Warhammer 40k: The Sisk Incident IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Grothnor, Feb 22, 2015.

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  1. The Sisk Indicent
    The Kestrel of Luggnum was like any other ship: a centuries-old merchantman pressed into ferrying His Majesty’s forces through Sector and Segmentum, hallways and corridors packed with crewmen and navy ratings, cargobays full of hastily set up beds and flimsy partitions filled with Guard regiments and their assorted hangers-on. Rayvius and his team were packed in with the miscellaneous passengers, disguised as a mercenary team called in by the Governor of Sisk to help enforce genetic compliance. Their cabin was shared with a half-dozen Administratum drones, clearly accustomed to warp travel, most likely were tithe counters who had been making the rounds through the subsector for months now, mostly trying to assess the state of any potential fighting men for the Guard. If he remembered correctly, Sisk was a world that had evaded the Regimental Tithe due to an unnatural amount of mutation among the population. Ray wondered if that was why he was being brought in, to oversee a mass purge of the mutant population by the Guard. He doubted it, since Inquisitor Case's call seemed much more urgent than that.

    The trip was largely uneventful, warp dreams, stale air and perpetual noise from the ship and the Guard regiments generally made things uncomfortable, but such journeys usually were. Ray spent his time fiddling with code on his cogitator, smoking up a storm and working through contingency plans with his team for if things went bad, which all mostly boiled down to “hope the ship is in realspace and find the nearest life pod,” the locations of which he learned from his occasional discreet tap into the ship's systems.

    The announcement of 'imminent realspace translation' came about three weeks into the journey. Ray was out wandering through the guard and their camp followers trying to procure more lho; he had nearly run out twice on the trip so far. He figured he could buy some before heading back to his cabin. He was halfway through negotiations when the mildly disturbing ripple of nausea from warp translation washed over everyone. The crew and ratings were running everywhere, alarms blared and warning lights flashed, but that was normal for a translation. Ray finished his business, clutching his portable cogitator in his augmentic hand and began heading back to his cabin before noting the alarms hadn't stopped as they should have. His growing fears were confirmed when the vox speakers blurted “brace for impact” moments before the ship quaked violently.

    Chaos erupted soon after that: the Guard were running back to their cabins and grabbing their equipment, camp followers milled about in fear, ratings tried to push through the mobs and get to their battle stations. Ray tried to push through the crowds to his cabin, but he changed directions once a vox blurt ordered a general evacuation. “All hands, abandon ship. Proceed to your assigned life pod in an orderly fashion,” it droned emotionlessly. It was anything but an orderly procession to the life pods. Ray had managed to pull to the front of the pack thanks to his knowledge of the nearest pods. He had no idea where his team was, but he was sure they were boarding their life pods elsewhere. They all knew what they were doing, so they could get along without their Interrogator for a while. He strapped himself in and watched the pod fill up, clutching his cogitator, waiting for launch.
     
  2. For Lucius it was just another trek to another world where he'd reap holy hell with his baby, his autocannon. Thank the emperor he had it stashed to the side with munitions or some tech priest might find the augmentations to it. Nearly doubled it's cyclic rate, hell he had turned a chaos predator to cheese through overwhelming fire! Why they didn't loosen a few springs he didn't know.

    Still he and his squad were billeted with the rest of the Helheim 26th, along a wall. They were a dour bunch, coming from a world of dull rock mining and fishing tended to do that. It still didn't stop them from making illicit clear "blood eye" alcohol from starch rations. Selling them for a few spare crowns. That bought them a few nights with some ill reputed ladies and bought the seargent some spare hot shot Las pistol clips to tuck away in a thigh pouch.

    When the translation had come he had been discussing the benefits of armoured sentinels over tanks in dense cover, vehemently 'discussing' his side before he began to worry, he was used to the nausea of translation but the call for bracing made him hit the deck, literally dropping as the ship rocked before scrambling up, patting his hip to make sure his weapon was still on him before he powered his way to a pod, quite literally leaping in. "The hell is going on out there?!"
     
  3. Adrian had just finished putting his bolt pistol back together when he felt the ship rock and the klaxon blare, he stood and strapped his chain sword to his belt while holstering his bolt pistol and putting his commissar hat on over his gas mask and stepped out into the hallway. All he saw before him was chaos as guardsmen and women ran around in a panic, he drew his chain sword and revved it drowning out the panic and drawing the hallways attention to him. "You are all guardsmen and women of the imperium of man not orks fighting over a piece of scrap! Now head to an escape pod in an orderly fashion like you have been trained. Now march!" After dealing with the chaos in this hallway he walked towards the escaped pods trying to restore as much order as possible to get as many bodies planet side, he had a feeling he would need as many guardsmen as possible. He made his way to an escape pod. "I believe guardsman, that the ship is going down now I suggest you strap in before you take a rather nasty bump to the head." After addressing the guardsman that was asking what was happening he strapped himself in across from the other guardsman acknowledging him with a nod before waiting for the pod to fill. ​
     
  4. The holy words had been said in the most sanctimonious sounds of binary and the sanctified oils had been applied in the correct order and manner. All of the parts began to turn in perfect harmony as the activation rune was depressed with just enough pressure to avoid causing it's spirit distress. Finally with a click and a hiss the panel was pulled shut by the motion of the tech priests's last final work order. A bulk head had been squeaky.

    That's when the red emergency lights kicked on and the ship shuddered back into real space. It's bubble of reality it takes with it into the warp jarring its inhabitants as everything from physics to gravity grew acclimated to one another. The tech adept made a hissing sound of relief that it went well, making a brief prayer to the machine God in binary as they began walking towards the nearest evac pods according to the schematics. Two mechadendrites unlatched from the floor, having kept the adept steady and standing during the event.

    Rather than brave the crowded and stampeding corridors filled with men and women of the guard they chose to go above and below. Maintenance corridors and tunnels barely able to fit their slim frame beneath the robes.

    Pretty soon a door panel hisaed open and they exited across from a nearby pod. Another prayer to the omnissiah followed as their dendrites folded to their shoulders while duxking in. What greeted them was fearful faces of some and a few unique ones that stood out.

    A commissar of the imperial dogma, stoic and stern even in his grav seat. Fatigues and a look that spoke of a pilot of some form of machine, which one they were unsure. And finally a mercenary, a rogue trader perhaps. An empty seat nearby was chosen as their own. Two dendrites latched and locked to a rail overhead, two more to the floor below with enough force to make the priest jerk in place. With that they were secure and ready. Silent as always save for the soft screech of binary prayers.
     
  5. Lucius turned his gaze upon the commissar, a small smirk crossing his lips. He had never had his loyalty questioned, however he had met with their kind over issues of command, issues of breaking from the plan, even if it won the day. Wasn't it the sentinel's job to go around, to move and bring it's weapons right down the enemies throat? To circle the noose and hit them in the ass. Many lord militants had used his regiment for things they weren't meant for, thinking the armour better used as a frontal assault.

    "A dead giel fish could tell that, commissar sir," the last held a bit of annoyance to the accented low gothic, his words sounding odd, s's like z's and vowels almost melodic in the slightly longer use of the sound, a tonal change. "I mean what on sacred Hel is happening to make the ship crumble!" His eyes shot to the red robes as they filled his periphery.

    He moved slightly, turning a shoulder to the priest of mars. Those were his true leash. A commissar would recognize the worth of a pilot and save the worst of the punishment, a tech priest would see what he did to his weapons and motors. He didn't believe that the "machine spirit" was real, he saw it as just the process that made the machine work. It didn't need appeased, it needed to be brought into compliance, enhanced, used to it's logical conclusion for what it was. Be it an autoloader working faster or the stabilization system of his sentinel staying upright on rocky terrain.

    Wait... His sentinel was still on board. "All father no..." He spoke softly, his people known for their slightly warped thoughts on the imperial creed.
     
  6. Adrian turned to regard the machine pilot with the red lenses of his gas mask, he knew their type those that most would dismiss as incompetent but he knew this man was more than likely an asset to have not only to keep moral alive with what seemed like a wit but for his machine skills though the way he tensed and turned when the tech priest walked into the pod did not bode well for him, he would need to keep an eye out, for if the pilot had made an affront to the machine spirit that all tech priests worship then he would need to keep any problems from occurring until they got off world again. He heard the words that the pilot spoke and addressed him. "Did you forget something on the ship pilot? Maybe your machine? If it's still on board then it is lost to the vacuum now but you are not and the Emperor willing you will have the chance to put your skills to use on this planet we descend upon now." Adrian returned to stare at the tech priest and addressed him as well. "What are you called priest?"
     
  7. The wary looks of the fearful men and scant few women were nothing new to the adept, if nothing they were small badges of honor they wore. Knowing that their faith in a machine was far less fallible than any person of pure flesh an blood.

    This particular pod was well maintained, even from their cursory inspection. Survival kits were stowed and their locks well in place. All emergency lights were active and working as intended. Even the cockpit was clean and orderly, labeled with small strips of tape. A small error, but it was accepted men of flesh would need aid for such a rare occurrence as evacuation.

    Upon being addressed their cowl rose just slightly, the visage of a metal chin barely visible beyond the dimness of the cabin. Their response was a brief chirp, binary, an entire sentence crammed into a sound few men could decipher. Habit to them. Rather than explain it in it's entirety they responded in a metallic and monotone voice from a speaker. "Zero."
     
  8. The pod was already filled to capacity, and many more were fighting to squeeze in. The commissar managed to keep them at bay with his chainsword, but fear, and the mob's shoving, drove some men towards the life pod's portal, and a messy end. Ray slammed the launch rune next to his seat. The doors began closing and the mob surged forward. One man managed to reach his arm into the closing doors, only to have it sheared off. It hung limply, wedged between the doors until the jolt of launch knocked it to the floor.

    The pod was silent for a few seconds before Ray asked, “Does anyone know how to fly this thing?” The response was silence or a few muted nos. “Shit,” he muttered before standing to take the pilot's seat, trading with the man sitting there. A brief second's searching found an interface port. Once he connected his interface mechadendrite, he began scanning the vox channels. What he heard in his ear was a cacophony. He started trying to make sense of the auditory assault when he faintly spotted a series of specks in the distance, moving in formation. They were too far away to tell what kind of ships they were, but they were clearly fighters of some kind. Ray scrambled to shut off as many systems as he could to prevent detection; lights, sensors, comms, and finally thrusters and navigation, though only after double-checking their trajectory was towards Sisk. Only life support was running.

    He disconnected from the terminal and turned around in his chair. Adopting the excessively cheery voice of civilian pleasure-cruise captains, he gave the sixteen other passengers an update. “Welcome to the Kestrel of Luggnum Emergency Cruise Lines. I'm Rayvius, and I'll be your Captain for the day. We've got a lovely three hour long cruise-in-the-dark ahead of us, so sit back, relax and enjoy the trip. If you look out the window behind me, you'll see a lovely bunch of frak-all.” That line received some nervous chuckles. Keeping your men's spirits up cam make all the difference between life and death. Ray thought to himself, remembering Inquisitor Case's lessons. “Though if you do see something, keep it to yourself, because your Captain knows what he's doing and he doesn't need any backseat pilots.” Some more, heartier laughter. “Okay, jokes aside, I shut off everything but life support because I spotted fighters. Even if they were friendly, it probably means there are enemy ships out there too. As for who we're fighting, I was able to make out the word 'Dominate' before I shut off comms, so I'd expect Severan Dominate forces. There's no telling if they made it to the surface or not, so 'Hope for the Best, Prepare for the Worst'. Get to know each other, or get some shuteye, I'll be up here.” Here's hoping the smell doesn't get too bad. He lit up a lho stick and turned around in his seat.
     
  9. Lucius provided aid to keep the mob at bay, his autopistol racking into the mob, pushing back the ones that the chainsword couldn't. His ears ringing he reloaded as the doors closed, staring at the severed arms. It was sad that such thing had become common enough to not bother him. The only true thing that bothered him was, "My mucking sentinel gets voided! I swear I will ring the neck of any of the fram heads I meet until they build me one from the wreckage of of their shattered bones!" Anger in his tone as he sat back down, listening to the man who had made himself in charge, he buckled in, holstering his pistol before he shook his head.

    His eyes fell upon the blood and limbs once more. Watching as zero gravity began to take hold, a frown forming on his face as he watched the small orbs float around. "This is why I prefer to shoot people..." He muttered, looking to the masked commissar. "That looks like it would be good right about now, keep the blood out of your eyes."
     
  10. Faceless and silent in the cries and shouts of wounded and scared men of the weak flesh as they tried to get in. Memory of schematics told them they could make room for nearly double the capacity and still make it to the planet. Life support and rations would be cut in half, but that mattered little when not trapped in the void between worlds.

    The soft hiss of life support activating once the doors had slammed shut was like a beautiful song in binary. That crunch of a man losing his arm a terrible missed chord.

    Finally the man spoke. He was no soldier. There was no fooling the eyes of the adept. Too tall and too calm in the face of terror. A leader who quickly took charge and eased the fears of the few. No one else seemed to notice or care, content like cattle to relegate responsibility to someone else. Someone to blame if mob mentality kicked in. Even the adept had to agree with a silent hiss of emptied lungs.

    Though others relaxed as the ship grew dark the adept did not. A mechanical dendrite unlatched from the floor and crept below the seating. Finding a panel and releasing it. With the groans and creaks of the ancient pod no one likely noticed as they monitored the systems. Two weeks of oxygen if the scrubbers were maintained. A week of food and longer with water if survival kits were brought out.

    It was as the dark haired man said. Sit back, relax, and listen to the soft hum of the scrubbers as they worked. Sounds of a working machine always brought comfort to a follower of the Omnissiah.
     
  11. Adrian sat and began to clean any blood left on the chainsword, he looked up at what the pilot had said. "Go fight with the death korps for a few years they might give you one if you survive." He then turned towards the cockpit and thought about the man that had spoke, he did not seem to be used to this situation forced into leadership by situations out of his control. Adrian addressed the survivors of the ship. "I am Commissar Adrian Ruhr, some of you may be guardsman and some of you may not be but either way if you have a weapon prepare it for I do not know what we may face planet-side but it may be waiting to take your lives and the fact that our ship was attacked right out of warp makes me concerned about a large presence in system, if this is the case we have a duty to find any survivors and hold until imperial reinforcements arrive, when ever that might be." Adrian then sat back down in his seat and leaned his head back to rest but not letting himself fall asleep in case discipline needed restoration.
     
  12. The Kestrel had translated not far from the planet Sisk, something Rayvius was rather thankful for. It took slightly less than the three hours the life pod's machine spirit estimated to arrive within the planet's orbit. Ray slowly woke the pod's systems, sensors and vox first to see if there were any nearby threats. If there were any nearby, they seemed to have passed; all the sensors could pick up were two of the planet's orbiting void-docks, one crippled and trailing debris; the only vox activity was an automated distress beacon. The other seemed silent, but was faintly emitting vox traffic on channels used by the Severan Dominate, it's fate apparent. Ray let gravity pull the pod into atmosphere before awakening the other systems.

    They were passing through a cloud bank as the flight computer booted up and calculated the optimal angle of reentry. He righted the pod despite the rather fierce turbulence and settled nicely into their landing trajectory. When they cleared the clouds Ray swore louder than he intended; their reentry trajectory was taking them down into an ocean. Their life pod was most likely not buoyant or designed for maritime landings, so any landing at sea would likely kill them, even if they escaped the pod before it sank. He tried to calculate any possible way to veer towards the coasts without burning up in the atmosphere, but couldn't, leaving him frantically searching for any landmass within the ocean that they could land at. After several intense moments, he spotted an island. Banking hard for it, he shouted back, “As soon as we land, lose everything you don't need and get out of the pod as fast as you can. I hope everyone knows how to swim.”

    The landing was less than stellar. He had brought the pod to a stop about a klick away from the island after tumbling through the water, killing two men from whiplash. Ray shed his storm coat, figuring it would be more hindrance than help. His cogitator was fortunately environment-proofed and didn't weigh too much, but the swim towards the island would be made harder by it's hindrance. Everyone still alive piled on the rear airlock and opened it, only to be met with a flood of seawater as the pod dipped under, now sinking. By the time Ray got out, the pod was three meters under, taking another unfortunate guardsman with it who had panicked and began to drown. Ray had to fight his way past his instinctual grabbing to avoid being dragged down too. He swam for the surface, then he swam for the island. Unable to see anyone, Rayvius just kept kicking for what seemed forever, until his feet finally touched sand.

    He found himself on an ugly beach, covered with driftwood and seaweed. Inland, as far as the eye could see was a foggy, damp forest of thin, leafless trees. He couldn't see anyone, but he was alive. He spent the next minute retching out all the seawater he inadvertently swallowed before sitting. He sat, trying to figure out what to do next and gathering his wits and his breath for about six minutes, though it seemed much longer to him. What broke him out of his daze was the distinctive crack of lasfire in the distance, followed by an unnatural shriek, and then silence. Rayvius readied his laspistol and stood up. First thing to do is regroup with the other survivors. He started walking down the beach, looking for any sign of anyone else who made it.
     
  13. Instinctual panic crept up too quickly. It made breathing hitch despite the mechanical help. Water wasn't something often met in great quantity aboard a space faring vessel.

    The hours were spent going over the ships systems idly, avoiding the presence of this mercenary with his extensions that didn't belong. With the help of the meager computing power of the pod the adept had figured their trajectory and managed to figure where they'd land based on orbital trajectory and the planets gravity well. At least until the pilot took over and threw a wrench into the equations.

    Bumps and snaps of necks didn't phase the priest of the omnissiah, their mechadendrites holding them secure to the pods structure. It was the stop that hurt most after all, not the falling.

    Some men sank. Some man swam. Metal wasn't very buoyant, but at least everytbing could be sealed against the water as it flooded the vessel. Taking the adept with it.

    Ten minutes of useable oxygen in their systems as the pod continued to drop. Four bodies bounced as if in slow motion as the priest moved to the front of the pod with the aid of their mechanical appendages. The hastily made plan went off without a hitch.

    Less than half an hour later a sopping red mass stepped upon the shore. Red robes shedding water as the mechadendrites whipped water off and wicked it away from the mortal beneath the robes. A single pressurized tank fell from the robes as the priest walked upon the sand, scanning for anyone else.
     
  14. Lucius was dazed by the impact, having braced for solid land. Hitting water was like hitting rockrete with your face. He was nearly drowned, one of the men caught in his harness grabbing at his fatigues, an auto round to the head, even when underwater, was usually enough to relieve a man of his clingy nature.

    The pilot pushed his way out, thankful he wasn't in armour like the few that had managed to free themselves only to be pulled down by it. He just swam, keeping the island in front of him no matter what. A life on a world of rocky expanses and wide rivers and seas made one a good swimmer. His stroke strong he was on the beach just ahead of the priest, rising from the water and bending over, panting heavily as he turned to thud of a metal drum being dropped. "You lugged that here?" He asked sarcastically as he drew his pistol, swapping a full one into the grip. He sighed, glancing upward to see the distinct burn of other pods and space detritus falling. "Lovely..."
     
  15. Adrian was rocked by the pod smacking into the water both guardsmen on each side of him dying, he unstrapped himself as the water was rushing in and made his way to the hole. He saw a guardsman struggling with his straps so he went over at his own risk and pulled out his knife and slashed the bindings releasing the man who ran for the hole, Adrian pushed his way out as some guardsmen drown and others swam off while he swam up he reached the surface he calmed himself and aloud his body to float as he took off his hat and gas mask and attached them to his person so he would not loose them. He swam towards the coast he saw and it took him about thirty minutes, he reached the shore and trudged up the sand his muscles aching but he had no time for rest. He put his mask back on after draining in and changing the filter and also his hat while he stopped to clean both his chainsword and his bolt pistol so they would not jam from the salt water he also checked his backup blade to make sure he still had it. Once satisfied that everything was in order he found footprints of some other survivors and started to follow them to rendezvous with them but as he walked he heard distant lasfire he pulled out his bolt pistol and loaded a fresh magazine in it just in case. He saw someone in the distance, he looked like the man who had took control of the pod so Adrian made his way and made his presence known with a clearing of the throat.
     
  16. The priest took a short head count, only the pilot, it was a very short count to be sure. Metal grated a bit from all of the water, the mechadendrites still moving about slowly to wick water off themselves as two moved like abominable tentacles beneath the wet robe to check the priests exterior systems. Everything was in working order until they attempted to speak.

    All that came from them was a garbled warbling, bits of water dripping from their cold metal face. If they could look annoyed they likely might, the featureless steel proving a worthy mask. More hissing followed as they retrieved the dropped tank and pulled it beneath the red robes. Some hissing followed as they began walking the shoreline a good distance from the lapping waves, no sense in getting wet twice. While they worked to clear their speaking systems one dendrite rose high over their head and acted like a periscope of sorts.

    "Regroup." They finally managed to say. It sounded garbled and wet still, but at least understandable.
     
  17. Only a few minutes of searching yielded results; he spotted the commissar from the pod. Ray adopted a playful smirk once he was within earshot, “Not my best landing, but 'any landing you can walk away from...' right?” His smirk melted away once he recognized him as a Krieger. They weren't known for their pleasant attitudes or their garrulous natures, and being a commissar besides meant he had little patience for humor. “Let's go look for others.”

    Hardly a minute after that, they found the tech-priest and a guardsman. The tech-priest was a little 'congested' but no worse for wear. The guardsman, by his cocky bearing and lack of front-line equipment appeared to be a driver or vehicle pilot, likely to a Sentinel or an aeronautic fighter or some other vehicle requiring serious balls to operate. “Sorry about the landing, flying's not my forte. I'm Rayvius Skalterion, or Ray for short. I'm with the Celadon Irregulars...” Ray launched into his cover story. The Celadon Irregulars were a mercenary company of minor repute, though they were secretly one of many fronts and recruiting sources for Inquisitor Case's agents. “...here to do some mutie-hunting for the Governor. I didn't realize the situation was bad enough to call in the Guard, though I bet you're here to fight off orks and heretics, not on mutie hunts in the marshes. So, how about you guys?”
     
  18. "I was put on that Emperor forsaken transport do to a clerical error and now I am here with you lot which is a sight better than in a trench and despite the mask I am not from Krieg I just served as a unit's commissar for a while also my name is Adrian if you all would like to call me something other than commissar." Adrian sat down on the sand and took off his mask revealing his actual appearance to the others there though he did not really care as he was more concerned about allowing his mask to dry more, he also took off his trench coat and laid in in front of him where he began taking down his chain sword and bolt pistol to make sure the salt water had not damaged any mechanisms. He realized their was a tech priest there but Adrian preferred to do his own checks first before allowing anyone else do another tech priest or otherwise, he also kept an ear open to hear what the others had to say as he was curious about their purpose's here. He also cussed and muttered about a power sword and less moving parts as he was closely examining the components of his chain sword.
     
  19. The tech priest said nothing as the rendezvous finally occurred. It was relieving knowing they'd not be without aid when it came to this backwoods rock. Gunpowder wasn't their ideal level of technology to use. Truthfully it was something they knew little about, which made it all the worse.

    As the others spoke their eyes rose behind the metallic mask they wore. Clicks of shifting lenses brought the orbital skirmish into indistinct view. Lance batteries crossing the sky as the exhaust of fightercraft ionized in the upper atmosphere.

    Finally breaking from the diminishing battle above they looked to the commissar. "Unwise to dismantle gear in this environment. Fine particle silicates blown by air currents cause extreme wear. Suggestion: Refrain from opening the housings to check until a later time.. Speak your litanies and pray the Omnissiah grants it the strength to handle your destructive use.." Those words were a bit more strained with irritation, though still quite mechanical.
     
    #19 Windsong, Mar 2, 2015
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2015
  20. The pilot glanced to their actual pilot. Perhaps he should have been at the helm, he had at least some knowledge of other craft, he could have figured it out. Or at least his narcissism thought so. Cracking his neck he withdrew his autopistol, dumping the mag into his spare hand and giving it a shake to clear the water. Far more simple, far easier to get to work. Chromium helped too.

    "Well I'm here because someone called my regiment... Why? They didn't tell me. Why is that? Because I'm an armored sentinel pilot, it's my job to bring the hurt in advance of tanks..." He glanced to the sky. "Given that the tanks may start raining hurt as well as my sentinel... I'm just a man with a pistol who is going to find the grox lover that hit our ship and make him look like a catachan barking toad after it goes off."
     
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