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Post by Darko on May 3, 2016 16:27:33 GMT
In the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, there is only war. In the galactic east, a new Ork empire has expanded tenfold in the past few decades, pushing back the Imperium's border at an alarming rate. This empire is led by Warboss Gorkanak Fleshtearer, rumoured to rival the legendary Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka. The battlefleets of the Imperial Navy, the regiments of the Astra Militarum and the chapters of the Adeptus Astartes have been spread too thinly to mount a proper resistance... until now. On the planet Caedis V, a pivotal forge world, the line has been drawn. Every resource has been requisitioned and every fighting man available has been sent to the front lines. The servants of the immortal God-Emperor have resolved to hold back the enemy advance or die trying.
However, the entire planet is now engulfed in war. Nowhere is safe. The ancient city of Salvator has been overrun and the order to evacuate has been given. In the panic, men, women, children and soldiers alike have fled aboard any and all available transports. You are aboard one such transport, an Imperial Guard Valkyrie, as it desperately attempts to escape the city even as the greenskins paint the streets red with blood far below.
However, there is one figure who stands apart from the rest of you, shrouded by a cloak and carrying a mysterious box. It is pure obsidian, smooth and cold to the touch. She yells something to the pilot, but it's drowned out by an explosion as a missile glances the transport. An alarm begins to screech even as the rush of wind deafens you from where the hull has been breached. The valkyrie spins out of control, and you pass out from the extreme g-forces as it hurtles toward the ground.
You wake up. You're alive, surprisingly. Others are alive too, crawling from the wreckage. Most aren't. Above you, you can see the open sky - the valkyrie crashed inside a colossal manufactorum complex, all of the idle machinery taking the brunt of the impact. It probably saved your life... but the same can't be said for the pilot. The front of the craft is lodged inside a furnace, its insatiable flames starting an electrical fire in the aircraft. To your left is someone's decapitated head, and to your right - the cloaked figure desperately clutches a large piece of shrapnel disemboweling her. Pain is etched into her features as you crawl towards her in a desperate attempt to save her. The others have gathered around her too, nobody sure of what to do.
"Listen... the box... do not open the box... do not lose the box... and do not let the Orks get the box," she struggles to speak, coughing up blood with each ragged breath. With a great deal of effort, she reaches inside her cloak and retrieves a golden pendant in the shape of an I, now smeared with her lifeblood. The electrical fire has reached her, and her cloak starts to burn.
"By the... authority... of the Emperor... I order you to take this icon... and this box... to Imperial High Command. Remember... do not let the greenskins... get... the..."
Her head drops and her arms sag lifelessly, the golden icon dropping to the floor. The flames engulf her body and the smell of burning flesh fills the air. Outside, the incessant war chants of the Orks and the sound of gunfire get closer and closer. Welcome to Black Valkyrie Down - a tale of survival against impossible odds, mystery, and desperation. Perhaps you lived in the city of Salvator, perhaps not. You might be a Tech Priest, a Stormtrooper or even a downtrodden penal legionnaire. But there is one thing you all have in common: you're trapped in this city, surrounded by an endless horde of enemies, with only each other to rely on. Oh, and there's the black box. What's in it? Who knows. The question is what are you going to do next?
This is just a bit of gritty grimdark fun for all the family. It isn't a very demanding game, you may write your posts as long or as short as you like. I encourage quick-fire posts from you all however, to keep it fast paced and the focus on your characters interacting. I will GM this, reacting to the decisions you all make. If you're smart, skilled enough and very very lucky, you just might survive this ordeal. Character sheet: Username: Character name: Profession: (e.g. Leman Russ gunnery chief) Age: Height: Appearance: Equipment: Background: Post your characters in the OOC thread, which is here.
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Post by halonachos on May 20, 2016 12:36:29 GMT
Nathanial looked at the box, of course whenever an inquisitor said to not open something it was always oh so tempting to just open it. However there were usually good reasons for not opening said things outside of the punishment for directly disobeying the orders of a member of the Inquisition. "Well then, seems we're in a jam and we need to get out of here before the Orks get here and decide to do Ork things to us. Seeing as though I'm the tallest I'll take care of this here box..." he quickly made to stash the box in his pack and scanned the manufactorum for exits. "I would guess the Orks would be drawn to noise, if we make a quiet exfil the Valkyrie's fuel should catch and explode just in time to give us just enough time to put decent distance between us and a green death. Or.. if this place has any working machinery we could maybe commandeer that and make moves, don't need a completed Chimera just something with tracks and an engine."
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Post by Lord Harrab on May 22, 2016 9:16:57 GMT
Balalaika watched the Inquisitor die with an expressionless face, the box was secured in the storm trooper's pack and when he started to suggest means to escape she shrugged and checked the state of her long-las. "quiet is best." she said, her Valhallan accent thick as was her apparent apathy to the situation, " if this box is as important as she said and the ork numbers so great, it would be smarter to escape without relying on some forgotten rust pile with wheels that will attract the enemy and allow them to follow us." hmm, only a handful of usable Hotshot packs left, the heavy single shot laspacks were the only ones she trusted to instantly drop an ork, especially the larger ones, although one of the two other survivors carried a flamer at least and perhaps the Storm trooper's hellgun could be relied upon to do it. On the other hand she was confident she could evade and escape the attention of an ork horde easy enough, especially on a forge world where their natural inclination to steal and deface imperial machines would distract them. She shrugged, and rested the rifle across her shoulders and looked to all intents and purposes bored of the discussion, her camo cloak shifting with the movement and making parts of her body vanish as it changed to match the rubble strewn ground around her. "whatever we decide let us be quick, else the greenies will find us and it will not matter either way."
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Post by Warork on May 23, 2016 6:21:00 GMT
Jace Rukowski, Corporal...One seventy third Alterran, third company, first platoon...Serial number 3476832...Pay grade delta five...
Yep, everything was there alright...still rattling around in that old brainpan of his. Rook almost sighed in disappointment as he began the process of brushing himself off.
That crash had been something else. All he could remember from it was screwing his eyes closed as metal shrieked as loud as some of the passengers and the faint hope that if he died then it would be quick. Emperor knew it was all he could hope for in this city...or on this world for that matter.
But no, he was cursed to continue shuffling on this mortal coil. Somehow, besides a scratch on his left arm that now bled freely, he had escaped any sort of nastiness that the crash had to offer...including burning to death apparently. He watched the Valkyrie's interior sheathe itself in infernal flames, the glowing wreck's burning light casting most of his surroundings in flickering shadows. He managed to peel his eyes away from the carnage and heat for a moment, just long enough to find his helmet under a discarded arm. Whose it was mattered little to him and he hardly flinched as the dismembered appendage slid off his helmet audibly as he hoisted it back onto his head. The days when he would have blanched at something like that had been a long time ago...when he had been a different person altogether.
One of the survivors, and yes there were other survivors he was only half surprised to note, busied himself pointing out the obvious. Crashing through the upper dome of a manufactory complex and leaving a big metal scar would surely draw their pursuers in...They needed to move, and fast.
"Whatever you do," Rook said with a dry throat. "Keep that damn box away from me. I've had about enough of the top brass' groxshit and I'll be throne-damned if I have any part of the fucking Inquisition's groxshit."
He said this grumpily while he finished wrapping his scratched arm with a gauze bandage and made sure his rucksack was in order. The crash had been kind enough to not irreparably damage his beloved flamer either. He thought he spied a dent on the outer brass casing of the muzzle that hadn't been there before but other than that the pilot light seemed to be working fine.
Listening to the distant xenos bellows outside the chamber they found themselves in, Rook was sure they would soon find out if it worked or not.
"The short, pretty one is right." Rook said after getting to his feet and taking a swig from his canteen to relieve his horridly dry throat. "We need to go and we need to not bring every ork for ten blocks down on us while we do that."
Rook hefted his lascarbine after checking to make sure the magazine hadn't been fouled in all his jostling and set off on his long legs in the direction the Valkyrie had been heading. His first steps were unsure and slow as he made his way over and around miniature minefields of debris that had been scattered by the crash.
"I'll take point...Name's Rook by the way. Shout that if you need to I guess...but 'Hey dipshit!' works too. Did for my squad lead anyway."
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Post by halonachos on May 23, 2016 15:20:06 GMT
"Right, then walking it is and maybe we could find a sewer of some sort to go through. One big enough for us and too small for Orks, although that may be unlikely as it seems every single world loves to have sewers that could house a baneblade." Nathanial began after the surly and grumpy one identified as Rook. "Although I'm not sure the Vostroyan appreciates being called pretty, they like scars from what I've gathered so being pretty might be an insult to her."
He could hear the chants in the distance and the manufactorum's floor clacked with their footsteps, so far it had been unmarred by the war but that had been changed. Detritus had rained in from the ceiling and ruined machinery bowed in homage to their fallen machine spirit that lay within the Valkyrie. Nathanial had never been one to consider the wants or needs of the machine spirit with much, or any, thought but he felt a presence of something in that place that wasn't the guiding light of the Emperor he had fought for. It watched them and seemed to curse them for being able to leave the path of the oncoming Ork horde, Nathanial looked around with his weapon held loosely, at the machines ahead of them and at his companions.
"Vostroyan, when we get out perhaps you could take point. Use your scope to help navigate a path for us, I'm sure they trained you how to navigate a city. Rook, you're bleeding and while it doesn't seem like much the Orks might use that to track us for some perverse reason, there are Orks that do that and they can really ruin a man's day." There was already a small trail leading from behind them and Nathanial would have a hard time letting a person such as Rook interfere with the Inquisition's work.
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Post by Darko on May 23, 2016 15:30:55 GMT
The sealed doors atop a raised platform ahead of the three survivors groaned as its servos protested against some unseen force. Balalaika, Rook and Nathaniel instinctively ducked behind a large conveyor belt with their weapons held at the ready. They observed as the door was slowly forced open by a large greenskin. As he held it open, two dozen gretchin began to pour into the room with savage grins dominating their ugly faces. The ork stepped into the room, letting the door slam shut behind it.
"Oi you runts! Dis 'ere iz one ov the humies mekshops, n' dat humie flyer crashed in here - scrap everyfink shiny you can find and gut any humies ya find!" The ork runtherd bellowed. His minions began to spread out, examining anything and everything before moving onto something else with the speed of a neurotic ratling who overdosed on recaf. The runtherd carried some form of large-caliber rifle, crude and simplistic yet no less deadly, likely firing rounds that could blow a hole in a human's gut.
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Post by Lord Harrab on May 23, 2016 18:53:02 GMT
Balalaika was about to give the storm trooper a sarcastic comment when a nearby door suddenly rang with a heavy impact. Instantly she moved away from the rest, scaling a nearby machine and spreading her camo cloak over herself. In the flickering half-light of the crash she suddenly became quite hard to see. Over her scope a single eye stared unblinkingly out towards the door now ringing with repeated impacts and she caressed her rifle lovingly as she slammed a hotshot home and flicked the safety off. At this range she would not need the scope, so instead she tilted the longlas forty degrees right, using the decanted iornsights, her sole open eye still unblinking and clear. The runtheard had hardly finished bellowing in its harsh and inhuman tongue when she sighted on its ugly and brutish head, breathed out in a low sensual whisper, held it and squeezed the trigger.
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coolyo294
Iconic
Slayer of Demons
Posts: 1,169
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Post by coolyo294 on May 23, 2016 20:59:55 GMT
The second thing Korina noticed when she awoke after the throbbing pain in her skull was that someone or something was jabbing her cheek. As her eyes slowly opened she noticed that the thing doing the jabbing was a small greenskin, a gretchin.
Disgusting.
Quick as a whip, Korina's hand darted out and wrapped around the small alien's neck before it could even squeak in fear. As she squeezed tighter its eyes bulged out comically, until eventually something snapped and it went limp. She tossed the corpse aside and carefully looked around to ascertain the situation. The Valkyrie was burning and most of the passengers were likely dead, probably including her mistress. Luckily both her weapons were intact and nearby as greenskins continued to loot the crash site.
Suddenly a crack rang out and the Ork leading the rabble of looters, missing most of its head. With their leader gone the gretchin began shrieking in fear and scattering out of the building. A few were cut down by desultory shots as they fled.
Korina stood up and rushed over to the burning Valkyrie, desperately searching for the Inquisitor and the precious cargo she carried. It was so precious that she couldn't even tell her interrogator what was inside, but it was absolutely vital that it reach Imperial High Command. As she pulled through the wreckage she found a corpse that she could tell was Inquisitor Thrace's, despite being badly burned. The box or her rosette were nowhere to be found.
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Post by halonachos on May 23, 2016 22:40:58 GMT
"Now we really do need to move, they'll tell the others that there's some people here." Nathanial kept his hellgun ready as he maintained cover behind a servo arm. He came from in front of us, there's probably more there so we need to go down." He looked about for anything resembling a manhole or even a trash shoot, the factory was idle and all of it's processes would be shut down but a tumble into scrap would be of no benefit to them. "There, maintenance shaft." he pointed out a hollow under one of the many conveyor belts, "Could reach it and follow it deeper in, should connect to a waste disposal section which would have sewage tunnels which lead out under the city."
"Or we risk going out to where the big guy just came from." he said less assuredly of.
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Post by Warork on May 24, 2016 1:36:38 GMT
Shut yer fuckin trap.
It was the thought that was crossing Rook's mind as he listened to inquisitor's lapdog prattle on about Vostroyans and how Rook's blood was going to draw the orks down on them...Yeah okay, the orks could smell his blood over all the other shit in this building that had been stirred up from the war in the streets...sure.
Who the hell did this guy think he was? Rook opened his mouth to ask him as much...that was until the sound of a steel door slamming open somewhere above and ahead of them made him shut up really quickly.
I'll be damned if the orks get the drop on us. He thought as he threw himself to the ground and crawled on the ground towards the nearest piece of cover.
A lot of things seemed to happen at once...Firstly, he completely lost track of the woman with the long las...that was until a lone las shot rang out over the growling and grumbling of the orks that had just entered the chamber. That beauty was quick on the draw, Rook would give her that. He had only just set up his lasgun and she had already put a round between the eyes of the largest greenie in the room.
"Hot damn." He whispered to himself. "Note to self: don't mess with that bitch at anything under two klicks away."
Now he was squeezing his own smaller shots off, picking off the little bastard gretchins that were left in the crosshairs of the ad hoc ambush. Rook remembered a time when it took all his concentration to lock his gun's stock into his shoulder, put the gun's internal scope onto a target, then squeeze the trigger without jerking the weapon to one side or the other. That time had been just three years ago and in those three years, pulling the trigger on greenies had become as familiar as doing a push up to him.
One, two, three, four...
He counted off the shots and with each shot another gretchin was catapulted ingloriously to the ground like the sacks of groxshit they were. He had just run out of targets when the blabber mouthed inquisition dog started running his trap again. Rook looked back to see what the man was on about now when he saw something further back towards the crashed Valkyrie that made him sit up.
It looked like in their haste to move away from the crash, one of the survivors had been overlooked and had finally come around. Without a word of warning, Rook put two fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle that got the figure's attention, completely ignoring whatever the stormtrooper had to say about where they should go next.
He waved for the lone figure to hurry over as the last of the gretchin either fell or scampered into some hole to hide from their inevitable deaths.
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