It came from the stars, falling to earth like a wounded dragon.

Having suffered critical damage in the Warp and several catastrophic system failures, the Fortune’s Dominion had finally come to a stop. Fragments and chunks of it that had been ripped out like entrails were scattered all around its final stop. The panic, the confusion, the chaos that gripped the ship finally gave way to an uncomfortable silence. There was no more wind rushing, no more adrenaline-filled hearts, no more terrified screams. Now there was only the sound of broken equipment mixed with cries of pain and anguish and a distant sound of alarms.

People were trapped under slabs of metal or barricaded behind doors. Dead bodies were everywhere, crumbled or disfigured in unnatural and nauseating ways. Slowly, survivors began to get up and try to dig one another out, first bringing them to whatever open areas where left intact and then on to the planet’s surface once they found out that there were few open areas left. Spaces who had spent generations aboard ships dropped to their feet, their bodies not used to true gravity or natural air.

There was a slow realization that of the ship’s nearly 200,000 passengers and crew, less than an 1/10th had survived, maybe 1/8th at the most optimistic. The burnt clearing the ship had made was being filled with the wounded, but the dead and the dying were piling up faster. Voidsmen, pilgrims, crewmen, guardsmen, officers, all were simply being thrown into a heap. The captain and the bridge crew were no where to be seen, the access lifts and shafts to the bridge itself destroyed or blocked off.

It didn't take a tech priest to realize that the state of the ship was beyond salvage, at least not without a fully equipped dockyard. A growing uneasiness took hold of the survivor's minds. Even in the best case scenario, they have be stranded on an uncharted planet for a long, long while.

Apart from the crackle of flames, the click of heated steel cooling, and the groans of pain from the dying, and the living both. Well it's quiet. Strangely so. And it's that quiet that causes what at first appears to be a mass of metal and cloth high in a tree to shudder.

...
Error: Environment unknown
Error: Optics in Error mode
Reboot and Restart Engaged

The mass of metal and cloth moves again. mechanical arms grasping blindly for a time. Heavy treaded feet wheel. Multi-articulated joints creaking. Finally a hand wraps around something thin and hard.

Warning: Unit sensors read anomalies in position
Supposition: Unit is not standing.
Left hand Sensors grasping material....scanning

The metal...man...no not that kind of Metal Man, one of the Holy Warriors of the Omnissiah, a Skitarii. One of the one hundred Adeptus Mechanicus Metal Men, the Warrior Elite of the Machine God. Stuck in a tree. Because that's what his sensors and scanners tell him soon after. Stuck in a tree. His left hand wrapped around a branch that had missed impaling him. Another branch between his legs, another under his right arm. And yet another just to the left of his throat, any one of these branches could have actted like a wooden spear to have piked right through him.

Attention: Optic reboot and restart complete

The world swam back into view. And Arkos ADAM could finally see where he is. Some 30 feet off the ground, in the upper branches of what could only be this planets version of a mighty Oak. He looked left right, up and down a few times. Before looking back and spying the burning hulk of what's left of the Fortune's Dominion about seven hundred yards away. His optics click and whir. And with something that sounds like a grumble of machine code, Arkos ADAM starts to try and untangle himself.

As he does he goes over what he can remember. Being woken before the scheduled reactivation. The Magos Primus saying the ship needed their help. And the march of the Maniple down to the engine room. The Magos had shoved data-slates into their hands. Unlocked and decrypted.

Arkos ADAM stopped to see if the data-slate he knew he had still held when the decompression had occured is still near by and there on his waist attached to his combat belt it rests. The last thing he had done before being sucked out into the atmosphere. Praise the Omnissiah he hadn't been burned to a metal crisp on the way down. And Praise the Cog that he hadn't fallen much further from the ship then he did.

Arkos ADAM returned to the task of untangling himself from the branches of the tree. His long range scouting suite had started to pick up the sound of survivors. His Maniple count showed zero, but perhaps he was just out of range, perhaps if he could get out of this tree, which is proving quite a task he can find out about the rest of his comrades. A burst of Machine Code as he prays to the Omnissiah for their safety, and for patience in getting clear of this blasted organic puzzle!

(OOC note: anything underlined is Istomin internal thoughts)

This is not good. I’m trapped in a burning hulk of metal. The ship did have a name formerly, but that does not matter. Now...I'm gonna get out of here. Istomin was not in the best of shapes, but compared to the rest, who were either dead or gonna die, he was fine enough. Extreme bruises and one hell of a headache are more easily healable than having your bones broken or worse. Looks like I’m still in the cargo bay. I just gonna step over the bodies and crates and get to the door on the left side. Istomin finds himself slowly walking towards the left-side, only to find that the door led to a solid slab of metal. I guess that way is uhm...blocked. How about…Istomin’s train of thought was quickly broken by the sounds of plasma cutters just a few meters away from his current spot.

The shape of a square was cut from below, and two heads popped out of the opening. “Hello, Doctor Istomin. Are you feeling ok?” says one of the fully-helmeted men. Istomin nods, giving a warm smile. “I’m alive and that is well enough,” Istomin notes as he is carefully lowered down the opening with the help of the crewmembers. How lucky that I found these two lads at just the right time.

“How are we gonna get out of this hellhole?” Istomin asks, curious about whatever or not these two have figured out some kind of pathway out of here. One of them nods. “We have. We managed to find and cut an opening to the outside. The hole is in the kitchen. You can’t miss it,” says the crewmember. Professionals, I take it.

The three found themselves walking all over the place from the cargo-bay to a hallway into a door and into another hallway, which led to the boiler-room and then into the bunkers and into the armor and then finally the kitchen but only at the eating tables. The kitchen proper was just a few footsteps away. “What’s the status of the ship?” Istomin asks, wondering if the thing was kept in one place.

“The whole damn ship got broken apart. We’re at the mid-section of it. The whereabouts of the rest are unknown,” the crewmember notes as he points to the hole made above the kitchen. Istomin was the first to get up there. The two crewmembers lifted the man up while three more lads on the outside grabbed the upper-half of Istomin. Before long, the Doc was off the ship and now outside, in the wilderness with whatever survivors there were.

The surroundings were not pretty, to say the least. Teams of men and women worked to carry wounded to makeshift medical bays, while others had to dig up mass-graves to drop off the dead into. Elsewhere, people were creating tents for the sick and for homes. There was only one thought that filled Istomin’s brain.

Well shit.

The knife was short and thin, but the monomolecular edge cut through meat and bone of the man's face like they were water. Aghast, the many other men and women of the room in their varied states of intoxication and undress made hand motions to demonstrate to the cultist that they had nothing to do with the dead fellow missing half of his head at their feet. Given their state, Nestor found this very, very improbable. But behind his mask he smiled, the change in his face and eyes giving some relief to the people before him. The fools thought they would have mercy. They would of course, but it was a spiritual one, in that they would be free of their sinful bodies to stand and repent before the Emperor.

He spun on a foot in a beautiful pirouette to end the life of another one of the people before him, but his vision faded before that could be done.

---

The cultist awoke in a pile of wreckage. His head hurt, as did quite a lot of the rest of him; monomolecular knives it were not good items to possess at the moment of being shipwrecked. He didn't lose any appendages but he certainly did have a great many lacerations about his body. He stood up with a groan, smirking as the people he was going to end had died anyway. He rooted around their small drug lab, taking the clothes off of them to create a small impromptu disguise as an ordinary denizen of the vessel.

After briefly examining himself in the reflection of his blade Nestor nodded and went off to look for other survivors.

It's a moment of calamity. Ships of the Imperium just don't come down like this. The human is small, with adult features but barely 4 feet tall. He groans as he wakes. And is instantly grabbed by a shipman. He's directed to help with the extrication of other survivors. A team of seven including him using prybars and salvaged cutting tools and torches to get past a twisted piece of ship stress bar, a thick piece of plasteel ribbing that shored up some of the internal walls of the grand cruiser. And behind it? A bulkhead door, held shut by the giant metal spar. The team of seven grunt and work, torches and cutters grinding and hissing as they work.

Being on the outer edge of the crash area thus it's easy to miss the approach of something. Yes survivors hurled free of the crash as it hit are slowly limping into the area, attending medicae tents and rest areas before being sent to help. The small shipman from before calls to the survivors within the sealed door "We're coming! We'll get to you soon!" He rams his pry bar into a small crack and pulls, the metal spar groaning as it shifts slightly. The team shout and work harder seeing their efforts rewarded. And their inability to pay attention outwards masks the steady thump of something approaching.

But the air is pierced by a snarl as something comes charging in. A cat-like thing. Claws and teeth and lanky powerful limbs. It screams as it runs at the team of seven on the outskirts of the crash site. The seven spin and holler for help. Guardsmen soldiers hearing and coming to run, but they may not get there in time. One even trying to snap off a shot. And gasping when the cat-thing goes down, cut almost in two. The guardsmen looking to their own. But the shooter shakes his head, saying he missed. The cat-thing for all it's injuries tries to move again, crawling on three legs and snarling. But this time everyone hears it. And sees it. As a blue-white bolt of some kind of energy lances in and causes the cat-thing to explode this time.

Many of the guardsmen know that sound, the shot of a Galvanic rifle. Even now the electrical cloud of energy left behind fizzles out. And from over the rise he fired from, the decorated bronzed face plate of a Skitarii appears. Even now Arkos ADAM slings his backup Galvanic rifle over his left shoulder. The large Transauranic Arquebus on his arm flicking from target to target as he approaches the crash site. Stopping beside the team of seven crewmen who are at their rescue site. Towering above them the Skitarii Alpha stands there looking down at them visor gleaming in the sun as what appears atleast to be a single red eye sweeps back and forth behind it. They jump when there's a static hiss and blurt of sound. Directed at them. To the uninitiated Binaric is not but sound. But to any who may have the blessing it'd be the words, and knowledge of, <<Imperial Citizens, I am Arkos Alpha Delta Alpha Mike. I seek the Primus Rex Helicanum. Produce his whereabouts.>>

Poor Arkos ADAM could probably be forgiven seeming to be just a little annoyed when the crewmen just stare at him still in shock from his arrival. Arkos ADAM grumbles, the sound being produced sounds like the shifting of ill oiled cogs. He looks over and scans the approaching guardsmen and other survivors. That same blat of sound and static and code, <<Citizens of the Imperium. I seek my Manpile the Felixus Fulgari Beta. Lead by Primus Rex Helicanum. Produce their whereabouts.>> He scans the very small crowd as there is still work to do. Was...that just a sigh the metal man produced. <<Omnissiah help me...>> Another blat of code as a few people mill about. Arkos ADAM sighs then looks to the seven who are starting to move again, <<I shall assist.>> Time later to find his maniple.

@Andreyich@Dog

Before Impact

"W...what was that?"

It was a fundamentally useless question and despite the increasingly serious situation, Alessaria still found herself able to grow annoyed at the whining voice which asked it. The young noble woman turned to begin explaining in perhaps impolite terms how clearly no one present would be able to answer such before a far more powerful shudder ripped through their surroundings. Expensive fittings, sculptures and other such luxuries were scattered across the ground as the floor itself seemed to turn, a servant letting out a cry of pain as the sharpened end of a decorative blade impaled them tumbling from the wall. The nobles themselves fared little better, tumbling and crying out as they lost their footing.

Alessaria slipped herself, but she prevented herself from rolling further by swiftly grabbing the leg of a heavy tabled, the shuddering motion of the vessel passing through her, an involuntary moan of pain passing her lips, before the stupid girl asking the questions collided with her.

"Get. Off....Me." She allowed all her frustration out as she shoved the young woman away from her despite the shocked protest of her fellow noble, but Alessaria was already moving, climbing to her feet and patting herself down before starting to stride towards the exit. She still had no idea of what exactly was going on, but she'd already decided that one of the noble lounges was a decidedly poor choice to wait this particular crisis out. As she did so, Trennek, the member of her household guards assigned to her personal protection, moved in step to fall in behind her.

"Alessaria, where are you-" One of the other gaggle of women attempted to approach and speak to her, but Trennek quickly stepped between them, preventing the lesser noble from delaying his mistress any further motion. The lady herself didn't bother to respond, instead passing through the ornate entrance to the lounge even as another rumble rocked the vessel.

"I do believe something is quite wrong, Trennek, and much as I am loathe to admit, I do not think this is the sort of wrong which father's name will be able to fix." She spoke with an exasperated tone as she clutched to the guard to steady herself.

"Quite so, my lady."

"So....what do we do?"

"I believe you will be safest in your private chambers, my lady, I would recommend locking the door."

"Very well, let us be about it."

Matters, despite their already somewhat dismal state, did not improve. It did not take long for Alessaria to make it back to her private quarters with Trennek’s aid, the noblewoman locking the chamber as suggested as the ship continued to shudder and churn.

“My Lady, it would be best if you take shelter within sturdy confines...such as this.” The bodyguard motioned to one of the heavy set chests adorning the room, an action that earned him an aghast stare from the young woman in question.

“In….the box, are you mad?”

“I’m sorry my lady, I wouldn’t suggest such a thing if this weren’t a dire situation, I do not believe the safety of this room can be guaranteed.

It still took Alessaria a moment to recover from the insinuation, but another fierce tremor rolling through the ship made her mind up for her, and she nodded hastily. “As you say.” Trennak was already opening the ornate chest, removing some of the contents in the process, mostly some of the more personal clothing of Alessaria’s expansive collection. Even so, it was a tight squeeze and not exactly a situation the noble woman was used to, wiggling her way inside so that the lid may be shut.

“Stay put, my lady, the Emperor protects.” Trennak spoke with a ghost of a smile, which earned him a tremoring nod from Alessaria, before her world was plunged even further into darkness by the closing of the chest.

Planetside

Amongst the ruin of what had once been a noble imperial vessel, the chest rocked back and forth for some time, before finally tipping over. Alessaria sprawled outwards as she was finally able to take full breaths of air, choking immediately as she instead tasted smoke and ash, the ruins of the vessel, mostly her personal state room, all around her. She choked back a cry of fear as her eyes fell on the partial remains of her bodyguard, scrabbling over to the corpse. A full third of his upper body was simply missing, bisected by some amount of debris in the impact no doubt. With a whimper, the noblewoman fumbled with his belt to remove the ornate las pistol at his waist, her hands tremoring as she held it herself for the first time.

”Hello!?” She called out in as loud and even a voice as she could manage, which was fairly successful in the former, but certainly not in the latter.