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Deathwatch RP Thread 1

Crabwhale

Wasteland Gravetender
VS Battles
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I do not confess to possessing fear. It is not in my blood and it shall never be. It is not my duty to feel fear.

Yet the sense of foreboding, a wretched gut feeling within cannot go away no matter how much time I spend down here, scouring the filthy, diseased hives of this world.
0-5-6-4-D Gamma, as it is known within the byzantine bureaucracy of our empire. Yet for those living upon the surface of this world, it goes by a different name: Dragzhul. Literally “land of the dead”.

It’s hard to blame the population for giving their own homeland such a menacing title. From the moment they are born, of wombs not fleshy and warm, but cold and sterile, they are fitted with gas masks screwed permanently to their faces.

Nowhere, not even their own homes are safe. They suffer a stunted existence. The world spews cancers and other abominable genetic conditions on the majority of it’s spawn, as radiation comparable to the surface of a star is leaked by massive Prometheum seas that dot it.

And that’s not even touching on it’s acid rains, on it’s downright impenetrable weather, on it’s vast and deadly predatory wild life, in such places where such a thing is even plausible. This world seems to have been bred to kill any who step upon it.

And yet, I’ve shot and stabbed and tore my way through a hundred such worlds without a second thought. I’ve faced apocalyptic swarms of xenos filth that have blotted out
the suns I’ve nearly bled to death under. So why is it now, of all places, here upon this world that I face such doubt?

I do not know and I doubt I will find out either. As it stands, I will simply have to continue my duty as I always have. Those are who stand wanting are seldom rewarded.
Ave Imperator.

-Last personal log transmission from Watch Captain Thanatos Cepharion of the Iron Snakes​

Introduction
After initially landing on Beta-3323D3T88, you get picked up along with your new teammates by a Corvus Blackstar. The Deatchwatch has brought you all here by clandestine means.

Whether it was through bulk cargo freighters unloading necessary supplies for the system’s defense grid, scout and Mechanicus Explorator vessels stopping for refueling, or Rogue Traders happening to have their travel routes cross through the system, it does not matter matter.

You now fly towards Watch Station Hecate, a massive collection of orbital docking bays and weapon placements spinning around the dusty brown orb of Beta-3323D3T88, with a cylinder-shaped main tower in the middle.

You have little information on the nature of your mission, aside from it’s designation of “Alpha Prioris”, so understandably the tensions seem elevated.

List of players
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The Corvus looks like this btw

latest
 
Aonghus has his thunder hammer in his two hands, absentmindly looking at it without much to do. Just have to wait for their landing, just like the rest of his brothers.
 
I look around, noticing that the Marines of the others Chapters are with me.
Keeping the multi-melta close to me, I prepare myself mentally for whatever mission or danger is coming.
 
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As I sit I look around at the Marines whom surround me, each from different Chapters then I as I think, So these be the Brothers I shall enter Battle with?
 
Uriel sits quiet, observing his surroundings. He looks at his allies, their weapons, their gear. Already, he is planning how to best make use of his abilities in conjunction with theirs.
 
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The craft nears the station, small by Imperial standards, though still dominating the vision afforded by the Blackstar's inner displays.

It enters into one of the many hangar bays, coming to a stop before landing, the thud signaling your arrival and the opening of mag-clamps around your frames. The doors to the front of the Blackstar open, revealing a massive hangar beyond it. Despite giving off an outward view of shine, it clearly is not used much, told by the presence of dust and distinct lack of afterburner marks on the landing pad.

Several serfs are before you in not long a time, whispering hushed prayers as they implore you to be guided towards your destination by them.
 
"Ah, there is no need to praise us. Lead the way."
 
As I leave the vessel and make my way through the crowd I gave them a nod as a sign of thanks for their prayers as I continue on.
 
The Librarian does not react to the prayers. Seemingly too lost in thought to pay them much notice as he passes.
 
The serfs' whispers and chanting grow slightly louder at the acknowledgement, but otherwise they remain unfazed aside from thanks among the prayers.

They guide you toward a massive gateway leading into several increasingly larger halls, sparsely decorated though not bereft of grandeur. The walk is long, but you are hardly winded. This final hall is vast, and seems to be central structure of the main component of Hecate.

Statues of the 9 Loyal Primarchs are erected on massive stone monoliths taller than a Titan, each Imperial Knight-sized recreation standing resplendent in simplistic glory. This looked to be a hall set for hundreds of thousands of warriors to gather, yet few serfs and servitors are seen milling about, doing daily duties.

Suddenly a shadow emerges from behind the statue of the Lion. With a wave of a gloved hand, it dismisses the serfs around you, even from afar.
 
As he walks into the hall and notices the statues of the Primarchs he bows his head and says a short pray to the statue of his father Lord Russ.

After he notices the light and the Serfs are sent away he stands with a hand on his blade as he awaits whats next.
 
With their entrance into imperial halls, the clunk of weighted ceramite gallops forwards to keep pace. Having lagged behind, an Astartes of comparatively diminutive scale to his brethren reaches the squadron's rear - Adorned in metal robes of the Mark III archaic panoply, his heritage was made loud in the silence of their words with the orange stained image of lizard painted on the canvas of his helmet. 'Heyreddin Nobel' etched into the ceramite skin of the armor's collar.
Gila_Monsters.png
 
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A smaller Adeptus Astartes belonging to the Marines Malevolent (a fact made clear by the humble emulsion emblazoned on his shoulder) walks confidently behind the other less responsive marine.
 
The shadow draws close, it's details becoming more easily distinguishable outside of the shadow of the statue.

A figure hidden underneath a great hooded mantel approaches, though is not ordinary in the slightest. It's sheer height and broadness dwarfs the serfs milling about it, almost matching your power armored bulk.

A few steps away now, the cloaked figure removes it's hood to to reveal a face like a canyon. Lines, edges, scars, wrinkles, and more litter the bark-colored skin, giving the impression of hundreds of injuries, many which probably can't even be seen. A crown of grey surrounds an otherwise shaved clean head, yet more scars working their way through the scalp.

Though a display of intense age and battlefield trauma, the man's eyes are sharper than a young hound, the cyan blue almost seeming fluorescent in the muted lighting of the cavernous room.
 
Jaeger places his fist over his chest and bows his head as a sign of respect for the seasoned warrior before asking, "What's our purpose here?" in a gruff and brash tone.
 
The man stares for a moment, before releasing a hearty laugh, booming throughout the hall.

"I should have expected as such from a son of Russ. We have not yet even exchanged names, and you already cut into the meat of it. Dutiful and blunt to a fault as always, Son of Fenris."
 
Striding forward from the pack's bum to the spear's head, the hill that was Nobel stood aside to the titanic mountain of Jager's tallness. A swift salute shot from the barrel of Hayreddin's arm as he came to face with their superior.

"Salutations, and retuning honors to be assigned to the Long Watch once more."

The soft knife of Hayreddin's voice cutting into conversation as it rung free from the chambers of his bell shaped helm.
 
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"Your words are appreciated sir" Jaeger responds with obvious pride in his voice as he notices one of his brothers walk next to him.
 
"A minute if you please," the old warrior says, holding up his hand, while in the process returning a brief salute to Nobel. "I already known each of your deeds, your designations. So it would only be fair for you to know mine."

"To my Chapter of old, the sons of the Lion, the Angels of Absolution, I was known as Captain of the 2nd, the Master of the Watch. To my enemies I was known as Drakeslayer, for my killing of a Palatine Wyvern in my youth. To these fine men and women among you, I am knowm as Watch Commander, or simply "master". To you however, I need no such trivialties. I need no "sirs"," the Marine said as he gazed briefly upon Jager. "Here, we are equals. You may call me Cottus. Welcome to Watch Station Hecate."
 
"Come," he says, turning and directing his hand towards one of the many pathways linking to the central hall. "We have much to discuss."
 
I follow the Son of Lion, wanting to know what I had gotten myself into and was starting to get excited for the coming battle.
 
In same sequence to the Fenris-bron, Hayreddin follow the commander's shadow to their destination - The clack of the Gila Monster's explosive and incendiary armaments resounding the rooms as they move forward. His attitude comparatively sober to the Space Wolves' growing ecstasy for conflict.
 
Cottus looks towards Stultus with a neutral expression.

"Ah yes...you may call me whatever you wish, cousin. Within reason of course," he says rather flatly, as he continues his path.

The man stops at what seems to be a strategium, many chairs of fitting size to your frames surrounding a great table seemingly carved out of pure iron, yet possessing intricate detail beyond first glance. The observation windows on each side of the relatively small room open out to space, revealing the violent planetary storms of Hecate's gravitational retainer.

The man takes a seat at the top of the table, his hand extending to touch something unseen to the rest of you, as a hololithic image of another planet is displayed.

The world you see seems like Hell, where it's surface is not burnt black or dark grey, it is simply alight on fire, the telltale sign of Prometheum seas. Yet despite this, you also notice tiny from orbit, yet in reality likely enormous artificial structures doting the planet. A Hive World then, perhaps one of the most inhospitable you have ever laid eyes upon.

"This," the man begins. "Is 0-5-6-4-D Gamma. It is where your mission will take place."
 
"What sort of Xenos can we expect on this mission?" I ask while closely looking over the holograms, my excitement continuing to rise as I wait to see the glory of battle.
 
"That is unknown. Your missions entails following the last lead of a previous dispatch of Deathwatch Astartes to this world. Squad Thanatos was sent here," he said, his gaze hardening. "Some of my best men. Not a word out of them in months time. They are either fighting for their lives or are already dead, as you all might presume. Your mission from henceforth is to find out what happened."
 
"Well, we do have rudimentary findings that could give us a hint. However, that is not my duty to relay to you. He should've already arrived by now. My apologies for the rather sudden circumstances, though you must understand the urgency of this assignment."

Cottus then clicks another hidden rune in the iron table, as a red light is briefly shown blinking near his hand, before turning green.

"Hmm. He should be here any minute now."

Suddenly the very room seems to pass a slight shake. Cottus has a slight smile despite himself.

"Always the showman."
 
Slight worry about the structural integrity of the room

"Who is it that you talking about ?"

Grimal asks to the son of lion.
 
"Your captain. I am merely your taskmaster. He will be the leader of this operation," Cottus said simply.

With the ringing thuds now growing larger, the sensors of the door automatically open it, only for a figure barely able to fit through to make it past.

You see Terminator plate, but not like that which you have observed before. Tartaros, ancient, out of production. Yet streamlined, fast and reliable, in comparison to it's Indomitus counterparts you all have inevitably used yourselves at some point. Despite this however, the hulking behemoth greeting you is easily taller than the tallest among you, and twice as broad across the chest.

Twin swords of obvious devastating fury are mag-locked to his back, while clone Storm Bolters are on his hips, master-crafted by design. Yet most curious of all is his lack of insignia upon his massive pauldron, replaced instead by the mark of a veteran, the Crux Terminatus, the other one simply emblazoned with the Deathwatch customary. It appears you are being led by a Blackshield.

"You are late, Deimos."
 
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