Children of the Warp - Warhammer 40,000 RP (IC)

[OCTAGONZ]

The monolithic Plague Marine looked about the cabin as it shuddered whilst entering the world's atmosphere. He shook his head. Nothing to be worry about. He went back to prepping his Bile Spewer for the upcoming battle. As the transport was hit, the Pestilent creature jumped, his weapon flying from his hands, sliding across the cabin floor.

For a moment, Besian simply blinked his singular eye. Looking confused in that dream-like state of his. He squinted, lifting his gaze toward the ceiling of the Storm Eagle as he let out a bellowing roar, bile spraying from the small vertical slit in his ancient helm. He ran after the Weapon at the fastest pace he could as it slid toward the back of the cabin, snarling & hissing the entire way. he looked like a father attempting to save an injured child. Intestinal slop seemed to flow endlessly from his split stomach, leaving a trail of steaming, wretched glop wherever the Plague Marine wandered. At last, he found his prized weapon, holding it close to his chest. He cooed to it softly, caressing the miserable-looking bile spewer with the greatest of care.

At once, the Plague Marine fastened the Plague Spewer in it's makeshift flesh holster, walking back toward the spot he had stood minutes before, The red emergency light illuminating his abhorrent form. He leaned back against one of the walls, grabbing hold of whatever he could. It was clear he was trying to restrain himself for the coming collision. His cyclopean eye slowly shuts as he drifts back into that deadly calm.

[Hank]

Kylara, having strapped herself into one of the chairs lining the walls of the craft, scouted out ahead with her mind when the warning claxon sounded. She noticed how Nanbar was missing immediately to her left in her mind's eye -- he just wasn't there. Not even a curiously empty hole in the fabric of reality... just his absence. As if he wasn't there with her. She ignored it and continued, widening the search. She could sense the kinetic energies buffeting the craft and the hole in its belly. The stench of the Plague Marine was distracting and she adjusted the air-filters of her psychic hood. Her breathing became laboured but that was just something she would have to bear as she searched for something, anything, to help. Finally her mind reached the ground below as the craft descended at an alarming rate. Thinking quickly, she steered the craft's descend a bit with her powers -- it was beyond her to arrest its fall completely but she guided it away from a direct impact with the urban buildings below, aiming for an empty freeway so that the craft wouldn't become mangled as it tore through structures. The air inside the cabin became static as Kylara concentrated, the hull whining under the stress of her psi-pressure. It would have to do.

[Perditious C]

The Storm Eagle struck the freeway, grinding up rockcrete and plowing through abandoned vehicles as it skid ungraciously across it. It held together well as it ground forward until it reached where the freeway banked left, the downed craft broke through the barrier and crashed through the side of a hab-block. When all was still, Malephar unlocked his harness and scanned the cabin which, thankfully, remained intact. They had slowed down enough so that the crash wouldn't have been fatal, even to the cultists so long as they were strapped in properly. They might have a few bruises, maybe a cracked bone or two, but they should be serviceable. Malephar turned to the cockpit door, privately voxing to the pilot, "Status report." Silence. The Champion wedged the door open with his chainfist, the cockpit was ruined, the pilot skewered by rebar.

Malephar grunted and left for the other end of the cabin, pushing past the Plague Marine to hit the emergency release on the ramp door. Bolts exploded out as the door was blown away from the craft, falling fifty stories to the ground. The Champion leaned out from the cabin to observe their situation, the Storm Eagle wouldn't stay lodged in the building long, they had to move. Malephar walks back to the ruined cockpit and activates his chainfist, the large chainblade, ensconced in disruptive energy, bit into what remained of the armored windscreen. Shoving it aside he makes way for his team to escape and as he climbs through last he could feel the ship giving way. They watched the wreck fall as the floors supporting it crumbled, making a thunderous crash as it struck the ground below.

Malephar checked his internal displays, saying on the all-vox, "We are approximately 22 clicks off-course, we'll need to make our way to the AA emplacements on foot." This was odd, there shouldn't have been any anti-air in the area, intel assured it would be clear for their arrival. The Champion took point, leading them down the ruins of the hab-block. Outside he could hear the distinctive sound of war-engines, it seemed the Imperial Guard managed to push out this far in such short time, he and his team would have to congratulate them appropriately.

[Laurenced]

Ferrus still quietly counted the shakes as the claxons bellowed but as it counted the 50th he felt the air still. A motionless electricity filled the space around him. The smell of the putrid marine fell still and had almost vanished, not that ferrus was complaining.
Those around Ferrus seemed to know where it was from, the feeling of lift invisible to all but those creating it.

The Heretek still seemed asleep, a feet one may appreciate were it to come from a different source. The Plague Cradled a Gun across its chest like a mother, the name given to nurgle seemingly more appropriate. The Champion and sorcerer were nowhere close to the perception and concentration that was guiding the Storm hawk.

No, It was the Witch. The Hood hiding the look that could not wander from Ferrus. the creature could tell. The Psi-pressure still pulled at the Storm hawk as he watched the Witch. The Claxons wailed and behind it the yells of the pilot could heard faintly "Crash Iminent, Hab-blocks ahead, Prepare for crash." The white puss had ran out but become useless the erratic descent of the plane.
Instead his breathing slowed and with a faint click, Something new began to occur for those around Ferrus to see.

The Creatures actions began to speed up. The Head jerking quickly to each and every slight discrepancy in sound and actions. The Creatures eyes filled a mix of violet and blue while the arteries along his shallower pieces of flesh began to rise to be seen but in all that he still appeared calm if erratic.
Ferrus did not see a creature speeding up but a world slowing down.

He watched the cabin slowly crunch, he could see every single bend of metal crack as the pilot slowly yelled "1....". A slow moment passed before he said then "2...." and finally he was interrupted by the slam of the nose into the ground. He placed a soft gloved hand on the slave below it and held the slave where she was. Ferrus could see it was crying in fear, a sight afforded to him only by his position.

He saw 4 seconds pass in 2 minutes. An Adrenaline pumping within him. Even as the Plane rocked, He calmly drew his pistol which bore a besmirched symbol of the Inquisition, the actual engraving broken off with a hammer and screwdriver, its vacancy all that remains.

As the ship dug into the hab-building, Ferrus could feel it acted like a knife into a fat womans neck, Stopping with a satisfying shunt.
Finger began twitching along the pistol.

The Pilot dead was of little matter to the creature. As the Windscreen was, without remorse, Ripped open, the creature unfastened it.
Ferrus swung straight through the brutal hole, the slave-girls arm in his left while his las-pistol was in the other. As he swept out, faster than one might be able to blink, He raised his up and out primed for an execution of any Citizen mad enough to attack or PDF Rube primed for an assault.

Strange how Ferrus stood utterly straight and confident, like for a moment he was no freak.

[DoctorThrax]

Rabanus was the second to last to exit the Storm Eagle. His slave was the very last, and was extracted just as the ruined craft collapsed from the building's face. The Fiend had grasped her by the mecha-tendrils that extruded from her spine, and was holding her over the building's edge. Releasing his fingers would cause her to fall many stories to her death. This was not the first time that Anathemas had been in this position, and if the sorcerer had any say in the matter, it would be far from the last. With a grunt of effort, he casually drops the heretek to the rubble-strewn floor of the building, reaching for his bolt pistol afterward and aiming down its sights out the building for a moment. With a long gaze down at the ruined renegade Storm Eagle gunship, he offers only a shake of his head. 'Such a waste,' he thought discreetly, but only for a brief moment before other, more relevant thoughts took precedence. With a quick turn of his head, the Fiend was again focused upon his brothers in arms, eyeing them up one by one before fixing upon Malephar.

In the aftermath of the crash and the subsequent procession through the hab-blocks, it was becoming far more difficult for Rabanus to keep his various, scattered thoughts held safely within his mind, and so spoke them aloud in his bitter tone. His ancient, modified vox whined as it sprang to life once again. "We were.. expected." Raising his head slightly, the ancient warrior scans the landscape, his training compelling him to seek out possible positions of ambushes and alternate paths through what he could see from any possible windows. His warp-tainted lenses fix upon their champion and he speaks aloud again. "When we reach the streets, we will be exposed.. we should seek to ambush those that would delay us." In all things, he was a warrior of the VIII Legion at heart. The sorcerer had surmised that stealth would not suit them here, considering that whoever prepared AA guns for their arrival would have been observing the crash of their transport, and thus would be awaiting them regardless. Hence, the most suitable tactic, in his mind, was to ambush the ambushers.

[Perditious C]

Rabanus' assessment was correct, clearly these insects were waiting for them. Time to make them regret that they were. "First we will need to set up a proper vantage. Nanbar, you are on point, see if you can find a window with a proper view on the enemy." Malephar listened closely, there was a distinctive hiss of pistons and heavy, metallic footfalls, "If you can manage a little stealth, Sigard, we may need your ordnance. There's a Sentinel out there with them." Urging them on, the rest of the squad followed slowly behind the two a few meters back.

The Champion notices a small hole in the wall, just large enough for him to fit his magnoculars through. "There you are..." It was a Guardsman squad, about fifteen strong, waiting around the flak gun that shot them down. Their guard was down, they seem to think we must have died in the crash, perfect. He scanned around, the Sentinel was nearby, he marked it on his team's HUD for Sigard. Now, as for the first Guardsman to die. There stood a sergeant, the obvious target, but no, Malephar noted one Guardsman in particular. He was a young, eager soldier reading a copy of the Credo Imperialis, he can already see the regard his teammates had for him, he was the spiritual heart of the Squad. The Champion marked Nanbar's first target. Malephar waited for the two to get into position, once they were he would order a simultaneous strike that would cripple the Guardsmen both in firepower and in morale.

He replaced his magnoculars on his belt, now taking up his stormbolter, "the rest of the squad will follow me down. When the Sentinel goes up in smoke, we make our assault." Malephar meandered down the hab building to the ground floor, taking up a ready position behind the rubble piles strewn about. "Report when you are in position and have a clear shot and wait for my mark."

[Laurenced]

The High of Orange quickly faded as the immediate danger was non-existant. Time in Ferrus' twisted mind began to slow. The Champion spoke of guardsmen below. The trunderling giant spoke of stealth but Ferrus thought first. Hmmmm... Fitting sacrifices, maybe make them submit out of fear. Submit to the will of the dark gods.
These guardsmen are weak, small to the overwhelming Chaos marines but they were part of the local guard and a seargent would know things. Positions of others, Vox-codes.

The Slave finally was let go of. Satchels still strapped to her back, She pulled a power-cell and offered it to Ferrus, A Subservient smile on her grim, pitiful face as the power-cell was taken and slipped into a ragged pocket of the leather that bound to the creature.

Ferrus followed Malephor, with Mal'shira behind it, and said quietly. "I suggest we only kill a few. The rest... well... Let see if we can make traitors of them especially that sergant. Vox-codes, Troop positions...". He was quiet for a moment as he reached to check the sound of one of the tubes of narcotics, A light green one.
He looked again to Malephor and, in a whisper, said "Destroy the sentinel , Break the moral and you'll have hopeless guardsmen easy to turn. If you can tell me where the heart is... Allow me to make a display of its death. I assure you, it will be gruesome."

[OCTAGONZ]

As Besian pulled himself out of the Storm Eagle, he paid the transport no attention as it fell to the earth below like a crumpled up piece of paper. At once, he slowly pulled his Bile Spewer from it's holster, looking around for any threats. With a quiet, gurgling whimper, he let down his guard. For now.

The bloated beast watched carefully as the Champion assessed the situation, listening carefully to his words as black steam billowed from the strange exhaust pipes that littered his oddly febrile form. As the Champion led the others off, Besian peered out the small hole in the wall, his orange eye peering down to the streets below. He quickly backed away. A slow, cacophonous chuckle escaped his helm. He stood there a moment, shaking his head before sluggishly following the Champion. His heavy footsteps echoing throughout the ruined Hab Building.

The Plague Marine often halts himself, taking a deep breath as his bloated stomach emitted revolting bubbling & scents. Each step he took seemed to leave a small bit of his pestilence behind; A fly crawling on one of the battle-scarred walls... A dripping from his split stomach or pus off his Plague Sword.

[Aristocrap]

Peering from behind the ruined wall at the mortals on the other side, Ardinius switched his combi-melta's safety off. Easy pickings. The Catulan Reaver wagered a single Chosen was enough to bring them all down; Malephar's squad was overkill. The engagement would end moments after it began. He readied his power maul in his left hand and his combi-weapon in his right. With millennia of practice and a strengthened frame thanks to the Warp, he honed his ability to fire his weapon single-handed. Short bursts were easy on his wrist and gave him better control.

Ardinius glanced at Malephar. Behind his helmet his face was contorted in an impatient scowl - fifteen mortals were but a bump in the road. He would not have hesitated to loose a melta shot at the sentinel's engine and carve up the men on his own, if it were up to him.

"I suggest we only kill a few. The rest... well... Let see if we can make traitors of them especially that sergeant. Vox-codes, Troop positions..."​ The abominable experiment annoyed Ardinius. The idea of subjugating more mortals into their squad was disgusting. They'd only hamper it. Mewling cultists did not lend themselves well to the precision of Astartes. This was not the Alpha Legion!

"If we need their information, there are other ways of extracting it," Ardinius hissed. His thumb hovered over the activation switch of his power maul, itching to hear it crack bone and plate.

[Laurenced]

The hiss of the Marine, There was something soothing about it to Ferrus. The Frustration could be heard behind what Ardinus
spoke, the hesitant urge to murder the monster, the nibberling thought that perhaps Ferrus shouldn't be on this mission, and
the experiment smiled at it.

The familiar sense brought an all to beloved memory of seeing a space marine bow to one who was smaller than the Astartes, to see
such a mighty beast of the Imperium bow to such a small figure as an Inquisitor but what made it all the more pleasing, all the
more enjoyable, was that in the background, The very female inquisitor, whom ferrus hated with a passion, was fuming
with anger as well.

The experiment pulled itself out of the memory induced trance and turned to Ardinus with what passed for a smile from the creature and said from the box within its arms. "Merely a suggestion, -Lord- Ardinus." speaking as if trying to remind him of his time with the Imperium. Ferrus continued "I'm confident the champion's choice will bring us favour with the gods... A squad acting under the radar might prove useful so... We would never need to touch them."