Very nice work, as always. Since I loathe Brokk like the traitor he is, however, I feel compelled to nitpick him in every sundry manner. He is, of course, a fool if he believes that Gix is actually going to use the same old tactics against an enemy who has had time to study his methods and mannerisms, but I expected nothing less from a deluded radical. The Rising Phoenix professed similar (over)confidence in their abilities to predict his every move, and look where it got them.
Oh yes, and...
She had solved that problem by grafting the skin of a dead heretic to her rebuilt flesh and was now almost beautiful.
To my overly puritanical mind, this is rather liking holding up a big, flashing sign with the caption "Corrupt me plz!" in front of the Ruinous Powers.
Imperial Overlord wrote:Some things I have well planned out and haven't started. I already have the basic outlines and plots for the next two Nalifan stories, Marriage & Mayhem and The Face of My Enemy, done.
First you have to finish Whirlwind
But you know I can't wait for Marriage and Mayhem
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Updates! It's been awhile, and they are quite welcome. Gix's subtlety is sure to help him, as his enemies, such as Brokk, have no clear idea of the sort of power and resources Gix really has.
Raj Ahten wrote:Updates! It's been awhile, and they are quite welcome. Gix's subtlety is sure to help him, as his enemies, such as Brokk, have no clear idea of the sort of power and resources Gix really has.
Actually Brokk has a very good idea of how good Jolan is and what kind of resources he commands.
Is Brokk a psycher, by the way?
No, he's blunt.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Lydia Meradan walked up the stairs, wiping her hands with a white handkerchief. The guard at the top of the stairs stood aside. The armoured hatch swung open and she stepped out and into the sights of a pair of stormtroopers. She walked passed them and towards the table where Jolan Gix was waiting.
"Well?" he asked, pouring another glass of amnesic and pushing it towards the chair next to him. She picked up the glass and held it to her lips, pausing to savor the smell. Then she downed the glass and sat down in the chair. The bottle slid from Jolan's hand over to her glass and tipped to refill it.
"He's guilty," she said. "His mind was strong, but he was troubled by his master's actions. It didn't take too long for it all to come bubbling up to the surface." She took another drink. "Brokk is also obsessed with you. Wants to know everything about you. Throne. What do we do now?"
"Now?" said Gix. "We kill him, of course."
"We don't haul him in for a trial?"
"Trying a Lord Inquisitor is a difficult business," said Jolan Gix. "And he's not likely to go quietly. Gathering forces and moving against him without alerting him or his allies will be difficult. Very difficult."
"So we launch some kind of surprise attack and try to capture him?"
"Or kill him," said Jolan. "Killing him has the advantage of keeping his mouth shut."
"I would think we would want his secrets."
"We do," said Gix. "We just don't want him spilling our secrets."
"So we murder him."
"Assassinate," corrected Jolan. "You'll do a lot worse in the Emperor's service."
"So what do we do?"
"Tormentium is a much larger and more powerful ship," said Jolan. "Engaging her in open space without aid is suicide. On the down side, it makes it difficult to kill or disappear him instead of killing while arresting him."
"You really don't want him to go to trial."
"He will defend himself vigorously and so will his allies. He will go on the offensive. Some of my activities have been . . . . less than totally orthodox. I don't need the new enemies or the expenditure of political capital necessary to repel those accusations."
"My lord, what unorthodox-"
Gix held up his hand. "Later. I need plans of action that won't tip off Brokk more than we already have. Tormentium will not remain in refit forever."
"I shall begin work at once," she said.
"Good," said Gix. "I'll handle the Navigator."
Jolan got up and walked towards the secured door. Danell Keys detached himself from the patch of shadow he had been hiding in and followed his lord down. The door closed behind them and the climbed down the stairs. "What do you really intend?" the assassin asked. "You're not giving strike planning to an untried interrogator."
"She's not untried," replied Gix, "but no, I'm not. I'm keeping her busy."
He motioned for the guard to open the cell door.
"Unorthodox methods," said Keys. "I thought you renounced them."
"Not when the circumstances call for them," said Gix as he entered the room. He drew his hellpistol from the holster. Belevecas was slumped in the chair, a dozen leads and tubes connected to his body. The gruesome armature was plugged into the back of the Navigator's head.
"My lord," said Batista. The sanctioned psyker got up from the chair.
"You have served me well," said Jolan. "As usual. Now look at the wall," said Jolan. "Same for you Danell."
The inquisitor walked over to the Navigator and unscrewed the helmet from his head. He jerked the Navigator's head to the side and pulled off the helmet. His hellpistol whined once and boiled the contents of Beleveca's skull. Jolan reached over and felt to make sure the cloth covering the Navigator's warp eye was still in place. It was.
"Clear the room," he said. "Let me know when you're done. Leave the body. I'll take care of it."
"Yes lord," said Batista.
"My lord," said Keys, "I would prefer another way."
"So would I. Help me find it."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Jolan laid the Navigator's body face down on the floor, its deadly warp eye facing away from him and covered with cloth. The Inquisitor doubted it had any power now that the Navigator was dead, but had no intention of personally testing that.
A column of green flames enveloped the body, rising up and licking the ceiling. Cloth blackened and fell away as skin peeled and flesh charred. Punishing heat filled the room, but did not touch Jolan Gix. Soon enough there was nothing left but shrivelled and blackened bones lying in pile of ash.
Jolan left the room. "Have someone clean up and dispose of the mess," Jolan told the guard. "Standard stealth protocols." He climbed the stairs and passed into the main space of the building. Hethor had arrived. Keys and Meradin were both sitting and looking unhappy.
"Heth," said Jolan.
The big man walked towards the inquisitor. "What's up boss?"
"We have confirmation."
"So we're workin' on a plan?"
"Already have the plan," said Jolan, "although it is subject to revision."
"What do you need from me?" said Hethor.
"Two big men who have it coming. I need them delivered here alive. Take whoever and whatever you need. Leave no clues."
"Ahh Throne," said Hethor. "Are you-"
"Yes."
"Guess I can't talk you outta it?"
"Not likely."
He nodded. "Alright. I'll get workin' on it." He gave a fist to heart salute. "For the Emperor."
"For the Emperor," Jolan said, returning the salute. The veteran turned and headed out the door. Lydia watched him go and then got up out of her chair. Her hands clenched and unclenched. She walked toward Jolan.
"My lord," she began.
"Yes," said Jolan.
"May we speak in private?"
"Of course," said Gix. He turned and walked with her to the sectioned that served as his personal quarters, little more than a futon, a clothes rack, a weapons chest, and an armour stand. He turned on a white noise generator. He closed the sliding screen behind her. "What's on your mind?"
"I have thought about what you have said and you are correct sir. Since you have pursued him and his heretic allies for decades it would be logical to gather or manufacture evidence against you to counter any charges you might level against him."
"That's not what is on your mind. Telling me that I'm right isn't what is making you nervous."
She said nothing for a moment and bit her lip. The the words came tumbling out. "I had a vision. A decision tree."
"Really?" said Gix. "Branching from what decision?"
"The one I make here," she said.
"What did you see?" asked Gix. "Death and disgrace?"
"That," she admitted, "but pain and hardship and success as well. And glory."
"Well," said Jolan, "let's examine the possibilities rationally. You could betray me to Brokk and receive status and glory, but your odds of living long are very poor. And you will not have served the Emperor. You could try and expose me after the fact for using methods the Puritans wouldn't approve of, but that is even more likely to get you killed in the crossfire whatever happens to me. You could flee and live the rest of your life like a hunted dog. You could aid me. You could aid me now and betray me latter. Let's talk about the last two choices."
Lydia nodded her head mutely. Jolan continued. "Kyra sent you to me with for a reason. Few humans have any kind of skill at far seeing. Utilizing the Emperor's Tarot is about as advanced as the skill gets for most. You've spent time with her. You know there is nothing she treasures more than her interrogators. She trusts me. Do you?"
"I want to."
"A fair enough answer," said Gix. "We are about to enter dark waters. To be an inquisitor is to bear terrible burdens, to suffer, to commit unspeakable acts, and to die in agony. Far too many of us do. It is also to carry and execute the highest charge, to defend humanity and the Emperor's dream from those who would destroy or degrade them. What is forbidden for others to know, we must fight and destroy. We must learn their weaknesses and overthrow them, drag them from the darkness and burn them in the light. All of this worth it, for to be an inquisitor is to be a keystone in the great and holy defence of humanity.
"We know things that others are killed for learning. We wield powers and technologies others are exterminated for possessing. Only those among our ranks can judge us and too many of them lack vision, being blind fanatics or obsessed with their own agendas. We are the Emperor's servants. You know my deeds better than most. Have I served the Emperor well?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Do you think I will continue to do so?"
She hesitated. "Yes," she said firmly.
"Then your duty is clear. You must assist me in this endeavor. If you see or learn something that disturbs you, you must seek out more knowledge about it so you may judge it accurately, within the proper context. Then you will act as you see fit. Do you see a flaw within my reasoning?"
"You are going to unleash something horrible, aren't you?"
"Yes."
She nodded. "I am with you lord. If I have questions, I will come to you for answers before I judge."
Jolan looked into her eyes for a moment. Possibilities slid through his field vision, almost too fast to make sense of. Almost. "Yes," said Jolan Gix, "I think you will."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-08-28 10:57am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Imperial Overlord wrote:
"We know things that others are killed for learning. We wield powers and technologies others are exterminated for possessing. Only those among our ranks can judge us and too many of them lack village, being blind fanatics or obsessed with their own agendas. We are the Emperor's servants. You know my deeds better than most. Have I served the Emperor well?"
The cargo door rose, accompanied by the hum of electric motors. Light from outside leaked into dark storage bay. "Lumens,"a synthensized voice ordered, "advance into the room."
Two light globes held by golden cherubs floated into the room, driving back the darkness. Light glinted off metal and illuminated pasty flesh. A few phospherescent indicator runes glowed on the machinery that monitored the servitors and pumped fluids into and out of them. "Bay-338," the voice conveyed. "Contents coincide with inventory reports, inquisitor."
"Thank you magos," said Jolan Gix. He stepped out of the tech-priest's shadow. "I'll take them all."
"As you wish inquisitor. The Adeptus is not ungrateful for your efforts on its behalf. There are, however, complications."
"These are due to be shipped to someone. And one of those someones is the Ecclesiarchy."
"Correct," said the tech priest. The glass lenses of hus augmentic eyes peered at the inquisitor from the brass mask that was now the magos's face.
"Lose them," said Gix.
"Could you repeat that inquisitor?"
"Lose them," Jolan repeated. "I don't care what excuse as long as it is plausible. Wrong shipping instructions, placed in the wrong cargo hold, technical problems, whatever. They need to be unavailable for a week and not attract suspicion. Above all, it must not look like an inquisitor requisitioned them."
"I understand."
"That includes the rest of the Mechanicus."
"Are you asking me to enter incorrect data?" The magos's voice was synthesized and emotionless, but the sense of outrage still managed to come through.
"Yes," said Gix. "The false record must be the only record, for a week. After that you'll get a transmission with my seal for the transfer and you can correct the record. Until then everyone must remain ignorant."
"You ask much."
"I am an inquisitor. I can ask for more. For the ones I am pursuing and the crimes they have committed against the Mechanicus alone, this is cheap."
"As you say inquisitor. I will arrange transport to wherever you want them."
"Thank you magos."
"You are welcome inquisitor. May the Omnissiah aid your endeavour."
"I got 'em," said Hethor as Jolan Gix stepped back into the safe house. "Didn't like it, but I got 'em."
Jolan nodded. "Thank you Hethor. I knew I could count on you."
"Yeah. Not to proud of that, if you'll forgive me boss. Just tell me it's necessary."
"It is." Jolan put his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "I wouldn't ask it otherwise. Walk me to them."
"They're down in the cell we used for the Navigator. So they'll be isolated." Hethor walked slow so that Jolan could easily keep pace.
"Good choice."
"Told the others yet? Voril and Nofield?"
"No," said Jolan.
"Well," said Hethor, "I guess it won't be to big of a shock. It won't be the first time you've done it."
"True. These two?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah. I ordered it, didn't I? If I can't bear to know it then maybe I should have given different orders."
"Things like that is why some fools think you're soft. Underworld enforcers. Both of them rumoured to have dropped multiple bodies. If they disappear, they'll think its a gangland war. No one will suspect differently and the law won't give a damn."
"Well done." Jolan nodded at the guard to the last door. "Open it up. Heth, make sure everything is ready for the attack. I don't want these abominations to exist in our universe one moment longer than they have to."
"Got it. Good luck boss. May the Emperor be with you."
Jolan nodded and then stepped forward. The door closed behind him like the lid of a sarcophagus. Hethor shivered. "I hate this shit." The guard was impassive, his visor reflecting Hethor's face back at him. "Well, fuck you too," said Hethor.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Carrin Daq stiffled a yawn with his fist as he reached for the data plaque. The damn morning was too damn cold. There was a rumbling as a lighter passed overhead. "So, what's first?" he asked his copilot.
"Rations," he said. Unlike the pilot, Gils Radner hadn't spent most of the last night drinking. "Still having problems with the hydroponics up top."
"Throne," said Daq. "This is what, the fifth time in the last eight years?" Radner nodded. "They just need to rip 'em out and do a rebuild. Cargo loaded yet?"
"No," said Radner.
"That's odd," said Daq. He activated his vox bead. "This is Lieutenant Daq on pad seventeen. Lighter Three-Nine-Six is fueled and ready to go, but cargo isn't loaded. We need that cargo now if we're going to make schedule." He killed the comm.
"Admin screw up," said Radner.
"Probably," the Daq agreed. He fished in his pocket for an ihlo stick.
"Hauler inbound," said Radner.
"Finally," said Daq. The hauler drove up to the lighter's pad. The driver was a huge bastard, the other guy in the cab was a little on the short side and darker than most around here. "'Bout time you got here," said Daq.
The dark guy got out. He wasn't wearing a uniform. He pulled something out of his pocket. It was an Inquisition Rosette.
"Throne," Daq whispered.
"Load the lighter," said Jolan Gix. "No mention of the cargo change. To anyone for three days. As far as you know, you shipped whatever the warp you were supposed to have shipped. If they can't find it, it's a screw up on someone else's end. Clear?''
"Ahh. . ." said Daq.
"Clear," said Radner. "Very clear. My lord."
"Good," said Gix. He motioned to Hethor, who was already out of the cab and moving around to the back. Hethor opened the hauler and combat servitors began walking out.
"Emperor's bones," whispered Daq.
"Not a word," warned Gix. The pilots shut up. The double line of servitors began to march into the lighter's hold. Gix hopped back into the hauler and drove off. Hethor remained behind to supervise the loading.
"You boys have a problem?" the big man asked.
"None," said Radner.
"Good. Then you'll help me make sure the servitors are secured for transport."
-------------------------------------------
Four lighters on routine cargo runs arrived at the space station Bastion of Virtue. They cargo inspectors, who had more than enough to do every day, went down to make sure that the arriving cargo matched the paperwork. What they found were heavily armed men and women shepparding figures shrouded in dark robes and massive combat servitors. Inquisitional authority was produced and spines turned to ice.
A lifetime of training and routine made them resistant to improper data entry, but that was leaf in the blast furnace of Inquisition authority. They caved almost immediately, pathetically glad for the reassurance that there would be a timed transmission verifying that they had acted under Inquisitional orders. Jolan Gix had no desire to see honest men suffer unnecessarily for following his orders.
Four columns of stormtroopers and combat servitors, accompanied by Jolan's retinue, made their way into the station's basilica. The troupes were noted as being passingly strange by some who noticed them, but the old timers had seen stranger. Old stories of rogue traders and their exotic retinues, some of them including xenogens, began to circulate as the latest curiousity passed out of their sight and into memory.
The last of the armoured doors slid open. Jolan lead his group inside the chamber, surveying it and the other chambers nearby, visible through immensley thick armourplex. The inquisitor was wearing gleaming black powered armour marked with a gleaming gold aquila on his chest and Inquisitional rosettes on his pauldrons. "Gard, I believe the next part should be in your hands. I'll need to armour up."
"Of course Inquisitor," responed Gard Vikal. He motioned to two stormtroopers. "Come with me. Theoretical authority is nice, but having large men with guns backing it up always helps." He moved quickly to evict the operators from a control room adjacent to the entrance, which had an excellent view each of the other three chambers.
The door hissed open behind them. "My lord," said Domina, resplendent in her full armour. Two of the robed minions near Jolan turned their heads toward her.
"Hold," Gix said to them. They froze.
Domina spoke. "My lord, what manner of servants are these?"
"Dangerous ones," replied Gix. "But obediant."
Reading a woman's stance and body language while she was wearing power armour was not an easy thing, but one did not have to be an empath to discern that Domina was unconvinced. "Are you sure of that, my lord?"
"If they disobey, burn them down," replied Gix. The minions fidgetted, but remained where they were.
"Thank you, my lord."
"Don't worry," said Gix. "They won't be operating near you. I have something special planned for them." His eyes glinted malevolently as he spoke. Most men would step back if they had seen that look in his eyes. Danell Keys, who had silently entered the chamber, almost smiled. His time had come.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-10-30 12:43am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
"Commissar," said Gardk Vikal as his hands and mechadendrites danced over the controls. "If you and your troops could enter the first chamber, we can get started."
Shala Nofield secured her rebreather mask to her helmet and double checked the teleport homer on her harness. "I hate these things," she muttered. She drew her bolt pistol and flipped off the safety. "Okay boys and girls, lets get this over with. For the Emperor."
"For the Emperor!" the Stormtroopers with her rumbled back. The door to the chamber slid open and Nofield lead both squads into the teleport chamber. The Stormtroopers settled around her, weapons at the ready.
Gard's eyes darted over to the second chamber where Jolan Gix stood surrounded by four warrior servitors. Two were built around heavy bolters and the other two were combination bolter/chain axe close combat fighters. The robed daemonhosts stood passively in front of Gix, bound to his will and awaiting his instructions.
"Activating chamber three," said Gard over the vox. "Chamber two, Chamber one. Second wave to your chambers please."
----------------------------------------------
Arik Levall reclined in the command throne on the bridge of the Tormentium. One day he would no longer be the Executive Officer and have a ship of his own. To truly be the master of a starship, that was the dream of every officer worth his salt and in a few decades he would be one. Sailing between the stars on the course he willed not another, to be lord and not a servant. That was the dream.
He looked up across the nave of the command deck at the dozen junior officers and score of servitors monitoring equipment and ship's systems, ready to do his will until the arrival of the captain. A diluted taste of what his true destiny would be.
"Sir!" called Patrishia excitedly. "Teleport beam has been directed at the ship!"
Arik snapped to full alertness. "Bring up the void shields and-." He stopped and staired. A blue haze appeared on the bridge. It cleared, revealing four robed figures. Two sprang towards the crew in the nave with incredible speed. A third came towards him.
Las beams stitched through the heavy robes, inflicting what would have been fatal wounds on an Ork. The fourth leapt on the guards, three long electroflails lashing out from each sleeve. One guard fell jerking, three crackling electroflails wrapped around his head.
The other flails struck the other guard in the left arm. Sparks flew on impact and the arm went rigid as the electroflails cooked his flesh. The arcoflagellant smashed the guard in the chest with its other set of flails and then turned to the rest of the room.
Arik rose up, a lasgun in his hand. The arcoflagellant was a blur of chemically enhanced speed as it charged him. He got off a single shot and then the flagellant was upon him. A cluster of flails smashed into his head an he fell into darkness.
-------------------------------------------------
Gard's hands danced over the controls. "All of the first wave away. Target's systems are still inactive. Second wave-," he paused to consult the readings, "second wave prepare for teleport."
Chamber three contained only one man. Danell Keys wore form fitting black armour and a sensor/respirator mask. In his right hand he held a combination hellpistol/needler. A chemical cocktail flowed through his bloodstream, pushing his augmented system to maximum performance. He saw things with a diamond edged sharpness. He was more ready now than he had been any time in his life. "The word," he said over the vox, "is given."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Comosicus wrote:Sounds like a nice boarding battle ready to unleash.
It will be . . . . unless I bungle the execution of it.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
The world twisted, spun, and contorted before spitting up Shala Nofield and her stormtroopers on the hard metal deck of the Tormentium. Shala folded over and resisted the urge to puke up into her rebreather. "Throne," she moaned and tried to straighten up. She succeeded. Barely. None of her troops appeared to be as severely affected by the teleport. The lucky bastards.
They appeared to be in a main access corridor. She raised her bolt pistol. "Auspex status?" she croaked, as if the Stormtroopers she lead would wait for her orders before securing the approaches to their position.
"We are near a power source which must be one of the ship's plasma reactors," said Telman. "Bioscanner and psi trackers give clear readings of seventeen dispersed individuals between us and the power source, probably enginarium crewmen."
"Move out, standard assault procedure." The Stormtrooper moved down the corridor, two of them moving beside the door while other knelt down in front of it. A hand was raised and then chopped down. The door was wrenched open and las beams cracked from hellguns accompanied by the thump sound of discharging grenade launchers. The loud crack of frag grenade detonations and the screams of fear and pain added to the cacophany as the Stormtroopers moved into the enginarium.
Within ten seconds Shala was through the door and the shooting had stopped. The compartment was large, stretching nearly fifty meters long and half that wide, and dominated by the huge cylinder that formed the far wall. Various sparts on the floor were marked by slowly expanding blood pools and shredded corpses.
Shala called up the holo map. A tracery of blue lights was superimposed on her visor, complete with a golden star marking her position. Tormentium's refit had made obtaining deck plans easy. "Good work," she said, "but there is plenty more left to do. Let's move!"
------------------------------------
The ringing of the alarm bell was the last thing Sentender Brokk wanted to hear. The scarred man swore and pushed himself off the concubine and slid out through the curtains hanging from his bed. He grabbed his vox off the polished ebony night stand.. "Report!" he snarled.
"Teleport signatures detected," came the hollow voice of the cogitator. "The ship is being boarded."
Brokk's face twisted in fury. He switched channels. "Bridge, report." No answer. "Report!" Nothing.
He threw the vox unit against the wall. He had already lost the bridge. His personal quarters and associated areas were buried deep in the core of the ship, sandwiched between main power lines and protected by additional armour. The odds of successfully teleporting into his sanctum was low. He still had some time.
He rushed to his desk cogitator and the vox unit. The pneumatic brass keyboard clacked as he entered the alarm code and then called Eraine Gersh. "We are being boarded. Assemble a reaction team and spearhead the counter attack."
She knew better to question him. Tactics and strategy were not open to discussion. "Immediately my lord."
He cut the line and signalled Heche. "Assemble your team, full combat gear. Join me at my quarters." He didn't wait for an answer.
It was Gix, of course. It had to be. It would have been interesting if Jolan had tried to formally charge him, not that he had considered that outcome very likely. He had gone to some trouble to assemble convincing evidence on the younger inquisitor and it would have been interesting to see how it played out in court. Gix had instead gone for the throat.
Brokk entered the code to his arming room and stepped inside. His armour gleamed gold, patiently waiting for him. He reached in activated the start rune. Gix had taken his shot and even with surprise it wouldn't be enough. He stepped into his armour. Time to finish the endgame.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-10-16 03:37am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Imperial Overlord wrote:
Within ten seconds Shala was through the door and the shooting had shot.
stopped?
Imperial Overlord wrote:
The ringing of the alarm bell was the last thing Sentender Brokk wanted to here.
hear?
If at first you don't succeed, maybe failure is your style
Economic Left/Right: 0.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -5.03
Thus Aristotle laid it down that a heavy object falls faster then a light one does.
The important thing about this idea is not that he was wrong, but that it never occurred to Aristotle to check it.
Danell Keys rematerialized in a half lit corridor, surrounded by the heat shimmer effect of his refractor field. The assassin scanned the corridor, found it empty, and then began to run.
The central core of the ship was inaccessable by teleportation, probably by deliberate design. That didn't bother him. He could make the time to traverse the ship and kill his targets. The sheer numbers that the should could contain was a greater worry. Even with multiple kill teams engaging the crew away from the target area, they were potentially so many. There were limits on how many men even Hethor D'eckor could kill.
A sealed door loomed ahead, forbidding access to Brokk's sanctum. Neither lasgun nor bolter would penetrate it and it would take far too long and too much ammunition to blast through with a plasma gun. A melta gun or bomb would serve quite well, but Danell carried neither. There were, however, other ways.
The assassin drew a half meter long power blade and touched the activation rune. A sinister blue glow encased the blade as Keys's chose his spot. He thrust the blade into the seal between the door and the wall. A mundane blade would have bounced off or shattered. The powerfield shredded molecules, allowing the assassin to press the blade through the disintegrating metals and saw it down.
Audio receptors in his mask caught the sounds of footfalls and augmented them. The assassin spun, his autosenses piercing the gloom as he drew his pistol with his left hand. There were five of them, ship's crew, not armsmen by their reinforced coveralls and weapons. They carried shotguns, heavy pistols, and industrial chain blades.
He shot the lead man in the chest, twice. The hellbeams cut blazing white trails through the air before blowing bloody holes out of the man's chest. A shotgun boomed and a few stray pellets bounced off his refractor field. Keys shot the next man in the face and his skulls exploded.
The next man he shot in the leg and the stomach. A round hit him in the shoulder, but the refractor field and his armour robbed the bullet of its power to do more than bruise. Another double tap to the chest and the last fell with a shot to the chest and a finisher to the head.
Blood and gore were splattered all over the floor and walls were the ruined bodies lay sprawled in death. Keys fired one more shot, striking the gut shot man in the head. The assassin paused, consulting his auspexes. No indication of additional personnel coming into position. No reliable scans about what lay within the sanctum. The assassin holstered his pistol and went back to work.
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Brokk's escort surrounded him nervously as the inquisitor entered the code runes that would give him access to the chamber. Even among those who dwelt in his sanctum, there were layers of secrecy and security between them and the greatest secrets. Although in this case, only security. They knew what lay inside. That's why they were afraid.
The door slid open with a hiss. Brokk stepped inside, leaving his retinue behind. They immediately moved away from the door and flattened against the wall. They knew what was coming next.
The chamber was barren, containing only a single stasis pod and its support equipment. Brokk approached the pod and carefully keyed in the activation runes. They glowed amber in acknowledgement and the stasis field died. The lid of the pod slipped open with a hiss.
The monster within leapt out. He was clad entirely in form fitting black body armour that was woven with stealth devices and chemical dispensors. A skull shaped face mask equiped with auspexes and life support gear covered his face. Several weapons and arcane devices were attached to his belt and body harness. Physically the assassin was an awesome specimen, inhumanely quick and agile with a perfect muscular physique. "Instruct me," he ordered in a raspy voice.
"Intruders have boarded this vessel. Rogue inquisitor and his minions. High collateral damage is acceptable. Files on friendly markings and appearance transmitted to your implants."
The Eversor Assassin did not give any acknowledgement of the order, instead bluring out of the room in a rush of biomechanically and chemically enhanced speed, tearing past the frightened members of Brokk's retinue and out of sight. Brokk smiled within the confines of his armour. Jolan Gix had chosen to surround himself with a number of quite competent individuals. Some of them would be undoubtedly be leading the attack upon the Tormentium. That was Jolan's usual pattern and predictability leads to vulnerability. "Form up," Brokk ordered his retinue. "We're only getting started."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
You know, I've come to realize that the Inquisition's ability to requisition just about anything from the Imperium at large, no questions asked, is both a blessing and a curse. The idea that one could be a full-blown Tzeentchian cultist (and I'm not speaking of Brokk here, mind) and still have access to powerful Imperial toys is downright frightening. I've always thought the Inquisition could do with a little more internal oversight, but absolute power corrupts absolutely, I suppose.
Regardless, it seems to me that Brokk and Gix are playing the same game that Eisenhorn and Quixos began all those centuries earlier. It'll be interesting to see where this leads...
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
Hawkwings wrote:Aren't Eversors easily capable of killing Space Marines?
If the Eversor is killed by Gix and co, I will be sorely disappointed in IO. You hear that?!?
Now, that being said, I'm very interested in how this encounter will end.
Even Astartes are one stray bolter round away from death. That applies to everyone in the story as well.
Anyone want to guess on who dies and how?
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Imperial Overlord wrote:Anyone want to guess on who dies and how?
I'd love to, but I'll have to abstain this time; given that (unless you decided to retcon it) the 41k RPG on LA already tells us exactly who survived this attack, as I do believe it takes place in the future.
Still, the eternal optimist in me is willing to bet that Brokk will perish in the end. How? Probably locked in personal combat with Gix; Brokk willl seem to have the upper hand, having studied his enemy's methods quite extensively (and possessing his own bag of tricks; vis a vis power armor and whatnot) until the very end. When all seems lost, Jolan will pull a veritable rabbit out of a hat and reverse the tables, just as Maladar did in his duel with the Chaos Space Marine at the beginning of his career.
At least, I hope it ends in a victory, however Pyrrhic, for Jolan. Killing off the main character at this point would just be cruel.
"There is a high statistical probability of death by gunshot. A punch to the face is also likely." - Legion
"The machine is strong. We must purge the weak, hated flesh and replace it with the blessed purity of metal. Only through permanence can we truly triumph, only though the Machine can we find victory. Punish the flesh. Iron in mind and body. Hail the machine!" - Paullian Blantar, Iron Father of the Kaargul Clan, Iron Hands Chapter
The universe slammed into Hethor like a brick wall. Throne, he hated teleporting. He forced down the contents of his stomach and looked around.
They had materialized in a huge gallery that functioned as a service access and ammunition loading point for the massive macro cannon batteries on the level above. There were a half a dozen crewmen running away down the corridor and a pair of servators with tool limbs standing blankly at the new arrivals.
Hethor raised his rifle and fired the hellgun barrel. Two blazing bolts struck the lead runner in the back as the crack of hellgun fire erupted all around him. Smoking bodies with large holes fell to the deck and then there was silence.
"Sound off," he barked.
A series of "heres," rung out as the Stormtroopers moved to cover all entrances to the gallery. The pair of heavy weapon servitors remained in place as did Batista.
The psyker watched the Stormtroopers move out. "What do you want from me?" the psyker asked nervously. Vonnil wore the same sealed carapace armour as the rest of the assault team, but he didn't move with any of their assourance. A las carbine hung over his shoulder on an assault sling.
"Stay close to me, keep down, and block any psychic assaults. Also, let me know if you sense any psyker witchcraft."
"Alright. I'll do my best."
"You damn well better. First Section! Lead the advance to Sector H!"
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Super heated air was blasted out of scortched lungs, generating sounds that resembled screams. For a brief, terrible moment the corridor junction became hell's own antechamber. Then Domina ceased to pull the trigger.
The surface of the Sororitas's armour was nicked and pitted where enemy weapons had struck her, but the damage was almost entirely cosmetic. Domina moved up to inspect her kills.
Most of the armsmen were charred masses of flesh and melted armour. A bullet glanced off her left pauldron. A badly burnt armsman, probably at the periphery of the flames, had managed to drag himself clear. Most of his flesh was blackened and pealing or an angry red and still he fought on.
Another bullet bounced off her breastplate and then another and another as she closed the distance between them. She raised her foot and brought it down with a dreadful crunching sound. Blood, brains, and bone chips splattered over the floor. "The junction is secure," she said into her vox. "You may bring your forces up interrogator."
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Jolan Gix consulted the autosense projected display. Arcoflagellants had been unleashed in multiple locations around the command deck. Lydia and Hethor's teams, along with two other teams of Stormtroopers and servitors, were performing kill sweeps near the sanctum area. Nofield was securing engineering and Keys was attacking the sanctum from the other side. The plan was working, so far, and both Shala and Hethor were nearing their objectives. So far, so good.
But a lot could go wrong and time was not on their side. Brokk still possessed vastly superior numbers and would soon recover from the surprise. It was also likely that Brokk would employ potent retainers of his own in the counter attack. Killiing them now, before they could mass and organize, was essential.
The daemonhosts lead the way, bounding forward like hunting cats. They were stronger entities than he had bound before, minor daemon princes instead of lesser daemons. Only a fraction of their power could manifest itself in their host bodies so tightly had Gix bound them, but that was more than enough to make them far more deadly than the heavy weapon servitors who followed up behind them.
Clawed hands tore at the hatch in front of them, leaving deep scars in the metal. Angry fists dented and deformed the hatch, bloody light flaring at the impact points as their rage grew. With a shriek, steel was rent. The daemonhosts grabbed either side of the rent and tore it open.
A dozen armsmen were crouched down in the corridor, awaiting their arrival. Fierce vollies of laser beams and bullets greated the daemonhosts. Holes were burnt and torn through their robes, but they did not stop coming. Grenades shredded cloth, but not the flesh beneath. Then fire washed over them.
Howling they pounced on the closest armsmen, their claws tearing through armour and ripping open arteries and veins. Behind them two massively armour servitors followed them in and opened fire with their heavy bolters. The lethal rocket slugs punched through armour and blew open flesh. Two bolts struck one of the daemonhosts but the hits only created shallow craters in its flesh. Dark blood oozed from the wound. The daemonhost grunted and continued killiing.
The last of the armsmen lay twitching and dying on the deck in front of them, his hands trying to keep his entrails in. The daemonhosts ripped off the burning scraps of their robes, revealing bodies pierced by a dozen holy and blasphemous symbols. One had a small crown of horns growing on his head. The other had a third eye in his forehead and fanged maws in his palms. They halted, constrained by invisible leaches.
Jolan Gix pushed through the shredded hatch. "Continue the advance," Gix ordered. He held a combination hellgun/plasma gun in his hands. "Kill everything that isn't me or one of my people," the inquisitor continued. Brokk had a lot of sins to expiate and it was only fitting that he taste a little bit of what the warp had to offer before he was done.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-10-30 12:38am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Well, the Eversor Assassin going to Gix first is probably the best outcome possible, as Gix's group has the powerhouses best able to deal with it. If he (it?) hits one of Gix's other teams first, they are most likely going to die horribly.
I for one am willing to place bets on who will die. I think Keyes is going to fight the Eversor, and possibly do some damage before going down. He's good, but not rediculous like the Eversor.
I'm also thinking Brokk isn't where they think he is in the ship. He might be the sort to put his quarters in an unusual spot, and the heavily armoured section Gix and company are hitting has nothing of importance in it.
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)
