Antonya Kaidanovsky hadn’t quite known what to expect of her orders at first–she’d joined the Steel Legion to deal with the Ork infestation on Armageddon, but leaving the system hadn’t been a part of the plan.

Turns out, though, space travel isn’t so different from home after all.

It didn’t take long for the Wrecking Crew to grow accustomed to life on the Sword of Orion. It was just as cramped, fast-paced, and loud as Armageddon had been. Their days were busy, but procedural. If it wasn’t blood and bandages on their hands, it was grease and rust. There was a rhythm here among the guardsmen, a softly beating heartbeat of work, training, and rest, and Antoya found herself strangely fond of it. Her idle moments were more interesting than they’d ever been before, watching the miasma of colours and sigils weave their way through the bowels of the ship. There was always a new name to remember, a new regiment from a new world, another curse to learn.

Her nights were quieter now, though, and filled with a soft sense of satisfaction. Sometimes, the woman still couldn’t believe she was here, surrounded by the rumble and hum of this culmination of human accomplishment. This was her fate, this was her calling. To serve the God-Emperor in any respect. She’d grown faithful, restless. This was her time to prove her worth.

" You have made your point. Deliver us to your vessel. "

Nurrahk ceased his lead and ceded it to the Phaeron who had offered them his own vessel. Though they could transport themselves to the ship immediately, Nurrahk wouldn't allow himself to be caught violating protocol. Wordlessly, Nurrahks Lychguard began a dialogue with Nurrahk himself. The exchange was to be between the two and though it was out of turn, Nurrahk allowed it. Dra'Keth was the only other being in the Rahmzen Dynasty who eclipsed the Phaeron when it came to age. Being a Lychguard, Dra'Keth was just as much of a peerless warrior in unlife as he was when he had flesh. Before the transference, Dra'Keth had also taught Nurrahk much of combat and the ways of war.

--My Phaeron - Is it wise to allow the humans an alliance?--

As always, Dra'Keth saw through to the heart of matters. Nurrahk always assumed it was his status as a warrior and guard that enabled to see matters for what they were.

--Honor demands this of us. The human wretches will do as they say. They cannot afford to incur my wrath. The same can be said of our guests, for now. Keep an eye on our supposed allies. --

And, as was customary for Nurrahk, he preempted his subordinates attempts at a follow up. A nod from Dra'Keth signaled his understanding of things. Simply put, the two of them and their cryptek had gotten themselves into what could be a very deadly and quite political game. Nevertheless, this ordeal was still just a game, and Nurrahk played these sorts of games to win.

( dialogue with two dash marks '--' indicate a conversation held between Nurrahk and his vassal )

"Then follow me."

The gamble had been made, and seemingly paid off. Although Okantakht knew that this Phaeron misunderstood his position, he would forgive him this delusion on account of their situation. For now. He would see if the one called the "Arbiter" truly was worthy in his pesonality, or another one destined to be bend and crushed by The Black Light. The setup was complete. Now it was time to begin the game.

Leading ahead, Okantakht directed the group through the tunnels to rendezvous with his vessel, all the while watching for enemy movements with the Orb of Omniscience.

"Drop the bodies.", Sabios ordered his men. They would need all the firepower they had to make it out of the halls alive. Furthermore they were slowing them down to much. The legionaires reacted without hesitation, although one of his subordinates asked: "What is with the specimens?", while they were running through the hallways. The marines fired their weapons during full sprint and tried to retreat as fast as possible.
Sabios answered between two salvos: "We won´t run out of Necrons soon.", using as little words as possible. He was a transhuman who could run for hours, but he also knew the distance to the landing zone.

They destroyed and crippled Necrons left and right until one of his brothers commanded to stop. It was Tryrdian, the techmarine of the mission. He lost his hold on his melta with one hand to look at the auspex, which was integrated in his glove. "The scanner indicates a large group of Necrons ahead. Maybe we should take another way." "This would be a great idea, if we were not in tomb. It is not in the warp, but I am sure we are in non-euklidian space here. Therefore we better keep going the way we came. This would be different, if we had out so called allies to show us around." He sighed: "Let´s keep going. I cannot wait until we are out of this place."
With these words the marines raised their weapons and started to move again.

@Wata @Avenging-Angel @TuskatheDaemonKilla @Aedric @BlackNecron @Schalli
The Necrons and the Alpha Legionnaires successfully made it to their ships suffering no casualties, although the Traitor Space Marines encountered fierce yet uncoordinated resistance from the screaming metallic abominations - it appeared that once the presence of flesh and blood creatures has been detected by the flayed ones they switched their attention solely on the Alpha Legionnaires. Sabios briefly thought whether the xenos already guessed a true reason of their deceased kindred disturbance - there was no stimulus for them to awake until Sabios's squad entered the tomb - at least that was what the eldar maiden told Tandreus. Eventually it mattered not - they definitely interested the xenos with a perspective of cooperation and they remained alive, but the accursed eldar artefact nagged Sabios's mind - what were its purpose and function? The xeno witch claimed it to have something to do with the Dolmen Gates and the navigation through some mysterios interdimensional portals, but none of these things were familiar to him - there was something more about it, he felt it, something the eldar warrior preferred to conceal, perhaps out of fear that the Alpha Legion would collaborate with the Necrons in an undesirable for her way.

With this thought in his mind, Sabios prepped to establish communication with the Necrons' ship and conduct parley they initially arrived for. The plan was quite simple and yet complex: the Alpha Legion needed a technology only the Necrons possessed and thus they couldnt hope to acquire it without xenos' help. To make such collaboration possible, the Alpha Legion, in return, needed something to offer the Necrons, something very important for such hostile alien species that they would even agree to cooperate with humans - and the hardest part originated from that point. Through the Alpha Legion's immense battle experience all across the galaxy, the Necrons were notoriously known as almost completely incapable for diplomatic relations with the lesser races and any attempt to somehow gain access to their technology ended tragically. But what the Alpha Legion did manage to know is that the greatest enemy for the Necrons were the Eldar - ironically, it was the latter who gave the Alpha Legion a key to the Necrons' greatest weakness to exploit. The problem was that how to bring these two alien species together for Sabios had no doubt the eldar warrior needed the Necrons as well and his Legion served as an intermediary in their potential cooperation. Somehow, he was supposed to persuade the Necrons to cooperate and yet not to show that he was helped by the Eldar, at the same time hinting the xenos that they will need to work together with their greatest enemies.

"My enemy's enemy is not always my friend," Sabios thought. The Hydra would need its many heads to watch its would-be allies closely. "Sometimes a single word can conquest star systems where thousands of bolters cant subjugate one planet," he recited one of Alpharius's ruminations. He sighed and established vox-communication with the Necrons' ship. "I'm Alpharius, Lord Primarch of the Alpha Legion and I propose parley to you, xenos. Name yourselves and we will negotiate for mutually beneficial purposes," he intoned, awaiting reply from the other side.


@kanila @Jammysod @RuinaImperii @BruticusTheGoreHound @High_Adept_Zeth
The Lord Commissar was still reluctant, as well as the Space Marine standing behind him on whether it was wise to heed the crippled station's distress call - it was quite strange that no other imperial vessel had reacted to this transmission before the Sword of Orion and came to help, yet it would be a crime to abandon decent servants of the Imperium in such a situation and the Lord Commissar was presented with a hard decision - to risk his ship and crew approaching the wreckage for disembarkation and further investigation or to ignore the distress call eventually, probably signing several faithful imperial souls to a certain and painful death. He was presented with another issue to think about when the ship's Navigator contacted him from the Navigator's dome, "Lord Commissar Rackham, there is a warp gate being opened right now, very close to us...ah.....precisely where the Pandemius Observation Station drifts, there....there is another imperial vessel coming from it, sir!"


@GoreWrencha
The Phoenix Lord was sitting in her personal compartment on a throne-like dais with one leg thrown over the other and slender arms resting on the dais's handles, head snapped back. To an external observer she might have seemed to be in slumber yet nothing could be further from truth - the Phoenix Lord needed no food, drink, rest or sleep, the only thing she always needed was bloodshed and when there was no battle to spill blood or ritual duelling with her disciples, Jain Zar waged war inside her ancient spirit, revelling in memories of slaughter and war waged by hundreds of souls inhabiting her armour. She was meditating, delving deep into thousands of flickering images of violence made by various Aspect Warriors through millenia, all of which were now the Storm of Silence. The compartment's air itself was filled with barely suppressed bloodlust and titanic amounts of hatred waiting to be unleashed at any moment in most devastating forms - it was a right decision from Jain Zar's disciples not to disturb the Phoenix Lord in times of her meditation for, despite great reverence and admiration of their shrine-mother, every single banshee feared her - it wasnt uncommon for the Phoenix Queen to murder hew own warriors when she needed it.
Jain Zar's head sharply returned to its normal position when she felt a great disturbance in the warp's flows - she wasnt a farseer and couldnt reach far into the skein of fates for her spirit was tightly bound to her armour yet even she felt a warp gate being opened. A mixture of colors marked the place where the Pandemius Station drifted, reality started to buckle and distort until suddenly a yawning portal opened like jaws of an infernal creature and vomited one tremendous battered vessel which rammed the station's wreckage easily, completely destroying the Alpha Legion's trap. It was an imperial vessel, undoubtedly, but it looked like it has come through a heavy battle for many craters covered ship's hull - that it still could navigate was a great surprise. Without breaking stride the strange ship headed directly towards the coming imperials and it wasnt a good sign.
The Phoenix Lord decided not to interfere immediately, instead preferring to watch from distance - no sharp movements were needed now. But instead of risking her own vessel Jain Zar chose another option, connecting to the Wailing Phoenix's psychic matrix and establishing communication with Tylarurdrenn which recently reached Jain Zar's location in the Webway.

"Amalysemar, listen to my command - enter the real space, activate the holofields and prosecute this vessel. Dont engage it in combat until I give such an order - considering ship's current state you can board it but make sure your presence remains unnoticed by its crew. Is that clear?"

Again falling into step behind Okantacht Akhenhotep glanced back at his Cryptek, knowing that his scientifically-minded sister was more capable at seeing changes in reality than he was.
"Meritakhen, keep an eye out for that Deathmark."
The actual journey that ended on Okantacht's vessel was less than eventful, the hated Flayed Ones focusing on the fleshlings rather than the necron, but still Akhenhotep was glad to be off the planet, an almost imperceptible shiver running through his metallic body as the last traces of the teleportation fell away.

With the hiss of his door opening, Brother Santana strode out of his chamber, and into the corridor. Taking a quick pace, the thud of each step echoing off to notify others of his approach, the Astartes would blink click open a rune upon his helm's HUD, watching text scroll before his eyes. The notification had come not three minutes prior, information being fed to him ever since, as he made his way towards his destination. The Sword of Orion had picked up the distress signal of some wayward vessel of mankind, and now, they were going to board and investigate the nature of it's distress. Watching the specifications of the station move down his vision, taking in all the information needed, Santana would note already a slight increase in his heart rate, no doubt due to the news. He'd spent enough time recovering in the bowels of this ship, hours dedicated to recuperating and keeping his skills honed. It was time to go out and face the destiny of all The Imperium's warriors once more.

Within the hour, the Astartes had made his way through the long trek within the ship. Stepping forth from a elevator, he'd s move down the hall, where twin doors slide open without hesitation, allowing for the armoured giant to enter. Swiftly surveying the area around him, Santana would give a curt bow towards the figure of the Lord Commissar, offering the respect due to his rank. Following this, he'd walk over to the opposing wall of the chamber, turn back so he might watch over the room, and would stand silently, awaiting the briefing to begin.

​

Akarahel rematerialized in the room hidden deep in the bowels of the ship he managed to catch a ride on. Originally the room would have been an area to store supplies and canoptek creations. Now it served as his quarters while he searched for his lord with crates stacked to form makeshift furniture with a chair and table made from stacked obsidian crates full of items no longer needed by the ship's inhabitants. Seeing how he was alone and a good distance away from the lord he had touched without permission he reached into his rib cage and pulled out the device that was attached to the lord's cape. He wasn't a cryptek but he figured he may as well see what he could find out about with his limited knowledge of primitive technology.

"Clear as your hatred of me, sister." Amalysemar responds. Even without the psychic matrix, their voice paints clear image of their expression. Amalysemar knows very well they are teasing a beast. And the danger drives shivers down their spine. The chemical pumps crafted into their flesh and spine pulse, haemonculus machinery purifying, refining, storing, circulating the hormones in to their bloodstream and nervous systems. Jair Zar can and will kill them, permanently. There is no preventing it. And more they push her buttons, closer to death they are. Why would they risk the endless torture upon hands of the Great Enemy for this? As childish it may sound, they believe they are closest they can be closing the gaping wound on their soul. The emotions they can receive from the legendary Phoenix Lord might be enough even for their twisted, dark soul. To satisfy the need of pain. Pleasure. Suffering. Ecstasy. Few have had the chance to try it out. And for that string of foolish hope Amalysemar is ready to bet her immortal soul.

"The Hunt shall begin." With chilling command, fabric of reality bubbles as the once-sophisticated and now mutilated Eldar craft emerges to the boring reality from the Webway. Within the ship several abnormalities protest laws of physics to the point creating miniature black holes and anti-matter, which quickly looses and vanishes to the reality. Certain amount of implausibility finds balance, creating contrast between inside and outside of the ship. While Craftworlders use Holo-fields to protect and obscure themselves from enemy fire and scanners, their darker kin utilize power of the shadows for their aid. Upon the dark void, a darker spot glides soundlessly across the emptiness towards the Imperial ship. Shadowfield engulfs the Corsair escort into miasma of dark energy, concealing nearly all effects it leaves to the reality. Not even scraps from the destroyed orbital station react to the ship, unlike to the Imperial one which gravitational pull drags them after it. The mon-keighs barely understand gravity, what hope they have to spot a cloud within dark energy of the universe. Sneaking in cloud of debris the Tylarurdrenn stalks it's prey.

Their time on the Sword of Orion had been a welcomed respite for the wrecking crew, if only because it finally gave them the time to get the ork intestines out of their Chimera’s treads. Everything’s been through a beating, of course–the machine’s been on the front lines of Armageddon, for God’s sake–but the treads, in particular, have always troubled Cherno. Call it nostalgia, but it was always nice to see a Chimera the way they used to ship them out: shiny.

…or, at the very least, clean.

She’ll take what she can get.

To their credit, though, everything on the carrier had been (more or less) returned to ship shape for once, with the exception of the flamer up front. When the summons came, Cherno had been dangling under the nozzle of the thing, trying to pry free something that was half black, half brown, and entirely wrapped around a lugnut. To the amusement of some of her more veteran squad mates, the urgency of the command had caught Cherno by surprise. She’d grown complacent with the hectic, but comfortable schedule onboard the Sword of Orion, and the sudden premise of an assignment only served to remind the woman of how inexperienced she really was in her role yet.

Thank the God-Emperor she wasn’t quite brain-damaged enough to let any of that nervousness show, however, as she snapped to attention and added her voice to the chorus of “sir, yes sir!” The Wrecking Crew set off along the twisting and turning hall then, silent despite the curiosity that hung between them, and would join the briefing with heads held high and expressions somber.