to be asked, Gastaron spoke, "This is Site Alpha. This is where the frigate Deliverer is waiting to take you when you leave this room. Your mission is simple. Find out what happened to Site Alpha, recover any research that you can, and contain any moral threats that may have arisen from inside the base. The Voidtooth will be accompanying you as your team leader, but for the purposes of this mission I am bestowing command-level authority upon you all. Should you encounter anyone still alive in the base, even an Inquisitor, you will have the authority to command them. And if they refuse your commands, execution is authorized. The Voidtooth will inform you of anything else you need to know."

A moments silence filled the room in which Gastaron rose from his seat, moving towards the doors. Stopping at the edge of the room, he turned to look at them one last time. "And one final matter. Before the distress message was ruined there was a brief mention of a perimeter breach... from the outside. Something triggered one of the orbital perimeter drones, but destroyed it before the drone could identify it. It may be that some presence from the outside has invaded the base with the intention of stealing our research, or penetrating the ruins below. Whatever it is, they are without a doubt our enemies and will pay the price for violating our territory, and if they are Imperial then they have forfeited their lives to enter Site Alpha. Should you encounter any force that does not belong on the base, even fellow Imperials, destroy them."

Before his words could sink fully into the Space Wolf, The Voidtooth made his feelings known, and was quick to remind the Astartes gathered there that they were not as important members of the Deathwatch as Gastaron made them out to be. "Your squad was chosen for this due to your results in the Gauntlet. And because all of our more experienced squads are either in the field dealing with their own missions or are assisting Inquisitors with their duties across the sectors. If you have any problems with the nature of the research we are recovering, keep them to yourself. Assemble in the hangar bay. We'll be leaving immediately."

The Space Wolf had noticed that there was only one question raised, and that had been the Storm Warden. He didn't need to know anymore, not right now at least. Whilst the Warden raised an arguably important question, there was indeed much more fun in going into a fight blind. It would mean that the Space Wolf wouldn't be able to tailor his training for one specific enemy. He had to train to cover all threats, and that would be what made it more fun.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir peered over the edge and watch the Hellbrute plummet to oblivion even as his breath came short and sharp under the pressure on his chest. Then the simulation flickered revealing Voidtooth standing not 5 metres from Hastir. He took them all in with his usual abyssal glare, before the make of violence cracked to reveal a jovial, chuckling figure. Voidtooth held out his hand and the STC flew towards him, unbound by any conventional physics. Voidtooth handed it to him and Hastir accepted it with gratitude. The rest of them could be sent back to their chapters and re-join, although not without a measure of shame. Hastir had no one and nowhere to return to. If the Deathwatch did not want him, he was finished. Especially after facing heretics, the watchers would be looking to see any hesitancy and deviation from ‘normal’ behaviour which might hint at a hidden taint in the marine who had spent so long alone in the warp. Clearly they had seen none and the handing of this digital wafer was enough to signify to Hastir that he was still in the service of the Deathwatch and the Emperor.

_"Congratulations Omega Squad. You passed, and more than just the Gauntlet."_ Watch-Commander Gastaron spoke, and Hastir could not believe that he had almost missed that he was with Voidtooth as well. It was plain by the Watch-Commander’s words and leading them deeper into the bowels of the ship that their time spent in the Gauntlet had been more than just confirmation of their abilities as Deathwatch marines. They entered into a briefing room and each sat in chairs designed to hold their massive physiques. Voidtooth hovered behind Gastaron, and he reminded Hastir of a violent hound which would dutifully follow his master’s lead. Hastir had a brief flash back to being hunted by a Dark Eldar Beastmaster and his Chimera. As a psychosomatic trigger, the smell of warp-flesh and eldar blood briefly filled his nostrils and Hastir thought for a moment he could hear distant howling. 

Gastaron started the briefing and Hastir’s mind was back in the present, his little flashback and memory triggers thankfully hidden by his helm. As far as anyone else knew, he had been attentive for the whole time. _ "This is Kastor Primus. Or as it has become known to us, Site Alpha. For the last century this planet has housed an Inquisitorial research base, examing some xenos ruins that were discovered buried underneath the planet's surface. We have no images of the structures due to a red-level secrecy order, and to contain any potential moral threats. Now I imagine you're all wondering what this has to do with you...” _
“Not really.” Hastir muttered to the inside of helm, the ceremite holding the sound for just Hastir’s ears. He did not want the Watch-Commander to hear him being sarky and so he had muted his helm. _“Well it's simple really…”
“It always is.”
 “We've lost contact with Site Alpha, and you are going to investigate what happened, deal with potential hostiles from without and within, and secure the research data that was amassed there before communications went down."

The rest of the briefing passed without much Hastir took special note of. It was all fairly regular stuff. Site communication had ceased and they were going in to recover whatever information had been discovered and killing anything that moved that wasn’t inquisition. Alien, imperial, chaos. Anything and everything would be purged. Hastir guessed at the end of their mission they would probably obliterate Site Alpha for deniability reasons. Site Alpha would be erased from the records and only they would know about it. Just another day with the Deathwatch. Voidtooth shouted at them to emphasise that their task was awarded partially on merit but mostly out of necessity and that they would be leaving without delay, another thing which did not surprise Hastir. All would have been well, except the Storm Warden voiced his concerns. “What kind of research is it exactly that went on in site alpha? It would be good if we were accompanied by an expert of some description. I don’t want to end up battling an enemy whose name I do not know.” 

Hastir sighed as he unmuted his helmet.
“Ever heard of need to know? We don’t have it. We have a job to do and we have every tool we need. Any information we need will be given to us and any that isn’t, we don’t need.” Hastir spoke with a slight air of contempt. Had this marine learnt nothing about the Inquisition thus far? They were secretive to the n-th degree and he thought himself important enough to ask such bold questions. Either he was fearless of just plain stupid. “Besides…” Hastir said as he left his seat, preparing to leave the room “…the more strange things you kill the more you start to realise; it doesn’t matter what you are fighting. They all die the same. Their names are of no importance.” Hastir hoped the Storm Warden would catch on soon. Voidtooth would surely be even more brutal than Hastir if Gryin did not learn to hold his tongue and just follow orders…_


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-REPORT HT-852. SENDER: THE VOIDTOOTH. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.+++

+++Message begins,

We will disembark within the hour sir. For the Emperor.

Message ends.+++_​

*All:* The Voidtooth looks at *Gyrin Wyrmfist* but turns his gaze to look at *Hastir Jorvane*. He chuckles softly, his sharp teeth exposed in a smirk.

_"You could learn a lot from this one Storm Warden. Don't ask stupid questions. If we knew, and I include myself in that, you would have been told. Since you were not told, we do not know, nor do we need to know. It is not your duty to know things, it is your duty to follow orders. Learn that quickly."​_
With his rebuke delivered the Voidtooth leaves, you have already been told what to do and are expected to do it. Any words between the Storm Warden and the Black Shield will have to wait for another time. Once you have all collected your gear and resupplied with ammunition in the hangar bay you all report to the Stormraven Gunship awaiting you. The Voidtooth is sitting within, his helmet is a MK VI "Corvus" design and is painted to resemble a shark's open maw with a black field of white stars in-between the teeth. Other then that his armour is plain and unadorned. He has clearly been waiting here since you last saw him an hour or two ago. Once you are all aboard he signals the pilots to take off, the last of you has barely boarded the craft before it lurches forward and into space. The doors close behind you, sealing you all inside as the void-lights activate, bathing the interior of the gunship in red.

After a few moments the ship boards a Gladius frigate, from your viewport the ship appears immaculate and bears no marks of service or battle, but this could be on purpose to deceive enemies. With the Inquisition anything is possible. Your helmet read-outs tell you it is called _Intrepidity_ and is in service to the Deathwatch detatchment for this sector. The Voidtooth activates the squad-wide vox, his voice coming directly into your helmets.

_"Alright Omega listen carefully. This craft will be taking us to Kastor Primus, but the Warp trip will be short. We are only a system away so we'll be remaining on the gunship for the entire trip. At most we'll be waiting four hours."_​
The vox cuts out immediately, your new sergeant clearly has no interest in small talk or elaborating on his orders in any way. Four hours aboard the gunship with the Voidtooth does not seem a relishing prospect. The Voidtooth has deactrivated his vox, leaving you time to speak amongst yourselves. It might be that he is giving *Hastir Jorvane* and *Gyrin Wyrmfist* a chance to air any grievances against each other for the earlier incident before you go into battle. It may be best to discuss those issues now, as it is extremely unlikely the Voidtooth will tolerate any unsaid grievances affecting squad discipline or the mission's success.

After four hours have passed you all feel the lurching sensation that comes with Warp travel. You have exited the Warp and are back in realspace once more, and the Voidtooth wastes not a single second in ordering the gunship to take off. The Stormraven launches back into space and begins it's descent to the planet below. You can see Kastor Primus in your viewports, it is an average sized world and appears to have a heavy cloud cover. What you can see of the earth is dark green and appears to be mixed with large deposits of water. A swamp planet. This could be an unfamiliar terrain for you to fight in, or you may have experience in it.

As the gunship continues to descend you see more of the planet. It is covered in bogs and swamps, some mountain ranges can be seen in the distance with lightning storms across their tips. A light to middling rain falls on the planet, it appears that this is a permanent feature of the weather and will not let up. The gunship levels out, still high in the atmosphere, and you can catch a glimpse of Station Alpha below. It is a large facility and appears cutting edge, even by Imperial standards, but the majority of the station is underground leading into the mysterious ruins that you must investigate. There are no signs of combat on the outside of the structure, which is completely intact.

Suddenly one of the anti-aircraft turrest swivels around and aims at the gunship, the emergency klaxons go off within the ship creating an ear-piercing din that fills your hearing even through your helmets. The Voidtooth is on his feet immediately as the pilots vox you over the intercom.

_"Sergeant, we have incoming fire from the station!"

"Take us lower, return fire!"_​
You brace yourselves as the Stormraven opens fire. But it is too late. The turret opens fire, it's bolt is an incandescent plasma blast that screams across the sky towards your craft, the shot destroying the cockpit of the gunship. The pilots are instantly annihilated. The entire craft shakes violently, the front of your craft is gone and the wind howls through the remainder, the rain pelting your helmets as the Stormraven nose dives towards the ground. The Voidtooth straps himself back in, holding onto a grab-rail the entire time and slams his fist against a switch built into his chair. He quickly regards you all and says a single phrase over the vox.

_"Hold on."_​
Before any of you can puzzle his meaning your seats seal themselves against you even more tightly than before. You feel movement as you are shunted back, and then a moment of stillness before you are launched into the air. Your chairs contain jump-pack technology and are saving you. After a few seconds your chairs short out and you begin to fall, the wind pushes you all in different directions. You see your squadmates falling into different areas, but before any of you can crash your seats deploy a parachute and a controlled burst of jump that give you all a rough, but safe, landing in which none of you are harmed.


*Fith Bloodaxe*: As you rip your way free of your seat you take in your surroundings. You have crashed right in the middle of a small swamp, and your chair is sinking into the mud with you still on it. All around you as far as your enhanced eyes can see is more swamp, but you can see a smoke trail in the sky as your Stormraven crashes followed by an explosion that disturbs a lot of the wildlife. Your vox is dead but you can see life-signs on your helmet display, your brothers are unharmed but you cannot see where they are or communicate with them. For now, you are alone in the wilderness, though as a brother of the Rout this is not an unfamiliar situation for you. You have several options. You can head towards Station Alpha which you can see not too far away, you can attempt to find your brothers in the surrounding area, or you can try to search the Stormraven for some salvageable gear.

*Miloslav Sidorov*: As you descend towards your impact site you notice something near the position you are about to hit. It appears to be a way station, but you cannot see any activity within it. It looks abandoned from this height but you cannot be sure. You only have time for a glimpse lasting a handful of seconds before you crash through the trees and hit the ground. The crash is no worse than a drop-pod, though less cushioned, and as the seat releases you you do not feel any ill-effects. You have landed in a clearing near a lake, the ground is soft and mushy and is adjacent to a mire of trees. Your vox is dead but your helmet still shows life-signs for your brothers, but before you can look into that further something ahead takes your notice, it is a crate. As you approach it you can see it is an Imperial standard supply crate, with the mark of the Inquisition upon it. It has been ransacked, the lid clearly torn off, but there is no sign of what it contained or who opened it. There are no foot prints on the ground but the perpetual rainfall would have obscured them quickly, and it has been months since the station went dark. Several options present themselves, you can head towards the abandoned camp and search it, you can attempt to link up with your brothers or you can try to reach Station Alpha.

*Gyrin Wyrmfist*: As you release yourself from your chair you find yourself having landed in a tree, upside down. The impact flipped you around, and as your chair releases you you fall to the earth and land face-first in the mud. Wiping your visor clear you see you have landed in a swamp, and that your vox is dead. You can see your brothers life-signs in your helmet display, but not their locations. But one thing does stand out against the never-ending trees and swamp water. A handful of burnt and blackened trees, but aged ones. You cannot see what, and it does not appear close, but something burnt those trees some time ago. It looks, from this distance at least, as if something crashed into them or near them. Perhaps another craft met the same fate yours did?? Regardless several options present themselves to you, you can investigate this and see if it amounts to anything, you can try to find your brothers in the wilderness or you can try to find Station Alpha although you cannot see it from here you can remember the right direction.

*Hastir Jorvane*: As you crash you land right in the middle of a lake. Your seat plunges you into the thick and murky mud-filled water. It is not challenging for you to escape, even though you emerge covered in filth. The rainfall will clean your armour given some time, but you are cut off from your squad and your vox is dead. Before you can establish anything further a burst of static erupts from your vox, but no voices come through. You are picking up a signal from nearby, but your vox does not recognize the source of the signal. It is not one of your squad brothers, but it might be somebody from Station Alpha. The signal is coming from nearby to the east, while Station Alpha is not far away to the south. You have several options, investigate the signal and see if you can find anyone from the base, head towards the base and investigate what is happening, or try to find your brothers in the surrounding area.

*Türgen:* As your seat smashes into the ground your harness is torn free, the impact sends you hurtling out of your chair and into a ditch. Your fall however is just short enough that it doesn't damage your armour. As you get up you find yourself on a road. To both sides is a forest, deep enough that you cannot see very far into it. The trees are also tall enough that you cannot see very far ahead on the road or in any direction beyond what is directly in front of you. Your vox is dead but your helmet still shows your brothers life-signals, they are unharmed for now. Ahead of you on the road you notice something, a track mark. It appears to be old and was made by a tracked vehicle, perhaps a Chimera or a Rhino. You cannot tell from the markings. But whatever it was the vehicle headed in this direction, however there is no guarantee that it was heading towards Station Alpha. It might have been trying to escape whatever happened there, or heading to meet whatever tripped the orbital perimeter alarms. Or it could be one of the interlopers vehicles. You have several options, follow the tracks and see if you can find the vehicle that left it, go the other way and see where the road leads, or veer off the road and attempt to find your brothers in the wilderness.


*[That's it for this update, very happy with this one. Hope you all like it too. And just a little further bit of information for you all to aid in making your choices, just because I have given you signs of something to investigate does not guarantee you will find anything. You might just be investigating a dead end, or you might find something that will shed some light on what occurred here and what to expect. Any questions feel free to ask in the recruitment section, until then enjoy the update.]* :biggrin:


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo's stomach twisted disconcertingly as the frigate translated back into realspace. Throughout the warp journey, he'd kept his eyes and mouth resolutely shut, disregarding the rest of Omega Squad's banter. It'd been an uncomfortable trip for him, as with all his prior sojourns in the Warp. That alternate dimension was... wrong. He'd been deeply uncomfortable with it ever since his time as a Scout, when he'd peered beyond outside his strike cruiser's void shields and gotten his first look at unbridled insanity.

With the welcome return to reality, the Astartes finally felt _right _enough to open his eyes. Then came a roar of thrusters, and he quickly shut them again.

Warp travel. Air travel. He hated them both.

The Stormraven shuddered as it sank into what could only be a gravity well. It surprised Milo somewhat--that a starship could translate right on top of a planet. Once again, he found himself envying the Inquisition and its overabundant resources.

Curiosity aroused, he pivoted around where he sat. A brief struggle against his grav harness gave him a fleeting glance out of the view port. An festering scab of a world spread beneath him. Oceans of vomit-colored muck. Sodden landmasses that resembled streaks of quashed manure.

Grumbling to himself, Milo leaned resignedly back, knocking the rear of his helmet against the bulkhead to kill a burst of nausea. He shut his eyes and let the world blur.

What seemed like an instant later, he awoke to the sound of klaxons. _"*Suka*!" _he bellowing in frothing aggravation, "*But can not I have one moment's peace?!*"

_"Sergeant, we have incoming fire from the station!"_



_ "Take us lower, return fire!"_

Milo clenched his fists on the bars of his harness and stamped one boot against the opposite bulkhead, bracing himself as a renewed bout of flak-spawned turbulence shook the gunship. Without warning, a flash illuminated the bay. His visor darkened in response. As it cleared, Milo shot a harried glance at the cockpit--or rather, the gaping hole where the cockpit had been an instant before. Through the hole, the spinning ground grew ever larger. Shrieking wind competed to be heard above the still-blaring klaxons, buffeting the squad as they sat helpless. Frigid rain sprinkled over Milo's armor.

_"Hold on," _the Voidtooth pronounced with infuriating calm.

The harness ratcheted in so tightly that it threatened to dislocated Milo's arms. Explosive bolts detonated behind him. Then, as if he'd been given a solid kick in the chest, his seat lurched backward and toppled into open air.

The klaxons were abruptly and blessedly gone, replaced by the gentle whoosh of air. It was a deceptive sound, which utterly failed to convey the imminent, bone-splintering demise that awaited Milo at the end of this particular journey. The chair was spinning like a crazed gyroscope, and a dizzied Milo fought against his harness. The adamantium refused to budge. It would have been a shitty restraint harness otherwise, he supposed, not that it made him any less angry. He roared in helpless fury as gravity carried him toward his death.

With a loud flapping noise, a parachute canopy erupted into existence above him. The seat lurched as its fall was arrested. With the view finally steady, Milo took the time to search for his squad. Five canopies were drifting earthward around him--too far away for his liking, but at least they were alive. Below him, near the place where he would land, he could make out a concrete structure rising from the thick marshes. Imperial sigils were emblazoned across the walls, but the structure looked vacant.

The view was abruptly obscured as Milo plunged into a leafy canopy. Branches snapped, leaves rustled. His spine jarred as the seat bottom met the ground. At last, all was still.

The harness gave a hydraulic wheeze as it lifted away. Exultant, Milo staggered free. A marine to the core, his first act was the check his gear. His boltgun was still mag-locked to his thigh, spare magazines secure in their pouches. He performed a brief functions check, then test-revved his chainsword. His armor registered no physical damage, but the vox net was suspiciously silent. No voices, no static. Milo tapped the side of his helmet with two fingers. When that failed to produce a result, he hammered the butt of his palm against his ear instead. Still nothing. "Omega squad, acknowledge," he said, expecting no response and receiving exactly that.

Their life signs were still winking at the lower corner of his HUD, which was reassuring. He'd noted their landing sites before, and knew that Turgen was likely the closest to him. Just as he was about to start off in that direction, something caught his notice: a crate up ahead.

Swamp sucked at his boots as he stomped toward it. He noted the Inquisitorial rosette emblazoned on its sides, as well as its lid, which someone had already lifted off. Even before looking inside, it was abundantly clear that the crate bore nothing of value. He knelt to inspect the muddy ground, but steady rainfall had eroded all evidence of the thieve's identity.

Milo stood, holding his weapon loosely at the hip. Through the jungle ahead, he spied a sliver of weathered concrete. In the opposite direction, his squad would already be rendezvousing. Which way to go?

Then he remembered how little information the Voidtooth had provided in their brief. Hastir and the Voidtooth had shut Gryin down handily when he'd bothered to voice an entirely understandable question, and in truth, Milo had been about to ask for those same details. Whether the information was lacking, or their superiors were simply unwilling to share it, the fact remained:

Omega Squad was going in blind.

Milo didn't like that. This situation reminded him of the one that had propelled him into the Deathwatch--the silent world, the enemy lying in ambush. He and Kirill had gone in blind too.

He wasn't going to make that mistake again. Not if it meant the deaths of any of his new brothers. 

Decision made, Milo stepped toward the structure. Maybe it would hold some evidence of whatever threat they faced. And just in case that same threat decided to manifest itself for his ill benefit, the Bogatyr chambered a round with a resounded 'clack', raised the weapon to his shoulder.

This time he would be ready.​


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

For the second time now Türgen found himself backing the sentimental value of something Gryin had said. Despite his blatant disregard for authority, and timing, he had a point. But had they the knowledge, they might have the briefing. A drop like this wouldn’t be straightforward in the slightest.

One thing was certain, the Voidtooth had authority. He was infinitely more menacing than any of them; a true alpha amongst apex predators; a nightmare creature given human form. An Astartes like this one didn’t need to be right – you followed him. And even as he put Gryin right in his place, even the veteran had not a word to say.

As they left, the Marauder set eyes upon the specialist ammunition available to them. He stocked a magazine of incendiary rounds. It was a pure means of execution, consuming all it touched. No evil thing could stand fire. Given the itch in his mind, it gave him calm. No, more than that, it assured him.

The warp-bound trip went without a word on his part. All words aroused were claims he wanted to resolve because that’s all they were, claims. But he kept silent as Miloslav chose to.

_Intrepidity_. Was the ship itself projecting how he felt? He believed in spirits, messages from beyond and omens, but even this may be a stretch too far. At the very least it was an appropriate name.

Rocketing, plummeting almost, Omega Squad’s gunship makes its meteoric descent, hell and hammer incarnate. Through thick slate-grey rain-clouds like a fiery thunderbolt, and it stirred Marauder. Breaking through the darker regions, the now-even Stormraven’s port windows appeared a new dank swampland where dotted lances of light pierced the drizzling sky, and beyond that, a dark oppressor of concrete fortification.

As the ship slowed into a gliding crawl, all the Marauder had seen was the confining walls and internals of the passenger bay.

Almost surprisingly with how early they played their cue, the klaxons whirred into temperamental alarm, bathing the bay into strobing red.

‘Sergeant, we have incoming fire from the station!’

‘Take us lower, return fire!’

Turbulence. A stomach churning drop. Then the fore dissolved; vanished; wind howling madly through where the cockpit had been. The momentum of the descending Stormraven didn’t slow. It built, returning to its meteoric nature prior, the ground approached with maddening quickness.

Faintly, past the deafening wind, a quietened voice yelled through Türgen’s right ear-feed. ‘Hold on.’

In front of his eyes Omega Squad was sucked clean from internals of dead _Intrepidity_. And a moment later, so was he – spinning from outward loops into more concise pattern, until finally the motion straightened out. _Thrusters_, the realisation finally dawned on him – the seats had inbuilt jump pack thrusters. He let his hands clamp to the restraints that secured his new-found flight. The sensation was short-lived however, as the fuel gave out and the falling chair was caught on the wind, an upward tug letting him know of a parachute deployment that now kept his journey slow and safe.

Finally, the seat came swinging down, hitting an awkward ninety-degree angle. The harness detached sending him ruggedly tearing through the earth, ending suddenly in a nearby ditch.

As he got to his feet, Türgen didn’t bother removing the mud that now coated one side of his black armour. There was a mission to keep. Ahead, a road ran through dense forests. Low visuals were something he wasn’t too keen on. Track-marks of an Imperial Armoured Personnel Carrier ran down the road. They could be leading to Station Alpha, or even trying to escape whatever terrible fate the place had met. One thing was certain to him; he had no idea which way the station was. A tank with possibility of information was better than a pathway with no immediate sign of any.

Unclamping his bolter from its magnetic leg-sealing, and hauling it to a two-handed rest, he began to make his way. He hoped secretly that his choice was not the wrong one.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

Ripping his way free of the downed Stormraven's seat, Fith Bloodaxe found himself not only alone, but also right in the middle of a swamp. Climbing to his feet, the Space Wolf glanced around to see only more swamp, and the air was occupied by a smoke trail in the sky where the Stormraven had crashed. 

++Omega Squad, do you copy?++

He spoke into the vox communicator, but was greeted with no reply. However, the HUD display informed him that every member of the squad was still alive, but it didn't inform the son of Leman Russ where they were, and nor did it offer any means of communication. Bloodaxe liked it better that way, for he was now on his own - adopting the personality of a Lone Wolf in an all-too familiar situation. '_Just Like on Fenris'_ the Space Marinethought, as he ran over the options in hishead. He could head towards Station Alpha, which was in the distance, find his fellow Astartes, or try to search the Stormraven for some salvageable gear. 

Why not combine two options into one? Fith smiled as an idea formed in his mind, the Space Wolf was never one for working with Space Marines from outside his Chapter and they still had some way to go before they earned the right to be a battle brother. Sure, they had proven themselves in the simulation, but in Fith's eyes at least, they were not yet his brothers. Holding his weapons out in front of him in case they were attacked, the Space Wolf began his advance - first to the Stormraven, and then secondly to Station Alpha. He would see the mission out alone, and if he found any of Omega Squad along the way, then they would have to keep up in order not to be left behind.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin did not expect the reply that was given; he was used to being among trusted brothers that could talk freely of their concerns. Gryin’s first thought was to lash out with a reply as that was what he would have done while among storm wardens. However he realised he was not among storm wardens. The inquisition would not think twice of taking measures to ensure Gryin’s co-operation. Or perhaps even worse if Gryin was having a particularly bad day. So instead Gryin turned his head the other way and closed him vox channel. With his helm still on he was free to say anything he wanted to himself without the rest of Omega squad hearing. Although Gryin imagined that they would understand roughly what Gryin’s thoughts were. With that Voidtooth left the room, leaving Omega squad to prepare for the upcoming mission. Gryin quickly grabbed some munitions and said a few quick prayers to the emperor before making his way to the hangar. 

The Voidtooth and most of omega Squad were already aboard the Stormraven. Gryin gave a quick nod to them before taking a seat. Then the remainder of Omega squad arrived and took their seats. Not a second passed between the last boarding and the doors closing. As with everything in the Deathwatch, things were done promptly and efficiently. The Stormraven itself did not give Gryin an especially good feeling. It looked like it was newly manufactured, untried and young. In Gryin’s eyes even machines had to prove themselves in battle. *"Alright Omega listen carefully. This craft will be taking us to Kastor Primus, but the Warp trip will be short. We are only a system away so we'll be remaining on the gunship for the entire trip. At most we'll be waiting four hours."* With that the Voidtooth shut his vox channel leaving Omega squad to themselves. This disappointed Gryin, he was intrigued as to what made this marine so special. All he saw so far was a hound with a very loud bark, if the bite did not match Grin’s respect for the marine would all but vanish. *“Back on Sacris, it was traditional that a member of each strike force, be it a full deployment or a simple scouting routine, would carry on of the chapters relic claymores. I do not like going to war without one.”* Explained Gryin before closing his vox to the squad.

The gunship eventually reached the planet after what felt like a lot more than 4 hours to Gryin. The Storm Warden pulled up information on the planet from his HUD. Kastor Primus was covered in cloud, small patches of green and blue could be seen in gaps in the cloud. Gryin fondly reminisced about his years on Sacris, one could say that swamps were something of an area of expertise to the storm warden. Gryin smiled to himself before noticing the altitude meter on his helmet. Were they going straight to the surface without scanning for enemy anti-air? Gryin shook his head after remembering the Deathwatch’s need to know policy. They had probably done it and not bothered to tell Omega squad. Even still, Gryin wanted some information of his own and so began to scan the facility which had just risen into view. The facility was nice and shiny as with everything had been since he left Sacris. There was no signs of a struggle outside the facility, if something had indeed killed the station crew it had been from within. Gryin was still surveying the surroundings when alarms went off. The surfaces to air weapons batteries were still effective. Gryin cursed under his breath, it would have been easy to avoid combat before it was needed. He held his tongue however. Combat was not the place for an argument.

Voidtooth commanded the pilot to return fire. Gryin had confidence that the shiny new tech of the Deathwatch wouldn’t fail Omega squad in a regular firefight. He was not sure how it would hold up against equally shiny inquisitorial weaponry. It turned out that the Stormraven did not hold its own, after firing a few shots the plasma battery fired true. The Stormraven’s nose and pilot were disintegrated in the blink of an eye. Suddenly Gryin’s seat tightened its grip on the Veteran Astartes. The storm warden did not realise the same happened to the rest of the squad until the chairs began to accelerate upwards away from the falling craft. 

Gryin’s chair slowly made its descent to the surface after the parachute deployed. Gryin landed upside down in a tree, not an ideal position but the only consequence was a muddy visor upon landing to the ground. Gryin angrily wiped it clear before looking at his HUD, his vox was down but his link to Omega squad’s life signs told him that all the others were fine. Gryin then turned to look around. In every direction there was nothing but swamp and trees apart from one. About 150 metres away was a row of burnt and charred trees. It was obscured by the foliage but Gryin could see a large object that had a vaguely torpedo shaped silhouette. Gryin did a quick trajectory scan, it seemed the object had crash landed much like Gryin suspected the Stormraven that ferried him here did. The storm wardens burnt scar pricked into life as Gryin’s curiosity did the same. Site alpha was the opposite direction from the crash but Gryin was fed up of not having all the facts. He decided he would uncover the mystery with or without the help of squad Omega and their belligerent sergeant Voidtooth. It was hardly going to take long to check it out and it was not a good ambush spot for enemies. Gryin allowed a grin to blossom on his face, he became the hunter as he started to move towards the wreckage. With a low stance and highly alerted eyes he noticed all movement around him. The trees swayed with the wind and rain, Droplets of water turned the otherwise smooth pools of swamp water into an exited chorus of movement. Gryin liked this planet.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir’s lips curled at the corners as Voidtooth spoke. His words were vindicated and Voidtooth agreed with his chastising of Gryin. Hastir wouldn’t have said he was being malicious, for malice was an emotion he reserved for his enemies, but simply educating Gryin in the quickest manner possible. It did not matter what kind of rank the Storm Warden had held in his chapter or what information he was _usually_ privy to; in the Inquisition’s service, he would spend most of his time in the dark. And whether he liked it or not, he would need to get comfortable with it or find out the other axiom of the Inquisition; you are expendable.

Hastir was the first to arrive at the Stormraven, only nodding at Voidtooth before he got on and took a seat. Voidtooth’s armour was unusual to say the least. The Deathwatch usually wore matt black armour, and Hastir wondered what had allowed him change that. He reckoned it was mostly intimidation, as if the Carcharodon needed anything to accent his raw brutality. Gradually the rest of his new squad took their place on the metal bird. The moment the last of them had got onto the Stormraven, it took off. Not a second was to be wasted.

_ "Alright Omega listen carefully. This craft will be taking us to Kastor Primus, but the Warp trip will be short. We are only a system away so we'll be remaining on the gunship for the entire trip. At most we'll be waiting four hours."_ Voidtooth said as the Stormraven nestled itself in the hangar of this new ship. Hastir didn’t mind. What he did mind was more of the Storm Warden’s complaining _ “Back on Sacris, it was traditional that a member of each strike force, be it a full deployment or a simple scouting routine, would carry one of the chapters relic claymores. I do not like going to war without one.”_
“We’ll just make a quick detour to Sacris and pick up one then?” Hastir said his voice thick with sarcasm. “You’re not with the Storm Wardens anymore. Better get used to that, or you’ll find yourself heading back very quickly. Perhaps in a box.”

Gryin didn’t keep the line open after that. Hastir sighed to himself. At least the rest of his squad seemed to have adjusted reasonably well to life in the Inquisition thus far. But, there was usually one who didn’t. Although, if Hastir had put a bet on it, he would have bet the Space Wolf not the Storm Warden. No one else seemed inclined to start a conversation or to pick sides in this one. Hastir realised it could be some time before he next rested in any decent capacity, and since the trip would take a while Hastir leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes. His precise internal clock would wake him up in four hours which would keep his superhuman body going for the foreseeable future.

Hastir’s eyes opened as he felt the ship jolt as it re-entered real-space. He rolled his neck and shoulders as Voidtooth told the pilot to take off. They weren’t wasting any time. The planet was a patchwork mess of swamps and forests. Well, mostly. Hastir could see Station Alpha standing out against the foliage. One thing that he didn’t expect was how intact it looked. For a station the Inquisition had lost contact with, it looked perfectly normal. Almost like a way-station they might use in between assignments. 

It was more than just complete, it was operational as the pilot learnt when one of the AA turrets turned and vaporised the cockpit. _“Hold on”_ Voidtooth said, surprisingly calm. A moment later, their chairs ejected from the dying Stormraven. Hastir spun over a couple of times in the air. His squad mates went off in other directions, but he couldn’t tell where relative to his trajectory. He was moving too fast. Then there was a sudden jolt as his parachute opened and slowed his fall. 

A moment or two later, Hastir, his weapons, his chair and his chute plunged into the murky depths of a lake. Hastir’s power armour was environmentally sealed, and so the water ran over his armour, but his skin remained bone dry. Calmly under the water, Hastir removed his harness which had held him fast to his chair and waded through the muddy water to the shore. Hastir walked out of the lake, his armour covered in filth. The smooth patter of rain started to clean it off, but even still he looked like a swamp monster, rising out for vengeance. Given his mission here, that was not far from the truth. 

Hastir surveyed his area. Judging from the tree positions, the lake and the fact that he thought he could see the Station in the distance; he wagered he was not far North of Station Alpha. The vox was dead too. It wouldn’t have been the fall, and judging by the rest of the electronics, the fault was localised to the position of his squad on his HUD and the vox. Still, at least his HUD told him that they were all alive. If they had any sense in them, they would be heading for Station Alpha. Hastir was certain at least Voidtooth would be.

Suddenly, and garbled burst of static invaded Hastir’s ears. There were no voices or chanting or cries for help. Just static. And it definitely wasn’t from the rest of his squad. His internal processor in his helmet told him that the signal had come from the east. It wasn’t coming from Station Alpha then, or any of Squad Omega. That was all Hastir needed to know. They were here to do a job, nothing more, nothing less. If it was an Inquisitorial agent, they would have to handle themselves. If they weren’t, they would meet the barrels of Hastir’s multi-melta soon enough. For now, he would move on to his assigned duty and trust that the others had the presence of mind to do the same…


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++ASTROPATHIC MESSAGE. SENDER: HAAKON IRONFANG. RECEIVER: WATCH-COMMANDER GASTARON.+++

+++Message begins,

Lord Gastaron. The mission to Site Alpha has... gone awry. The Voidtooth and Squad Omega have been shot down by anti-aircraft fire from the station itself. We aren't sure what caused it, or who fired on them. No other Astartes besides myself are on board the cruiser and the cannons are still tracking for any approaching vessels. And we can't blast it from orbit without risking damage to the structure and the catacombs, and Omega of course.

I'm trying to reestablish vox-contact with the pups and sharkface down there but even a team of Wolf Scouts wouldn't be able to find them down there. Their life-signs are still active but we've lost trackers on them completely. Strange thing is though, we lost trackers before they were shot down.

Almost like something down there is disrupting our signals.

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe*: As you run through the marsh your keen sense for an environment tells you a few things. One; there are no animals anywhere in the surrounding area. Two; there are no signs that anyone has been in this area for a long time. And three; aside from the rain it is completely silent. This could be unnerving for one used to such a violent world like Fenris, or it may not affect you at all. Either way you eventually reach the Stormraven, and it is not in good shape. The first thing you see is the sheared half that carried you, twisted into an unsalvageable wreck. One thing is very very clear, you would have died on impact if you had not ejected from the gunship. A few crates are scattered around, bolter clips and grenade dispensers lying in the dirt, they appear usable and you can salvage what you need from here. Ahead lies the cockpit, you remember the pilot that carried you down here, a brother-marine of the Hawk Lords chapter. He was not linked into your squad's network so you cannot be sure if he is alive or dead. As you move up you see the wrecked servitors that aided the pilot, each one is dead and junked. The cockpit window has been smashed open and there is a large blood smear on it, that amount of blood loss will be damaging even to an Astartes. And yet, the pilot is gone. But there are no footprints leading from the area. It is as if he has just disappeared. You could search the nearby area for him, or head towards Station Alpha which is even closer now.

*Miloslav Sidorov*: As you approach the abandoned camp you can see very clearly that it is derelict. Only a handful of bunkers and small buildings are present, all of them base-standard for an Imperial outpost. This means that the insides will be to standard as well and you will be able to navigate them without any trouble. The doors on each building are wide open, and some tread-tracks on the ground are still present but they fade away before you can tell where they might have gone. The entire camp is silent, only the fall of rain against the rockcrete and plasteel frames lend it any semblence of life. There are several buildings that you could check; the communications relay is just up ahead but appears non-functional, but you may be able to salvage some audio records of what happened here; the barracks could contain some ammunition or perhaps some items left behind by the Stormtroopers that were present here, and since this is an Inquisitorial outpost bolter ammunition is definitely a possibility; or the mess hall which may contain ration supplies and would likely be the place for any survivors or deserters to hide given it's likely large supply base.

*Gyrin Wyrmfist*: Your alertness pays off as you quickly spot the crashed object. It is a Thunderhawk gunship, and is in bad shape. It appears old, the fires have died out and only the steam rising as the rain hits it's sensitive inner workings betrays it's presence. It is also completely charred, a uniform black but not the matte-black of the Deathwatch but the burnt black that could have once been any colour. It is still in one piece, but it's cockpit is smashed flat and it's engines have been sheared off by the impact. The ramp is open and as you approach you can see something lying there, an arm. There doesn't appear to be anybody in the area but you still approach cautiously. In front of you as you ascend the ramp is a dead Space Marine, his armour torn to shreds by the crash and blackened beyond identification. It is an older model but that does not confirm anything, many Chapters use older suits and some Deathwatch marines prefer them. He could be anyone. Nobody else is aboard, alive or dead. And this marine is most definitely dead, even without half of his head missing it would not be difficult to see the rebar that has pierced his chest. One thing however stands out amongst all the ruin, his left leg is missing. Yet the cut is clean, almost surgical. Somebody has removed his leg, and it was done after he was dead. As you look closer you see the skin has healed over itself, but long ago. That is a sign that the limb was bionic.

Suddenly you catch the sound of something moving nearby. As you spin to try and see it you do not see anything in your field of vision beyond the trees and swamp. Yet you do not feel alone. Something is observing you. You could search the area to try and find what it is, or head to Station Alpha and try to meet your brothers there. To the side there is what appears to be a rockcrete road, you can follow it and head towards Station Alpha.

*Hastir Jorvane*: As you move further towards Station Alpha the static dies slowly. Whatever it was, it is forgotten now. The marsh around you lies silent as you move through it, no signs of animal or human life can be seen at all. It is strange, a marsh like this should be crawling with insect life and yet there is nothing. Not even the buzzing of flies. Only the rain makes a sound as it hits your armour, continuing to rinse the mud from your gear. After an hour or so you emerge from the marsh and stand before Station Alpha, which at such close range is quite large. The main gate is on the other side of the complex, you have emerged near what looks like an entrance to a maintenance tunnel if the signs on the door are anything to go by. The door is covered in dust, nobody has used it in a long time. You could enter the Station through this door, or you could use the walkways that are above you, the ladders nearby will allow you to reach them, to scout the outside and try to find a more desirable point of ingress. You might also be able to see your brothers, or some signs of the base's personnel.

*Türgen:* As you follow the road you see no signs of life. Strangely enough no animal signs of life are present either, it is as if the plants are the only thing in the area that are still present. Anything that could have left or disappeared, has done so. The road continues on, as do the tread-tracks which start to become more erratic. It looks like the driver was having a difficult time driving the vehicle, yet the road is perfectly level and straight. Eventually you come into a clearing and see not just one but three Chimera APCs near what looks like an entrance to a cave. All three tanks are inactive, and are covered in mud and dust. They do not look like they have run in a long time, and there are no signs of a camp made. Inside the Chimeras are empty, all the systems turned off and any weapons or supplies that it may have carried have been taken. You have several options; you can investigate the cave and see if the drivers and whoever they may have been carrying have gone inside and what has become of them; or you can try to activate one of the Chimeras and use it to follow the road in the opposite direction and try to reach Station Alpha.


_[Alright that's that update. The mystery continues, hope you are enjoying it so far. Some more choices that may help you or may just be a waste of time, but which is which?? Looking forward to reading your posts and seeing what you all do.]_


LotN


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As the Son of Russ ran through the marsh, the keen sense that Fith had for the enviroment informed him of several peices of potentially crucial information. Firstly, there was no animals anywhere at all in the surrounding area, followed by the fact that there was clear signs that no sign of life hadbeen in this area for a long time, this fact reinforced by aside from the rain, it was silent.

The Space Wolf was alone in the silence, which was surprisngly unnerving for an Astartes who had grown up on a violent, always active and always deadly Death World, Fenris. However, he had to push any doubts of the surroundings aside and focus on the mission. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, Fith Bloodaxe reached the Stormraven and it quickly became clear that it was not in good shape, and he doubted that not even the wisest Rune Priest would be able to get it airborne again. It was twisted into an unsalvageable wreck, and one thing that was abundantly clear was that if he had remained on the ship, even with his Power Armour, he would be dead by now.

His Heads Up Display illuminated a few crates scattered around, grenade dispensers and bolter clips lying around in the dirt. However, they were thankfully in better shape than the Stormraven, so he quickly gathered what he needed from here, reinforcing his almost-full amount of supplies and ammunition, not knowing what sort of situation he would be up against in the future.

Ahead was the cockpit of the Stormraven, and almost immediatly, Fith remembered a brother-marine of the Hawk Lords Chapter, not linked into the squad's network, therefore no life signs displayed on the HUD anyway. As he moved up towards the front, he caught sight of the wrecked servitors that had aided the pilot, each dead and their corpses in bad shape.

The cockpit window had, however - been smashed open, a large amount of blood smeared it, and it didn't take much intuition to deduce that the amount of blood loss would be damaging to even an Astartes. 

There was no question about the fact that the Pilot was no longer there, and it was as if he had just disappeared, leaving the Space Wolf with only two clear options. Search the nearby area, or head towards Alpha Station and hope that one of his fellow members of the Deathwatch would be able to find the Pilot.

There was no corpse of the Pilot in sight, and everybody knew how good the Hawk Lords were at flying, even those Astartes who had not fought in action. He would make it his first mission then to find the Pilot, by searching the surrounding area - mainly because Pilots as skilled as a member of the Hawk Lords could ill afford to be replaced by a member of another Chapter. Readying his weapons in case whatever had took the Pilot would come back to take him as well, Fith Bloodaxe began the search for the missing Astartes that had been in the Stormraven when it had crashed, and hoped that the fellow members of his squad would proceed with the mission objective.


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

The footprint squashed into the mud was heavily eroded thanks to this accursed world's presumably-constant rainfall. Rain was Milo's only company at this point, and poor company at that. He could hear it all around him, spanking into the sloped rockrete sides of the buildings, pattering on the plasteel frames crisscrossing the avenue. Between the falling rain and the swaying trees, is motion sensors were rendered useless. Even activating his terrorsight had failed to pick up any life within the miniature base--not so much as a bloody rat.

And the footprint wasn't yielding any clues, either. The damned rain had pounded away all semblance of its original shape and size. There was simply no telling who the enemy was--if there was an enemy at all.

Still kneeling, Milo tracked his vision across the encampment. He recognized the layout. It was a template the Imperial Guard habitually used. The armory lay precisely one-hundred sixteen meters south, but he discounted the need; his combat load had survived the trip planetside. He similarly decided against searching the chow hall for survivors. He already knew there were none to be found. Whoever had ransacked this place had been very thorough.

Which left one faint possibility: the comms relay.

Had his helmet not been on, Milo would have spat. A rare feeling of deja vu came over him. This situation was disgustingly familiar. He keenly remembered the last time he'd made for the comm center on a deserted world. But now, as then, it was the only real option. The mysterious foe had scoured this place of all life, but there was always a chance that they'd failed to cover their tracks by purging the security feeds.

His perpetual frown deepened. Maybe he'd be the first of Omega Squad to sight the enemy, after all.

He rose and began to trudge through the rain--toward the spindly antennae that marked the comms station.


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

The dead-straight steadiness of the road continued, but that’s not truly where Türgen’s eyes were. The tracks just ahead of him were becoming something perplexing. They’d become a swerving mess. Little sign of pursuit or combat, whatever had attacked these must’ve been accurate and flying, and more likely melee-based than ranged. That narrowed things down considerably. There were no signs of tyranniformed plantlife and no bolt-shell craters. Furies were most likely. He was trying to keep his mind open on this outing, but all he saw just seemed to fit too perfectly with his suspicions. Or, really, the lack of what he saw.

Finally the tracks closed their journey at a parked chimera, flanked by an additional two chimeras. They rested at the mouth of a cave, and don’t look like they’d been used in quite some time. Surely this couldn’t be right. By the lack of ambience caused by wildlife, _something_ was still lurking nearby.

By now the Marauder was starting to fret. His questions were far from answered, if anything he’d only stumbled across more questions. Yet he still needed to rendezvous with Omega. By the dripping dark maw of the cave he walked as if to make his mind up, first one way, then the other. He gave up on that after a while and after pausing for thought, ran one gauntlet over his new Mk VIII Deathwatch helmet. Then he cursed native words that no one that could even be near would understand. Not that they would even hear him with his vox inactive. His mouth sneered slightly, but his mind was on the way to objectivity. Even should he search the cave and emerge fruitless, he could still formulate deeper sight to what lay ahead.

Türgen raised his bolter as he ventured on. This was all highly mysterious, and no matter how impeccably well he had his restrained the effects of fear, he still didn’t like being out of the loop.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir moved quickly and effectively through the marshland towards Station Alpha. Eventually the irritating static subsided. He could forget about it now. He could not allow himself to be distracted from his objective, and as much as he hoped that his cousins were doing the same and proceeded as ordered, he doubted it somehow. Those like Gryin would likely be distracted by any anomalies they encountered, and the Storm Warden had made it plain enough that he did not like being kept in the dark. It was unfortunate as he would have to get used to it as they all had to, as Hastir had. If nothing else, Hastir was sure that, if he had survived the crash, the Voidtooth would be heading in the same direction as Hastir. He was sure Voidtooth would have survived; he seemed like a tough bastard.

The rain continued to fall and strip away the layer of mud, revealing Hastir’s jet black Deathwatch armour. Thick muddy water droplets trailed behind him as he ran across the marsh-land. The only part of him which remained soiled was his feet and ankles as his pounding steps kicked up a fresh layer of slick mud with every impact. As he ran, Hastir became increasingly aware of how quiet it was. No, it was more than quiet. A quiet terrain like this would still have the buzzing of insects and perhaps the squawking of birds. But there was none of that; nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and the constant rain. It was not just quiet. It was _silent_. It was as if something had just stolen all the life from the swamp. Certainly nothing natural, but then Hastir could have expected that.

The rain continued to hammer down on the undergrowth and Hastir as he made his way through the marsh. He ignored the uncomfortable nature of the silence around him until he stood, at last, in front of Station Alpha. Unsurprisingly, from this close up the base seemed very large indeed. At least it gave a clue to the scale of the operation that had taken place here. Hastir would have guessed something like an excavation, but he could not be sure. He surveyed the walls and where the tree-line thinned out to see if he could spot another member of his squad. There was no one in sight. 

Hastir sighed and survey he options of entry. There was what appeared to be, judging by the markings on it, a service tunnel. The entrance was covered from the rain and it allowed Hastir to ascertain, from the layer of dust which caked it, that no one had gone in that way in some time. That would imply that either no one had done maintenance in some time before communication was lost or that the Station had been out of commission for a while, possibly before even the Inquisition knew.

It looked like a good entrance or exit point, but Hastir wanted some more information as to the layout of the facility before he committed to entering the Station. There was a walkway overhead which lead up to the walls which surrounded the facility. That would be a good vantage point to gather some barrings from. But it was always good to have an escape route in mind. So Hastir opened the service doors and closed them again on the other side. He took out his power knife and etched the symbol of the Inquisition with an “E” underneath onto the door before exiting it again and climbing up the stair-well. At least that way, if he happened to find that door again during his exploration or extraction he would know where it led and it would give him and escape route or some barrings. 

He climbed up the walkways until he was crouched just below the top of the wall of Station Alpha. Slowly Hastir poked his head over the top of the wall, hoping to gather some useful intel which would help him perform his mission. But, he did not know whether the base was in enemy hands, and so stayed such that only the top of his helmet and eye-lenses poked over the top of the wall in the hope that he would not be seen if that was the case. If he found a more preferable point of entry, he would use that but if not the layout and whether or not the base was occupied was good information to have before he embarked into the service tunnel…


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin stepped round a tree root to arrive at the crashed ship. He took a moment to survey the exterior of the craft. He did a full circuit to get an accurate assessment, Gryin deduced that the Thunderhawk had been shot down by the exact same gun as his Stormraven had. The implications were massive if Gryin had guessed correctly, however he was no detective. 

Gryin moved round to a large missing chunk in the hull and pulled himself in. The craft did not have the same ejector seat technology that Omega was lucky enough to have. There were a few human shaped bodies lying around, they were to charred for Gryin to make anything out. One thing did spark his interest. A suit of power armour sat motionless against the side of the Thunderhawk. The armour looked to be about mk 4 or 5, It was too heavily customised to make a clear judgement. The case was the same for the adornments. Some suggested the chapter was of tribal origin where others were contrary of the fact. However the most intriguing feature was the leg ( or rather, lack of). Gryin had spent some time aboard a dark eldar vessel and had seen the wytch surgeons remove human limbs with precision that matched what was present on the marine. 

If it was the dark eldar that had raided site alpha the situation was very simple. The dark eldar would not be interested in any research done and would not use it against the imperium unlike the archenemy or the greenskins. At the same time the combat would be more awkward, The eldar were lightning fast and could easily overpower a small squad like Omega with the right ambush site. Gryin’s eyes instinctively traced to Omega squads life signs as that thought entered his head. He breathed a sigh of relief to see they were all still green. Even still, the seed of doubt had been planted. 

Gryin scanned around the immediate area once more as he disembarked the Thunderhawk. Just as He went to move towards site alpha he heard a noise behind him. Gryin spun around with his bolter shouldered. He looked around to no avail. The storm warden switched to Thermal, the whole forest was a deep blue hue. Gryin cursed under his breath, he hated it when his enemies refused to fight like men. The storm warden moved off to site alpha. His boltgun drawn and his thermal on.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++INTER-SHIP VOX MESSAGE. SENDER: MASTER OF AUSPEX ARGUN. RECEIVER: ACTING FORCE-COMMANDER HAAKON IRONFANG.+++

+++Message begins,

My lord, we have just completed your request for a full scan of life on the planet below, and the results are... strange. In a 500 kilometre radius around Site Alpha, we can detect no animal life at all. It is as if something has scared them away.

We can detect human life however. We detect the presence of six Adeptus Astartes on the surface. But the strangest thing is we can detect many other life signs inside the station, but we can't tell what they are. The signals are incomplete, many of them appear appear similar to life-signs of creatures that have been horrendously wounded.

We're also picking up a strange signal, vox in nature. I have passed it along to the Master of Communications that she may try and decrypt it, the signal may tell us more about what has happened down there.

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe*: Fortunately for you and your mission it appears as if the Hawk Lord was dragged towards Station Alpha. You can hunt for him and further your mission at the same time. As you move through the marshes you begin to scent something new, blood. It is the pilot's blood. You hurry towards an outcropping of rock ahead of you, the blood is coming from there. You have found the Hawk Lord pilot. He is dead. But his body grabs your attention, it has been ripped apart. His armour is completely gone, pieces of it scattered across the ground, and his body has been mutilated. Various pieces of him are missing, though strangely not his gene-seed. Whoever killed him had no interest in taking it, or even defiling it. You deduce that he was definitely not killed by an Astartes through that, a Chaos Marine would have destroyed it for sheer spite.

Another thing catches your attention as you survey the kill, footprints on the ground. They are not uniform, some are human and appear to be a mix of booted, bare footed and bionic limbs. But the rest are a motley mix of treads, loader pinions and needle-pointed tracks similar to a spider's. His killers have left a trail, and it leads towards Station Alpha which is so close now that you can make out the gargoyles and aquilas on the walls. There is nothing you can do for the pilot beyond harvesting his gene-seed, as luck would have it the pilot's gene-seed canister is still intact and if you are careful you can safely transplant the precious material into the canister.

Once you are finished you head towards Station Alpha, the primary entrance looming ahead of you. The doors are wide enough to admit a Dreadnought but can be opened by the control panel on the side wall, which is where the bloody footprints briefly lead before disappearing through the door. The pilot's killers are within the station, yet it appears they were not opposed at any point. This news is troubling, things could be much worse inside than you or any of your brothers thought. You have two options, either head in through the primary door and see what is on the other side, or search for a better point of ingress.

*Miloslav Sidorov*: As you open the door to the comm array building you immediately notice that the door is broken. Somebody forced it open, and recently. Inside is a network of screens and consoles, all of which appear to have been ripped apart. Pieces of technology are missing, and tiny bits of tech are scattered across the floor. Whoever did this was clearly inexperienced, it look as if they merely reached into the machines and started pulling out whatever they could carry. It also appears as if there was a struggle, as the walls are coated in blood. But all of it has dried, this was not recent. That and the lack of bodies tell you this happened long ago, and that you would have had to be here when the Station went dark to know exactly what happened.

But you are in luck. The comm array is still intact. It appears as if whoever tore apart the room did not approach it, perhaps out of knowledge that it was useful or they did not think anything inside it would be useful to them. Either way you immediately begin accessing the machine, but your luck is not unlimited. The machine has suffered damage from neglect and cannot send messages, but it does contain a log that somebody tried to send out. But the message is marked as unsent. Whoever made this was interrupted before it could be sent out. You play the message and after a few moments of static are rewarded with the scared voice of a mortal.

_"This is Storm Trooper Jennick. Their everywhere. I've hidden myself as best I can but they'll search this room soon, their searching everywhere. I've seen what they do to people they catch. It's only a matter of time before they catch me too, barely anyone's fighting back, there's too few of us left. The barricade at the door won't slow them down for long if at all, and once they get through then.... This all happened because of that damn-[record breaks into static]-no way of stopping it. We need Exterminatus! These monsters can't get off-world! If you receive this, call down Exterminatus on the world of Kastor Primus, don't try to rescue anyone and don't try to take anything from the station. Just kill this world and all of these abominations!

Oh Emperor. Their coming in!!"_

The remainder of the record plays a very brief few seconds of lasfire before it devolves into the sounds of screaming, blood splattering against the walls, and various drills and saws cutting into flesh. It lasts for a minute or two before cutting out. This is very troubling information, something has taken the base and slaughtered it's personnel. Something they did not think they could stop. And though the record could not tell you what, it indicated that something caused this to happen. There are two things that you could do, you could head towards Station Alpha and try to warn your brothers before they walk into a hostile force that even a contingent of Storm Troopers was unable to defeat, or something worse than even that; or you could try to fix this comm array. The damage does not look that bad, merely routine maintenance which is easy enough thanks to the guidelines written on the inside of it's hatch. You could fix it and send a message to the Strike Cruiser and try to re-establish some level of communication, but by then it might be too late.

*Gyrin Wyrmfist*: Even as Station Alpha looms closer you get the sense that whatever is watching you is still there, but is keeping it's distance. Perhaps it is alone and does not believe it can defeat you alone, or it is content to watch and see what you will do next. But you still cannot catch a glimpse of it, it is not that the creature moves too quickly but rather you cannot see anything at all. But something else quickly takes your attention, Station Alpha is directly ahead of you and there is an entrance as well. It appears old and unused but it is clearly the entrance to a hangar, a vehicle hangar judging from the remnants of tank tracks on the rockcrete. The double-doors are wide open, but you can see nobody inside the empty base; even the vehicles are all gone. You cannot see another entrance anywhere nearby so you decide to enter this one.

Inside the bay the condition is terrible. Ammo crates and spare parts boxes are scattered all over the ground floor, and the walkways up above are in the same state. This place has been ransacked. Before you can explore any further you realise that whatever was stalking you is gone, you cannot feel another presence anymore. For whatever reason it does not feel the need to observe you anymore, or does not want to follow you into the base, or any multitude of reasons. Either way, you are alone once more. Ahead of you you can see an exit door, and next to it is an elevator shaft with the elevator still inside. As you check it to your luck you find it is fully functional and can take you to the underground section of the base, or you could continue to search the above-ground level to be thorough. Your brothers may be here now, the above-ground base is large but not so large that you would not be able to find them eventually, or they may have already beaten you here and could be deep within the base already. There is no way to be sure. You can either head underground, or search the above ground level and hope you find someone still alive or something that can explain what has happened here.

*Hastir Jorvane*: Your diligence pays off as you discover a second entrance. It is closed but a control panel at it's side can open it, however it appears unused in quite some time so it is anyone's guess whether it will work or not. The new door is marked as an entry to the Surface Dormitory section. As this appears to be the best point of ingress, and as you cannot see another entrance or even a hint of one nearby, you enter the Dormitory section. Immediately you are plunged into near darkness, only flickering lumen-strips providing any light to the hallway you have entered. It is dilaphidated and appears abandoned, the doors are all ajar and you can hear nothing coming from any of the rooms. On the wall next to you is a brief map of the Dormitory section. You are currently in the aft corridor, along the VIP apartments. There are three sections to this Dormitory, one for the VIPs; one for the researchers and one for the officers of the Storm Trooper regiment that was stationed here. Any of them could contain clues as to what happened here.

As you move through the corridor it is obvious that something has happened here, there are blood marks on the wall at approximately head-height for a mortal and in many of the rooms there are the signs of a struggle, but what they were struggling against or who won cannot be told from these minor hints. Eventually you begin to notice signs that someone has been here recently. Things that appear disturbed from their original place, marks in the dust where somebody has touched something and occasionally you hear a sound in the distance. You turn a corner and discover a room that is marked *Captain Korryn*, a brief check of your mission brief will show that he was the ranking Storm Trooper captain on this base, it is possible that his room may contain something of value. Before you can open the door you hear another noise, closer this time, that sounds like a human being murmuring. You cannot be sure what this is, it could be a survivor or it could be one of the hostiles that attacked the base. You could investigate it, if it is an enemy it is likely it will have never fought a Space Marine before and will be unprepared for it, or it could be a survivor that needs your help and could tell you what happened. Or it could be a trap by an enemy, trying to lure you into an ambush. Or it could be nothing, there are vent grates on the wall and the sound could be carrying through one of them, if that is the case you could ignore it and search Captain Korryn's room, or proceed further into the base.

*Türgen*: As you enter the cave the light level immediately drops to near totality. Your helmet allows you perfect night vision however, and so you can see the footprints in the sand that appear to be heading out of the cave. But they all stop at some point, and are accompanied by a splatter of blood. A group of people, from the uniformity of the prints it appears they were Storm Troopers, were trying to escape this cave and were stopped by something. But there is no sign of what stopped them. The Chimeras outside must have been waiting for them, and they never arrived. Then whatever killed them went outside and dealt with the drivers as well, and left the Chimeras to idle. As you go further in you start to see intermittent and flickering lumen-strips across the smooth walls, once you see these you realise what this place is. It is an escape tunnel, and if it is an escape tunnel it must lead into Station Alpha.

Sure enough after a few minutes, during which you take several turns and for a while are clearly moving on a downward slope, you see a hatch ahead, this is a secret entry way into the Station; likely a way for key personnel to escape in the event of an attack. But it does not appear as if anyone escaped at all. As you approach the door you stop suddenly, something is wrong. The door is open but has been ripped off it's hinges and thrown to the side. The damage is recent, it can not be more than a few days old. And something even more disturbing, the damage appears to have been done from the outside. Something broke into the station from the outside, something strong enough to tear this adamantium door from it's hatch and force an entry point. This confirms the report that something had entered the system when the station went dark, it must have only arrived recently. 

Once you pass through the door you have finally reached the station, and it looks abandoned. You are still in the emergency access corridor, but this is part of the station and not the cave. Crates are scattered around in what look like barriers, they are all set up to repel something coming this direction from further inside the station. Judging from the dried blood on the crates, they failed. Ahead is another door, once again ripped from it's hinges and tossed aside. You move through it and enter what looks like an office, a rather spartan one but an office nonetheless. The hololith on the desk reads, _*Inquisitor Sabine Inixica*_. That is the Inquisitor who commanded the base! You have two choices, you can move on ahead in pursuit of whatever has entered the base or you can search Inquisitor Sabine's office for clues as to what happened here. The clues will no doubt help, but whatever you are pursuing could gain an even greater lead on you if you don't keep at them, but they may also be so far in that it is pointless to chase after them, especially as you have no idea what they are.


*[That's it for the update, really getting a creepy atmosphere here I think. A quick note for Deus Mortis. Your update is shorter because you have not entered the base yet, but to remedy that if you like once you post your decision I can make a mini-update for you alone that will get you into the base and advance you a little to catch up. Same goes for Bane of Kings, once you've made a choice on an entry point I can advance you both into the base so that you can start exploring. Hope you all enjoy, was fun writing it and looking foward to the reveals that are coming.]*


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Darkness, painted in an eerie highlight of static, pale green. The tunnel had become almost as black as the void of space. Footprints. Blood-splatter. From the uniform movement of the group Türgen hazarded a notion that they were Storm Troopers, and they came to an abrupt-grizzly end. What a waste. The drivers of the Chimeras must have met a similar end.

He ventured further into the alternating on-off of the malfunctioning lighting. As the Marauder realised his fortune, his twin hearts flustered in a bout of excitement – an entrance to Station Alpha, an escape hatch to be precise.

Türgen continued, through the maze-work of tunnels until he came to a downward decline. At the end he came to a hatch, ripped clean from its hinges. What could do such a thing? He could guess a few different options, but the cleanness of this vandalism left him no insight, and therefore no best estimation. What he could estimate was this place had been laid siege to, how, and by whom? He knew not. But it was all very quick. No signs of entrenchment upon approach. No thud of opposing artillery playing battleship at each-other’s positions. No sign of a besieger, or the besieged. No spent casings, no discarded power packs, no sense to it. It must have been sudden, it must have been fast. Surely, the Inquisition forces loyal here couldn’t have been prepared. It was more than possible that the assailant force hailed from somewhere within. Treachery, or possession, or both – those were his best guesses. But there was a way to find out more accurately. He’d been standing here summarising in mind’s eye for too long. He progressed in.

As he progressed through, a thought occurred, blood smears and no bodies? What forces acted in such a way? Chaos forces, particularly those of Khornate alignment were oft taken to gathering the bodies of enemy fallen and making them into some profane fane. He continued. Makeshift crate barricades with smears of blood on this end. Yet again Türgen found himself asserted to think that treachery or possession was probably the cause of what had gone down here.

Through the next derailed door, he found himself in an office. Military efficiency would be a great byword for such a place. Everything was organised in an indoctrinated drilled neatness. Most interesting of the equipment stacked about was a hololith, engraved with the name of- _*Inquisitor Sabine Inixica*_! Whatever information this office held should surely be worth what time it took. Reinforced in his mind suddenly was the knowledge that something of great strength was prowling this area. He put his hand to his thigh-magnetised sabre. Best to be on guard, and better yet to know what befell this place – a beast he knew not the capabilities of, and as strong as this one, could easily best him. Besides, he’d rather wade into a war he knew his side in than a crossfire he could wind up on the wrong side of. Knowledge is power; with that in mind he began searching the room.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

It didn't take long for Fith Bloodaxe to realise that he was right now, very lucky, but only wished that the same could be said about the Hawk Lord Pilot, for it was he whose blood was leading him to Station Alpha, which also happened to be his mission target, allowing the Space Wolf to hunt for both him and the mission objective at the same time, thus killing two birds with one stone.

However, as he moved through the marshes, Bloodaxe began to sense something new. It was blood, yes - but it was fresh. The pilot's blood, and it didn't take him long to find the source. Sprinting towards an outcropping rock ahead of him, the Space Marine quickly discovered the dead body of the fallen Hawk Lord. However, it was his body that was currently the focus of Fith's attention - the armour was completely gone, pieces of it scattered across the ground, the whole body of his fellow Adeptus Astartes being mutilated in such a way that he couldn't help but think as odd - for the geneseed of the Hawk Lord was still there. He was slowly realising that there was no way this could be a Chaos Space Marine as initially thought, for a traitor would have destroyed it out of sheer spite.

Footprints were also clear on the ground, not uniform, but yet - some were quite clearly human, and there was a rough split between those wearing feet and those not. Bionic limbs were also present as well, leading the Space Wolf to ask the question - _'What human could have done this?'_. However, one thing was obvious. His killers lead a trail onwards, back to Station Alpha. Wherever he would end up going, it would have to be there. 

Managing to harvest the gene-seed of the Hawk Lord so that it could serve a future recruit of the Chapter, Fith Bloodaxe made his advance, and once he arrived he quickly found himself starring down a primary entrance on the other side of him, with doors wide enough to allow entrance to a Dreadnought, however - they could be opened by a Control Panel on the wall, which was where the bloody footprints were heading to. Growling with knowledge about the fact that this was quite clearly a trap as the pilot's killers did not seem to be opposed at any point, the Space Wolf decided that the best course of action would be to scout the perimeter and look for another way in.

Sure, many members of his Chapter would have preferred the more direct approach, but Fith was smart enough that this would most likely get him killed. If he was to succeed as a member of the Deathwatch, the Space Wolf would have to prove that he would not act the way that was expected of his Chapter. Space Wolves could adopt the stealth approach just as well as any Raven Guard, and he was now about to prove that, as he set out to find an alternative route into the complex, and hopefully - the answer to his questions.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin was at a slight jog on the road to station Alpha. The eerie sensation of being watched had not left, however Gryin now had the feeling that whatever it was it wasn’t going to attack the Storm Warden. Gryin kept up his vigilance but not once did he catch even a glimpse of his stalker. It was as if sight simply did not apply to it. Invisibility was something Gryin had seen used, Mechanus toys and warm magic’s all attempted to defy light but none of them managed to perfect the craft. Shimmering edges, shadows and mirrors all meant that a warrior with a keen eye could realise what he was seeing and combat it. This was different. 

Gryin was roused from his thoughts by the site of Station Alpha, it had been in his vision the whole time but it only now came into full view. The Station did not show any obvious signs of battle, other than the plasma emplacement that shot them down, very little military forces were to be seen. This indicated that the attack, if that was indeed what it was, had been a lightning quick ambush or from the inside. This further re-enforced Gryin’s hunch that the eldar were to blame. 

Gryin levelled up to the Station, the road had led him conveniently to a vehicle hangar. Gryin entered the Hangar with his bolter drawn; he checked his corners before taking a look around. It looked to Gryin that brother Lockeye (a particularly large marine from the Storm Wardens) had wrestled a great unclean one judging by the state of the room. Nothing was neatly stored like it should be on an imperial base. Gryin had no ideas for what had caused the mess. He thought it might have been a mass evacuation at first but there were no signs of footprints outside the Station let alone survivors. Gryin paused mid thought, he noticed that he could not feel the presence any longer. It could be scared to enter the base, or maybe it knew Gryin was doomed anyway and so left him to die by himself. Whatever the case Gryin was glad to have the weight from his back.

Gryin now thought about his next step. His instincts told him to regroup with his squad before moving underground, but he did not know whether his squad mates would have the same idea as him or if they had even arrived at the station. For all Gryin knew, his HUD could be malfunctioning and all his brothers could have died during planetfall. Thinking back to planetfall reminded Gryin of the plasma emplacement. It was high ground so he could see and of Squad alpha entering the station if they had not already done so, if he disabled the cannon re-enforcements would have an easier time landing if they were required. Also comms tended to be nearer the top of a base where they had access to antennae and such. Gryin could try and find a way to re-instate vox-communicaton. Gryin also did not want to venture underground to find that the enemy was swining round to entrench in the base above him, leaving him trapped and alone with whatever was in the deeps of Station alpha. With that Gryin made his way to the exit door hoping to find some answers in Station Alpha.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir tentatively poked his head over the top of the wall. Fortunately, there was no one over the other side waiting for him. After he was certain that no one was waiting to take a shot at him, he vaulted over the top and took in the base, looking for the best point of ingress into it. There appeared to only be one suitable indoor passage into the base. Hastir made his way to it. There was a control panel to the side of the door. Just like the service door on the outside, it was coated in a thin film of dust. The mission brief contained a master code to all the doors on the base. Hastir typed it in and heard the door locks click open but the door stayed shut until Hastir opened it. Hastir took one more look round the outside to make sure he was not being watched or followed. There was no one. Even for Hastir, this was starting to become peculiar.

Hastir held his multi-melta at the ready and kicked in the door. It swung wide open and Hastir had half expected to find someone or ones inside the base at least. Instead, all that greeted Hastir was flickering lumen-strips. Perhaps someone less experienced would have lowered their weapons and just walked in, relaxed. Hastir had been ambushed too many times to lower his guard that easily. “Preysight” Hastir whispered into his vox, and his Mark V helmet lenses illuminated the room corridor he was walking down, his multi-melta scanning for targets. 

Thermal sights and night vision showed nothing. Everything was the same ambient temperature. Hastir let a growl of irritation escape through his gritted teeth. He had been stalked before. The Dark Eldar had pursued him relentlessly through the endless city blocks and buildings. For a year it had been this. Kicking in every door, always expecting there to be enemies with rifles pointed at him. He hated the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, hated the feeling of a dagger in his back. He wasn’t getting jumpy, he just wanted to know what he was facing. Then he could know how to respond. At this point, it could be anything xenoform or human or Astartes.

As Hastir moved further down the corridor and a sketch of what had happened here started to form in his mind’s eye. There were many blood splatters all over the walls, most at eye level for the average human and several rooms showed signs of prolonged struggles. This gave Hastir a few ideas. If they were from the enemy, orks, followers of Nurgle or possibly tyranids made good potential enemies. But all of these had flaws. If it were orks, the outside should be defaced and the technology stolen but it was all intact. There was none of the tell-tale signs of disease and decay that followed those indentured to Nurgle. Given the lack of bodies, Hastir could have suspected tyranids and that would explain the lack of wildlife outside. But if it were tyranids then why would they have left all the perfectly good biomass when they absorbed all the animate life. Another option could have been Necrons, but machines did not bleed. Hastir was left with nothing concrete and more questions than answers.

If the blood was from the defenders, that spoke of a much graver reality. The number of head-level blood splatters spoke of the men and women here being executed. If there were fewer patches of blood, Hastir might have been able to determine the nature of weapon used to kill the people here, but the smears overlapped and Hastir couldn’t tell if they had been stabbed, shot or otherwise wounded. It was possible that the defenders had won and were now holed out somewhere. Or they were all dead and whatever had killed them was still loose and possibly hunting Hastir. 

Hastir investigated each room he came across searching for his enemy, for he preferred to believe that everyone had died and he was being hunted until he could prove otherwise. He found signs that things had been moved since the struggle had occurred. Hastir knelt to get a closer look. Dust had settled around object which had obviously been moved later. *So something had come back, trying to cover its tracks* Hastir thought. There was a sudden sound in the distance, and Hastir spun up with his multi-melta already in his hands and ready to fire. There was nothing there and Hastir remained motionless for a moment. There was another sound. He had felt like he was being hunted. It could just be the building relaxing or contracting depending on the temperature or just a product of the rain, but Hastir found it better to assume worst case scenario and so would operate like he was being hunted. 

After that, Hastir’s movement down the rest of the corridor became slow and deliberate, ensuring that his footsteps made almost no sound. His eyes continued to scan the corridor, looking for the slightest hint of movement. He never saw anything, but continued to hear noises as he moved. Hastir turned the corner and discovered a room marked _*Captain Korryn*_. Hastir brought up the mission brief. Captain Korryn was the ranking Stormtrooper Captain. This door was not a-jar like all the others had been so far, so either someone or something had closed it or it had not been raided. Likely, his office would contain information about the base, where key research locations were and possibly what the hell had attacked this place. It was information Hastir and Omega squad, whenever he found them, needed. 

Hastir’s hand reached out for the door handle when a murmur echoed through the corridor. It sounded like a human murmur. Hastir’s eyes narrowed. They had orders to kill any non-inquisitorial personnel. So more likely than not, Hastir would have to kill whatever human was making the noise if it was friendly. If it wasn’t, then he would not be drawn into a trap. If it was friendly and it was making that much noise, hopefully it would draw out anything that was hunting Hastir and give him a clean shot at whatever had attacked the base. If it wasn’t and it found him in the Captain’s office, at least it would only have one entrance and Hastir could easily kill it as it entered the room. Hastir turned the handle and pushed the door open. Even as the door swung open, Hastir’s hand came back to his multi-melta, ready to fire at anything which was waiting in ambush in the room…


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

The door to the comm array was hanging open on broken hinges. Milo paused a few paces in front of it and snapped his bolter left and right, checking the dim corridor for movement. There was none--but he couldn't fight the feeling that he wasn't alone in this place. Lowering the weapon, but without relaxing in the slightest, the Bogatyr scrutinized the door. The surface bore a multitude of dents, the aquila emblazoned across it mashed into nothingness. But the portal was made of solid plasteel, one of the strongest building materials the Imperium possessed. What manner of beast could have done this?

He gave the door a brutal kick, rupturing the frame and sending the door careening into the chamber beyond. In so doing, he answered his own question.

Not reassured in the slightest, Milo stepped inside.

The comm room was an awful sort of mess. The multitude of screens lining the walls had been shattered--not by explosive percussion, as the marine might have thought, but by wanton vandalism. The attackers had spent their fury on the cogitators as well, ripping out the panels before gutting the mechanical workings. Strewn between the computers were lengths of malformed pipe and shorn wiring. It was as if whoever had done this had simply reached into the machines and torn out the guts by lengths.

He could only imagine what they had done to the corpses. Because there were none. The only evidence of the defenders were the gouts of dried blood spattered across every last surface in the chamber. The reek of death hung heavy in the air--a subtle hint of rot tinged with copper.

But still, no bodies.

The lone marine stood in the center of the room, his head swivelling around in consternation as he tried to piece together what had happened here. From the consistency of the blood sprays, he could tell that there had been... one defender. Just one. They'd ripped him into chunks of meat and smeared him across the walls, by the look of it. How messy.

The comm array itself was somehow intact. A strange oversight, Milo thought, but he decided he would use whatever advantage the enemy had given him. Throwing a final glance at the broken doorway, he stepped up to the machine. There was a glowing amber light on one panel. Stencilled below it, "Draft msg". An unsent message.

He punched the key beside it. Loud static erupted from the speakers. It was horrifically loud but the volume controls wouldn't respond. Teeth gritted, Milo swivelled to face the door, finger tight on the trigger. But the enemy, if they were here, was content to remain unseen. Behind him, the static clarified into a human voice.

"This is Storm Trooper Jennick," the speaker said, his youthful voice cracking with barely-restrained terror. "They're everywhere. I've hidden myself as best I can but they'll search this room soon, they're searching everywhere." As he spoke, there were some faint crashing noises in the background, intermingled with the 'snap' of sporadic lasfire and human screams. The trooper spoke with renewed urgency. "I've seen what they do to people they catch. It's only a matter of time before they catch me too, barely anyone's fighting back, there's too few of us left. The barricade at the door won't slow them down for long if at all, and once they get through then.... This all happened because of that damn--"

The record dissolved into static. Annoyed, Milo banged an ungentle fist on the keypad. The voice returned.

"--no way of stopping it. We need Exterminatus! These monsters can't get off-world! If you receive this, call down Exterminatus on the world of Kastor Primus, don't try to rescue anyone and don't try to take anything from the station. Just kill this world and all of these abominations!

"...Oh Emperor. They're coming in!!" Milo leaned in, brow furrowed as he sifted through his memory for the source of the awful sounds that came next. Lasfire--intermittent, unaimed in their panic. Either that or there'd been no need to aim. Screams--first of horror, then agony as the enemy reached the lone stormtrooper. A high pitched whine--which could only be a drill. Wet sounds as a saw chewed into flesh, spraying blood across the walls.

The Astartes shook his head as the trooper's wails devolved into pathetic mewling. "You could have yelled something useful as you died. Fool." Disgustedly, he put his fist into the comm array once more, this time ending it for good in a cascade of sparks. The pain-stricken voice and the whirring drills died at once.

He mulled it over. Drills. Saws. Humanoid footprints. Abominations. He thought of the Dark Eldar. From debriefings he'd reviewed, he knew that those xenos were known to employ certain engines of war, which were powered by the pain of their unwilling occupants. Such travesties--creations of the vile creatures known as Haemonculi--were known to wield weapons such as those that had killed Trooper Jennick.

Perhaps.

Hopefully.

Relishing the thought of repaying the Eldar's murder in kind, Milo turned his back on the now-broken comm array. The owners hadn't been able to utilize the machine to save themselves, and the attackers hadn't thought it important enough to vandalize. It wouldn't have been worth his trouble to fix.

No, it was time to rejoin Omega Squad at Alpha Station. A contingent of lousy stormtroopers hadn't been sufficient to contain this disaster. Exterminatus. He almost laughed at the idea. The dead Jennick had obviously never seen Astartes at work.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-MESSAGE. SENDER: MASTER OF COMMUNICATIONS KATYA WARSAWL. RECEIVER: ACTING FORCE-COMMANDER HAAKON IRONFANG.+++

+++Message begins,

My lord I have been able to decipher the message. It was transmitted in an ancient form of binary that my Mechanicus crewmates inform me has not been in use for at least 7000 years. I have no idea how such an ancient language found it's way into this relatively modern station, but the contents of the message are even stranger.

It simply says. Entech. Over and over again. Just that one word repeating without pause. I have no idea what to make of this.

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe*: As you move around the perimeter you can see multiple entry points on the walkways around the walls. Some appear as if they would lead into a second level above the entry hall, an overlook perhaps, while others look like they would lead into a different part of the complex, likely the adjoining sections of the above-ground portion of the facility. One or two ladders would be your way up. It does not appear as if there are any other entrances to the facility on this side, the second level entrances will have to suffice for your purpose.

As you climb the ladder you stop for an instant. There is something nearby. Above you the sound of footsteps can be heard, they are heavy and sound like metal clashing against metal but there is something wrong with them, they sound too numerous for just one creature. You cannot see what is making the footsteps due to the high wall-guards on the walkways, but as you reach the top all you find is an empty walkway and a door with a sign marked Medical Bay on it. You survey the nearby area as best you can but there is no sign of anything having just been near you. It could be that you were hearing things, or perhaps you caught a brief snatch of something that was trying not to be heard. You decide that next you should-

Suddenly something smashes into you from behind, pushing you into the medical bay door which opens in response to you being slammed into it. You fall through and land on your face. Before you can respond the thing that attacked you scrabbles over your prone body and runs through the medical bay and through the doors at the interior entrance to the room, which remain wide open behind it, the lights in the bay are dead and whatever attacked you moved too fast for you to get a look at it but whatever it was, it struck you with something metal. The dent on your powerpack is proof of that. And it was strong enough to actually knock you down, and fast enough to get away before you could meet out reprisal.

Picking yourself up you review the options that you could take. You could chase after whatever attacked you, but it might not be alone and is clearly fast enough to get the drop on you, but if you can catch it you might finally be able to discover what has happened on the base. Or you could remain in the Medical Bay and fortify your position against an attacker, the creature may return for another attempt on your life and preparation could be the difference between life or death.

*Miloslav Sidorov*: As you exit the communications room and emerge back into the rain and mud of the marshland you hear something nearby. A branch snapped. Instantly on your guard you look around the area, at first you cannot see anything but when you look closer you can see the signs of movement. Something is nearby, and from the position of the footprints, all of them on the edge of the outpost and in the shadows of the structures. Whatever is watching you is staying out of your way, because it knows it can't win or because it is content to observe? Your answer is quick in the coming.

Someone is approaching your position. At first it looks like a servitor, such is the extent of mechanical augmentation to it. Then you see it's one remaining human eye. It is glazed over, and reveals that this creature is completely insane. Now that it is closer you can see it's augmentation is sloppy, the sites of binding are clearly infected and were performed by an inexperienced hand. No tech-priest was responsible for this wretch's existance. Before you can do anything more than visually appraise it it blinks and screams, a piercing sound made by a flesh and metal throat that echoes through the forest. It rushes you, the claw that has replaced it's right arm sparking to life in a manner almost reminiscent of an Ork Power Klaw. Yet a strange crimson energy flows around the arm, you are not sure why but you are instantly sure that the energy around the arm is wrong.

After you deal with the servitor-creature you look around and notice several others others approaching you, no more than five of them. No two of them are alike, a grotesque carnival of mechanical alteration and infections. The only uniformity to them is the dried blood they are all covered in and the madness that emanates from them, those with human eyes have the far-away gaze of the insane while others shiver and shudder and gibber in binary and Low Gothic as they approach you. They are saying something over and over again. It sounds like... _*"Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech..."*_. A sudden shearing noise turns you around; the door to the communication room has been torn off and standing in the middle of it is a hulking abomination that is almost as tall as you. Augmented like the things around you it wears a featureless metal mask that has clearly been welded to it's face. It is more augmented than the rest, but they are just as poorly-done. You realise that this thing was in the same room as you the entire time you have been here, and did nothing but watch you. Now it is going to kill you. It raises two large metallic arms that crackle with the same crimson energy as the first monster and launches itself at you, howling all the while. *"ENTECH!"*.

*Gyrin Wyrmfist*: The corridors around you are pitch-black, the entire power supply is dead. You walk for a few minutes and eventually find yourself in what looks like the main entrance hall. It is deserted and has been so for a long time. The main doors are closed but oddly enough look as if they were opened recently. You can see a small group of bloody prints on the floor that split up and head off in different directions. A set of stairs to the right side of the room lead to the next floor while some corridors on the left side lead further into the complex. The sign on the wall gives some directions. The Medical Bay is up the stairs and through a few corridors, while the Dormitory Section and Armoury Secundus are to the left. Your brothers could be anywhere on the base.

Before you can make up your mind you hear something. It sounds like scuttling, but has a metallic ring to it. It is getting closer and closer, and sounds like it is coming from above you. As you look up you catch a very brief glimpse of something, moving at a speed that is indistinct even to you. It leaps across gap between the two sides of the room on the upper floor and lands perfectly, you try to turn but something drops on you and prevents you from seeing. You lift it off you only to see that it is a corpse. An old one from the level of decay, and the threadbareness of the rope around it's neck. You look up and see what must be at least a hundred corpses, all strung up from the ceiling. Many are missing limbs and appear to have been killed before they were hung, two things catch your eye in particular though. The first is that many of the corpses are naked or wearing a bodyglove, but the rest are still dressed in their work clothes. Only a certain type of corpse was stripped, yours being one of them. The second is that the ceiling is covered in a strange glyph language that you do not recognize, apart from one thing scrawled in the centre in blood. A word that is very very familiar to you is painted there. *"Heretics."*

The scuttling interrupts your thoughts on the macabre scene, that thing is back and leaps across the gap once more. Your alertness allows you to see a hint of metal on it's body, but before you can see more it is gone and is moving away from you. Whether it is heading back where it came you cannot be sure, but you could follow it. Before you can do so something else begins to move, footsteps are approaching you and they sound fast. A low moaning begins to echo through the vast room, and whatever it is is coming from the left side of the room. You could remain here but it is an exposed position and is indefensible, or you could head up the stairs to the right and try to find a better position, but you chance running into the creature that just passed you. One thing is clear though, you must decide quickly as whatever is approaching is almost upon you.

*Hastir Jorvane*: As the door slowly opens you immediately catch the scent of blood, and pus. Stepping through the threshold the scene that greets you is chaotic. The entire room has been ransacked, furniture broken and weapons smashed against the walls. A fan in the ceiling slowly spins, giving the room a slight breeze. You start looking around the room, it appears abandoned apart from a dead servitor in the corner. It looks as it it just powered down and fell over. The notes on the floor are unhelpful, merely ammunition requisition forms and training schedules. But there is something in the middle of a broken desk, it looks like a vox-slate. You pick it up and press the playback button, immediately a gruff voice fills the room though there is a tinny tone to it as a legacy from the device.

_*"This is Captain Korryn, all Stormtroopers listen up! I want a full cordon of the lower levels near the dig site, if anything tries to get out I want it dead. I don't care if it still looks human, consider everybody in that site to be contaminated and lost to us! Some of these metal freaks are moving through the vents, keep watch on them. Nobody goes anywhere alone, fail to report in at least once every 20 minutes and we will assume you are lost and compromised."*_

The record goes on, it appears to just be a dispatch order from Korryn after whatever happened on the base happened. The word metal freaks is interesting, whatever it was that attacked the base was metal then. You store that information away. He also mentions the dig site being compromised, which means likely whatever happened here began there. As your mission is to extract the data that was gathered here it is fortunate that the source of this mystery is also where your primary objective is. Korryn continues to give orders in the recording, but as you look down at the slate you instantly go on your guard. The tape has stopped, it stopped a minute ago. But Korryn is still speaking.

A creak of rust makes you turn around, the servitor in the corner has stood up. But that is not a servitor. It's chest has been gouged badly and metallic coverings have been hastily welded on, both of it's arms have been crudely replaced with bionic attachments and it's body is covered in scar tissue and infected sores. As it raises it's head you look into the face of Captain Korryn, his face still recognizable from the image you saw in the brief. One look into his eyes tells you he is insane, it continually babbles in a mechanical tone of voice, giving orders to troops that no longer live. It slowly inches towards you, it's metal hands opening and closing in unison. Almost instantly the Korryn-servitor snaps and leaps at you, crimson energy flaring into life around it's hands as it screams at you. Korryn is clearly lost, there is only one option remaining. You must destroy him.

*Türgen*: Your search quickly proves that Inquisitor Sabine's office has clearly been cleaned out. Only a few records remain and they are about the day to day running of the base, apart from one. It is a transcript of a strange medical case that occured on the base prior to the blackout. It details a miner who went berserk and attempted to cut his own arm off and replace it with a mining blowtorch. He died in the Medbay but a note scribbled at the bottom in a neat female hand marks, _*"First case that we know of."*_ There are a few other papers scattered on the ground, all of them detailing some kind of unsettling incident on the base; one discusses personnel claiming to feel a presence when they are alone, something that they cannot see; another report mentions thefts from the repair bays of bionic limbs and machine parts; a third discusses strange glyphs being daubed on the walls and crewmen not reporting for their shifts, and when their rooms were searched more of the glyphs were found and in some the ventilation shaft covers had been ripped from the wall.

Apart from that the room is empty. Someone has clearly already taken everything from the room, but was it the Inquisitor or whomever came through the escape tunnel? There is no way to be sure. As you stand up you see yourself in the full mirror that is hung from the wall, clearly the Inquisitor liked to check her appearance, and you see someone standing behind you. He is human, in the loosest sense. A blank metal mask, welded to his face, hides his features. His chest is bare and is covered in strange glyphs that glow like an electoo, but with a crimson light. Mechadendrites lazily hang in the air, they are emerging from his spine and shoulderblades. Two mechanical clawed arms have replaced his flesh arms, they are both covered in dried blood and have the same crimson energy crackling around them. A tattered pair of workman's pants and boots are all the clothing he wears. He is silent and perfectly still, even his mechadendrites are not moving. You immediately turn around, bolter and blade raised, and see nothing. You are alone in the room.

The strange figure is gone, and the door to the office has been closed the entire time. There is no way for him to have left the room, and there is no sign that he was ever there. The bewildering experience aside there is nothing for you in the room, whatever was once here has been looted. As you approach it the door opens smoothly into a corridor lit by flickering lumen-strips, it shows the same signs of improvised battle positions as the escape tunnel. You cannot see the end of either side of the corridor, left or right. And there are no markers that can tell you which way to go, but the makeshift barricades on the left side have been disturbed by something moving through them. The mysterious invaders could be that way, but there are more barricades on the right side, which could indicate that whatever attacked the base came towards the Inquisitor's office from that direction. You will have to decide which path to take.


_[That's it for the update. For some of you the enemy has arrived and you are battling them or about to battle them. For the fights you will be able to finish off the enemy you are fighting in one post, though maelstrom48 it will take you at least two posts to kill the masked enemy you are fighting. Make the fights detailed. I won't reveal the details behind these enemies, but they are very endurable and will shrug off all but the most serious wounds. So don't expect to bring them down with a punch, expect to bring them down by cutting or blasting them to pieces. Hope you enjoy.]_


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo emerged from the comm center, stooping slightly to bypass the human-sized doorway. Outside, the rainfall continued unabated. Fat droplets pinged against his armor and everything around, throwing his motion sensors into disarray. His helmet's auto-senses were projecting scores of targeting overlays onto his vision, tracking every jerking leaf, every rising splash. And... other things. Dark outlines in the trees. Humanoid shapes. Watching him.

His gauntleted fingers closed tighter on his boltgun. The rubberized grips creaked--and just above that sound, the dull _snap _of a sodden twig breaking.

They were coming for him.

His weapon snapped onto the first figure to emerge from the trees: a horrific parody of a servitor that shambled forward on twisted mechanized legs that were different lengths, its mouth stretched open in a howl of permanent agony. The augmentation was sloppy, a perfidy of the Mechanicum's efficient work. The left of its skull was bound in frayed wires and crudely bolted sheets of steel. Its remaining eye was glazed, vacant. 

That eye fixed on him and blinked, as if it had just consciously recognized the space marine's presence. With a terrible wail, the tortured mech-being quickened its pace, lunging with every loping step.

The arm--stretched out to him as if in maddened entreaty--had been replaced by a wicked claw reminiscent of Ork 'technology'. Sheathing the weapon was a power field of some sort, which fizzled and spat in the rain even as the shears clacked open and shut.

Milo frowned at it, unimpressed. "Huh." With efficiency born of centuries of practice, he snapped his aim onto its eye. A single bolt rocketed through the humid air and thudded into the creature's face, detonating with a wet _crump_ and bursting the skull into red and white fragments. It sank onto its knees, twitching as its limbs attempted to reckon with the absence of their lobotomized commands. Just to be sure it wouldn't rise once more, the Bogatyr flipped to single shot and put a trio of rounds into its rib cage.

_*"Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech, Entech..."

*_There were more of them stumbling from the treeline now--five of them, no two alike. They were a carnival of malformed physiques, horrid marriages of mechanical and biological components that had no right to exist at all. Those that had eyes were staring at him. Their gazes were dull, glazed over--but there was some insane hunger lurking behind those dilated pupils. Burst of binary erupted from their throats or the speakers that had replaced them, alternating with the monotone repetition of that same word: *"Entech, Entech, Entech..."*

They were annoyingly tough little bastards, it had to be said. Milo had put four rounds into the closest before giving up and switching back to automatic fire. A flurry of bolts took out its knees, finally, and another pair separated its arms at the shoulder. Milo left the dismembered parody of a creature to roll on the marshy ground and switched his aim to a more pressing target.

Pressing indeed; they were getting too close for comfort now. Warily, Milo began stepping backward, matching each of their lurching footfalls with one of his own.

Then, from behind, there came an awful screech of twisting metal--then a terrific boom as the door he'd just emerged from was torn from its hinges. Alarmed, he spun to face his newest pursuer: a hulking thing, and _tall, _almost as tall as an Astartes even, and that was saying something. Unlike its smaller cousins, its face was concealed behind a featureless mask, which had been welded right to its skull. Half its form was augmetic, though the mass of hydraulics and wiring remained crude at best.

The beast hurled the warped door aside and raised a pair of metal arms, which crackled with some foul, unknowable energy.

Milo chinned his vox. *"Omega..."* At this range, there was no need to aim. His weapon bucked in his grip as he opened fire, the staccato bark of unrestrained automatic fire filling the clearing and echoing around the encampment.

The beast stooped and shouldered its way through the shattered doorway, undeterred by the hail of bolts detonating against its mecha-biological frame. It stretched its arms toward him. "*ENTECH!*" it howled in anger and pain, and with such volume that Milo's autosenses dulled his hearing to compensate. With that, the beast charged.

Milo rolled, narrowly avoiding a sweep of its power claws. The foul energy field cluttered his vision with a wash of static. Within a second, his autosenses had rebooted. The Astartes keyed his mic once more, hoping against hope that the restart had fixed his comms.

*"Omega. Milo. Big one. Help. Now!"*


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As Fith moved around the perimeter, his eyes took in multiple entry points on the walkways around the walls, some appearing as if they would lead into a second level above the entry hall - possibly an overlook, but others looked like they led into a different section of the complex, which was most likely adjoining sections of the raised portion of the facility, with a few ladders indicating the option for ascension. 

It did not appear as if there were any other entrances to the facility on the side that the Vlka Fenryka was currently on, and thus the second level entrance would have to fufill any needs that he desired. Once he had climbed the metal ladder, which could hold his weight with no problem at all, it seemed that there was something nearby - the sound of footsteps alerting to something that could pose a potential threat. They were heavy, and sounded like metal clashing against metal - the thing giving it away was that they were too numerous for one human, or even one xenos. 

He could not see what was causing the sound of the sound because of the high wall-guards on the walkways, but there was no creature in sight when he reached the top, the walkway deserted - the only clue to his whereabouts a was a door, boasting a sign marked "Medical Bay."

It didn't take Fith long to deduce that there was no sign of anything having just been near him, leaving him with two options - a brief snatch of something that was trying not to be heard, or he was simply imagining it, longing for the sense of battle. But before he could plan his next move, something smashed into him from behind with a resounding crash, pushing the Astartes into the medical bay door which flung open, not being able to support the weight of the member of Omega squad.

As Fith fell through the door, he didn't have time to respond before the thing that attacked him scrabbled over his prone body, running through the medical bay - and vanishing through the doors at the interior entrance to the room, which were wide open as a result of the creature's movements. The lights in the bay however were dead, and whatever attacked him moved too fast for the Space Wolf to get a look at what the creature was. However, one thing was obvious, it had something metal in its possession, the dent on the powerpack being proof of that.

And it was strong enough to actually knock one of the Allfather's Finest down. A Space Wolf, knocked to his feet by a creature that he did not know the identity of. But regardless, he had to shelve his wounded pride for now as he picked himself up off the floor, reviewing the options that he now held. He could chase after whatever the creature was, but that would possibly lead him to more of the things, and it was no good to his fellow Deathwatch members if he could not tell them of the threat was.

And besides, if the creature did come back - preparation could be the difference between life and death. Despite the fact that there was nobody there to hear him, he growled, "Let them come," under his breath, and began to search the medical bay for anything that might be used to create some means of a fortification should the thing return, and also provide a hopeful rally point for any members of Omega Squad that he discovered.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir’s nostrils were bombarded by the stench of blood and pus the moment he entered Captain Korryn’s office. The room was the picture of a brawl in a confined space. Hastir was certain he could still hear the eerie scratching noise so he entered the room fully and closed the door quietly behind himself. A simple door would not buy him much time in an attack, but it might by him a precious few, which in his experience could be the difference between life and death.

The ceiling fan spun lazily above Hastir as he surveyed the scene of carnage in the room. Furniture was broken and weapons lay where they had been smashed. Papers were scattered all over the room and floor as if someone had placed a grenade in a filing cabinet. Hastir slung his multi-melta over his back and knelt down to look at some of the papers. They were all useless to Hastir. They all seemed to be ammunition requisition forms, training schedules or other such trivial information. Certainly nothing that was useful in Hastir’s search of information as to what happened to the base, what he was fighting or where his primary objective was.

Hastir stood up and noticed the servitor slumped face-down in the corner of the room. It seemed to just have powered down and fell where it had stood. Hastir had no Mechanicum training and would not know how to resurrect one, if that were even possible, let alone get any form of useful information out of a lobotomised simpleton. However, the object sitting in the middle of the broken table seemed more promising. Hastir walked over and picked up the vox slate in his hand. Fortunately, it seemed to be intact and the recording on it still accessible.

Hastir’s over-sized finger depressed the play-back button and the slate burst into life, a gruff voice with a tinny under-tone echoing from the machine. _”This is Captain Korryn, all Stormtroopers listen up! I want a full cordon of the lower levels near the dig site, if anything tries to get out I want it dead. I don’t care if it still looks human, consider everybody in that site contaminated and lost to us! Some of those metal freaks are moving through vent, keep watch on them. Nobody goes anywhere alone, fail to report in at least once every 20 minutes and we will assume you are lost and compromised.”_ Korryn ordered a few more dispatches and then the tape seemed to repeat itself. Hastir held it absent-mindedly in his hand as his mind worked.

Metal freaks. Hastir mulled the word over in his mind. Whatever that had been uncovered on the base was clearly metal in origin. Hastir was still reluctant to jump to the conclusion that it was Necrontyr in origin, but it could not be ruled out. Still, it seemed his choice of weapon had left him well equipped for whatever he and the rest of Omega squad might face. The others, with their bolt shells designed to pulverise flesh not destroy metal, might struggle. This was the first useful part of information he had received though. Korryn had told him where his primary objective would be. The lower levels contained the dig site and likely the information they had been tasked to retrieve. Although, extraction did pose a problem. Their ride in had been shot to hell and Hastir still had no way of contacting anyone else, let alone hail a ride home. It was also convenient that more information as to what happened to the rest of the base lay down there.

Hastir realised Korryn was still talking. He hadn’t stopped. Hastir looked down at the slate to see how much more there was of this recording. He dropped it and his hand fell instinctively to his power knife. The time had stopped on vox-slate. There was nothing left on it. But Captain Korryn was still talking. The creak of rust made Hastir spin around, knife drawn and activated. The servitor which he had thought was dead was now upright and alert. But it wasn’t a servitor, Hastir could see that now. Its augmentation was shoddy and riddled with infection, not that it seemed to bother this monstrosity. And its face was clearly the late-Captain except the eyes gleamed with clear insanity. The machine continued to babble as it shambled slowly towards Hastir. He thought that it would continue to move at that pace so went to draw his multi-melta and put the thing down. 

Suddenly the thing lunged at Hastir, its augmentation crackling with red energy. Hastir reacted on instinct, his knife sweeping in a wide arc and slashing deep into the metal hands. It did not seem to trouble it. The thing closed in fast, faster than Hastir would have expected. Hastir lashed out with his fist and dented the chest-plate of the machine. To a human, the blow would be crippling, but this machine seemed to be indifferent about it. The thing kept coming at him. Hastir lashed out with a brutal kick to the machine’s knee which broke the leg back the wrong way. It slowed the creature down, but it still seemed to be unaware or ignoring its injury. 

Hastir growled inside his helmet. This thing was taking a beating, and still it kept coming at him. It swiped at him with its crude augmentation. Hastir jumped back to avoid the swipe and lashed out with another kick to the chest to send the thing staggering back. He finally had enough room to mag-lock his knife to his thigh and unslung his multi-melta. Whether the thing knew it had moments to live or was as tired with the brawl as Hastir was or it simply was not accustomed to facing a foe that it could not crush with ease in its crude metal hands, Hastir could not tell. What was apparent was that it lunged with increased urgency. “You have so got to die.” Hastir spat as he unleashed the full fury of his multi-melta into the servitor-thing. 

The beam melted through the entirety of the machine’s body before continuing into the wall and gouging out a sizable hole in the upper wall. The machine continued for a few sets as the light faded from its eyes. Then it collapsed on the floor, much like it had been when Hastir entered. He walked over to the body and crushed its head under his boot. It definitely would not be getting up now. Hastir paused for a moment and took a moment to survey the room again. He had been caught off-guard once and would not be caught again. Korryn had said they were in the vents, but judging by the ceiling fan providing the breeze, the open-able windows and the lack of any visible vents in the room, he assumed he was safe from such an angle of attack. There were also no more ‘servitors’ in the room. The only point of attack was still the door.

At least Hastir knew what he was fighting now. But the question still remained; who or what had converted Captain Korryn? Even as the question formed in his mind he knew the answers lay where his primary objective also lay. Hastir stood and waited, his multi-melta pointed at the door. If there was anything in the surrounding area it would have likely have heard the commotion and would come to investigate. Judging by apparent insanity of the machine he just faced, he doubted they would have the sense to wait and ambush him. Here, where they would be forced to enter one at a time directly in front of the barrel of his gun, he stood a fighting chance even against a hoard of those abominations. They reminded him too much of Wracks. If nothing attacked in the next minute, he would make his way further into the base in search of others and the primary objective. The advantage was good, but not worth Hastir getting trapped and overwhelmed for…


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Nothing but medical papers – despite his slight agitation at the scrupulous “tidying” of the Inquisitors office, the lack of evidence left and what little he had left to work with, Türgen remained complacent. This would have to do.

Bait for his eyes emerged quickly enough as he rummaged through a floor of ragtag mess: medical records and strange happenings paired in horrifying unity. Finally, this was what he sought. It detailed what the Marauder could glean as only madness: a miner who attempted live prosthetic transfer of his arm... for a blowtorch. Despite his discipline, this disturbed him. Matters of chaos always did.

*“First case we know of”*, is the evenly precise, fine wording joined by a musical curvature of a well-educated woman – the Inquisitor maybe, or possibly just a medicae staffer. _First_, that could only imply that when this was reported more incidents were known of. What foul work was at play here? His hands strayed into more papers that rested around this area. They were of equally troubling revelation: people claiming to be watched by unseen forces, thefts of bionic and mechanical parts and unknown glyphs that trailed into the far-unseen depths of the installation.

With the feeling that he’d deduced all the insight he’d need, Türgen arose, catching the full image of himself in the mirror. The Inquisitor must have cared terribly about appearance. It was just another scrap of evidence of what must be a uniform mind. 

He was so caught up in his contemplations it took a few seconds to catch the droll lapping mechanic tendril behind him, reflected in the mirrors surface. It took a split-second longer to catch the implantee. He’d have imagined him a techpriest but for the lack of armour and Mechanicus logos. He’s more workmanlike than in appearance. The bold implications of a deranged mind are carved as glyphs in his chest that glow with unnatural light. Maybe he could have told insanity from the face of the man. His face was now a mask without visor, slits, breathing holes, sockets. And his mechandrites, he had two.

In this second of summary, the Marauder had his mind made up. He swung his blade in a clean killing blow to end the man, severing head from shoulder, but with impossibility, his blow never landed, and his pirouette revealed and empty room, with no signs that anyone had ever trespassed. Even his wild bolter prodding revealed nothing. Nothing read from his autosenses, he either had to question his sanity, or his assailant was supernaturally aided. His hearts hammered with set-upon distress. He funnelled that to anger. He had no inkling that he could have lost it, and his opponent could be getting away. He ran to the door. Unevidenced as his assailant was, this was the best bet as to where he could have escaped. He emerged through the sliding door into the familiar madness of malfunctioning lumen strips. As the path split left and right he erred to one set direction. The left pathway had been disturbed – barricades scattered inwardly.

_Only one way to it_, he thought, and entered the drumming war-run of an Astartes on the hunt.

*‘Come back witch-spawn’*, he yelled, vox-amplified to an ireful brazen roar, *‘Your end is at hand.’*


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin cautiously made his way through the inky darkness. He did not pay attention to how far he had come but it was apparent that his intentions of reaching the plasma emplacement were going to remain just that. The power was obviously dead in this part of the complex, and I seemed it had been for quite a while. 

Gryin was eventually spat out into a large room with a couple of different exits. On one wall there was a set of big doors that seemed to Gryin as if they had been forced open recently. Gryin’s mind instinctively wandered to Omega, he wandered if it was one of his brothers to have opened the door. His instinct was proved wrong as Gryin noticed a trail of multiple gory footprints it seemed a large number of injured humanoids had fled through this room. His thoughts were re-enforced by the sign saying the medical bay was just up the stairs. To the other direction was signed to lead to the armoury and dormitory. Gryin’s first instinct was to head up to the medical bay, if there were any survivors they would probably be healing up in there. If they were able to get there that is.

Before he made to make a move Gryin’s auto senses growled at him and a metallic scuttling danced down his ear, slowly becoming louder. The glaring red eyes of the Storm Warden whipped to the source. A hint of metal glinted in his field of view before darting into the unknown. The Storm Warden made to follow but there was a heavy thud on his back, something had fallen from above. The Space Marine picked the object up to inspect it; he was displeased to find a human corpse with a very tired looking rope tied about its neck. Only scum would kill in such a way, any servant of the imperium deserved a good death, whether in the field of battle or passing comfortably in a rare moment of peace. 

Gryin’s head turned upwards to find the source of the corpse. Like icicles of flesh hanging from the ceiling, many disfigured and mutilated corpses hung limp. In the centre a word was written that struck Gryin like an icy dagger into his warm beating hearts. Aggression crept into his face and he balled his fists. ‘Heretics’, Worst of the imperium’s many foes. Gryin did not know why whoever did this had bothered tying the corpses up, they stood to gain nothing and to hang this many corpses would have taken time and effort from them. However Gryin remembered one of the heretic’s favourite battle cries, “SANITY IS FOR THE WEAK.” There was no reason behind this.

The Storm Wardens hateful thoughts were interrupted by the return of the scuttling noise. This time Gryin’s heightened awareness allowed his to steal a glance at the creature. He saw that it had metal on its body but nothing else. The creature must be dammed fast to outpace an Astartes reaction speed. Gryin paused to consider whether or not to follow before another noise interrupted the murky darkness. Footsteps and a low groaning were the sounds, highly unlikely to be friendly. Gryin was sure as hell not going to stay where he was. There was space for movement but no cover in the slightest, if the groaning thing had any ranged weapons to bear or any decent amount of speed it would be on a fairly level playing ground with the storm warden. The Storm Warden began moving towards the stairs, he could force the angle of attack on the catwalk and he wouldn’t become surrounded if there were more than one. The medical bay was upstairs anyway and that was Gryin’s target.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-MESSAGE YU-182. SENDER: ACTING FORCE COMMANDER HAAKON IRONFANG. RECEIVER: CAPTAIN JENNIK.+++

+++Message begins,

Captain I want this ship at high anchor, ready to rain fire on that mudball. Something big is going on down there. And send a message back to Commander Gastaron, tell him things have changed and we need support. Those first-timers may not be ready for this.

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe*: Your caution pays off. You hear the scuttling again, closer and closer, and something else in the background that sounds like bolter fire. One of your brothers is nearby! But before you can do anything about that the creature returns, and your vision finally illuminates it fully. It appears mostly human, though it's face is covered by a blank metal mask that appears welded to the skull, it's left arm is a metallic claw and it's right is a thrashing nest of sparking metallic tentacles that are surrounded by a crimson energy; all of these mechanical augments appear poorly done and from the amount of sores and scabs over it's body it must be a miracle, a depraved one, that this creature hasn't simply died of infection. It's lower body is the most changed however, gone completely below the waist and replaced with eight sharply barbed bionic legs styled like a spider's. That explains the scuttling.

It rushes towards you, but your position has bought you a few seconds to fire on it, the normal slowing down of time that takes place in combat in the minds of fighters helps with that as well. You manage to clip it but before you can finish it the creature scuttles past you, knocking you back with it's electro-whips and leaps into a vent-shaft above your head. Another sound draws your attention away from the vent, a heavier tread and quick, followed by many more lighter ones behind it. Suddenly *Gyrin Wyrmfist* darts into the medical bay, and behind him a group of similarly shabbily augmented humans though lacking the spider-legs. They are chanting something under their breath, the word "Entech" over and over again. They do not give you time to think as they charge the both of you, there are at least five of them and another ten of them approaching further behind. You will have to kill them before you can proceed any further.

*Miloslav Sidorov*: The hulking brute does not hesitate to charge you, sending you flying into a tree. The few Enteched that you have crippled appear to be dead, or at least unable to do anything but lie there and chant, but the others continue to approach you. The giant appears to be watching, you realise that he does not consider you worth killing and is content to let these wretches do it. This burns at your pride as an Adeptus Astartes and one of the elite Deathwatch. One of the Enteched stumbles close enough to you to raise his arm, an augment-drill, and prepare to stab you with it. Before he can the sound of a discharging cannon roars across the field and his head explodes, reduced to a charred ruin by the plasma shot that just decapitated him. The giant turns his gaze and is rewarded with another shot to the chest, sending him stumbling back.

_"Get up whelp!"_

The voice that speaks to you is soft and instantly familiar. You see the night-black armour of the Voidtooth as he holsters his plasma pistol and draws a sword that appears to be made of gold, yet even from here you can tell two things about it. It is far stronger than it looks, and no human hand made it. One of the Enteched rushes him, it's piston-hammer hand doesn't even give the xenos sword pause as it hacks through as easily as if it were cloth, not stopping until it passes through the heretic's chest and he falls into two pieces, a quick stomp to it's head ends it's mewling. The Voidtooth gestures with his head to you, the giant is getting up and running at you. It is taking no chances now, especially with the gaping wound in it's augmented chest that is leaking engine fluid and blood. Kill it, and the Voidtooth will deal with the rest of the dregs.

*Gyrin Wyrmfist*: You quickly reach the stairs and begin climbing. Once you are halfway up the enemy finally come into view, only your helm-illuminator allows you to actually see them. They are human in the loosest sense, all of them are heavily augmented and the augmentation appears poor as if they did it themselves. They are covered in infection, and all of those who possess an augment-weapon are emmitting a crimson energy around their weapon that looks a lot like lightning. They see you and do not stop running, bee-lining towards the stairs. You keep moving, there are at least 15 of them and they could easily swarm you in this poor position. Once you reach the top of the stairs only one corridor directly ahead of you is open, and without the time to be picky, you go through and run down the darkened corridor.

Ahead you can hear the sounds of bolter fire, once of your brothers is here. You hear a crash and scuttling, that thing is still here, but the scuttling quickly becomes faint and distant. You run into the double doors on your right, catching a glimpse of *Fith Bloodaxe* sprawled on the floor. He gets up and before you can talk, the creatures enter the medbay. Five of them have advanced before the main group, the lither and faster ones, they charge at you both. The remaining ten are close behind them, but both are far enough away that you can shoot them before closing in. Finish them and with the two of you reunited, you are a step closer to accomplishing this mission.

*Hastir Jorvane*: As the minute passes nothing appears to be happening. Korryn's corpse sparks once or twice but is definitely dead after being hit with a direct melta blast. Once the minute ticks by with no enemies in sight you open the door and step out into the corridor once more, and hear the sounds of bolter fire coming from nearby. Someone else is here, one of your brothers likely! Nothing else appears to be stirring in this section, likely everyone here is dead or has been converted into one of these things like Korryn. You start moving towards the bolter fire, and as you step into another darkened corridor you see a Space Marine, *Gyrin Wyrmfist*, moving towards you and then duck into a door on the right. He did not notice you, more intent on escaping the small horde of heretics behind him. Each one is as Korryn was, yet they appear more rabid and unwilling to hesitate before attacking. They follow Wyrmfist into the room, which your schematics are marking as the medical bay, and are met by bolter fire. Two different sets of bolter fire, Wyrmfist is not alone in there. Support Wyrmfist and whichever squad brother is with him, the heretics have not noticed you giving you the chance to approach them silently and strike from behind, or charge in and try to draw some of the bodies away from your brothers.

*Türgen*: Your yelling, while cathartic, does not appear to stir anything. This facility is bigger than some Fortress-Monasteries, it is likely that you are alone in this section. As you move through the left corridor you see more signs that something large moved through here, but no signs that it was encumbered. Whomever entered the facility did not encounter defenders in their way. After a minute of running you enter a station, the left half of the room is filled with benches and scattered belongings while the right half is taken up by a grav-rail with a car attached to it. You have found the facility's transport system. Nobody appears to be nearby and while there are other doors, they are all sealed and it looks like nothing short of melta charges will blow through them. You approach the train-car, it's double doors lie wide open and inside it is pristine apart from the dust.

The doors slide shut behind you, an automatic feature, and the onboard engine kicks in and displays a list of destinations. There are many including Dormitories, Mines, Mess Hall, Storage, Armoury, Hydroporium, Generatorium, Chapel, and a few that are locked and do not show a name. All appear available except for Mines, when you try a warning comes up that states "Inquisitorial Lockdown. No Unauthorized Personnel." Clearly they sealed off the mines after whatever happened here happened. You notice a slot on the console shaped like an aquila with an electronic reader in the groove, some kind of key-reader perhaps? And if it is a key, the Inquisitor will likely have it. You make a note of that, the Inquisitor's key-pendant will be required if you are to find the Mines. Until then you have your choice of destinations, however one last thing catches your eye. The console noted the last use of the car, 26 hours ago. The destination is listed as Records and Finds. Whoever last used this car went there, but there is no guarantee that they are still there now. Your destination is up to you.


_[That's it for the update. Now some important things I think you should all be aware of. Having just read the book Deathwatch, and being very impressed by it, I have decided to retcon one or two things in the past of this RP. Just to make it a bit better.

You all spent at least a year in training when you became initiates in the Deathwatch, and for the most part you trained with no armour at all. You trained in things like rapid entry, demolitions, asset recovery, assassination, infiltration and exfiltration, sabotage, etc. Only once your training was complete were you assigned to a Kill-Team and given your armour back, which you then trained in even further. These are just some changes to reflect the Deathwatch better and to offer you some more skills to use.

You also have a piece of technology in your helmets that allow you to see in the dark provided there is even the slightest illumination. If there isn't you are still blinded by it.

Ok now personal notes for all of you. Bane, Hastir and Warsmith, finish this fight in one post if you like but make it good, and once you have finished them off feel free to work up your own conversation with each other, decide on a course of action if you want. As I said before, the Enteched won't go down easily and can survive all but the most crippling of blows. Maelstrom, you can kill the giant now but make it a good fight, it will take a lot of damage to make him die. Hope you all enjoy the update, and apologies for the length of time it took me to get it out but i've been sick this last week and couldn't find the focus to write up anything good.]_


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

Milo’s surroundings whirled into a chaotic blur as he cartwheeled through the air. Before he could reckon on sheer power it had taken to bludgeon a fully armored Astartes of his feet—let alone get him airborne—his transit came to an abrupt end. His back crushed into a tree trunk. His grunt was lost in the crackle of shattering wood. Wet splinters flew in all directions. Milo slumped and fell into the mud with a splash.

For several seconds he lay there, his ribs throbbing in pain. He was reasonably sure his breastplate was broken, but his autosenses were in disarray. Alone in the wash of static, one angry targeting reticle remained. It was fixed onto the monstrosity that had just laid him low.

Threat. Threat. Threat.

The two Enteched he’d killed lay in mangled heaps beside the monster. Somehow they were still talking. “Entech, Entech, Entech…” Their voices joined with those of the other lobotomized creations, who shambled toward him with their myriad weaponry at the ready. The giant, though, remained still. Milo immediately understand. It was content to watch him die. It no longer considered him a threat.

“Mistake…” he wheezed, though he wasn’t sure whether he was judging the beast’s folly or his own. The question was moot. He was Astartes. He would not die here at the hands of these wretches.

The Enteched were inclined to disagree. Loud and clumsy as they were, one had managed to sneak up beside the disoriented marine. “Entech,” it bleated as it raised one drill-tipped arm.

“Better shit to do,” Milo growled, reaching for his bolt pistol.

Someone saved him the trouble. A searing ball of plasma zipped overhead and collided with the servitor-thing’s forehead. Its skull exploded. It collapsed on top of him, limbs jerking in nerve spasms.

Beyond, the giant rotated its gaze toward the new threat. It was rewarded for its concern by a plasma shot to the chest. Even its huge size wasn’t proof against such destructive energy, and the creature lurched back a few steps, trying to reckon with the damage.

"Get up whelp!"

The Voidtooth appeared over him, armored in night black. Without looking at him, the sergeant dropped his fizzling plasma pistol into its holster and drew a luminous golden sword—a blade whose quality clearly surpassed human workmanship. And despite its almost fragile beauty, the sword was much stronger than it appeared. 

The Voidtooth swung at a rushing Enteched. The piston-hammer that’d replaced its forearm didn’t give the golden blade even an instant’s pause; it cleaved through the warp-tainted metal as if it were taut silk. It passed just as easily through the thing’s torso. The Enteched fell in two twitching halves, still mewling its robotic cadence. “Entech, Ent—” But the Voidtooth was having none of that. He stomped irritably on its skull.

Milo finally gained his feet, scooping up his boltgun as he went. The sergeant jerked his head toward the giant. The beast came at them, breaking into a loping run, ignoring the ragged hole burned into its chest.

The sergeant sprang to meet the approaching Enteched, his blade a golden blur.

Which left Milo to confront the giant alone.

Targeting reticles juddered into place, fixing on possible weak points. Most prominent among these was the plasma wound—an ugly gaping hole ringed in charred flesh and half-melted metal. Milo didn’t miss a beat. One-handed, he pointed his bolter at the hole and squeezed off a quartet of single shots. His centuries of experience didn’t let him down. Every bolt found its way into the chest cavity. They detonated in rapid succession with a series of muffled thumps. 

Sludgy black blood erupted from the hole, and the creature staggered under the assault. Milo wasn’t done. With his free hand, he tugged a krak grenade free of his belt. He thumbed the primer. The grenade went live with a high-pitched beep.

He put all his strength into the throw, letting the momentum of his arm carry his body around in a full circle. The grenade flew from his fingertips, fast and straight as a bullet. As he completed his spin, he fluidly brought the boltgun back up—just in time to see the capsule disappear into the giant’s chest cavity.

The krak grenade imploded. The giant’s torso crumpled inward like a ball of paper in a closing fist. It didn’t even have time to make a sound as it died. It toppled on its folding limbs and fell to the marshy ground with a hollow ring. Disgusted, Milo put a couple more bolts into its yowling face for good measure.

“_Suka_.”


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Anger grew in his heart with every passing second. His run went unhindered for a minute with not a sign of the heretek.

Türgen ground to a halt as the corridors opened up into a station. The last time anything had been able to vanish from him like that had been some good many decades ago. He’d almost forgotten how abashed the feeling of a mortal warrior one-upping him could be. It’s not like he possessed the cloaking technology like the bastard-Tau used. It was highly improbable he possessed the cloaking technology, surely? Or maybe this was all a figment of his imagination.

Maybe yet, it really could be a meagre human had got the drop on him and wisped away undetected. It was a humbling notion. He’d have thought himself a fool, but he had to remain focussed on the mission, and something had brought this gargantuan facility low. From the reports he’d read, hereteks were so far the most likely. But to have taken over a facility so mega that it dwarfed lesser fortress-monasteries, surely there still was some force more powerful and sinister to have really initiated this, asides from the omnipresence of chaos.

Ahead was some form of train. He approached without thought. He had lost his quarry and this was the quickest way around.

He entered and the doors slid shut in kind with their sequencing. Immediately, Türgen went about sifting through locations with an instinctual practice. Locations, his initial interest, were seconded by an “INQUISITORIAL LOCKDOWN” notification in red lettering. It hovered above the mines. _This_, he thought, _is where we’ll find the source of this disturbance_. 

His instinct to leap was suddenly barred by an Aquila-shaped electronic key-reader required for this destination. The key was doubtless something the Inquisitor would have. All other locations sifted away in disinterest, and Türgen made straight for previous locations. It had been just an unassuming thing he’d latched straight onto. “Records and finds”. He’d had enough of this administration work. He ached for battle. This was probably the best way to put his foot forward though, and he knew it.

*‘Damn.’*

Right now, he was starting to feel like he was being strung along. He didn’t like how it stripped his empowerment. He initiated the destination anyway. 

Records and finds it was.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

It wasn't long before the caution of the Vlka Fenryka provided him with his reward, and the scuttling again could be heard, coming closer and closer. However, it was met with the sound of something else in the background. Something that was undistinguishable at first, but quickly became louder and clearer

_Bolter fire_. It seemed he was not the only Deathwatch member to have survived the crash, and the unknown Space Marine must have been somewhere nearby. However, before he could investigate further, the creature made itself visible to the Astartes, finally revealing itself to Fith. It appeared mostly human, yet its face was covered by a blank metal mask that appeared to be welded to its own skull. The left arm was no longer flesh, having been replaced by a metallic claw, and the right sported a thrashing nest of corrupted metallic tentacles, that emitted a force of crimson energy. If it had once been a human being, it was not anymore.

Thankfully for Bloodaxe, the creature did have its weaknesses and it didn't take long for the Space Wolf to spot what they were - its mechanical auguments were poorly constructed, and it seemed, judging by the amount of sores and scabs over its body, if it was a miracle that had kept this creature alive and prevented death from infenction, it was a depraved one. 

Its lower body was clearly the most changed, gone completely below the waist, having been replaced with eight sharply barbed bionic legs styled like a spider's, that explained the scuttling. Not giving the creature any time to react, Fith opened fire with his bolter, but his efforts were in vain as its extra legs only served to increase its speed as it made its way past him. 

Before he could switch to his close-combat weapon, the Wolf was knocked down by its strong electro-whips, which sent him crashing across the floor, and he could only watch as the creature headed into the vent-shaft above his head, with apparent ease. Before he could chase after the creature, Gyrin Wyrmfist entered the room, being chased by a horde of similar, cheaply constructed humans, although they lacked the spider-legs of the one that he had just fought. One word could be heard from Wyrmfist's lips as he ran towards the Astartes, and that could be made out quite clearly: "Entech."

The enemy did not give him time to think on the word further, and Fith leapt into action, bolter blazing into life at the creatures. It seemed however, that they had been augmented to survive even the most powerful assaults, for it still kept coming, despite the bolter rounds being consistently piled upon it by the currently stationary Astartes. Caught up in the thrill of battle, he yelled as the true fight began, "For Russ and the Allfather!"


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir’s breathing was shallow and nearly silent. He had forced his pulse to slow right down. His Astartes physique meant that he could wait like this almost indefinitely, but he did not intend to stay indefinitely. Just long enough. Korryn was definitely dead though, his crude mechanics barely even sparked. The thing was disgusting and Hastir could imagine that whatever had done this kind of augmentation to the commander of the Stormtroopers had not had the kindness to anesthetise the poor man. He would have likely been awake as they tore his arms off and replaced them with these metal ones which seemed to be imbued with some sort of witchcraft. 

Hastir tried to think about what they might be up against as the seconds rolled over. If whatever this enemy was, was cannibalising humans and turning them into weapons, so they could assume that any casualties would result in more enemies. Since nothing he had seen thus far indicated to Hastir that there were any survivors and clearly the Stormtroopers had been over-run, they could be facing hundreds of enemies. It was paramount therefore to not become surrounded, and to employ stealth over brute strength. He doubted how well some of those in their group would respond to that idea. If they were still alive.

The time he waited was useful to Hastir to centre his mind and bring his mind back into line with their objective. Find the info, kill anything that stood in their way, get out. Everything else was a secondary objective. He had waited long enough and nothing had ambushed him. Hastir moved out of the abandoned room, taking the memory-chip out of the vox slate in case he needed it later to show to the others. He opened the door into the abandoned hallway. He was still uncomfortable with the isolation. Too much like Belial. But at least this wasn’t the eldar. Their augmentations were much cleaner, if more perverse. 

The din of bolter fire was a welcomed noise for Hastir to hear. Bolters were only standard issue for Adepta Sororitas, who were not here according to the logs, and Astartes. The others had survived, or at least one other by the sound and frequency of the single bolter. There was nothing left here. Time to move on. Hastir turned the corner at almost the same moment Wyrmfist came down and ducked into a room to the right. He did not see Hastir, and neither did the pack of rabid heretic-servitors which followed him. They we too focused on killing and likely augmenting him to care about the black shadow round the corner. 

Hastir watched as the last of the hoard of about 15 of these monstrosities charged into the room and a smile crept across his face as he heard the harsh bang of two bolters. So, at least half of their team was alive, which was more than he had expected and ample for their needs. Hastir ran down the corridor and spun, bringing his multi-melta to bear. “Surprise whoresons!” Hastir shouted with savage glee as he opened fire with his multi-melta. The crude cyborgs had barely entered the room and so were tightly packed. The beam of energy tore easily through two of the shambling messes of rotting human flesh and cybernetics and they dropped to the floor. The energy it took to vaporize the flesh and metal robbed the melta-beam of some of its power, but it still had enough to burn through another one’s chest and melt through the back of a forth. The last fell to the floor as its human legs stopped working. Its mechanic arms still tried to crawl forwards to be a threat, but its power was robbed of it and he trusted the others would end it swiftly.

Almost immediately, the cyborgs realised that they had two fronts they needed to fight on. Unfortunately, many of the closest and most tightly knit enemies had just fallen under the baleful eye of Hastir mighty weapon and now they were further apart. Hastir quickly fired another shot at the closest enemy and the beam burnt clean through it and one that was behind it. Steaming black, oily blood dribbled out of its mouth as it fell forward, dead like the others. Hastir’s multi-melta was meant to carve through tank armour and was making short work of these mere humans with some meagre metal plates strapped on.

Hastir, for his part relished in the power he had over these pathetic mortals. A deep malicious cackle emanated from Hastir’s vox grill. He was certain his glee in their destruction did not phase these abominations, but his joy was not shown for them. The joy was for him alone and he would wear it with pride. Another crudely augmented human shambled towards him. A deliberate high shot put the creature out of its misery by vaporizing its head and upper body. The creatures were getting further apart as they were thinned out by the combined effort of Hastir, Gyrin and the other brother that Hastir had not yet had the chance to identify. 

Hastir slung his multi-melta over his back and drew his chainsword, its engine burst noisily into life. Hastir leapt into combat with the closest ‘man’. It conserved his ammunition for his gun but it also let him feel his enemies go limp in his hands. The machine brought its arms up to block the savage downward strike from Hastir. The teeth of his chainsword sparked against the metal of the machine’s arms. The combatants broke apart and the machine swung heavily with its metal claw arm. Hastir blocked the strike by striking with his fore-arm into the elbow joint of his opponent. The claw stopped several inches from Hastir’s face. Hastir rolled under the arm and lashed out with his chainsword into the soft flesh of the creature’s spine. It bit in several inches and blood and oil leaked out.

The machine swung incoherently round in an effort to stop the Astarte which was tearing him apart. But the machine had no combat finesse and Hastir easily avoided the blow by ducking. With the weight of his bent legs behind him, Hastir thrust his chainsword up into the skull of the cyborg. The teeth ground grey matter to paste and twisted the blade 180 degrees and carved down into the abdomen, severing the spinal cord and tearing into the lungs. The eerie red glow faded from its eyes and Hastir pulled his blade out of the creature and it fell backwards onto the floor. 

One of the last remaining ones had been riddled with several bolt rounds and was pre-occupied with the other two Astartes it was facing. Hastir gripped his chainsword with both hands and swung it with his full weight behind him into the machine’s neck. The whirring teeth of the chainsword made short work of the neck tissue and a moment later the head and the body were two separate entities and the latter rolled onto the floor as the body crumpled without anything to guide it. Gyrin and the other brother, who Hastir could now see was Fith, had finished off their share of the hoard and now the three Astartes stood in a room with mangled corpses and silence. 

“Good to see you managed to not get yourselves killed.” Hastir remarked contemptuously. “I don’t know where you have been, but the barracks are clear. And by clear I mean no hoard of these metal freaks jumped out at me. Judging by the blood on the walls there though I’d imagine the Stormtroopers were over-run. Korryn is dead and I wouldn’t hold out much hope for any survivors. If we assume that every casualty was turned into one of those then we could be facing hundreds of enemies at least.” Hastir paused to let that thought sink in, in case the others were not aware of their predicament. He was used to being left alone with no support, even if he didn’t like it. But perhaps they were not so accustomed to it. “Korryn recorded this before he died though.” Hastir let the vox message play out. Sharing intel was paramount at this point or they’d all suffer. “As you heard, the source of this is from the lower levels and whatever this dig is. We need to go there, get the intel and then exfiltrate. After that…” Hastir paused partly for dramatic effect and partly because he knew that his next sentence was something the Inquisition was just as likely to do right now as after they left if they thought it necessary. “After that, they can blow this place to hell.” Hastir stopped speaking for a moment. They needed to move, but they needed to talk to. They couldn’t just go in blind, or at least, any more blind than they already were…


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Gryin turned his head to steal a glimpse of his enemies, The Storm Warden counted 15 in total. The loosely human structures were riddled with metal augmentations and raw looking rashes. Their hands and fingers had been replaced by long supple blades which emitted a dark red lightning. Wyrmfist instinctively thought the worse and assumed the creatures had somehow constructed power weapons from their own body. This worried the Astartes, fifteen on one were not good odds for any fight and Gryin did not know anything of these creatures. Going into an enemy blind made you weak. In any case Gryin needed to get to a better position of risk being overwhelmed. With that the Astartes made haste to reach the top of the stairs.

Just as Gryin’s foot hit the top step the familiar crack of bolter fire echoed down the hall. Gryin hoped that this meant that someone from squad omega was close. Gryin advanced down the hall backwards, occasionally showing some of the entrenched some of the emperors wrath from his bolter. Gryin entered the room from where the Bolter sounds had come and was glad to see that is was Fith Bloodaxe, Gryin did not need to say anything. The spacewolf saw what was following him and had enough battle experience to know what to do about it. Both Astartes turned to face the door and let their boltguns roar on full auto. 

The mass reactive rounds smashed into the mass of bodies giving out massive ammounts of physical force and keeping them pushed back out of the room. However the Entenched seemed to simply shrug most of the blows off. Gryin blew one of their heads off with a well aimed burst but the Entench continued to stumble around for a while before finally dropping from a burst of fire that took out one of its legs. Just a Gryin’s clip ran dry he noticed a shimmer or energy pierce through the Entenched and his suit registered head signals also. Gryin’s mind went straight to Hastir’s Multi-Melta, The storm warden was pleased to see that yet another of Omega squad had survived. 

Gryin was brought back into the fight by his bolter’s magazine clicking empty. By this time the combined efforts of the three marines had whittled the entrenched down to four which was low enough to tackle in close quarters. The Storm Warden drew Scale Bane and wielded it in both hands. An Entenched advanced with a lunge directly against Wrymfist’s chest. He moved to the left meaning the claws did nought but scrape against his matte black armour. He then replied with a vicious overhand swing that sailed clean through the neck and dropped the head on the floor. Another of the Entenched swiped the Astartes but was quickly parried by the master crafted blade. Gryin lashed out and grabbed hold on the Entenched’s wrist and dragging him closer with all his strength. Scale Bane roared with delight as it sailed clean through the humanoid’s chest. Gryin them dragged the blade directly up and cut the beasts head in two. 

With that the beasts had all been dropped, Gryin felt his second heart slow down and the adrenaline in his veins begin to decline. Gryin turned to look at Bloodaxe, the space wolf looked to have enjoyed that fight. Hastir turned the corner and greeted them, *“Good to see you managed to not get yourselves killed. I don’t know where you have been, but the barracks are clear. And by clear I mean no hoard of these metal freaks jumped out at me. Judging by the blood on the walls there though I’d imagine the Stormtroopers were over-run. Korryn is dead and I wouldn’t hold out much hope for any survivors. If we assume that every casualty was turned into one of those then we could be facing hundreds of enemies at least.”* Gryin did not know who Korryn was but he was pleased to hear there could be a lot of these things for him to kill. Hastir then proceeded to play out a message from this Korryn and then suggested we get the intel and blow site alpha sky high. *“Don’t you think we should find the others first? I doubt Gastron would be pleased to hear that we blew up his shark.”* Asked Gryin.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-MESSAGE ALPHA-99. SENDER: ACTING FORCE COMMANDER HAAKON IRONFANG. RECEIVER: CAPTAIN JENNIK.+++

+++Message begins,

What do you mean our astropaths can't send any messages?! Our engine crew are reporting that something is interfering with the Warp drives and that we can't move anywhere, and now your telling me we're not just dead in the water, we're silent too?! Something is happening down there and we're cut off. Throne!! Get it fixed before I have to come down there myself!!

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe*, *Gyrin Wyrmfist* and *Hastir Jorvane*:A soft voice behind all of you brings you out of your conversation.

_"No he wouldn't."_​
The Voidtooth is behind you, a strange golden sword that does not appear of human make is in his right hand and a plasma pistol is in his left. There is blood across his armour, sickly pale blood and engine oil that can only have come from fighting the Enteched. He glances at your armour and grunts, a brief nod of acknowledgement to your state and the bodies all around you. You all notice that the bodies of the Enteched are melting, even the augmetics are turning into a black sludge that retains no hint of what it used to be. Disgusting, but it does not reveal any clues about exactly what these creatures are. That they are the base personnel is clear from the fate of Captain Korryn, but what happened to them is another mystery. They are insane, but what drove them insane?? Answers will have to wait as the Voidtooth orders you to form up and follow, he explains that he and *Miroslav Sidorov* have found an elevator shaft that will take you all into the lower level of the complex, the real Station Alpha. He has not seen *Türgen* however and has no idea where he has gone to.

You all follow the Voidtooth back down the stairs and towards the vehicle bay. Along the way *Fith Bloodaxe* mentions the spider-creature, and the Voidtooth tells you all that *Miroslav* killed a massive Enteched that had the same blank mask. Once you all emerge into the vehicle bay you see the former Bogatyr marine awaiting you all. Your reunion is brief however as the Voidtooth gets your attention and issues a new directive.

_"Alright Omega listen up. These things are probably all over this station and the site personnel are probably all dead. I am confirming kill on sight parameter, if you have even the slightest doubt that anyone or anything you find is hostile, terminate it. Even if it looks friendly."_​
The idea of terminating potentially loyal Imperials may rankle you, or it may mean nothing to you at all. Either way, it could very well happen on this mission. You all gather on the lift, which is large enough that it could carry a Baneblade super-heavy tank, and after a moment the Voidtooth manages to get it to descend, slowly. The darkness is complete and none of you can see anything but you can hear, and when you hear the scuttling return both Fith and Gyrin realise that the Spider has returned. Their warning has the squad ready as several vents burst in all directions, and Enteched come spilling out of them screaming _"ENTECH!"_ as loud as they can. Only the muzzle flashes of your bolters and the crimson energy flowing around them gives any light to work with, but you are Astartes and it will be enough. Survive until the lift reaches the lower level.


*Miloslav Sidorov*:: As the abomination's twitches cease the lights across it's body begin to glow. Before your eyes the body melts into a grey pasty sludge, even it's augmetics melt into a darker black slurry. Some kind of defence mechanism perhaps, to prevent an enemy from examining one of them. You notice that the others you have killed have also melted either partially or fully. The sounds of battle around you have died, and you realise the Voidtooth is standing behind you and observing you. You turn and salute, as befits his station, and realise that under his helmet he is chuckling softly.

_"Not bad improvisation whelp. That kind of fast-thinking will take you far in the Deathwatch."_​
He surveys the area and the piles of sludge without comment. He clearly does not know what these things are either, that in itself says a great deal about the enemy that a veteran of Deathwatch service like the Voidtooth has never seen anything like them before. Before you can voice an opinion he turns and looks into the forest, gauging something before turning back to you.

_"We need to move now. This entire mission is circling the drain already and we've only just made first contact with the enemy. You and I whelp are going to get to Station Alpha and try to establish communication with the rest of the squad, if their dead we proceed on our own and accomplish the objective. Move."_​
He does not give you time to question the order or offer another course of action. Without choice you follow him through the marshes, no further Enteched appear but the omniprescent silence is still here. They are not far, and likely many many more are awaiting you. Before long you reach Station Alpha, the colossal research facility could house thousands of these monstrosities. The Voidtooth heads towards what appears to be a southern entry point, to a vehicle bay of some kind, and expects you to follow. Inside it is dark and abandoned, no vehicles are present and the only thing of interest in the room is the lift that is awaiting activation directly ahead of you. The Voidtooth glances at it but does not make a move towards it, he instead looks around the room and decides on heading towards a corridor adjacent to the lift.

_"Hold here,"_ he says, not looking back as he moves on. You obey and wait for a few minutes at the lift. Soon the Voidtooth returns, with *Fith Bloodaxe*, *Gyrin Wyrmfist* and *Hastir Jorvane* in tow. You share a reunion with your squad brothers, but *Türgen* is still missing. None of you have seen any trace of him.

_"Alright Omega listen up. These things are probably all over this station and the site personnel are probably all dead. I am confirming kill on sight parameter, if you have even the slightest doubt that anyone or anything you find is hostile, terminate it. Even if it looks friendly."_​
The Voidtooth's order is a reminder that you are Deathwatch now. Terminating loyal Imperial assets is something that will likely happen to you a lot in the future. You should get used to the idea. The Voidtooth ushers you all onto the lift, it is easily wide enough for a Baneblade to fit onto it's circumference, and works the control panel, which appears to function just barely and within a minute you are descending slowly and in enough dark that your helmet visors cannot pierce it. After a few moments you hear something, scuttling and whispering. You ready your weapons just as a vent bursts open and a handful of Entech leap out, screaming _"ENTECH!"_ as they charge at you all. The dark makes it impossible to see except for during the muzzle flash of a bolter and the energy that flares from their armour. But you are Astartes, and you know no fear. Show them that.


*Türgen*: The grav-car begins to move, fairly quickly to boot. As it flies across the rail you catch glimpses of wreckage across the facility, doors torn from their hinges, blood splattered on the walls and claw marks across surfaces. More barricades are set up but they are poor and most have been ripped apart by whatever attacked, but it appears from this vantage point and the number of apparant battlezones that the enemy were very numerous, and came from all directions in the base rather than from one concentrated source. Likely this is the evidence of whatever made the base go dark rather than whatever entered it afterwards.

A noise catches your attention. A thud that causes the car to rock from side to side momentarily. Something has just landed on the top of your car. Before you can do anything a fist punches through the roof, it is swathed in crimson energy and it made of metal. It rips a hole in the car roof and falls inside. It looks like a man but only in the basic outline. It's body is covered in scar tissue and infected scabs that ooze pus, it's arms have been replaced with augmetics which appear poorly attached and that seem abuzz with red lightning. It's eyes are blank and it is chattering something repeatedly, "Entech." You catch a glimpse of others scaling the car, since you are at the head of the car you have a wall to your back but something could come through. But these new arrivals are definitely coming to you. Two more enter the car, both similar in their pallid appearance but with differing augmetics. They charge at you, forcing you to respond.

Once they are dead more try to enter the car but are thrown from it when the car slams to a halt at the Records and Finds terminal. Several are thrown out of the car or from the sides of it and fall to their deaths, but a handful remain in the car but are dazed. You finish them off and scan the nearby area, no more appear to have remained in the area but it does not explain what these thing are. They look like diseased servitors, but the augmetics are too poorly attached even by Mechanicus standards. Before you can examine them further they begin to melt, even the augmetics turn into a black paste, leaving no evidence that they were once a living being.

Ahead of you is the entrance to the Records and Finds first storage chamber. It has been ripped open, again by something with immense strength. The enemy could be inside. You could enter the chamber directly and confront whatever is inside, or you could enter the side-corridor and observe what is in the room, however that will leave you unable to react to what is in it without leaving the corridor and re-entering the room first.


_[That's it for the update. I've tried to move things a it further ahead with this one, to enter the next stage of the RP. The under-level of Station Alpha, and furthering the mystery of the Enteched and discovering what happened within the base. For the update i've mentioned one or two directives that I will elaborate on. For Bane, Warsmith and Mortis, i've highlighted your characters names and outlined where they have said something to the group, feel free to put these in your own words or just narrate that you said it. For Blackwire you fights are part of the update, narrate them how you like but make them good and involved, and once you've typed the fights move ahead to what comes next. Hope you all enjoy the update.]_


LotN


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## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

The monstrosity was little more than a lumpy pile of half-congealed mush. All it all, it was even uglier than it had been when it was ‘alive’, which was certainly a tall statement. Just as Milo was about to comment on this, the lights across its pulverized form winked into life.

Alarmed, the Bogatyr lurched backward and brought his weapon to bear. But there was no need. The giant Enteched didn’t rise again—merely frothed and bubbled like a slug doused in salt. The flesh sloughed off as it melted into a sickly grey paste, filling the air with a toxic reek akin to that of burnt rubber. 

Revolted, Milo turned away, not at all interested in seeing more.

The Voidtooth stood behind him, watching him lazily. The Carcharadon’s sword and armor were smeared with befouled guts, but he looked perfectly at ease, to Milo’s utter lack of surprise.

Milo saluted with a fist to his breastplate, instinctively paying respect to his sergeant’s rank.

The Voidtooth failed to return the gesture. A clicking, wheezing sound spat haltingly from his vox grille—a sound Milo recognized as soft chuckling. "Not bad improvisation whelp. That kind of fast thinking will take you far in the Deathwatch."

He nodded flippantly. “It kills aliens. It is good enough.”

The sergeant’s helmet panned as he wordlessly surveyed the piles of grey sludge that dotted the clearing in place of the Enteched corpses. He didn’t seem overly impressed, but neither did he say what he thought they were—which told Milo that he didn’t have the faintest clue what they were, either. He turned to direct a piercing gaze into the jungle. "We need to move now. This entire mission is circling the drain already and we've only just made first contact with the enemy. You and I, whelp, are going to get to Station Alpha and try to establish communication with the rest of the squad. If they’re dead, we proceed on our own and accomplish the objective. Move."

By now, Milo knew better than to ask questions or voice concerns. So he stuffed the first vestiges of a comment back into the confines of his thoughts, and mutely followed the Voidtooth into the forest with his boltgun at the ready.

The marshes would have been impassable quagmires for any human, but the pair of Astartes made quick progress through. Ahead of them rose the hulking rockrete citadel that was Station Alpha. The research facility was nothing short of colossal, and Milo had little doubt that there would be thousands more of those abominations waiting for them inside. He took no issue with this, save the realization that with ammunition limited, he wouldn’t be able to kill as many as he’d have liked.

Again, the Voidtooth appeared to know where to go. He led Milo around the foundation until they arrived at what appeared to be a vehicle bay, built directly beneath the mammoth walls.

The interior was oppressively dark. A breeze from outside blew hollowly through the space. Water dripped. “Noxsight,” Milo whispered. His heads-up display winked, then bathed his vision in green as his night vision activated. It revealed exactly what he’d surmised: an empty chamber that might have once been a vehicle bay. Where were the vehicles?

On the far side of the bay, something caught Milo’s interest: a broad, circular lift built up against the opposite wall. The Voidtooth saw it as well, but didn’t move toward it. His gaze found a corridor adjacent to the lift. “Wait here,” he instructed.
Milo was Astartes. He obeyed.

He stood alone at the lift for several uncomfortable minutes. His eyes roved constantly to the yawning, daylight-filled entrance, fully expecting that when he looked back, there would be a horde of Enteched standing silhouetted there.

But of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, the Voidtooth came back. And, much to Milo’s completely hidden delight, most of Omega Squad was with him. The Wolves and the Black Shield marched into view. Their armor was a little scuffed, but they looked little worse for wear.

“Brothers!” Milo greeted. His tone reflected none of the elation he felt. “I knew better than to think any of you dead.” He glanced between them. “What of Türgen?”


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

Hastir listened as Gryin misunderstood his point. _“Don’t you think we should find the others first? I doubt Gastron would be pleased to hear that we blew up his shark.”_ Hastir was about to answer that he did not mean they would, but that the Inquisition might regardless of their status if they felt it was the only option to contain the threat, when a fourth voice joined in. _“No, he wouldn’t.”_ Hastir turned to confirm with his eyes what his ears already told him. Voidtooth walked towards them with his xenos sword and plasma pistol drawn and blood splattered over his armour. “Ah, our fearless leader!” Hastir exclaimed with his arms open wide and his voice taking on a jovial tone that none of squad Omega had heard before this point. “Were your ears burning or did you just miss us?” Hastir began to chuckle to himself, first loudly and then steadily decreasing in volume until the momentary flash of the jovial soul he had once been had passed. 

Hastir had not realised it until this point, but he had been nervous. He had been stranded before. He had faced an uncertain amount of enemies all alone. He had lost those he held closest to him. And he had been afraid. Afraid that history would repeat himself. So to see so many of the closest people he had to brothers had survived, his former self dared to venture out from whichever dark corner of Hastir’s soul it had hidden itself away in. But such a broken spirit is always skittish and dared not stay out for long, lest it be wounded again. So Hastir’s throaty joyful laughter died slowly and he became the obsidian statue full of mirth and wrath which the members of squad Omega had first met.

The Enteched were melting into some kind of disgusting black sludge, making identifying their inner workings impossible. If the Ordos wanted to examine one of these, they would need to capture it alive. However, if the external structure of these things gave any indication, Hastir imagined that they looked like humans on the inside too. Although, if that were true, then why did they disintegrate like this? Hastir concluded that they either whatever sorcery gave their augmetics the red glow also destroyed their bodies on death, or that their appearance as human was an illusion. Perhaps it was not that they augmented humans, but that they simply wore human skin. Whichever was the case, they died like humans, and that was enough for Hastir to know how to kill them. And in the end, that was probably the most important piece of knowledge you could possess about your enemies.

Voidtooth ordered them to form up and follow him in his usual terse and vaguely irritated fashion. Hastir did so, his multi-melta ready to fire on any enemies they faced. As they walked the halls with Voidtooth acting as their guide, they encountered no further resistance. Fith and Voidtooth talked of the ‘special’ variants they had seen of these Entech. Both seemed to wear a blank mask. “Perhaps the masks signify whatever passes for seniority amongst these freaks?” Hastir offered as they walked. “If we see any more, we should try killing those first. See if killing them has the same effect as killing the Synapse Creatures of the Tyranids?” It might be nothing, but if killing the leaders gave them an advantage whilst the lower creatures were in disarray, it was another trick they would have up their sleeve. 

They emerged in what appeared to be a vehicle bay which was strangely lacking in vehicles. But what it did have was Miloslav. So all but one were accounted for. _“Brothers!” _ Milo greeted them _“I knew better than to think any of you dead.”_ He glanced between them. _“What of Türgen?” _
“Not dead.” Hastir responded with contempt in his voice, as if to say *What a stupid question to ask.* There wasn’t much time to talk as Voidtooth began to issue more orders and none of them were stupid enough to interrupt him talking. _"Alright Omega listen up. These things are probably all over this station and the site personnel are probably all dead. I am confirming kill on sight parameter, if you have even the slightest doubt that anyone or anything you find is hostile, terminate it. Even if it looks friendly."_ Hastir had been given such orders before and following them to their exact letter did not faze him. Such orders were necessary in their line of work.
The lift they entered was huge, large enough to accommodate a Baneblade with ease. Perhaps it did once. But, if it was meant to and there had been one in the base, which was now no longer here, that raised the worrying issue of “where the hell was at least one super-heavy vehicle?” If these Entech monstrosities possessed it, then they could be in for a real challenge. As the lift descended there was an audible scuttling noise, which both Gryin and Fith warned was the spider variant of the Entech they encountered earlier. That was all the warning they needed. Everyone in Omega squad drew their weapons and had them ready, so when the vents burst open and the stream of red light poured out from them, Omega squad showed them the full wrath of the Astartes.

Hastir fired his multi-melta into one of the vent openings, the bright beam evaporating at least two Entech as they tried to exit. However, quickly the Entech spilled from other vents and Hastir was not able to cover them all with melta-blasts. He was also reluctant too, the thought of having to face untold amount of enemies and possibly super-heavy vehicles made him wary using all his weapon’s ammunition on enemies which could be easily dispatched with his blades. So, Hastir slung his multi-melta away and draw his chainsword and power knife, thumbing the activation runes on both. They roared and sparked into life respectively and Hastir leap into combat with the nearest foe.

The only sources of light were the muzzle flashed from his brothers bolters and the red glow of the Entech, but that was more than enough for Hastir to see how he would kill them. These things clearly felt no pain, so some of his more underhanded strikes intended to inflict pain and make his foes lose focus would not be effective here. This was about brute strength and efficiency and Hastir had both. The glowing limb of one Entech swiped downwards towards him. Hastir right hand drove his power knife into the arm of the creature. Its arm pinned high by Hastir’s strength left its chest exposed and Hastir sliced into the chest cavity with his chainsword. The whirring teeth-blades chewed up the soft internal organs and the creature faltered. For good measure, Hastir sliced open the creature’s neck so its head rolled back and hung on by the still attached muscle and tendons and black oily blood leaked out.

Hastir spun to meet the side-swiping arm of another Entech with his chainsword. His foot lashed out with a savage kick which bent the knee back the wrong way. The Entech faltered and dropped low as its other knee buckled. It didn’t feel the agony of the broken knee-cap, but it died when Hastir smashed down on its skull with his right hand. The power knife cut through the bone and metal first and then the raw power of Hastir’s fist followed and caused the things head to burst like a ripe fruit. The third was preoccupied with moving towards Gryin, and Hastir sheathed his power knife. It was still a little way off and of no immediate threat, but its lack of attention on the inky black form of Hastir moving towards it meant it was unprepared when his chainsword took off one if it’s arms. It spun to try and kill Hastir with its remaining arm, but Hastir dodged the blow with all the grace only Astartes possess. After the strike had passed, Hastir grabbed the arm and forced the Entech to the ground. A strong pull from Hastir tore the limb off from where it had been crudely attatched and then its head was crushed under his boot. He looked round for his next foe, but they had all been dispatched by his squad-mates. Hastir hoped they didn’t, but the Entech needed to learn that it would take a great deal more than some shady blasphemous servitors to take down a nearly full strength Deathwatch Kill Team…


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

The tunnel whistled by, like something between a shrill scream, nails scraping a blackboard and a muffled echo. In quickly gone instances, the evidence of the attack became more increasingly evident. Contorted door-wrecks, blood-splatter and ragged claw marks – each one, captured like a distilled pict echoing a degree of disturbance. It was fascinatingly convulsive, violence emphasised by cleanliness on the oppressive titanic construct of Imperial architecture.

It all served to remind him how very far he’d come. Home, as much of an echo in his mind as it was now, had been a tribal affair. Yurts and the open steppe. A clean kill was consumed by the earth. He had mused on countless occasions that it looked more natural like that. It was easy to be meditative there. The whole word was a spiritual stilling. The sky-god watched over all. It was a very real experience to him then. After his training in the Astartes ranks he came to a new understanding. He was taught of the Emperor and his power. It was the most awe-inducing revelation, though it had left him in a state of reclusive deep thought for weeks after.

Here was the stark and constant reminder of brutality descending beyond dystopia to ruin. None of the power of an all-watching saviour clung to these cold rockrete walls.

The car shook, shuddering more heavily than it should. Then, without warning, a fist slid forcefully through the roof of the car. It was a punch nonetheless, but it hit with such power that the roof offered no resistance. Swathed in red aura and cybernetically enhanced, it was probably no surprise it had. A second later, the arm pulled back out, and with it went the roof.

With a distinct whack the assailant landed inside with little time waiting. It was scarred and sheathed in red lightning, its head bobbling about like a puppet on a string.

‘Entech. Entech. Entech,’ it repeated in a maddened mantra as others scale the tram’s car walls. Whether possessed or crazed – or both – it seemed deep within its state. With backup surrounding him, and an unsettlingly unhinged look, it and it’s duo of likened heretek delinquents charged forward, still rattling their mantra.

Even as they attacked, they did not pause for breath. Their voices were unified an unrelenting. With their opening moves – two lunges and a slice – the Marauder made his. Rolling about the reach of all of them with nimble ease and coupling a pin-point blur he made his exit to face them all to one front – his.

There was stillness for a moment as the head of the first assailant peeled off and hit the floor with distinct splatter. Again the enteched charged. Türgen launched into the leading one knee-first, a blow that connecting with a regular human abdomen would have crushed all internals impacted instantly. It merely knocked the enteched back against the corner of one of the carriage doors, shattering its windows. The monster spasmed briefly only to regain himself a couple of seconds later.

He had to be quick to dodge the other, who swung with a razor-disc arm. A nimble roll placed him safely between both assailants. The arm crashed into the tram-front. As he tried to wrangle the arm free, Türgen engaged the other with no second of forethought. With an instinctually-bred fluency, he began a beat-down of lightning-fast blows utilising fists, elbows and the flats of his forearms.

The barrage of damage was designed to lower such an opponent to a swaying, easily finished mess. However, each connection met with a violent crack of sparking red energy. He could feel his armour giving way, crumbling as it impacted, leaving many small craters. The knuckle-armour on his right arm was gone. Both arms were looking leprous.

He finished his flurry with a quick neck chop. Behind him, the other entecher was taking apart the front of the coach in clean cuts as he tried to repair purchase of his weapon-arm. The entecher in-front of him was still not dead, having taken the brunt of the hacking swing. Türgen’s sabre remained lodged in him like an ineffective arrow.

The entecher kneed back. He may be proving hard to kill, but Türgen was much tougher than that. A flail-arm blow. Sidestepped. Pivot-turn behind the attacker. Retrieve sabre. Hack into back. Tear with unleashed full-on strength. Free hand grabbing upper half. Throw out window.

With that foe dispatched, Türgen faced the final attacker. Gone. With a sound like a hard breeze the ghosting attacker re-emerged right on top of him, bearing down with the razor-disc, which sawed with unreal ease through his pauldron. With a fraction-of-a-second to react, Türgen grabbed the razor-disc arm with his hand, letting the sabre and his glove take the bombardment of red lightning, and then swung it like a javelin through the floor with the defiant speed that characterised him. From there, the Marauder crouched down on him, pinning the entecher to the tram floor. He took his unengaged left hand and forcefully grasped a handful of hair on the heretek’s head. He dragged up slowly, and crashed back down hard, smashing through the floor and into the tracks below. 

The face of the final entecher smeared bloodily on for metres.

Finally the tram ground to a halt. Enteched still scaled the car, the majority of which were thrown off as it broke. A few slid in from the disgorged front end of the tram. They rolled around on the floor, covered in small smatters of their own blood and trying to regain a sense of direction. With a simple need to progress and discover, Türgen un-holstered his boltgun and gave them an un-acknowledging Commissar’s sentencing. Heads exploded like gone-off plums.

Finally, Türgen had met his enemy. He was starting to feel his game return to him. There was no challenge to it yet. That was a pity. Even holographic simulation had provided better taxing of neural system and martial prowess, but as long as he got his job done, that was all that really mattered to the Marauder.

He gave one final survey of the area. No signs of further waves of onslaught, but the bodies- they were starting to melt. They appeared to become something like sludge, or molten slag. It sent a shiver of shock induced by the unexpected, which in turn left a trailing line of questions. One speculative thought lingered, maybe it was some link to the technology used to bioenhance Eversor assassins. It seemed a farfetched thought though; this was more likely some spawn of chaos.

Instinctively he relaxed, and turned to the chamber ahead. Its door, unsurprisingly, had been ripped clean through. He decided it better to keep his gun at the ready.

From here, he could either confront the beast inside directly, or he could observe from a side. The seeming lack of tactical choice concerned him. So, by adherence to the Codes Astartes, he decided upon a simple approach. With catlike silence, he advanced directly in, to confront a possible foe – gun at the ready, senses at full alert.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

“No he wouldn’t” came a voice from behind, Gryin turned to see the Voidtooth walking towards them. Gryin noticed the marines weapons first, the sword seemed out of place. Gryin raised his brow in suspicion, why was the marine wielding a xenos blade? Whatever the Voidtooth’s reasons he looked to have already put the blade to use. Entenched blood was dripping from the blade and was across his armour. Hastir piped up with a theatrical greeting that was out of character but then quickly realised the surprised expression of those around him and went back to his usual cold self. Gryin paid no attention to the outbreak but his opinion of Hastir was now changed, he was not the man he made himself out to be. In time that would come to light. The Veteran Astarted would be ready to pick up the slack.

Looking around Gryin noticed that the entenched bodies were melting. While is was hardly a pleasant sight Gryin was not put off by it. After fighting the servants of nurgle you would think you couldn’t be disgusted by anything ever again. Gryin’s thoughts began to wander to the origin of the entrenched, it was certainly a possibility that the forces of chaos were involved with their inception. The laws of nature certainly went against what the marines eyes saw and that was something that almost always followed the forces of chaos. The only other possibility is that it was of xenos origin. Old xenos at that. Although it would require sustained power to defy the laws of physics on a scale as large as this. Whatever was further down in the deeps of station alpha had better be prepared for a good old Sacris greeting.

As they walked the corridors of site alpha Fith piped up about some kind of spider creature. I could have related to the clanking sound that Gryin had heard just before the rabble appeared. It would make sense that whatever was controlling the Entenched to have some kind of mobile commander, much like the tyranids and their synapse creatures Gryin suspected the Entenched would go feral without the presence of the spidery creatures. This pleased the Storm Warden, now they had an edge in battle over the Entenched it would not be a case of being overrun by the damned creatures.

The 4 Deathwatch arrived in front of an elevator in front of a pensive Miroslav Gryin saw him in a new light after the Voidtooth revealed his recent exploits of martial skill. “What of Turgen?” A valid question and a natural one. An Astartes should feel bonded to his battle brothers, the bond allows them to trust one another implacably. From a simple tactical squad to the chapter masters own honour guard it is important to care about your brothers. As they say, a kink in the chain……

So when Hastir shot down Miloslav’s comment with such contempt Gryin found himself a bit pissed off. “You seek to chastise Milo for caring about his battle brother Hastir? If you wish to distance yourself from the rest of us and get yourself killed that’s your business but don’t act maliciously towards those of us who do intend to know their brothers as well as the backs of our hands.” The storm warden had a tone of authority in his voice, the kind of tone you should know better than to argue with whether the what was said was wrong or right. With that the Voidtooth began to issue new orders, "Alright Omega listen up. These things are probably all over this station and the site personnel are probably all dead. I am confirming kill on sight parameter, if you have even the slightest doubt that anyone or anything you find is hostile, terminate it. Even if it looks friendly." 

Kill on sight was a nasty order, only once before had Gryin been forced to follow the order in imperial territory. Women and children died in droves before the Storm Wardens advance into the Hab city. On that day they were not angels, Their blood soaked hands bled into their minds and poisoned their dreams. It took a great many hours with the chaplain for Gryin to face combat again after that. The Storm Warden had eventually gotten over it and went on to lead his impressive career. The only thing that stopped Gryin from saying anything was that he did not think he would find any living loyal imperials left down there anyway and that it would be a mercy to end their lives if they were in the process of becoming Entenched.

The marines took up fighting positions on the elevator which was fairly massive, enough space for the marines to be overrun if too many enemies found their way onto it. It took a while but Voidtooth eventually got the lift descending slowly. Gryin suspected that Ironfang would have taken a wobbly at his rites of initiation. Whatever the case on the battlefield you could not afford to be picky, if something worked it worked and it was a simple as that. 

They descended into the darkness slowly for about ten minutes until Gryin’s sensorium picked up something irritatingly familiar. The spider had returned, with his synapse theory in tow he suspected that some Entenched were on their way too. Gryin looked over to Fith who seemed to share his thoughts and then over to the other three Astartes to shout a warning. The marines barely have time to process the information before some vents in the wall burst open and crimson sparks erupt in the air. Gryin fired into the vent closest to him, the Entenched being the stubborn bastards they are refused to fall from the bolts. Gryin scowled and drew his blades. 

He was taught how to blade dance by a white scar while he was behind enemy lines for a number of months during an ork invasion. The technique involved moving with the enemy and not against them. With one blade held pommel first and the other blade first you can create an astoundingly long edge for blocking. Inversely it made it difficult for the enemy to block with their own blade because you have the ability to easily strike from two opposite angles. Gryin adopted this stance and allowed the Entenched to approach him.

Gryin followed the crimson sparks of the first Entenched and caught it with his backhand while swiping the Entenched’s feet from under it before swinging upwards with his forehand to meet the falling body. The Storm Warden followed through with the strike by doing a full 360 spin until his back hand Chainsword was sticking through the neck of the next Entenched. He took a few scrapes during the spin but his armour with thick enough for them not to matter. Gryin activated the Chainsword as he raised it through the Entenched’s skull. Oil and gore spirked the Astartes as the Entenched let out a satisfying groaning sound. As if fell yet more of the beasts advanced but their sloppy technique didn’t have a chance. Gryin had 7 centuries of swordwork under his belt, if they wanted to defeat him in close combat they had better send a thousand more of these and make damned sure he only had one sword if they even wanted a chance.

Gryin rapped the next Entenched aside with the flat of his blade, the Astartes positioned the Entenched around him with a series of blocks and parries before swirling in a whirlwind of gore through the creatures. The son of Sacris felt at home.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

"No He Wouldn't," a voice from behind them silenced their bickering, which the Wolf had largely remained silent from. It was the Voidtooth, who had just been dubbed by the Astartes named Hastir Jorvane as their "Fearless Leader," and he certainly did play the part, with an xenos sword and plasma pistol in tow - blood splattered around the armour. '_This is new_', thought Fith, but remained silent, awaiting the Astartes' reaction. '_Humour._'

"...Were Your Ears Burning, Or Did You Miss Us?" finished Jorvane, chuckling to himself, but then realised that nobody had joined in, and his laughter died when the Entech started to melt into some kind of black sludge, preventing the Astartes from identifying their inner workings, leading to only one conclusion - if they wanted to examine the beasts, they had to capture one _alive_. Such a task would be hard, but they were Deathwatch. There was nothing that they couldn't do.

The Voidtooth did not give Jorvane a response, ordering the group to follow up and form in. On the way, Fith raised the question of the variant entech that they had previously encountered, and midway through their conversation, Hastir decided to intervene again, "“Perhaps the masks signify whatever passes for seniority amongst these freaks? If we see any more, we should try killing those first. See if killing them has the same effect as killing the Synapse Creatures of the Tyranids?"

It wasn't long before they found themselves in an abandoned vehicle bay, having traversed a series of corridors linking Site Alpha. Well, it was only abandonded of vehicles, for Fith and Omega Squad found themselves confronted by Sidorov, who greeted them with a warm, "Brothers! I knew better than to think that any of you were dead,"

His eyes darted among them, picking out the missing, before adding, “What of Türgen?”

"Not Dead," Jorvane replied bluntly, in a tone that suggested that the question shouldn't have been needed asking in the first place.

After Wyrmfist came up with a rebuttal, all discussion was silenced by the Voidtooth, who took this chance to issue new orders, "Alright Omega listen up. These things are probably all over this station and the site personnel are probably all dead. I am confirming kill on sight parameter, if you have even the slightest doubt that anyone or anything you find is hostile, terminate it. Even if it looks friendly."

Without further command, they took up fighting positions on the elevator, big enough to hold the entirety of the Deatwatch squad, but could be easily overrun if they were swamped with overwhelming numbers. After a while of delay, it wasn't long before the lift shuddered into life, and began to descend into the abyss. The unknown. Just the way that Fith liked it.

Ten minuites later, scuttling and whispering filled the air, confirming only one thing on Fith's mind, and he was quickly proved correct when the Enteched charged forward, bellowing their warcry. They were fighting in a pitch-black location, the dark making it impossible to see anything apart from the muzzle flash of a bolter, and of the energy that flared from under their armour. However, Fith was an Astartes. A Wolf of Fenris. He knew no fear, and it was now time to show that to the enemy. His weapons roared into life, and now it was time to show the enemy what a member of the Rout could do.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-MESSAGE GAMMA-72. SHIP-WIDE MESSAGE.+++

+++Message begins,

All systems... shutting down. Bridge controls: Shutting down. Life-support systems: Shutting down. Power supply: shutting down.

The Emperor Protects.

Message ends.+++_​
*Fith Bloodaxe*, *Miroslav Sidorov*, *Gyrin Wyrmfist* and *Hastir Jorvane*: As the final Enteched falls, it's head severed by Wyrmfist's blade, the doors of the elevator open up. The entry hall revealed is abandoned, but it bears the clear signs that somebody has been here already. Crates carrying supplies and personal items have been scattered all across the room, and many of them are covered in blood. But no bodies remain, or even signs that bodies were in the room like a drag-mark through blood or an outline of a body in the dust. Whatever occurred in this room happened quickly and from the lack of slime, it appears the Enteched took no casualties.

The Voidtooth steps forward and briefly scans the room. He holds his fist up in the All Clear sign, motioning you all forward. As a squad you move up, your boots disturbing the layer of dust that has built up here. It appears as if you are the first to enter this room in a long time, the elevator behind you is somewhat defensible but for the most part the room itself is exposed and a bad place to fight. The Voidtooth moves forward through what looks like a contamination zone clearance-gate, now dead and unmanned. He passes through without incident, the power to the gate's scanning systems has been cut, and begins checking the terminal at the guard station. After a moment he motions you all to join him, the guard station is barely big enough for one Astartes so you wait outside it for him. If you listen your enhanced hearing can hear strange sounds all around you; the drop of something metal onto the floor, a bump in the vents above you, a whispering in the hallways, and even a low laugh that abruptly ends as a door slams shut. If any of you believed in such things, you might suggest that the structure is haunted by evil spirits.

The Voidtooth suddenly steps out and speaks aloud, your squad-vox is still broken and the Voidtooth's is no exception.

_"Alright new blood listen up. I just checked some of the logs the Guards here left behind. The last few entries were made three months ago, the Guards here didn't know much about it but apparantely they found something big in the excavation site below. After that weird things started to happen all over the base, people disapparing, equipment being found in weird places, writing on the walls like those glyphs you saw in the entrance chamber, and even some people claiming to hallucinate their dead loved ones. There's also a report that claimed some people also said it felt like something was watching them, but they were alone and couldn't see anything."

"After that it got worse. They don't say what but something bad happened in the excavation site and they had to quarantine it, and everyone that was in it at the time. After that these things started appearing, killing a few people and vanishing quickly. The Inquisitor in charge issued an order for evacuation, but then these... Enteched came after them in force. I don't know why, maybe they didn't want them leaving, but they massacred everyone they found and dragged their bodies off. The logs don't say anymore after that, the Guards here were probably killed too."_​
He pauses to allow the information to sink in. Likely everyone in this base is dead, the Enteched are running around in force, and whatever started it all happened in the dig site, where they were excavating those ancient ruins. If the Enteched came from there, then whatever is down there must be bad and judging from the state of the base, be either xenos or chaotic in origin. The full weight of this mission becomes clear now, your squad of six marines is alone in this hostile base with an unknown number of degenerate heretics, and the location of the data you are seeking is also unknown. The Voidtooth's body radiates annoyance, it is clear he is thinking the same things as you all. And you are missing a man, *Türgen*, is still lost and could be anywhere on the surface or even in this base already.

_"So here's what we're going to do. We need two things, power to find our way around this heap, and the location of the data we need to recover. So we do both._ *Sidorov*, *Jorvane*_; I want you two to head towards the Generatorium and try to restore the power to the base, we may be able to get the interior guns back online and purge these deviants._ *Bloodaxe*, *Wyrmfist*_; You two are going to head to Records and Finds, there may be a backup copy of the data we're looking for there, if not it'll be in the main data core which we'll need a command key for, and only the Inquisitor would have one of those. I'm going to try and find her body, the key shouldn't have left her person unless one of these freaks took it. I'll go to her office and see what I can find. If you see the Marauder link up with him but don't hunt for him, we can't afford to lose another man. Once your objective is achieved return here and wait for the rest of us. Move out Omega._​
And with that the Voidtooth moves off to the central corridor, uploading the directions to the maps you possess of the facility in your helmets. Once both groups are underway you see the doors of the corridors you are in close behind you, nothing abnormal, but it still feels like an omen.


*Fith Bloodaxe* and *Gyrin Wyrmfist*: As you both make your way down the corridor you converse about the mission quietly, the new findings and your own opinions about what has happened here. The strange sounds continue, but no Enteched attack you along the way, and no signs of any survivors can be seen. Before long you find yourselves entering a maintenance bay, the cog-wheel skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus is situated on the crete walls and the smell of machine oil and incense is still strong. But that is the only remnant of the hallowed presence of the Martian Priesthood, the entire room has been ransacked and stripped of anything metal. Servitors torn apart for their machine implants litter the floor, the repair machines and data terminals have been torn from their sockets and cannibalized, and for the first time there are bodies. The Tech-priests all lie dead, slaughtered and with anything metal ripped free, in some cases when they were still alive. Their flesh, in some cases the very few remains of flesh, has been left to rot, adding the scent of rotten flesh and bodily fluids to the room.

Suddenly the doors behind you slam shut, air hissing into the room from the ceiling vents. When you turn around your guns immediately snap to attention at the figure standing before you both. He is of an ordinary height and wears the pants and boots of a miner, but that is where his humanity ends. Two razor-sharp claws are attached to the mechanical arms that have replaced his flesh and blood limbs, a nest of mechadendrites emerging from his shoulderblades lazily hang in the air, and a blank metal mask is welded to his face. His bare chest is covered in what look like electoos, only they glow red and are the same as the glyphs you saw painted in blood in the entrance hall. Before either of you can fire or say a word your helmets suddenly blank out for an instant, when they reactivate he is gone and the doors are open, but something has been written on the walls in oil.

_"Jind was one of the first. You will learn what he learned. You will witness what he witnessed. Join with us, become one with the machine."​_
As you both read the message it does not make any sense to you. Who is Jind? And what did he learn or witness that has anything to do with all of this? And who or what was the creature that appeared before you without a sound and disappeared just as strangely? These questions will have to wait until matters are less pressing, Records and Finds awaits.


*Miroslav Sidorov* and *Hastir Jorvane*: As you both make your way down the corridor you converse about the mission quietly, the new findings and your own opinions about what has happened here. You can both still hear the sounds of activity that sound so far away yet are still hearable. Signs of struggle can be seen all around you, doors kicked open and vent grilles broken apart from the inside, discarded weapons and personal belongings litter the floor and yet there is no sign that anyone died here. No blood can be seen, and while there are signs of struggle none of it appears serious. The rooms that you can see into appear to be residential, perhaps this is where the miners slept and thus when the Enteched came for them were caught off guard and didn't put up a strong enough fight?? Before long you both emerge into a small grav-rail station, a car still docked in it's berth. The grav-rail must run on a separate power supply to the base's main power and as such is still functional.

Both of you board the car, this one is small and likely a personal car so there is just enough room for you two but no more. Once the coordinates for Generatorium are put in the car begins to move, albeit not very quickly. A minute passes before you hear a strange noise, it is like footsteps but not as heavy. Almost like scuttling. You both immediately remember the spider-legged creature that attacked Fith Bloodaxe and look around but cannot see any sign of the creature, until it falls from the ceiling and lands on the rail ahead of your car. It's claw arm grabs the rail and snaps, shearing through the metal as easily as a chainsword through cloth. It quickly repeats the procedure a few feet ahead of the first cut, creating a gap in the rail. Before either of you can leap from the car it goes flying from the rails and hurtling down to the lower level, the sudden crash jars you both into unconsciousness despite your superhuman physiology.

*Hastir Jorvane* is the first to awaken. As you do the first thing you see is a half-metal half-rotted flesh face staring at you. An Enteched, but it thinks you are dead. It moves away, and you can see a handful of others clustered around your wreck. The spider is nowhere to be seen, but you do see another Enteched dragging the unconscious body of *Miroslav Sidorov* into the small clearing that you are in. They must have dragged you first. One of the Enteched comes closer, it's right arm is a buzzsaw which begins to spin rapidly. It is going to start dismembering Sidorov! You quickly rise and attack, you find your melta gun is sitting right next to you, the creatures having retrieved it and left it there. The sounds of the Enteched dying awaken *Miroslav Sidorov*, and you both finish off the small group of Enteched. Once they are dead you both take stock of your situation, your car is ruined and you cannot climb back up to the higher level, nor can you vox for help, and neither of you can see a way out of this crash site. 

Suddenly you both feel something odd, it is almost as if there is another presence in the room. But you both are the only beings still alive here, and yet you both cannot shake the feeling that there is a third party here. All of a sudden part of the wall opens up to reveal a maintenance corridor, neither of you could see it in the wall before and it appears as if it could only be opened from the inside, yet you can still see nobody, and now neither of you can feel the third presence anymore. With no choice you both head towards the entry hatch, the maintenance corridor is the only way out. Compared to the main corridors in the base this one is quite tight and confined and appears derelict. You must keep going and try to find another way to the Generatorium, perhaps this will be the way.


*Türgen*: As you enter Records and Finds your first thought is that it may take you some time to find what you are looking for. The room is immense with a vaulted ceiling and rows upon rows of files and logs and other records, and some sections contain physical samples such as rock and metal samples, old tools that do not look as if a human crafted them and one or two small things that you cannot divine the purpose of. With no way to be sure of where you can find what you are meant to be looking for you head to one of the data terminals and access it, after a few moments it activates and accesses the base's data store. You are in luck, it has just enough stored power to do this. You decide to check for the data that your mission parameters state must be recovered, but alas your luck doesn't hold out. The data here stopped uploading three months ago, and the last entry was on the excavation site being shut down and quarantined. There is an explanatory file attached that you read,

_"As of this day the excavation site is to be shut down and a full quarantine is issued by my authority as an Inquisitor of the Holy Ordo Xenos. Anyone who attempts to enter or leave the site will be shot without hesitation or question, and any who attempt contact with those quarantined will be executed for heresy."

Signed; Inquisitor Sabine Inixica._

Almost as if the terminal was aware you were done it's last dregs of power die, shutting it down. The data your mission requires is not here, and you are not sure as to where it would actually be located. However it is not a total loss, you have gained some new information however what you have read is odd. Whatever happened in the excavation site must have been bad if the Inquisitor declared a full quarantine, but still no mention of what it actually was. It could have been some kind of moral threat, which would explain why nobody appears to have actually written down or noted anywhere what was found, but it doesn't explain why the base went dark or what the degenerates that attacked you were. Before you can ponder this any further a new development takes your attention, the dying lights in the ceiling go out completely and plunge the room into darkness. And footsteps begin to approach you.

Before you can bring up your weapon you are tackled to the ground by something big, all you can see is a pair of glowing red eyes that do not illuminate anything else. Your attacker doesn't make a sound, and is as large as you and as strong. You fight back and manage to get it off you, but you still cannot see it but it seems as if it cannot see you either, and is striking at you by another method. You fend off the attacks that keep coming and manage to fire a few shots, but your arm is grabbed and twisted out of the way sending the shots wide of their mark. You grapple with the attacker but almost as quickly as it attacked, it flees into the dark. You can remember the path to the entrance exactly but you can also follow the path that the attacker took out of the room and follow it, do you head towards the entrance and the rail-car or do you follow the attacker??


_[And that is the update. I apologise for the length of time it's taken for me to get it up, and to Blackwire I apologize that your length is shorter than everyone elses but I needed to know if you want to hunt down your attacker or head back to the rail car and try to find route to the data. However your next update will be a very good one if you do what I think you'll do. I hope you all enjoy the update, any questions you have feel free to ask them and i'll answer.]_


LotN


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## Blackwire (Sep 9, 2012)

Records and files, line upon line, stretching on and on like an ancient temple glorifying an unending pantheon of gods. For a second, “records and files” sounded like a downplaying of words. There were enough records here to provide detailed information on an entire subsector.

The entirety of the vaulted room was green-lit. Perhaps it was situational lighting? A warning? Maybe even colour-coding signifying a safe area? With the immensity of the place it’d take quite some time to even strafe over records. With that in mind, Türgen set about seeking a general area most likely to hold information relevant to his search.

Striding on, he noticed eye-catching sections, containing strange metals, inhuman equipment and things beyond the measure of even his best estimations. It was truly a gathering of a lifetime’s worth of Inquisitorial research and collection. It was at times like this he was surprised to remember that the shadowy enforcers of the Emperor’s will were often as long lived as the Astartes themselves. They were comparable in both rarity and legacy, but here, the works collaborated here were far beyond the capacity of death that an Astartes could achieve in his lifetime. It was a sort of spiritual humbling to the titular Marauder.

Exploration started down the route of hopelessness – he’d walked for a quarter-hour and he’d barely turned over the first straw in the haystack. Each new column of files or glass container of valuable finds had a terminal somewhere nearby, and resolving that it might possibly save him unquantifiable amounts of time, Türgen made to access the next one to catch his eye.

A brief set of commands typed and – as luck would have it – all Inquisitorial logs uploaded were accessible on one chronological list. Dates stretched far back, but suddenly ended three whole months ago. What had happened to Sabine Inixica? Türgen scrolled to the final entry uploaded by her, on the eve of the excavation site’s quarantine.

_“As of this day the excavation site is to be shut down and a full quarantine is issued by my authority as an Inquisitor of the Holy Ordo Xenos. Anyone who attempts to enter or leave the site will be shot without hesitation or question, and any who attempt contact with those quarantined will be executed for heresy.”_

With those final words, and the Inquisitor’s swirling signature punctuating the finality of the statement, the terminal faded, and with a noise of throbbing static vacuum, it terminated and died.

A hollow feeling grasped the Marauder, followed by anger. That information barely relented anything new. All he could add to his elongated goose-chase was that the severity of the situation was beyond what he had comprehended before. 

He stopped, meditating for calm. And as if his pained face closing its eyes had been a cue, the distinct sound of lights clicking off echoed down the chamber.

He opened his eyes anew to pitch blackness. Footsteps. He swivelled to meet them. 

Nanoseconds later he was crashing to the ground under a force that had hit him directly on the chest. His back hit the floor and huge unseen arms pinned him down. Above, all he could make out were red eyes, glowing in the dark. They fixated. The beast lingered there, noiselessly. It was big; big enough to match the strength of an Astartes. Its strength therefore was probably unenhanced, but it was bigger than the demigod form of an angel of death. With these thoughts that had slipped into Türgen’s mind in seconds of hopelessly wrestling for freedom, a wry grin came into being upon his face.

He slipped inward – in within the opponent’s form, sliding easily from its grip, and about where it’s belly lay. There, crouching as the monster fumbled blindly, he launched upward, picking the beast up with strenuous effort and hurled it directly forward.

The monster tumbled back onto its feet with more than a little clamour. Unable to see it launched its attacks, but each was accurate. Türgen still deflected each with his blade, pirouetting to dissipate the full brunt of the blows. It must have had some other sense or sight.

With the first break and opportunity, the Marauder unsaddled his boltgun and fired a burst into the close-proximity fight. Before another opportunity arose, the shape moved an arm seamlessly inside the gun-arm, grabbing the elbow, and with only one hand, pressuring the arm into a twist.

A swoosh of motion broadcast the second arm incoming to aid the first. Counteractively, Türgen met the arm midair, stopping it with a meaty smack. There they struggled for a while, before the beast took an unexpected leave. Most curious, as the beast had been narrowly besting the Marauder only seconds ago.

Its aping run was clear in the dark. Türgen could retreat now, in hopes of better information, but he was sick. He was sick of these ambushes, and he knew better than to let be an exposed weakness in the enemy’s lines. In his heart he was a champion. The monster could be leading him into a trap, but his true prowess was his finesse – the blade. He wanted nothing more than to end the creature now, and he’d never been in fight he hadn’t come through.


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

From the moment Voidtooth ordered them to the Generatorium, Hastir and Milo had not spoken a word. Hastir could feel the frosty tension between the two. Hastir didn’t know why. Perhaps he didn’t like Hastir’s no nonsense attitude. Perhaps he wished Hastir cared more about secondary objectives. Perhaps he didn’t like not knowing where Hastir come from or why he had a permanent station with the Deathwatch. Perhaps he just didn’t like that Hastir had more experience under these situations than Milo did. Whatever reason, Hastir didn’t particularly care. They had their orders and that was all Hastir needed.

The two Astartes patrolled through the halls, mute witnesses to what had occurred here. Doors were broken off their hinges, grates kicked him. This area looked residential, the Enteched bastards probably too them while they were asleep. The poor humans never really stood a chance. More worryingly, there was no blood splatters on the walls or floors. They could probably assume that everyone here was taken alive, presumably to be converted, for lack of a better word. Although, the for-planning to strike when their enemy was off-guard spoke of a frightening level of intelligence which Omega squad had yet to witness in the mindless thralls they had encountered so far.

Soon enough they emerged into a small grav-station; a car was still docked and fully operational. An easy assumption was that the grav-rails drew power from a different source than the majority of the base. The other option was that the electrical components of the base that worked only worked because the Entech willed it to be so. That was a far more worrying possibility. However, they had nowhere else to go except for back, so they both boarded the small grav-shuttle. Hastir punched in the co-ordinates for the Generatorium and the car began to move, although not as fast as Hastir would have liked. Still, he doubted the previous occupants of the base had any reason to travel faster that this until they me their untimely demise.

After a minute both Hastir and Milo heard that familiar scuttling sound. It was that thing which had attack Bloodaxe earlier and Hastir suspected had orchestrated the lift attack. He couldn’t see any sign of the creature, until it appeared on the rail in front of them. Hastir tried to bring his multi-melta to bear, but the creature sheered clean through the rail and both marines were thrown from the car as it plummeted to the lower levels. Hastir watched the ground rush up to greet them and instinctively closed his eyes and braced for the impact.

When Hastir opened his eyes he was staring into the quizzical red orbs of an Entech. Instinctively, Hastir held his breath and watched the Entech from under his helmet. Whether it was because it hadn’t experienced and Astartes and so assumed that Hastir would have died on impact or because his act fooled it, the Entech moved away, seemingly assuming Hastir was dead. Hastir glanced at his HUD. Their vox and auspex were still down, but it showed Milo was still alive. *Good* Hastir thought *It would be a shame to lose a useful member of the squad.*

Slowly, Hastir moved his neck. The crash site was in a form of clearing and surrounded by six or so Entech. One was dragging Milo into the clearing also. Hastir saw one of the Entech start up a buzz-saw which replaced its arm, and Hastir knew they planned to dismember Milo. Hastir grabbed his power knife, thumbed the activation rune and threw it at the saw-armed Entech. The electrified blade hissed as it cut through the Entech’s skull, leaving what remained of the rotting brain exposed to the air. 

The other Entech realised now that Hastir was not, in fact, dead. Fortunately for him, the Entech had left his multi-melta next to his body when they dragged him. Hastir grabbed it and rose to meet his foes. “Milo you lazy sod, get up!” Hastir roared as his multi-melta beam vaporized one Entech. Then another, and then a third. Milo had snapped out of unconsciousness and finished of the remaining two. Now they were alone and stranded in the lower levels of the base with no way out. 

Hastir could not see an exit as he retrieved his power knife from the floor where it had landed. He didn’t deactivate it though. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, like there was someone else in the clearing with them. Suddenly there was a hiss as the door opened to reveal a derelict maintenance corridor. And suddenly the feeling of being watched was gone. Hastir didn’t like this. First the grav-car which worked when nothing else seemed to and now a tunnel which mysteriously opens up just when they need and exit. It felt like they were being herded; like lambs to be slaughtered.

But there was nowhere else to go. They couldn’t climb and they couldn’t stay here. Even if it was a trap they had to follow this corridor wherever it led. It was narrow enough for Hastir to lead with his multi-melta, which would make short work of anything which tried to oppose them in the narrow confines of this tunnel. Milo could follow and provide support as well as watch their backs. Without a word, Hastir took the lead. Milo seemed to pause. “Come on Bogatyr. We have a job to do.”
_"Just take care with your aim, Blackshield."_ The emphasis was on his title, and Hastir knew what Milo was implying. It was like being called an orphan, and Hastir was forced to admit silently, once again, that he was.

He tried to ignore it and take the lead, proceeding with the primary objective he found solace in, but the Bogatyr kept pushing him. _"Tell me, Blackshield. When was it that you last called someone 'Brother'?"_. Hastir stopped at that. This Astartes had touched a nerve he shouldn’t have. It was against etiquette to ask about a Black Shield’s past, let alone reproach him for it. Whatever had come before the Deathwatch was supposed to be stricken from record, absolved by service to the Emperor. But this blatant breach of etiquette and every rule Hastir knew Milo would have been told upon joining that raised Hastir’s ire. It was that he had to remember it all over again.

Hastir turned and walked up to Milo, his helmet inches from the Bogatyr’s face. “When was the last time I called someone ‘Brother?” Hastir repeated with a sarcastic inflection. “This mission is going to shit, we’ve just been stranded on a lower level of a base over-run with those Entech freaks, probably about to walk into a trap and no closer to achieving the primary objective than we were when we first got here and you’re primary concern is about when I last called someone ‘Brother’!” Hastir’s voice had reached a volume and tone and passion which no one in squad Omega had yet to experience. Even if the emotion was anger, at least Milo would have no doubt now that the obsidian statue had a soul.

“You are not my brother, do you understand me?!” Hastir’s multi-melta hung loosely at his side as his arms were free to gesticulate. “None of you are. You are all foreigners from some other chapter, here to get your medal and a pat on the back for a job well done. My brothers are dead. Slaughtered like animals by xeno’s freaks. I am the last Brother of the Anvil and I don’t have time for your petty bull-shit!” Hastir’s voice was now a roar of anger and pain, pouring out from the well-spring he tried so hard to block out. “I don’t have to call you brother because I don’t need to. All I need to do…” Hastir corrected himself. “…all we need to do here is achieve the objectives given to us. That is all that matters here, and we are wasting time with your foolish concerns about irrelevant pieces of information.”

Hastir’s voice began to climb back down the decibel scale as he spoke the last few sentences. He still seethed with anger. It radiated from him, bleeding into and onto his surroundings. Under his helmet he spoke through gritted teeth. “You are not my brother. I lost all of mine centuries ago. That is a pain you can never imagine. Don’t you ever _dare_ to be as arrogant as to think you can take their place. You insult their memory and you insult me. Now…” Hastir held his multi-melta again, ready to move. “…let’s go and accomplish this mission so I can be rid of you petty insecurities and you can go back to your _‘brothers’_.” Hastir practically spat the last word, as if it were bitter to taste after so long without it…


----------



## maelstrom48 (Sep 5, 2012)

The last thing Milo remembered was falling. Then there was blackness. What seemed like an instant later, the sounds of death erupted around him—the hiss of a multi-melta firing, the roar of atomizing flesh as its beam struck home, the buzz of saws and the everpresent chant, “Entech, entech, entech…” 

His eyes snapped open. Through swimming vision, he saw a hideous amalgam of machine and man staggering back in the midst of a corona of superheated air. Its flesh was sloughing off as Hastir did his work, the circular saw that had replaced its arm sputtering as the creature died. It clattered to the floor to join another of its foul counterparts, which had a power knife embedded to the hilt in its skull. It occurred to Milo that he’d been perilously close to being sawn apart limb by limb.

“Milo you lazy sod, get up!”

He did so with alacrity, very mindful that Hastir had likely just saved his life. His bolt pistol and chainsword were still maglocked to his waist. He unslung both and sprang to work.

With two Astartes unexpectedly in their midst, the handful of Enteched did not last long. Soon, Milo and Hastir stood alone in the ruined chamber with only the smoking wreck of their trolley and a few steaming piles of black ooze for company.

He tracked his gaze around warily. He couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that he was being watched. Centuries of service had taught him not to ignore his gut instinct—but even as he switched between his helmet’s spectrum lenses and filtered through the background noise, the silent spectator remained undetectable.

Without warning, the harsh squeal of metal on metal sounded behind them. The pair spun, weapons at the ready. No quarry presented itself. Instead, a hidden door in the wall had opened—seemingly on its own—revealing a cramped maintenance corridor.

Milo didn’t like the look of it. Like the trolley that had sprung to life upon their arrival, this was a trap, for a certainty. He and Hastir exchanged a glance; they’d both come to the same conclusion. They had no other choice.

They stepped toward the tunnel.

Hastir immediately cut in front of him and took the lead. Milo paused, fighting down a fresh surge of ire. It seemed that the Blackshield’s every act was calculated to insult him somehow, and this was no exception. “Come on Bogatyr,” he ordered without looking back. “We have a job to do.”

Milo couldn’t resist the proud urge to goad him in turn. “Just take care with your aim, Blackshield.” He put purposeful stress on the name and made it into a jibe.

Hastir did an admirable job ignoring him, but the tension in his movements gave his rising temper away. Milo had no intention of stopping. It was high time to peel away what remained of his calm demeanor and reveal what lurked at his core.

“Tell me, Blackshield. When was it that you last called someone 'Brother'?"

Hastir shuffled to a halt. He bowed his head momentarily, trying to bring himself under control.

Milo waited. _Go on. Let go_.

At last, Hastir spun and stalked forward until their marked faces were bare inches apart. Milo could almost see the Blackshield snarling. “When was the last time I called someone ‘Brother?” Hastir said sarcastically. “This mission is going to shit, we’ve just been stranded on a lower level of a base over-run with those Entech freaks, probably about to walk into a trap and no closer to achieving the primary objective than we were when we first got here and you’re primary concern is about when I last called someone ‘Brother’!” His voice had risen to a near-shout, overcome with rising fury.

_You are not so stoic after all_, Milo thought with well hidden satisfaction and, it had to be admitted, some contempt as well.

“You are not my brother, do you understand me?!” Hastir threw out his arms, his slung multi-melta bouncing against his thighs. “None of you are. You are all foreigners from some other chapter, here to get your medal and a pat on the back for a job well done. My brothers are dead. Slaughtered like animals by xeno’s freaks. I am the last Brother of the Anvil and I don’t have time for your petty bull-shit!” The abject pain and misery in his voice came as a surprise. Milo recognized that Chapter’s name. The Bogatyr were just a few dozen light years from the Eye, and in an effort to prepare the Chapter at large for the foes they would face, the Librarians freely distributed their knowledge of the traitors who hid in that swirling maelstrom of insanity.

The Brothers of the Anvil were among them. But they had abandoned that name in the millennia since the Abyssal Crusade. They were damned now—servants of Chaos. _Deathmongers_, Milo thought. The Bogatyr had faced them before, and suffered greatly for it.

Yet the revelation inspired no more anger in him. Merely pity, and perhaps regret. He had turned over a stone far larger than it had first appeared. Now he wondered how he could turn Hastir’s rage to his advantage—to the Emperor’s advantage.

“I don’t have to call you brother,” Hastir roared, “because I don’t need to. All I need to do…” He stopped, then corrected, “all _we_ need to do here is achieve the objectives given to us. That is all that matters here, and we are wasting time with your foolish concerns about irrelevant pieces of information.”

Hastir’s voice quieted. He spoke now through clenched teeth, his face drawing in closer. “You are not my brother. I lost all of mine centuries ago. That is a pain you can never imagine. Don’t you ever _dare_ to be as arrogant as to think you can take their place. You insult their memory and you insult me. Now…” He retrieved his multi-melta again, and jerked the muzzle down the corridor, “let’s go and accomplish this mission so I can be rid of your petty insecurities and you can go back to your _brothers_.” He spat the last word, then turned away.

Milo didn’t move—just stared intently at his turned back. “You truly believe I came here for recognition? For this?" He pivoted to display the silvered Deathwatch shoulder plate that had taken his chapter icon's place. He shook his head. "No. Your bitterness leads you to assume, and wrongly. _Da_, I know your pain better than you believe. I have come here because I, like you, failed to die with honor when our Emperor asked it. My Brother-Sergeant was stronger than I, and he was repaid in agony. I watched cursed Eldar steal him away and I was helpless as little child. I lived in anger and shame for many years until I could bear it no longer. And so I volunteered to serve with Inquisition. To reclaim my honor. And look where we are."

He indicated their grim surroundings—this place where so many had died for nothing, just as his sergeant had. “There is no glory to be found here, Blackshield. When we take our victory, it will be as ashes in our hands. Our other fights have been just this way, as well. If there is honor to be found in Ordo Xenos, it shall be long in coming. Like as not, we shall both die wearing this cursed black. And so, brotherhood is all that remains to either of us. To strive for aught else is useless.”

Apart from the lingering tension in his shoulders, Hastir made no reply. Without another word spoken, he started back down the dark hall, leaving Milo to wonder if he’d done more harm than good.

With a mental sigh, the Bogatyr hefted his bolter and followed.


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## Bane_of_Kings (Oct 28, 2009)

As the final Enteched fell at the hands of Wyrmfist, the doors of the elevator opened up like they had just completed a stage in a simulation training. The Entry hall was abandonded, but it bore clear signs that somebody had already graced its presence.

Crates carrying supplies were scattered all across the room, many smothered with blood. However, no bodies remained, and even signs that bodies were in the room were not present. Whatever happened in this room, concluded Fith - happened quickly, and what made matters worse - was that from the lack of slime, it appeared that the Enteched took no casualties in the battle. Not just a battle, then. A slaughter. 

The Voidtooth took steps forward, briefly scanning the room before delivering the all clear sign, motioning the squad forward. As they followed him, the boots of the Astartes distrubed the layer of dust that had built up around the room. Whilst somebody had indeed been here, they had not moved for a very long time. The elevator behind them was whilst somewhat defensible, but aside from that - the room itself was a bad place to fight, and Fith could see why the resistors to the Enteched were beaten so easily.

The Voidtooth moved forward through what looked like a contamination zone clearance gate, not working and unoccupied. He passed through without incident, the power to the gates systems having been cut, and began checking the terminal at the guard system. Moments later, he gave the signal - for all Astartes to join him.

Listening to his enhanced hearing, there were several sounds that caught the Astartes' eye - the drop of something metal onto the floor, a bump in the vents above, whispering in the hallways, and even a low laugh that abruptly ended. For a superstitious Chapter such as the Wolves of Fenris, Fith almost could have believed for a second that the place was haunted. However, before he could dwell anymore on the implausity of the subject matter, the Voidtooth stepped out, speaking aloud. _"Alright new blood listen up. I just checked some of the logs the Guards here left behind. The last few entries were made three months ago, the Guards here didn't know much about it but apparently they found something big in the excavation site below. After that weird things started to happen all over the base, people disappearing, equipment being found in weird places, writing on the walls like those glyphs you saw in the entrance chamber, and even some people claiming to hallucinate their dead loved ones. There's also a report that claimed some people also said it felt like something was watching them, but they were alone and couldn't see anything."

"After that it got worse. They don't say what but something bad happened in the excavation site and they had to quarantine it, and everyone that was in it at the time. After that these things started appearing, killing a few people and vanishing quickly. The Inquisitor in charge issued an order for evacuation, but then these... Enteched came after them in force. I don't know why, maybe they didn't want them leaving, but they massacred everyone they found and dragged their bodies off. The logs don't say anymore after that, the Guards here were probably killed too."_

He paused to allow the information to sink in to Fith and the other Astartes. _Everybody on this base is dead, then._ He mused silently, the Enteched were now probably running about in force, and whatever started this mayhem had begun with the Dig Site. If that heralded the birth of the Enteched, then whatever happened down there... was bad. There was no question about that. Judging from the state of the base, it must have been either from the Dark forces of Chaos, or Xenos in origin. But most likely Chaos, guessed Fith.

It was six Space Marines alone in a hostile base with an unknown number of degenerate heretics. Basically, like every other day for the Space Wolf - and it was clear from the Voidtooth's body, which was radiating annoyance - that he was thinking very much the same things as all of them. And, to make matters worse - they were missing a man. It wasn't long before the Voidtooth spoke again. 

_"So here's what we're going to do. We need two things, power to find our way around this heap, and the location of the data we need to recover. So we do both. Sidorov, Jorvane; I want you two to head towards the Generatorium and try to restore the power to the base, we may be able to get the interior guns back online and purge these deviants. Bloodaxe, Wyrmfist; You two are going to head to Records and Finds, there may be a backup copy of the data we're looking for there, if not it'll be in the main data core which we'll need a command key for, and only the Inquisitor would have one of those. I'm going to try and find her body, the key shouldn't have left her person unless one of these freaks took it. I'll go to her office and see what I can find. If you see the Marauder link up with him but don't hunt for him, we can't afford to lose another man. Once your objective is achieved return here and wait for the rest of us. Move out Omega_."

Fith glanced in Wyrmfist's direction, and they began their way down the corridor. Conversation was short, and both Astartes were more focused on the mission ahead - but they were somewhat relieved when no Enteched attacked them, despite the strange sounds still plaguing their ears. Survivors were not present, but before long - they quickly stumbled across a maintenance bay, with the cog-wheeled skull of the Adeptus Mechanicus situated on the walls, with the smell of machine oil and incense still filtering through the Astartes' noses.

However, there was nothing else that signified that the Martian Priesthood had even been there at all - the entire room had been ransacked and stripped of anything metal, Servitors having been desecrated with their machine implants littering the floor, and pretty much everything that they found in the room was a wreck. The repair machines and data terminals had been torn apart, cannibalized - but for the first time, there were bodies to be found, and they were most certainly not in a pleasant state.

Their flesh was torn and shredded, having been left to rot - and the stench filled the room. However, before Fith could react - the doors behind them slammed shut, air hissing into the room from the ceiling vents, and when they turned around - both the guns of Fith and Wrymfist immediately drew their attention on the figure standing before them. Whilst he was of an ordinary height and with similar costume to a miner, it was there that his humanity ended. Two razor-sharp claws were attached to the mechanical arms that were stand-ins for his flesh and blood limbs, with a nest of mechadenrites emerging from his shoulderblades -which hung lazily in the air. A blank metal mask was welded to his face, with bare chest covering in what looked like electoos, however - it glowed red, and matched the same glyphs that they saw painted in blood in the entrance hall.

Before either of the Astartes could fire or say anything, the helmets blanked out for an instance, plunging Fith's world into darkness. However, seconds later they returned - but something was different. "What Madness is this?" Fith mumbled aloud, before growling "Just give me something to shoot at as opposed to all these mind games."

The doors were now open, and it didn't take them long to notice the other change to the room - something had been written on the walls, soaked in dripping oil. "Jind was one of the first," read the Space Wolf, "You will learn what he learned. You will witness what he witnessed. Join with us, become one with the machine."

There was a pause before he spoke, "More damn riddles." They were no closer to finding out their mission objective - but more questions had just been created - Who was Jind? What did he learn and witness? Who wanted them as allies? However, more pressing matters awaited them, and Fith and Wrymfist turned their attention to the task at hand.


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## warsmith7752 (Sep 12, 2009)

Scale-bane slid through the last entenched leaving the elevator free from fighting. The Astartes had the upper hand but Gryin enjoyed the quick relief the thrill of combat gave him. It was the first real combat that Gryin had been able to let himself channel his rage through his blade. "Damn, I didn't want that to end" Wyrmfists gruff voice had an edge of humour through it but he did not expect much of a response from his very serious squad mates. 

With a clatter the elevator finally reached ground, the doors squealed open to reveal a battle zone. However it was an empty battle as there were no signs of bodies. Imperial or Entenched. The Voidtooth steps forward inquisitively and does a quick scan of the room before gesturing Omega forward. Gryin noticed the light footprints that the Astartes ceramite plated feet left on the ground. A layer of dust betrayed that the room has not seen any activity in a long time.

Up ahead is a decontamination zone which the Voidtooth moves forward to examine as he did before with the elevator. There is no power being supplied to the gate or the console leaving the gate wide open for Squad Omega. Voidtooth gestures and Omega follows. Wyrmfists passed through the gate just as Voidtooth enters the guard station. 

They were left waiting while Voidtooth 'investigated' the guard station. The shark was louder than Gryin though he should have been in case of any nearby enemies but nothing foul came up as the Voidtooth once again joined Omega squad. The Voidtooth spoke aloud to the squad. 

"Alright new blood listen up. I just checked some of the logs the Guards here left behind. The last few entries were made three months ago, the Guards here didn't know much about it but apparantely they found something big in the excavation site below. After that weird things started to happen all over the base, people disapparing, equipment being found in weird places, writing on the walls like those glyphs you saw in the entrance chamber, and even some people claiming to hallucinate their dead loved ones. There's also a report that claimed some people also said it felt like something was watching them, but they were alone and couldn't see anything......."

The new information did not phase Wyrmfist, their mission was unchanged. Although he would be ready to admit that he had hoped for some survivors. The Entneched would pay for the lives they took , that was what Gryin vowed to himself in that moment. The Emperors Angels of Retribution would make sure of it. 

"Bloodaxe, Wyrmfist; You two are going to head to Records and Finds, there may be a backup copy of the data we're looking for there, if not it'll be in the main data core which we'll need a command key for."

Wyrmfist nodded and moved along the allocated path with bloodaxe. He held his blade in his right hand while his left was empty. Neither marine said much, Gryin's need to smash something in the face was to high for him to concentrate on conversation. Whatever reasons Fith had for his quiet demeanour was a mystery to Gryin. 

After a short and uneventful journey the two reached a door with the insignia of the mechanicus on it. The most notable sensation was the stench of the machine filling the marines enhanced senses. Gryin also smelt to odour of decaying flesh, dead Martian priests lay dead on the floor. Their 'bodies' had been desecrated by the Entenched. Mechanical augmentations had been ripped free and taken as loot. Gryin's own mechanical arms flexed. His brain naturally tensing the synapse links attached to the machine. 

Around the room the same had happened to the other metal objects around the room, taken to serve the Entenched no doubt. Gryin smiled beneath his helm, all the more for him to kill. What they were seeing would have been out of the ordinary on a regular battlefield but for site alpha it seemed perfectly normal.

Gryin began to walk around and get a closer look at the room when suddenly the doors slammed shut. Wyrmfist activated scale-bane while spinning round to face whatever had presented itself. The figure was metal and skeletal, two razor sharp claws had replaced his hands while he wore miners boots and trousers. It didn't matter to Wyrmfist, he wanted it dead. He lunged at the figure with scale-bane in a vicious back hand, when suddenly his helm blacked out. Gryin felt himself clatter to the ground. He scrambled to rip his helm from his head. As he wrenched off the battle plate the marine expected to see the Entenched coming for them. Except the Astartes were now alone with a message written on the wall in metal.

"Jind was one of the first. You will learn what he learned. You will witness what he witnessed. Join with us, become one with the machine."

Gryin got to his feet. "Who the feth is Jind?" Gryin exclaimed with obvious frustration.


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## Lord of the Night (Nov 18, 2009)

_+++VOX-MESSAGE BETA-145. SHIP-WIDE MESSAGE.+++

+++Message begins,

Alright listen up crew. This is Haakon Ironfang, I don't know what in the Hels is going on but our ship's lost all systems. In case any of you are wondering why we aren't dead, I managed to keep the life-support active by rerouting all power from the engines and the guns, but that's all I can manage at this point. Took me a damn hour just to jury-rig a working vox. I want every crew member that still lives to start repairing as many systems as you can. We need this ship active as soon as possible, we need to call in a fleet, extract Omega Squad and purge this place. Something is happening down there and something is trying to kill us, even a blind pup could connect the two.

Fix this ship, or the last thing you see before you meet the Allfather will be my axe.

Message ends.+++_​

*Fith Bloodaxe* and *Gyrin Wyrmfist*: As you both move through the empty hallways the mysterious figure and his message weighs heavy in your thoughts. Neither of you have the slightest idea who Jind is, or was, and the events he witnessed and things he learned are subjects you cannot even begin to guess at. The Enteched may just be insane and mistaking you both for others, or it may think you know more than you actually do, or it may just be trying to confuse you. Either way for now it is irrelevant, you must reach Records and Finds and see if you can discover clues as to what happened in the base. Both of you begin to hear a strange noise, it sounds like metal warping and stretching, like it does sometimes during void travel. But you cannot place why you would hear such noises here. The answer quickly becomes apparant when the floor under you gives out and you both fall into the darkness, landing on something squelchy and soft that pulps under your immense weights, the fall jarring your bodies and causing your helmets to short out and leave you both in utter darkness.

As you stand up your helmet's adjust and reveal a charnel house. Severed limbs, broken bodies, pieces of internal organs and rotted flesh fill the room to the walls, some piles even reaching the high ceiling. Clearly you have both found the dumping ground for the Enteched's flesh parts, and for those who died fighting them. A pool of blood rises halfway to your knees, and the buzzing of flies and the squeaks of rats feasting on the dead are the only sounds you can hear now. The dead have been stripped of clothing and armour and weapons, anything that the Enteched could use somewhere else. You can also see the savaged bodies of Enteched who look to have died in the implantation process, their implants were torn from them immediately after and use elsewhere, but the tattoos on their naked corpses give them away. Traitors and loyalists buried together in one mass grave. The garbage that can be seen under some of the piles means that this is one of the trash storage chambers, which means you have fallen quite far.

You also notice something else, the floor above you hasn't rotted. It was cut through. A familiar clacking sound fills the room as the Spider drops into the pool of gore in front of you, it's mechadendrite nest flaring with power and lashing at nothing, and it's claw arm randomly snapping open and shut. It stares at you both for a moment before leaping onto the walls and lashing it's tendrils at you, which discharge bolts of red energy that disappate in the water but look lethal enough to shut down your armour if you are hit with more than a glancing blow, which would give this thing the time it needs to crack your heads like ripened fruit. The Spider continues to move around the walls, leaping from wall-to-wall and wall-to-floor to avoid your retalitatory fire. This abomination has been bothering you since the start of this mission, and it's time for it to meet the Emperor and account for it's treachery and heresy. Kill it and try to find a way back to the mission path.

*Miroslav Sidorov* and *Hastir Jorvane*: Your argument has created some tension, and is it not helped by the utter emptiness of the hallway you both traverse through. No doors can be seen, and apart from the layers of dust on the floors and walls it is completely empty. After what feels like a few hours, and is confirmed by your chronometer showing that two hours have passed, you both find a door at the end of the hallway. An aquila is adorned on the door, and splits in half as you both approach. The room ahead is large and appears to be a transport hub, elevator entrances line the walls and all of them are closed. Most appear inactive though a handful still have working consoles, you could call them but the plaques that show where they lead have been scratched off. Before either of you can say anything the door behind you slams shut and alarm sirens paint the room red, though no sound emerges. Both of you back up to the primary elevator, a larger version for machinery at the head of the room, and prepare for combat.

It comes quickly enough as a pack of Enteched burst from the overhead vents and from some of the broken elevator shafts. They charge you instantly, seeming to have known where you were without seeing it first. As you both fight them off something catches your attention, the elevator behind you is coming down but neither of you used the console. You cannot move without giving the Enteched an opening to get close with you, and in the numbers that are coming at you neither of you will survive such a melee. Above the door you entered a small rockcrete ledge emerges from the wall, and standing on it is an Enteched but different from the rest. He wears only workmans boots and pants, his bare chest is tattooed immensely with glowing red glyphs, both his arms are bionic claws and a nest of mechadendrites emerges from his shoulders and hang silently in the air. *Miloslav Sidorov* notices that he has the same blank mask as the giant he and the Voidtooth killed outside the base. It is silently watching the fight, and none of the Enteched have responded to it.

Suddenly the lift doors behind you open and you both expect to meet a horde of Enteched rushing your flank. Instead autocannon fire blazes past you and into the horde, thinning out a good number of them. Suddenly smaller figures move up next to you, a mix of Inquisitorial Stormtroopers with hellguns and Skitarii with bolters and plasma guns. An autocannon turret manned by two Stormtroopers continues firing from the elevator, though none of them fire on the figure on the ledge for some reason. Perhaps they cannot see him. One of the Guardsman, a Sergeant from his stripes, nods to both of you and shouts over the din.

_"Sirs, Sergeant Reiks, 17th Purgatus Detatchment, Stormtrooper corps. Thank the Emperor for a friendly face, and Space Marines at that. We thought we'd been forgotten or that we'd be purged from orbit. We have orders to take you to the Inquisitor, there's a lot more going on here than you know."_​
Since the only other option is dying here at the hands of mechanical monsters you both agree, but your vox still isn't working properly. It may be the presence of that Enteched on the ledge, whom you both notice is gone and that the Enteched's numbers have begun to lower. With the support of the Stormtroopers you finish off the survivors, and the wounded Enteched. Even with all your combined fire, those you wounded greatly outnumber the few you killed outright. The Enteched do not die easily. Sergeant Reiks turns to both of you and salutes before ordering his squad back. As one Stormtrooper turns you both notice something behind him, another Enteched though not like the rest. It is wearing the same armour as the Stormtroopers, but many mechanical attachments have been made and it's arms have been replaced with sleek bionics. It carries two swords that are strangely familiar to both of you, though you cannot place where you have seen them. It's helmet is gone, and in its place it wears a blank metal mask welded to it's skull just like the Enteched giant and the spider and the strange figure you saw earlier. You realise that the blank mask is some kind of symbol of leadership, meaning the giant that *Miroslav Sidorov* killed was one of their leaders, as is this thing.

Before either of you can react it slices the Stormtrooper in half, the swords do not make a sound as they cut through air, carapace armour, flesh and bone. The trooper falls to the ground in both halves, and nobody else has noticed. Without hesitation you both open fire, but the Enteched seems to dance and weave through your fire. The Stormtroopers and Skitarii finally notice and open fire, one of them shouts something over the din.

_"Bloody hell, it's Karolis!"_​
The shouting Trooper is quickly set upon, his head seems to float in the air for a moment until it falls with a gush of blood. The kill was so quick that the blood did not flow until the head hit the ground. The Stormtroopers begin to inch back towards the elevator, with several being cut down by the Enteched before they can turn around to retreat. You both realise that neither of you are going anywhere until this thing is dead, it will simply follow you up the elevator shaft and pin you in an enclosed space. At least here there is plenty of room to manoeuver. Take this opportunity and slay the monstrosity, it appears to slow down in order to actually make the kill but in motion it is blindingly fast. But you can both still see it, though just barely. Kill the swordsman and perhaps both of you can learn what exactly is going on here.

*Türgen*: As you chase after your attacker you notice the signs of pursuit, clearly the creature that assaulted you is not concerned about getting away cleanly. Ahead a door has been smashed through, whatever attacked you is big and strong enough to charge through a heavy iron door without stopping. But you are Astartes, that your foe is dangerous merely makes you run quicker rather than slow down like a Guardsman would. As you keep moving you begin to hear a sound, a very familiar one at that. It is the sound of bolter fire! Your brothers are nearby, and from the clatter of bolters it sounds as if they are under heavy assault from the hereteks. You move as fast as you can, the blood of the Khan spurring you on through the abandoned and dust-filled corridors. Nothing comes at you, though you can hear the sounds of beings dying under mass-reactive shells. Finally you see a set of double doors ahead, they are closed but the panel next to them is still active and looks to have been used recently. Whatever attacked you also went through here, and the sounds of battle have not diminished. Your brothers must be battling it right now. You access the panel and open the door, it slowly breaks in half and each half move to the sides, revealing a large vaulted room that appears to be a chapel. You look down and see a horde of mechanical madmen assaulting the pulpit underneath a statue of Him on Earth, vaulting over rows of pews and toppled statues in haste to get to grips with their enemy. They are dying in droves but keep on coming, and as you look at the defenders you realise two things. One, they are Astartes. Two, they are not your brothers.

Their armour is covered in blood and spikes and esoteric symbols that shine with an unholy light. Their armor is black like yours but where your armour is a deep midnight black with only your shoulderpad showing any break in colour, theirs is a black chased with gold all across their armour and strange fleshy growths coming from their creaking joints. Their helmets are carved as Daemons and screaming death-masks, and all of them are howling hate-cries and prayers to Gods whose names you do not wish to hear. You know who these warriors fight for, the hated Black Legion. Leading them is a traitor in ornate armour, his shoulderpads spewing green fire from carved dragon-heads, his helmet is a faceless mask that reflects a mesmerizing vortex and he carries a staff that thrums with energy. He raises it and several of the Enteched begin to change, their flesh overgrowing their bionics until they are gibbering monstrosities of flesh rather than iron, and quickly turn upon their erstwhile comrades. A Sorcerer leads these traitors, and behind him stands an immense warrior in Terminator armour carrying a Reaper Autocannon. His bare face shows razor-sharp teeth and a Chaos star branded into his forehead. They are fighting with a fearsome fury, but not without losses. You can see at least three corpses of traitor marines scattered across the hall and as you watch a fourth's bolter runs dry, before he can reload several Enteched leap upon him and drag him down into a mass of bodies.

None of these heretics have seen you yet, the doors have opened onto a wide lectern lined with statues of cherubim and Imperial saints overlooking the battle, you are high up enough that none of them will see you unless they look directly up. But your horror gives way when you realise there is no way down, meaning your attacker is still here. This and your warrior's instinct alerts you as a huge Black Legion marine head and shoulders taller than you charges at you with a buzzing chainaxe and a bolt pistol. He is twice your size and is howling prayers to the Blood God, snapping off shots at you as he leaps into close combat. Kill this traitor, and then find and warn your brothers that a much deadlier enemy than mad mortals has entered the facility.


_[Alright and that is the update. I apologize once again for the length of time that it has taken but the heat wave in my area made creativity hard and mustering effort even harder, and no update at all is better than a sub-standard update. And so as an apology I have brought you all a boss fight. Bane and Warsmith against the Spider, Maelstrom and Deus Mortis against the Swordsman, and Blackwire against the Axeman and having discovered the presence of the Black Legion, now has his own important mission. None of you will be able to kill your opponent in one post, but the next update will advance the fight and in your posts for that one you will all be able to finish the fights. I hope you all enjoy the battles, and some hints as to exactly how you can beat these fearsome foes will be forthcoming in the next update, for now survive and try to hurt them. You can hurt them but be creative about it, and expect to get battered and possibly even wounded in the process. Have fun, and again sorry about the wait.]_


LotN


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## Deus Mortis (Jun 20, 2009)

If Hastir and Milo’s relationship was frosty before, it was now as inhospitable as the frozen wasteland Fith called home. Hastir was angry, but he refused to allow them to surface again. Milo had spoken rashly out of ignorance. The pain of watching one man die, no matter how close you were to them, was nothing compared to the excruciating agony of closing row after row of eyelids over glassy dead eyes. It was nothing compared to the crushing burden of knowing you were the last remaining son of a chapter which was now spoken of as a by-word for heresy and treachery. It was only the height of Milo’s arrogance and self-righteousness that made him speak those empty words, and when he experienced the losses Hastir had, he would know that.

Hastir doubted Milo knew anything of his silent rage. Perhaps he suspected and would try to draw more out of him, but Hastir would not allow that to happen again. Beneath the obsidian armour was a man with a spirit forged of the same harsh rock, refusing to yield and unwilling to change. Everything he had been had died centuries ago and this ignorant up-start would not change that. His life was like the tunnel they now walked; abandoned, covered in the dust of ages past and doomed to only ever travel to one eventual end with no exit or shadow of turning.

After two hours of minimal chatter except to remark on their distance covered or to remind one another that they would likely be walking into a trap, they finally approached a door adorned with the noble aquilla. The symbol of Imperial dominance did nothing to assure Hastir as they walked into what seemed to be a transport hub, weapons at the ready. Hastir spun as the door slammed shut behind them and the room was bathed in a silent red like. Hastir sighed. “I’m getting really tired of this crap.” He growled as him and Milo backed into the primary elevator.

They didn’t have to wait long before the attack came. The Enteched poured from the overhead vents and Hastir and Milo quickly unleashed the fames fury of the Adeptus Astartes on them. With such numbers, Hastir’s shots were burning through multiple Enteched at a time. Behind him, Hastir heard the low whine of an elevator that neither he nor Milo had called. At least Milo may well have be right about one thing; they would die in the Deathwatch black, although Hastir was always destined to die like that. 

Hastir noticed another being appear on the ledge. His eyes flicked between his targets and while his gun recharged, he looked at this new figure. He didn’t look much taller than an average human, but his body was heavily tattooed. His arms had been replaced with bionic claws and several mechandrites emerged from his back like a nest of vipers. His face was obscured by a blank mask and he just watched the fight. If he was giving orders, the Entech seemed to ignore them as they did not change their blind charge into the guns of the two Deathwatch marines. Some portion of Hastir’s subconscious wondered what his purpose was here, and if he was merely observing them. If so, that spoke of a far deeper intelligence which drove these mindless hoards.

Hastir heard the door open behind them. Hastir didn’t even flinch. He resolved to continue fighting up until he felt the Entech’s diseased claws in his back and his heart finally stopped beating. Instead all he heard was the roar of an autocannon. Underneath his helmet Hastir frowned. Whoever was helping them would likely be the next one to fall under the baleful gaze of his multi-melta. Voidtooth had given them the order to kill on sight, something Milo would not be happy about. 

Abruptly Skitarii and Stormtroopers flanked them, lending their fire-arms to the fight, making a probability a certainty. But none of them fired on the figure he, and certainly Milo, had seen. Perhaps it clouded itself from their vision. A sergeant moved alongside them. _"Sirs, Sergeant Reiks, 17th Purgatus Detatchment, Stormtrooper corps. Thank the Emperor for a friendly face, and Space Marines at that. We thought we'd been forgotten or that we'd be purged from orbit. We have orders to take you to the Inquisitor, there's a lot more going on here than you know."_ +The Inquisitor?+ Hastir thought. This meant two things. One, the Inquisitor was still alive and would have valuable intel. Likely all the intel they would need before extracting. They could get out soon and blow this place to hell from orbit. It also meant that Hastir would not have to kill them. If the Inquisitor trusted them and kept them alive, her orders over-ruled Voidtooth’s.

The observing Entech had disappeared. Related or not, the Entech hoard thinned and eventually died away entirely. Hastir noticed that there were more Entech stragglers that he put down that had been injured rather than killed outright. They were tough to kill, he’d give them that. They put down the wounded and Sergeant Reiks saluted both himself and Milo before ordering his squad back. Hastir began to follow before he noticed another Entech standing behind a Stormtrooper. It may well have been a Stormtrooper in a previous life, but now the sleek bionics and oddly familiar swords spoke otherwise. Again, instead of a face it simply wore a blank metal mask. +A sign of leadership.+ Hastir wondered as his gun came slowly to bear.

The swords it wielded made no sound, but the cut through the Stormtrooper it was standing behind as if he were merely composed of empty air. Both Hastir and Milo opened fire on the Entech ‘commander’, if such a phrase was appropriate, but the thing seemed to weave itself around their shots. The Stormtroopers and Skitarii joined in the fire-fight but the ‘commander’ simply danced around their bullets. +Nothing human should be able to move that fast.+ Hastir thought to himself as his shots continued to miss. _"Bloody hell, it's Karolis!"_The shout came and was quickly silenced as the group fell back to the elevator.

Several more died in the orderly retreat. Hastir’s advanced ocular capacities only just were able to follow the Enteched’s movements. Although, Hastir noticed that for each kill the Enteched had to slow down. Hastir was no techmarine, but he had seen similar phase technology before, and if he understood enough, the creature was out of phase with reality until it had to step in the make a kill and thus slow down. 

They were retreating and the Enteched seemed to strike at who it willed. Hastir needed a controlled death, one he could predict. It took him less than a heartbeat to decide to shove a Stormtrooper to the front of the group. The man stumbled and tried to steady himself, but he was easy prey for a creature moving so fast. Hastir raised his multi-melta and waited for the Entech to step back in to kill another straggler, not feeling the slightest pang of guilt that he had condemned a man to die just so he could get a decent shot. If they didn’t stop this thing, they would all die. Better one man die in nobility than they all fall in ignominy…


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