<Amraphel> Amraphel eyes fixed the shadow master with an emotionless expression:"Well well, the apothecary, I might have to dissapoint you, for I don't know alot about him and most of the things I know you can probably guess yourself. He's a Deathwatch apothecary belonging to the Sons of Gulliman. He's a very boring man and a very stubborn man; he thinks of the Codex Astartes as some kind of holy book and reveres his primarch as if he were some kind of god. Me and him don't always get along that well, but let me tell you a little secret to lighten your mood: I respect him, for he's an able fighter and holds his principles dear." "So 'shadow master' , maybe it is time for me to ask you another question: What do you hope to gain from all those answers and why are you lurking arround on this hulk anyway?"
<Deep within the Hulk - The Present> In the desolate depths of the loyal renegades' new home, a solitary figure moves through the dank dark, threading its armoured bulk between trickling streams of condensation from corroded pipes and neglected vents overhead. Eschewing the use of simple lights or helmet autosenses, Draconion trusts instead to his Astartes senses and witchsight, treating his mapping expeditions as training sessions to learn to do more with less. Nevertheless, his concentration slips with fatigue as he finds himself reminiscing over the harrowing hours spent on the wreck of the Angelfall... <The Battle for Niona - Aboard the Angelfall> As the Big Mek shakes and convulses in Draconion's psychic grip, the young Librarian steels himself mentally and links his mind to the Ork's, turning his mental filters down to the barest minimum as he subverts its link to its gods, transferring it to himself so he can leech the beast of its savage strength. His eyes and mouth erupt with crackling green lightning as the neverending rage of the Ork race once more explodes across his brain, albeit with infinitely less intensity, isolated and filtered as it is through a lone, damaged Ork. Having gotten the Big Mek's undivided attention, Draconion steps forth and addresses it in the Orkish style. To whit, he headbutts it right between the eyes and kicks it savagely in the shins, forcing it to its knees before himself and then bellowing at it in the Orkish language, reinforcing his declarations and demands with cuffs to the head. "<I IZ DA VOICE A' GORK AN' MORK!!! ALL YER THINKY-STUFFS ARE BELONG TO ME!!! YOU BOW DOWN NOW TO DA WILL OF DA TWO GODS!!! YOU BOW DOWN NOW TO ME!!!>" Thoroughly overwhelmed, the Big Mek stares up at Draconion in reverent awe and more than a little fear. No longer does he see a (relatively) diminutive 'umie 'ard boy ranting and raving at it in slightly high-pitched Orkish. Instead, he sees a shadowy figure full of menace and might, looming impossibly large amidst an aureolae of green flame, its every word resonant with the imperious voices of the Twin Gods. "<I-I-I...I obeyz, O Most Orky One,>" stammers the Big Mek, "<Wut doez da Two Godz be wantin'?>" "<DA TWO GODS IS MOST AGGRO WIFF DA WARBOSS, OH YUS!! HE IZ TAKIN' TOO LONG TO TAKE DA 'UMIE PLANET! 'E SPENDS 'IS BOYZ LIKE TEEF AT SQUIG RACES, WHEN DERE IZ ONLY A FEW HANDFULS OF 'UMIES TA KRUMP!!>" Cuffing the Big Mek about the head one more time, Draconion waves his arms and rants dramatically, doing his best impression of an Ork prophet in full cry. "<'E AIN'T 'ARD ENUFF TA BE WARBOSS NO MOAR! 'E. AIN'T. ORKY!!!>" Leaning closer to his captive audience, he drops his voice to an insinuating hiss. "<But mebbe, if dey findz real Orkz - Orky Orkz - da Waagh! can still be saved. And dey tellz me you might be Orky 'nuff, oh yus. Iz you Orky, Big Mek Humungous?>" A stunned expression and a series of furious nods comprise the Big Mek's reply. "<SMASHIN'!>" roars Draconion, giving Humungous a celebratory smack upside the ear that causes the Mek to keel over slowly to the deckplates as its inner ear spins in place with the force of the blow, "<Now I'll tell ya wot da Twin Godz want of ya. Lissen close, an' mebbe - jes mebbe - ya can get t'be da next Warboss, oh yus. First, get me some facetime wiv yer Nobz, one on one, quiet like...>" Over the hours that follow, Draconion repeats the process with all the Mek Nobs that had followed the Big Mek onboard. One by one, he agonisingly subverts their connection to their Twin Gods and transfers it to himself, then sets them to task to bully the other lesser Orks onboard into line and setting them to work salvaging every single thing of value from the Angelfall - not for the benefit of the Orks, but rather for that of the team. As the psychic pyramid-selling scheme that is the Ork gestalt psyche kicks into gear, Waagh! energy from the lesser Orks flows into the Nobs, consolidating thence into the Big Mek, augmenting his confidence and strength as it is wont to do in Orks before then flowing into the ultimate source of its devotion. As the hours wear by, the strain becomes very nearly unbearable for Draconion, as the savagery of even a relatively small group of Orks wears away at his psyche. Several times, he catches himself behaving 'Orky' without even meaning to, punching out a couple of Boyz and stomping their Grots to jelly for mishandling his precious nanolathe - an act that endears him greatly to the rest with much hilarity and securs his cover for the rest of the operation, but very nearly at the cost of his sanity. At length, the last bit of vital equipment is transferred safely to the team's new hideout. Having missed the crucial battle against the Warboss, Draconion has one final task to do after preparing the Angelfall for scuttling. As the Orkish lighter touches down onto the hulk with its valuable cargo, the venerable warship erupts into explosions in the distance. Gathering his enthralled Orks on the landing pad used by the team, he has them fight one another to the death 'for da glory o' Gork an' Mork', dispatching the last survivor with a decapitating stroke from his force swords. His task done at last, he collapses, not to awaken for a full seventy-two hours. <The Sumps - The Present> With a mental shake, Draconion breaks out of his reverie, annoyed at his lapse in concentration and pushes deeper into the sumps of the Hulk, determined to finish mapping this sector by the end of this diurnal cycle.
<Feron> Slipping out of the Forge Feron meandered down several nearby passages, peering into rooms watching various personnel go about their business. Survivors all they were hard at work getting this section of the Hulk into tip top shape. Between repairing lighting fixtures, establishing various storage units for their kit and getting work tables anchored everyone had something to do for now. Having decided to keep his own make-shift quarters nearby so he was never far from what he assumed would be his second busiest work station in times to come. Glancing toward the ceiling he smiled at the charred Ork skull mounted above a metal arch. Entering a quick little code on a small pad nearby a metal door slid aside to let him enter, Feron having opted to refurbish a secured officer's cabin for the sake of keeping his equipment locked away while it was stacked up awaiting attention. "Get you back in fighting shape shortly, I promise that much. " Squatting down alongside his breast plate and pauldrons he ran his finger tips along the ruination heaped upon various symbols and imagery with a frown, feeling a spiteful sort of anger from the spirits within. Ever since they had been declared renegade he had felt that shift in his aim, nothing downright detrimental but just enough for him to notice he wasn't being aided like he used to. It was unreasonable to assume that all their equipment would see eye to eye with them, while his weapons still worked willing to carry out the duties of righteous slaughter those holy plates that kept him alive during his vigil away from home were at odds. Lifting his hands away he turned to leave, having merely dropped in to see everything was alright before wandering back out and entering the lock down code. If anything blind exploration had lost some of its appeal in the quiet trip, instead he decided to check in with a friend or two, first stop Jannika. Best find out how their captain was coping with Angelfall's destruction.
(Before interlude) While the knight attempted to look through the blinding light at whatever or who ever had arrived, he simply couldn't as his eyes watered and forced Sigismund to hide behind the hood of his robes. Through the thick cloth and the receding light however, one could see that the source was none other than chaplain Marmaroth. Immediately after the flesh tearer had completed his speech, Sigismund joined the cleansing teams, helping to scour the hulk. He himself found an old, small room. Not much furniture to speak of, very spartan. Maybe when he had redeemed himself, he would afford himself some luxuries. (After interlude) The acolyte went out meet Marmaroth, Sigismund needed to discuss certain things and he was the only person that the knight could actually talk to. "Chaplain, do you have a moment?"
Finally Satisfied with the state of his arms, Temvero set them aside. He wanted to see more of where he may be staying, and thought that doing so fully armed might send the wrong message. Walking out of the Forge, he took a right, planning on wandering for a while, see the sights, meet the people... OOC: @Colapse you can place me in a random destination, Have me intercepted, and anyone else is welcome to stop me and have a hallway conversation.
@Casavay Friendly reminder <Shadow Master> "I see. I am lurking here, for it became my home. I seek Fabius Bile, for... Many reasons." He left a pause, almost as if he forgot himself why he is seeking the famed man, or perhaps it was just suspense to misguide Amraphel and let him waste questions. "And restore his Primarch? I thought old Guilliman would have passed away by now. Quite a foolish idea. One that usually doesn't cross ones mind on his own, mh?" If he asked Amraphel or himself was unsure, but he walked once in a slow circle around the Apothecary, watching him as if to wreck him with his cold stares and awaken him with them, but he still has no sign of movement. The man stood now right behind Amraphel, placing his both hands each on one of his cheeks, caressing them. "You are a good man, and I hope you remain to be one... So tell me... Why are you a Blackshield? ... What have you done that is nobody allowed to learn? What oath did you break? Who did you murder? Who did you abuse?" He leaned down to his left ear and whispered soft, which made it as creepy as one could imagine. " Please tell me." The Slaaneshi almost purred, his Vox-Caster still projecting only the deep voice, yet the way he said them would be like a father would whisper to his child. OOC will leave room if others wish to speak to you, if not, you can assume that your next stop is canteen. <Marmaroth> Former knight found the Chaplain after he had just returned from one of his hunts, at the moment in the middle of a talk with Kajar about how to best address the fact they had a breach in sector C. Once he spotted the newcomer, Storm Lord took leave, nodding to Sigismund as he got lost behind a corner, leaving him alone with Marmaroth inside of a room that used to be an observatory, but now the wide window was fused with another ship and it offered quite an ugly view. "I've heard you've been busy Sigismund," Flesh Tearer spoke, never taking off his skull helmet. "That is good. Tell me, what's on your mind?" Salamander found the Captain inside of a shooting range, the place on the battleship cleared of any Greenskin traces and put back to its old use. She was in the middle of popping targets with her inferno pistols, trying to figure out maximum effective range on those two guns, turning quite a few metal dolls into pieces of slag. "Frak you, grox-lover!" she shouted and fired yet another blast, the superheated air missing Feron by couple of centimeters and ending somewhere behind him, taking out yet another fake attacker. "WOAH! Sorry!!! I thought you were one of my targets!" "I guess fate is a flickery thing," the woman spoke and rose from her seat, her hair floating in the air. Problem was, there was no air around. "Perhaps your senses are still lacking Veritas, because you cannot see what's right there before you," with a wave of her hand, a number of runes flashed beneath where Dreadnought stood, creating an exquisite ritual circle that served like a cage of sorts, preventing Tempestus from moving outside of it. "Aye, for the God-Emperor!" everyone in the canteen brought their glasses to bear, the loudest of them a burly looking fella with clothing of some rural man one would only find on frontier worlds these days. "The Ork bastards have taken our home but not our lives and we got only God-Emperor to thank for! So like my old man used to say - "Dave, always respect your wife and the Emperor, it will pay off when you least expect!""
<The Sister> "Wise words, wise words." Renate said more to herself than the man, looking back at the Astartes in front of her. "I would like to know more about the entirety of your family. Other Astartes, important personnel and so on. I suppose I also must learn some of your tactics and strategies you developed?" The Sister tilted her head in interesting, beaming at the Astartes. OOC: If he runs on this fking Space Hulk around, point me the way so I can take his head! .... Before he clones us all like he did with a certain Primarch :X
<Feron> Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself from dropping right into a natural combat mindset Feron expelled all that air as a warm chuckle waving at the heat distortions in the air. "Having fun or just blowing off steam? " Stepping over to join his shorter compatriot he drew his bolt pistol sighting it down range and lining up imaginary shots. "How you holding up Jannika? "
Ixtab nodded his head and took his gear. A pistol of Mechanicus design and a Powersword. The sword itself had a hole placed in the upper center of the blade. Its hilt also held a cog, with the same symbol his dark cloak dawned. After taking both his weapons, he kept a safe distance from his saviors and asked a final question. "It would also be in everyone's best interest if you had a Rad Cleanser. I am sure you do? If not I feel like my brothers and sisters would be able to create one." OOC: So whatever your answer, ill wait until I see it appropriate to come back into play.
OOC: Thanks @Colapse for a hit up.No alerts...and i sat half a day in OOC thread...and here i got six pages that i am behind... <Stuck in Pre-intermission phase> Two dots of green light beamed from the darkness of Ranger`s cowl as he looked upon the person addressing him.Without the yoke and control of Techpriest masters,cogitator calculated successfully engagement ratio against any living being in Ranger`s vicinity...and he stood good chances in melee against the Commissar. "Be greeted Commissar Otto Strauss of Ruvornian 32nd Storm Legion.I am Skitarius Ranger #1993 of 12th macro-clade of 12th Legion Skitarii of Mars.Know as Melgator Zeth."emitted Zeth through silver-reflecting mask as he pulled out with his metakl layered hand a smal neckalce from the insides of his voluminous,rust red robes.The necklace had a Cog Mechanicum on one side and streams of binary on another. "This digi-code will verify my identification.Will you be streaming data imperati...pardon me Commissar.I have been so long without an issues order from a Techpriest,it is....odd...confusing...to be the mind behind one-selfs actions. Are you my superior officer?Is Rocky under you too?"inquired Zeth,quite monotonously as if disinterested.Then again how can one reckognize emotion except perhaps anger,from a machine speak?
