To Rise Above the Fall

“Chy’ier,” Daranúr proffered a dry and gnarled hand in the youth’s direction, “let me throw you. I’m sure that you could make it across.” He emphasised that part loud enough for the Reaver to hear.

Reavers were just sky-Wyches, and Wyches liked to think of themselves to be the most capable in feats of speed and athletics. Acrobatics are all well and good, but being able to walk on a razorwire’s edge isn’t always as effective as being able to throw a five year old over a deep chasm.

He didn’t want to have to throw the youngling, but he would to prove a point. It might have been that his sadism knew no bounds, or it might have been to knock the sky-Wych off of the wire when she had been vaulted up. His mind was too drug-hazed to think straight.

---------------------
As you can tell, I want to throw the Tubeborn. He probably won’t want me to, but I’ll do it if given the chance!

Apart from the Wrack, who stood ominously silent on the edge of the tunnel - well back from the little platform - everyone had some kind of idea as to how to deal with this.

Kayle's solution was simple: use her superior abilities to leap across. Just like the arena, with the added spice of a little dangerous plummeting to one's death. So, just like the arena.

Caethir, a man of action, suggested that he might help boost her up into the dangling cables, only a few of which sparked attractively with a little dazzle of electricity. The Wrack could help. Excision growled in response, preferring to watch for any signs of external trouble.

And between them, whether or not each one knew, precisely, which had suggested the answer to their puzzle, Chy'ier and Daranúr and Em'eyeth posited the idea of a swift lob into the end zone.

Kayle, looking pleased that her athletic prowess was going to be showcased, limbered up for a (strictly unnecessary, but always warm up, if only your crowd) moment and then bounced lightly on her heels. She took a flying leap, right into the Incubus' arms -

"Oops," Kayle's eyelashes fluttered in the very picture of innocence, "overshot." She gave him a moment longer to appreciate how natural full body contact felt with her firm, muscular form before wriggling free of his arms to take the run up again. This time she took the boost offered by the tall Shrine-Warrior and leapt for the ceiling, the hanging wires like the snares and loops of a racetrack in Low Commorragh.

For a moment the graceful Reaver almost seemed to hang in midair, her arms outstretched to each side like a beatific sacrifice to gravity. She brought up her feet, curling into a somersault as, simultaneously, each hand snapped out and grabbed a cable to slow her descent. Swinging herself elegantly forward and over the gap, she reached out for another and another in turn. Almost like a casual stroll, really.

Daranúr turned to Chy'ier, hands on hips. "C'mon, are we gonna let some posh tart 'ave all the fun?" he asked, his accent slipping back to his roots. He held out his arms to the slightly bewildered Tubeborn in a gesture that was unquestionably not as romantic as it might have looked to the casual observer. Chy'ier trotted over and leapt, nimbly enough, into the street-fighter's muscled embrace. A few too many hungry periods had left the former urchin with a light, though wiry, frame. Daranúr thought for a moment, sizing up the gap.

"Quit wrigglin'."

"Always wanted to be a Scourge, yes, I know."

With a tensing and flexing of his muscular street-toughened frame Daranúr heaved Chy'ier up into an almost flat trajectory, hurling the Tubeborn across by main force.

Kayle tumbled like the fall of angels. Her blonde hair streamed out behind her, escaping its bonds like the golden corona of a newborn star. She spun through her dive, stretching, surging forward, reaching for her goal -

Chy'ier screamed all the way across, his carefully tucked-in limbs now flailing as he realised just what situation he was in. Moving as fast as he'd ever done except on a vehicle. the far side was approaching with a rapidity with which he just did not feel comfortable. Part of him wanted to curl up and hope it was all a hallucination. The rest of him, however, had other ideas.

Now screaming with the excited, high-pitched shriek of a child on a sugar rush, Chy'ier decided to embrace the glorious moment. He hit the deck on the other side with a heavy thump, which he was too high on adrenaline to notice, bounded up and raised his arms in triumph.

"FIRST!"

Kayle landed beautifully and stalked forward. Only a brief memory of the Wrack's pincer-claw on her lovely neck stopped her from tossing the Tubeborn brat down the mineshaft with a muttered "tripped". But she was smart. She could focus. There was a mission to accomplish.

Caethir and Daranúr exchanged glances. Daranúr grinned insolently.

"Wot?"

Over on the other side, there was no immediate sign of the Lady Dracon's flat, rectangular box. The dome was pretty much intact, scarred blast shielding extending everywhere except the two tucked irises of the entrances to the blasted tunnels. There were two sloping banks of consoles, one with a few dim lights winking in the darkness. The dull red of the emergency circuits was pulsing slowly, indicating some little charge left. Deftly, Kayle called up some schematics, looking for the most likely place to find the secure lockers. Chy'ier, as was his wont, footled about looking for anything interesting or failing that, edible.

In the darkness. Hadn't it been daylight when they entered the tunnels not half an hour ago? Hadn't there been bright spears of daylight amid the dangling cables?

Over on the other side, Caethir, Daranúr and lastly Excision - caught up in some private reverie involving knives - noticed that the light, what little filtered in from outside, had indeed grown dim. There was a rushing, scouring noise. Sand and debris began to filter down from the cable-forest, shimmering like an inverted kelp bed.

Well, it was just a sandstorm; incovenient, mostly, plus they were inside. Sheltered from the blast as it were.

Kayle's careful searching yielded a hidden panel, which sprung open to reveal a series of shiny buttons. Immediately, a pale, skinny hand darted under her arm and pressed one, then another, then finally the big, red, tempting King Button. Chy'ier dodged her swatting hand with practiced ease and the Reaver was startled to hear grinding metal. Fearing the worst, she glanced up and could see two thin, metal walkways extending on telescoping struts from under the central command point to just under the torn and ripped entranceways. In the event of just such a collapse as this, someone had planned for a safe exit route. Kayle smirked, knowing she'd got to make her show and make the point that she was all that was needed to get them all safely across.

Now, if only that little Tubebrat didn't find the box first ...

Kayle's determination was interrupted by the sound of a large chunk of rock breaking away from the ceiling and landing three feet from Excision.


Extra Info:

All: There is a light metal walkway extending out from both sides of the central room, an emergency access of sorts. It is, however, very light and will only bear Excision, Daranúr or Caethir one at a time in safety (them being the more strapping party members).

There is a sandstorm raging outside. It looks to be shaking the unstable roof rather more violently as the wind picks up. The central unit has operative blast shielding, or the tunnels should (away from the cavern) be deep enough to serve as shelter.

The central room is littered with the detritus of a somewhat messy electronic office - small dataslates, a scatter of personal effects like old comm-beads, IGRat* wrappers, pencils, and a pad of curling yellow bits of sticky paper. There are a number of lockers and under-desk storage areas immediately visible, along with two more secure reinforced cupboards - the size of weapons lockers - that have additional locks.

Any questions, please feel free to ask in the OOC Thread!

Chy'ier: BUTTONS



*Imperial Guard Rations, feared the galaxy over for their stopping power, not so much for enemy fire as for the digestive system.

“They so pretty!  Can I have them Em’eyeth?” Chy’ier asked his invisible friend while staring intently at the shiny buttons, especially the giant red one.

“What was what?” he said loudly as he looked around.

“That? Is that? SPARKLES!” Chy’ier screamed as he scampered over to the largest collection of detritus.

“Ooooh this one is excellent!  I’m going to keep this one.” Chy’ier triumphed as he started to attach an IGRat wrapper to his collection.

“What? That one? It’s not even that shiny. Not this one?" He questioned while holding a dataslate obviously confused.

“Uh huh.”

“Oooooh, when did she say that?”

"If I find it through these windows, can I push the buttons some more?” he asked loudly as he began to rummage around collecting more and more dataslates.

“I’ll go first.” Daranúr went ahead of the others. They had no choice in it. It wasn’t up for debate in his eyes. He was going first because he didn’t trust the strength of the walkway after the Incubus and the Wrack had passed over it with their ridiculous total weight. He’d much rather go first and not risk death at the bottom of a chasm.

He had been proud of throwing the youngling. It had been a display of his superiority over the young… how… how if they got in the way he could throw them? Oh well, he thought to himself, it requires no justification.

He had one of the Laser Pistols in his hand as he navigated the facility. It was better to be safe than to be dead.

“Anybody find anything of use?” He called out to the others as he kicked a pile of dusty sand.

So the Kabalite was the one to come across first? Kayle had to admit, she was disappointed the Incubus hadn't come over first...the more disappointing part of it, not a single mention of her skill across the chasm was mentioned. Something she would have to deal with later...a glint in her eyes as she had a flash off ideas on 'compelling' her associates on providing an  adequate audience for her talents.

“Anybody find anything of use?”

"Well, that platform you so gracelessly forgot was useful", she offered backhandedly as she turned away from the drugged up sellsword and looked around the room. Noticing the many under desk and lockers littered across the room, she was going to decide where to start...that was until she eyed out the reinforced cupboards further into the room and began to walk towards them.

"It seems their are plenty of places that the box could be hidden within-" she pointed out to the many possible lockers and desk draws effortlessly as she arrived at the cupboards she eyed up earlier.

"Wanna give me a hand with this, big boy", emphasis on that last part as she turned back towards the Kabalite with a perfectly executed hip roll and a seductive smile gracing her lips. No sense in not using what's available, no?

"Mmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooowwwwwwwwww" Chy'ier groaned out like a kymerae in heat to those around him.

The Reaver landed with the grace of the muse of death herself. Caethir did remember saying no showboating, but her "act" did bring a smirk to his face. It only showed how shallow she was. She always needed a crowd. There was a word for people like her, but it escaped him at the moment.
 
The Feral one had no such grace though, and careened into the floor of the platform. Even the staunch Incubus winced at the impact. He turned towards Daranúr and the Mercenary's face was like a grinning daemon. An audible sigh came out of the skull helm, and he turned to watch how things unfolded on the platform.
 
As the two on the platform acted like the children they were, Caethir noticed the light through the cracked ceiling slowly dim. A quick glance up and his helmet sensors started to beep wildly. It seemed as if a sandstorm had brewed up over the installation. It should be nothing to serious, but it unnevered the Shrine Warrior alittle. The ceiling's integrity did not look sound.
 
And almost as if the Muses wanted to prove his point, a chunk of rockcrete fell next to the Wrack. Caethir was about to bark an order to fall back and wait out the storm, but his gaze dropped onto the metal walkway that had appeared in front of them. "How convenient" He muttered.
 
“I’ll go first.” Daranúr raced acrossed. The platform was not made to support such weight, but if the burly fighter got across, he should have no problem, but caution was something the Shrine's Tutors drilled into their warriors.
 
"Wrack, your next. Ill take up the rear." Caethir said with authority. He knew the Wrack would probably gripe about it, but he had no reason to argue. Caethir was more agile than the bulking Haemonculus creation and could reach to the falling debris quicker than the brute. "And do hurry, I rather not be in this mess for much longer."

Outside the command booth, the mercenary took the initiative to stride across the narrow emergency gangplank. Unimpressed by either the antics of his comrades in arms, or the showy acrobatics of the Reaver, the practical Incubus shepherded the Wrack across. Biddable enough, for one of the Children of Pain, he seemed to have become lost in some private reverie. A simple soul at heart, if a darkly poetic one, who cared to speculate what went on behind that mask?

Caethir brought up the rear and was able to notice a change in the tempo of the growing storm, his Shrine-trained senses picking up the slight traces of a more ... organic ... sound beneath the solemn timbre.

As dust wore away at the planet's interloping artificial constructions, Kayle began to search the control room visually, then, lighting on the secure cabinets, she sashayed over to them, regarding them for a moment, hands on lusciously curved hips.

Chy'ier knew exactly what he was looking for.

With a squeak of delight the excitable Tubeborn lighted on a particularly sparkly wrapper, which he carefully added to his collection. A prize indeed. Em'eyeth directed him to the dull grey screens of the dataslates. Well, he supposed that they might polish up nicely. Or perhaps play a pretty tune.

Caethir thundered across the lightweight gangplank, which gave springily under his pounding feet and added a certain bounce to his step, but luckily it didn't break. He fetched up beside Kayle and her appraisal of the abandoned command centre. She'd found some locked cabinets, which did indeed look like a good place to find something of worth.

"Wanna give me a hand with this, big boy", emphasis on that last part as she turned back towards the Kabalite with a perfectly executed hip roll and a seductive smile gracing her lips. Kayle had many a use for a strapping lad. Which one was most on Daranúr's mind at that very moment could only be guessed, but he did make an agreeable enough shrug and stooped to look at the doors.

"Not got a key, then?" he enquired.

"I was hoping you could provide some useful alternative muscle -"

"Mmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooowwwwwwwwww"

They both turned to the Tubeborn, who was busy piling dataslates up into a house of electronic cards. Nothing to see here.

Just as Daranúr flexed his muscles and set to pulling the secured doors open by main force, his street-enforcer's frame straining tautly as he did so, who should arrive but Caethir, his manner strong and decisive as always as he took in the scene. What was a girl to do ...

"The storm is getting stronger." Caethir directed the Wrack to search some of the cupboards and set to the rest himself. "We must locate the mission objective with all speed. There are audio traces of lifeforms outside at distance - possible hostiles." Unslinging his Klaive, Caethir took up a guarded, vigilant stance, using his training to filter out the idle chatter and concentrate on potential enemy contact.

Excision began methodically searching the unlocked storage. Daranúr gave a last heave and the rivetted seam of one of the cabinets - somewhat corroded after all - popped like vertebrae on the rack.

Chy'ier scooted across and rescued the last dataslate he could find from under the Wrack's booted feet, and set it up carefully in his little arrangement. Then, with a flourish, he flicked the first one with a single finger. With a burring ripple, the dataslates fell in a pattern not unlike a widely-smiling mask. Plink.

There was nothing inside the first locker, but the dividers were of inferior stock, and Daranúr was able to break through them with relative ease. barely breaking a sweat. He rifled through the contents, handing them out to Kayle as he did so. Boxes of ammo, crude Imperium solid rounds. A smaller box of explosive shells. A heavy bolter for same, the clumsy weapon unlovely but effective, so long as it didn't jam. A strongbox. He grinned. A heavy, clinking strongbox. And last, nestled at the bottom, a small box containing a letter on faded, curling paper, a small lock of hair tied with a ribbon and an encoded dataslip, the kind of thing the pricier mercs might use for their own personal messages.

"- this is Section Overseer Vas Tranton, signing off -"
"-ipment is due to arrive in three days, last known coordinates-"
"-out the storm. We have no more time to fulfill the quot-"
"- Lords will be angry! The dead walk! They will rise!" "- Shut him up! Someone shut that son of a bitch up!"
"-ultitude, yea, and many swords upon them, and upon the blades of the swords, many eyes-"
"-e's not coming back! I told you, he's not coming back!"

Interspersed with static, Chy'ier's little choir all sang at once.

"- Overseer Tranton. Three supply ships have not made the landing, and we are moving out tomorrow. They can have this place, and welcome to it -" "Sir!" "What is it, Potemkin?" "All mines in place, Sir!" "Then get the case and let's -"
"- field strength nine-four, rising to nine-five and within acceptable parameters. Core drills wearing out faster than predicted. Increase order for rock-bits and send more testing kits. Samples of unusual purity -"
"Yuri!!"

The slight Tubeborn squinted along the line of the 'mask's' pointed chin. Darting over to the cabinets, he disappeared half inside it before Daranúr could think of hauling him out by the scruff of his neck.

"Of course! How did you know? False bottom!" he chirped excitedly. Kayle prepared for fatal umbrage. Chy'ier rapped smartly on the base of the cabinet, producing a hollow ringing just in time.

"It's under there." He looked up, moon-eyed, into Daranúr's face. "Big boy."

From his vantage point on watch, Caethir noted that all the natural daylight had now gone. The emergency lights were not bright, which might match his opinion of some of his companions, but they gave the superior senses of the Eladrith Ynneas enough to function by. The storm had reached a howling pitch. Not all of this, he realised, was from the wind in the tunnels. There were insistent sounds, growling pitches and the scraping tread of claws on stone. In the gathering gloom, he could make out dim, spare, almost serpentine shapes writhing through the darkness, sinuous bodies twining over one another. He was reminded of eels in a tank. He could see flashes of short, powerful limbs, and narrow snouts, but the shrouding darkness was not the only reason for their elusive quality. The forms did not seem entirely solid, not wholly material. The Incubus drew his Klaive into a ready stance.

"INCOMING!"


Extra Info:
Kayle, Daranúr and Chy'ier: The strongbox is heavy, but it's likely from what you can decipher of its markings to be the paychest. Note that this doesn't have to mean actual coin, but there are ways to spend most forms of currency in the Dark City and credit sticks are good in all the major outlets. Maybe not the finer ones, but certainly the more common.

Excision: Apart from a few basic medical supplies, most of which are out of date, you don't find anything special in your search.

Chy'ier: You located the box. Also, your choir need a conductor. You're pretty sure the buttons will twist off the panel. A good haul, but it's really dark outside now.

Caethir: You have sighted four of the beings in the darkness, in the tunnel from which you came. They do not seem fully solid. They are, so far as you can see, about ten feet long and only two or so wide at the shoulder, and look something like axolotls or Chinese dragons.

All: The control centre is blast-shrouded and has emergency power, but also currently has both access ports open and the emergency gangways extended. It is darker and the noise level of the storm means you will soon have to communicate in raised voices.

If you have any questions, I encourage you to PM me or use the OOC thread

A subtle shift of his right side and once more a massive chunk of falling debris was narrowly avoid, something that could have no doubt caved even the resilient cranium of a Haemonculus' Servant. How strange, he thought to himself as he peered down to his would-be killer of an inanimate object. Was nature itself intending to see him dead for his own brief time of docile thought? Perhaps, on some cosmic scale, it was a warning of intended punishment, some greater being that played them all on the strings as puppets guiding them through their fate as an narrator guides her characters through a story....

The Wrack merely snarled quietly to himself and shook his head slowly. This was his price for letting his mind wander too long, falling prey to irrational thoughts that held no relevance to his mission, making him slower than he should be. It was a mistake he intended to not make a second time. Aside from some petty wrappings and ointments that had not fallen to decay just yet, his idle searching was fruitless. A pity but then again, he hadn't exactly been trying, now, had he...

His head darted over towards the direction of the Incubus when he heard the shout that incoming enemies were approaching. Immediately, one of four greedy hands reached to his belt line and unsheated his sickle, twirling the handle once then twice in his hand to measure the already so familiar weight of his beloved weapon in his hand.

Time to play, yes?

He tore his way through the cabinets with ease, hands crumpling the flimsy Imperial products like thick cardboard in a goliath’s grip. The sound and feel of the popping rivets were reminiscent of so many murders he’d performed in cold blood or without a thought in the streets of his youth… it was somewhat pleasing.

It reminded him of his first kill. That sparing session had just been meant for knife training, but as the bloodlust overtook him he cast the blade aside and turned to beating his foe down with fists. When he looked down on the older child and stared deep into the pitiful eyes he knew what he longed to do. He knelt down, placed a hand upon his chin and cupped the back of his opponent’s cranium with his other hand and twisted. Reliving the memory was far too satisfying.

He tried to ignore the Reaver, but obviously his eyes couldn’t help but wonder. There were times in his life where he wondered whether his cravings for blood were too strong; times like this when he didn’t know whether lust or murderous desires were stronger. When he stumbled across the crude and boxy Imperial Bolt-Cannon he knew the answer.

When the Incubus raised the alarm he grabbed the Mon-keigh gun for himself, attempted to load it, stood with a wide stance with the Heavy Bolter placed at his hip and marched forward, prepared to riddle whatever decided to come their way with mass-reactive rounds.

Smiling grimly he bellowed in his regional dialect “T’kyritrisht vuilas tel’lyaal’trass!”

“Mine?” Chy’ier questioned.

“Not yours, mine!”

"ok, yours…”

"Can we make the harlequins sing again?" He asked the others.

"What? Where?”  Chy’ier asked before he raced over and dived into the cabinets to find the treasure under the under.

“Of course! How did you know? False Bottom!" Chy’ier chirped as he rapped smartly at the base.

“It’s under there.” He looked deep into Daranur’s eyes like a khymerae who found it’s lost mate.  “Big boy”

Chy’ier watched in amazement when Duranur tore through the cabinet.  “Em’eyeth, I think he’s got anger issues.”

“What does that mean, laid? Like sleeping?”  Chy’ier quizzed his imaginary friend, as he looked at the box.

“ooohhh, eww! She’s gross!” he exclaimed as the glint from a bolter round on the ground caught his eye.  “oooh!”  

“Can we open the present?” Chy’ier asked Caethir while he held the bolter round as if he was answering an upcoming question.

"INCOMING!"

"Incoming" The forms seemed serpentine in nature, but it was too dim to make out any distinct features. A quick tactical assessment shows that they have the better defendable location with the gangway being the only feasible way across the chasm. Although it would be hard if these things brought any heavy firepower, as they were without...
 
A familiar heavy metal click paused Caethir's train of thought. “T’kyritrisht vuilas tel’lyaal’trass!” In the Mercenary's hand was a Mon-keigh weapon that Caethir knew all too well. The aptly named "heavy bolter" was a crude but powerful weapon, and had dented his warsuit many a time in battle. This turn of events could prove favorable.
 
Caethir halted the Wrack before he went rampaging across the platform. "We have the defensible position here. Their only way to us is the platform. Let us flip some of these cabinets and safes over for cover while the others lay down fire. We wait to pounce once they have crossed." Without waiting for a response Caethir began to hull safes over to form a quick bunker of which to take cover from incoming fire.
 
"Lay down supressive fire. Make them come to us." Caethir slightly nods towards Daranúr, "That barbaric weapon suits you, now lets see if you know how to use it."

As she watched the brute lay waste to the cabinets, her thoughts lingered back to the Incubus as he walked into the control room. Their 'accidently' embrace earlier was still playing on loop in her mind, his strong body against her feminine form while his arms wrapped around her felt delicious...definelty need to get more of that when she can.

She flashed out of her pleasurable daydream as the brutish Kabalite continued to dig through the cabinets and threw out many inferior things of the Imperium's 'advanced' civilisation. Amongst the objects, the crude but well know 'Heavy Bolter' that she had seen during her High Commoragh days of Arena watching...and then her days 'in' the Arenas as it easily cut unworthy members from their hallowed halls.

"Incoming!"

'Oh for Vect's sake', so more trouble...just bloody great, like I haven't had enough trouble with that damned brat.

“T’kyritrisht vuilas tel’lyaal’trass!”

'Careful, your intellegence is slipping, Ah, the brute as would be expected of him.

"We have the defensible position here. Their only way to us is the platform. Let us flip some of these cabinets and safes over for cover while the others lay down fire. We wait to pounce once they have crossed."

She couldn't help the slight laugh she hid and thought to herself, the Incubus in his natural habitat...giving orders and overt dominance of the party, must be something in the Incubi waters. Oh well, if nothing else he made some sense...and got to see said Incubus in action, she guessed it couldn't be 'so' bad.

Kayle effortlessly pulled out and readied her Splinter Pistol, but she could not discount the suggestion by the damned brat about the box being underneath the cabinets...and with his damned luck it seemed he might be right about something...for the third time this whole trip. She turned towards where the tubeborn had suggested while keeping half an eye and her Pistol pointed at the gateway.

With all the bile and anger that Kayle had for the damned tubeborn, a part of her actually 'wanted' it to be right...if nothing else it would mean they could get out of her fast.

“Anger issues?” Daranúr exclaimed, slightly enraged at Chy’ier’s ramblings. A thought came to mind as he suppressed the urge to strike the youngling where he stood.

“Do you want something shiny? Something for your collection?” He grinned as from his pocket he withdrew an object that was all too familiar to the tubeborn. “Take this.” He slammed it into the youth’s hand and forced his fingers to grasp it. “If they get too close, throw it at them this time. Not us. Understood?”

He left the youth with the Plasma Grenade as he marched forward to join the makeshift defensive position being constructed from overturned cabinets and whatever else could be scrounged.

“Lay down suppressive fire. Make them come to us." Caethir nodded towards the mercenary, "that barbaric weapon suits you, now lets see if you know how to use it.” Daranúr nodded. Out of the rest of the party the Incubus seemed like the most battle-hardened, a man with experience. The street fighter approved of this greatly.

“Of course I do.” He nodded in return. “How complicated could a Mon-keigh war-machine be?” He curled a lip, getting familiar with the weight of the cannon in his hands. This would surely be fun!

He gritted his teeth at the laugh that he heard over the wind from the Reaver and wondered why they needed her there at all.
Oh right, she’s the pilot.
Damn. It would have been fun to test out his new toy to make sure it worked first. Oh well, better to keep a potential ally.

“T’kyritrisht vuilas tel’lyaal’trass!” Kayle didn't know what it meant, but she could hazard a guess it had something to do with the things' parentage. Daranúr seized the heavy bolter like a long-lost lover (she had to wonder about that lad) and took up a combat-ready stance near the entrance. Caethir seized the initiative at once - not a bad trait in many fields - and set to getting the small group into some kind of combat order. Hearing the Reaver's laugh and some of Chy'ier's less confused mutterings nettled him, but nonetheless he turned back briefly to the little Tubeborn as he sat playing with ... whatever it was he was doing.

“Do you want something shiny? Something for your collection?” He grinned as from his pocket he withdrew an object that was all too familiar to the Tubeborn. “Take this.” He slammed it into the youth’s hand and forced his fingers to grasp it. “If they get too close, throw it at them this time. Not us. Understood?”

Chy'ier nodded, pocketing the grenade with the same nonchalance with which he usually handled such things, and continued with his work. Interruptions.

Excision growled and hefted his sickle, wanting to get in amongst the things and reap a flesh harvest. But Caethir's tactical play made sense. He began to assist the Incubus in shifting some of the cabinets and lockers into a barricade, not forgetting the entranceway behind them. Sometimes it was necessary to bait a trap, to wait just a little longer to get the result he had been waiting for.

Kayle knew all about delayed gratification. Her own personal gratification had been delayed far too long. But, she mused, at least she got to see the Incubus in action, a feat not many lived through. She readied her splinter pistol and took up a higher position, perched on top of one of the consoles. She cast her eye down to the broken cabinet, and the area the Tubeborn had indicated. Certainly the brat was annoying, but he'd demonstrated a knack for knowing things.. It would be aggravating if he was right, of course, but ... she hopped down and began to prise away the base of the unit.

Chy'ier nodded in approval. Em'eyeth had been right again. Let the kitty-khymerae put her claws to some use and he would get on with the important stuff. Turning away from the bending Reaver he got to work. Some moons are not to be howled at. Taking one of the bolter rounds (so shiny, and just a little cracked) carefully, and lifting the strongbox in his other he shifted a bit of the junk on the floor and set the box down precisely, its hinges pointing away from him, slightly raising the whole up from the ground with a couple of clip-boards and a wedge of crumpled tin can. He set the blunt-nosed point of the bolter round against the side of one hinge with careful precision.

Daranúr shifted another heavy chunk of office furniture into place and rested the bolter against the surface. He'd never really had much use for things like this before, but there was a perfect opportunity here. And despite his steady (ab)use of various strength-enhancing drugs, just the giant hand-grips on the gun made it difficult to hold correctly. It was made for a 'Space Marine', though, or whatever name Humans gave to their most favoured genetic freaks. Mon-keigh paws. It weighed heavy on his overpowered biceps until he got it settled. Almost like an artillery post. He grinned. Mobile artillery. He liked the sound of that. Fast and lethal. Let the killing commence.

In the darkness, the roiling mass of the serpentine creatures surged forward. Caethir raised his Klaive on high and brought it down in a signal to attack. Excision opened up to the right with his liquifier gun, the horrid, viscous acid spray fanning out in a deadly beam, and Daranúr wrapped his scarred hands around the heavy bolter, swore some more for good measure and heaved at what must surely be the firing mechanism. The Imperium didn't make subtle things.

Chy'ier carefully plugged the last of the dataslate connections into the console, making a pretty little circuit of the boards like a many-petalled flower or a mandala. He tilted his head, letting the rest see it for a moment. One of them reached his hand out and adjusted the setup minutely. Then he scooted down and took the last unhooked-up end of the cabling and hit it smartly with a shelving-strut. The end sparked nicely. Perfect.

Kayle heaved the bottom shelf aside and wrenched up the base. There, under the shelving, was a small recess holding a flat, red rectangular box, riveted shut in the Imperial style and undamaged. Finally! She hissed a jubilant cry of triumph and hauled it free.

Chy'ier smiled a secret smile and touched the end of the sparking wire to the bolter shell.

The first of the writhing serpentine entities swarmed forward, and Excision's burst was aimed wel enough, though the Wrack itched to get into closer combat with the enemy. Daranúr squeezed the outsized trigger. There was a sound like the thunder of the gods. And Caethir's Shrine-sharpened senses observed several things happening at once.

Kayle held up the Dracon's box with an exultant cry of victory.

Excison's broad shot was true, but seemed to pass through the semi-transparent monstrosity as it surged forward, spattering the rear wall with acid. The rock hissed and smoked.

Caethir's attempt at burst shooting turned into a barrage of lethally-spewing shells, white-hot eruptions of fire striking that same far wall with slamming impacts that shook the unstable cavern.

There was one more sound of an explosion, this one closer to hand and from behind the lines -

"Yeeeeessssss!" Chy'ier jumped up from the cover of the office chair he'd dived behind and started patting at the hot and broken wreckage of the strongbox, its lid blown outwards by a lucky glancing shot from the cracked bolt round. Behind him, all the murmuring voices of the choir fell silent. There were credsticks and little leather pouches and all manner of shiny, golden trinkets, enough to make him deliriously happy for a long while. As an afterthought, cheerfully scooping up the little bundles, he reached out behind him to take the pretty coloured buttons too.

Before he could get to the nice red King Button, the lights went out.

"Ididn'ttouchit!"

The first of the writhing creatures hit the barricade as the lights blinked out. All three frontline warriors had just time to note the puzzling impact, even as they processed, with the speed of the Eldar, that the semi-solid beings had not been hurt by either the acid or the bolter fire. But as Daranúr felt his beloved heavy bolter nearly jarred from his grip, he knew they were solid enough now.

The eyes of Caethir's Incubus warsuit registered the flowing form in the dark. It looked more solid now, as if the completer darkness had somehow given it strength. And if it was solid, it could be hurt. He leapt down into the developing melee with a fierce battle-cry.

Excision and Daranúr could not see much in the faint glow from the cooling metal of Chy'ier's 'locksmithing', but they could feel the writhing coils of the shadowserpent as it struck at the improvised barricade, ploughing through it and into the darkened chamber. Teeth snapped at the Wrack's striking arms, meeting metal, and he brought the sickle around in an underhand swing, rejoicing at last in the feel of cleaving flesh. A spray of blood rewarded him, sharp-smelling and acrid as the aerosol entered his barred mask. And Daranúr, sparing only the briefest of mourning for his heavy metal dream, picked up the giant gun and started clubbing the dragon with it.

Caethir's Klaive cut deeply into the spine of the beast, wounding the now-solid muscle and cutting into curiously flexible bone. He hacked the backbone apart, while Excision slit the throat and Daranúr pounded industriously away at the head.

The cavern beyond resonated with its dying screams and the rumbling sound of falling rock. One down.



Extra Info:

Caethir, Excision, Daranúr: The semi-solid serpents are not normal creatures, but some kind of accursed, possibly warp-touched things that are only fully corporeal in the dark. The darker, the more solid; the more solid, the more able to be hurt. The only problem being that in the full dark, you are all blind except Caethir whose Incubus warsuit gives him night vision. The glow from the cooling metal is fading rapidly. Three more serpents remain, though they have yet to breach the barricade. The upside is that if you can get more light onto them, it is likely they will not be able to damage you either.

Kayle: You have the mission objective, the Dracon's box.

Chy'ier: You have a small* Dracon's ransom in jewels, credsticks and even a little gold currency. But, none of the shiny buttons yet.

*the ransom; the size of the Dracon is irrelevant.

All: The room is almost entirely dark, and the cavern outside is collapsing.

I will leave you with this from Cavash: "Yay! I want to break things with my Heavy Bolter! "

Darkness instantly enveloped the group. The Incubus' visor instantly registered the low light and compesated for it. These things that were coming apon them had waded through bolter fire and even a shot from the Wrack's liquifer and showed no damage from it. It was as if they were in a different dimension all together. "How do we fight these things?" Caethir cursed.

But they looked different now, almost coporeal. With a descisive strike he hacked into the "thing" and felt the familiar force of his power klaive slicing through flesh. If it could be cut, it could die.

"These creatures are solid in the darkness, try to keep the light as low as possible." Caethir barked as he swung into the closest beast.

He swung the Heavy Bolter wildly at the source of noise which indicated the rough location where the ghost-serpents were. He was slightly disappointed with not landing a single blow upon the creatures, but that was quickly overshadowed by the realisation of what these things might be.

Back home, before the death of his parents, he had been told tales of ghostly machines which lurked through extensive catacombs, seeking to protect and watch over their deathless masters. They could fade out of reality, reappear behind a man too eager to find plunder and fortune, and then shred them to bits before they even knew that the ghosts were there.

He had known what his mother had called them when reciting this tale, but that was in a dialect that he doubted any of the other Commorrites would be able to understand, just like with all of his cursing.

He concentrated, trying to think of what they’d be called in the Commorrite tongue. “Wraiths.” He hissed, attempting to club where he thought a head was drifting.

-------------------------
Daranúr is going to try to krogg things with his heavy bolter. He won’t be manoeuvrable, obviously, so he’s going to try and make his swings count.

“Yeeeeessssss!” Chy’ier hissed as he leaped from the office chair knowing that the shinys that were calling to him are now free.

“Yesyesyes, I’ll get your button” Chy’ier noted to no one as he scooped up the little bundles of goodies that cradled the shinies within then turning to Em’eyeth’s glorious red button.

Chy’ier inched out from the discarded scraps of shinys that didn’t make the cut, cautiously moving like a predator for it’s prey, waiting for the last second and springing into action as the lights cut out.

“Ididn’tTouchIt!”

“Ah! Good idea!“ Chy’ier yelled into the darkness.

“Watch for the nightmares Em’eyeth” he said as he felt for the king button with his right hand and looked for his shiny new grenade with his left.

--------
Chy'ier is going to try and pop that beautiful Red King Button out of it's place for Em'eyeth while searching for his new grenade (where could it be?) while also listening/watching out (via bolter flash) for the nightmares.  If something should approach him he's going to try and 'Jackie Chan it' (defensively) with the console.

In the gathering darkness, the supernal senses of the heirs of the Great Wheel pierced the shrouding shadows like laser sights. Caethir, the tall Shrine-Warrior, swept his great klaive up into a defense block as the mouth of one of the writhing shade-haunters closed around him, bringing it up and back to split the beast's head asunder. Screaming in unholy agony, blood streaming from its jaws, it reared back, crashing through the improvised barricade. Leaping down after it, he hacked into its spinal column.

Daranúr took hold of the immense, chunky metal of the heavy bolter and, lacking the ability to go full Astartes (thank the Dark Muses, he liked to choose his own augmentations), he hefted it meaningfully. The approaching shade-haunter opened its mouth in a roar. Daranúr did likewise, almost nose to nose with the beast as he chinned it with the gun. The solid casing made a dull ringing thud on its jaw, followed by a snapping crack. Daranúr grinned, feeling the strain in his wrists but enjoying stretching his fighting abilities once more. There just hadn't been enough killin' lately.

Beside the wrecked cabinets, Kayle seized the Dracon's box with a triumphant grin of her own. Finally! She had the prize. Now they could get out of this dingy cavern and back to Exacting Vengeance, then to home and glory. Already hearing the approval of the assembled minions as she approached the Lady in her mind's eye, her Incubus bodyguard focussed on the athletic physique of the arena champion, Kayle Amaryllis ... all eyes on her indeed. And who better to be the one to take the treasure back and gain the kudos? Graciously, she would allow that the boys had helped; that there was one, in particular, who'd been a positive inspiration in the field ...

Damn.

She had yet to win her bet.

Pouting, Kayle turned at the sound of the battle now raging behind her, the burst bubble of her little daydream bringing her back with a bump. In the darkness, it was hard to tell details without being up close, but there was a dying serpent being hacked apart by Caethir while Daranúr was pounding away at another, using the heavy bolter as a club. She couldn't see Excision. Where was the Wrack?

Well, if she needed to get up close and personal, so much the better. That was how she worked best. Kayle drew her two daggers, securing the box, and leapt into the fray.

Chy'ier was dimly aware of the breeze as the hellcat leapt over him, and he ran a hand through his disordered hair. He'd secured the shinies so there remained only two priorities: the sparkly toy, which he could see glowing faintly with a nice inner radiance, suggestive of the power of burning suns coiled within, and the crimson King Button. He'd promised Em'eyeth he would get it, and Chy'ier was an urchin of his word, at least so far as it could be worked out which word was his. Scrabbling under the chair he's last seen it beside, he rummaged through the litter and came up with the obliging little plasmid. Idly thumbing the switch back to unarmed, he set to prising off the King Button. It was stiff, but then that was the way with royalty. So hard to unseat.

At the barricade, Kayle landed beside Daranúr only to be splattered with blood and bits of spinal fluid - and spine - as he happily set about his foe with the subtlety of a Grotesque. No help needed here. She turned to Caethir. The Incubus was standing over the shade-haunter with his klaive in one hand, the blade sawing at the semicorporeal throat while he - did he have the beast in a headlock? Again the situation seemed to be under control. She ran lightly along the body of the first to die, seeking the last assailant.

Out on the narrow walkway, it was coiling and shifting, the pitch darkness making it deliciously dangerous for her to even see where she was. Feeling the shifting metal under her feet, Kayle adjusted her balance, following it out as it dared to try to escape. There was a spark as Daranúr's gun hit metal instead of flesh, and in the flash-frame second she could see that halfway down the serpent was a struggling, writhing lump.

Leaping nimbly behind it she pinned one of her daggers to its tail, using the other to steady herself against its rearing bulk. Feeling her way as much by instinct as skill she tried to find a handhold and avoid the thrashing form. This was not going to be easy. The walkway creaked ominously.

Back at the command centre, Chy'ier seized the King Button and stuffed it into one of his pouches. Vive la Révolution!

With a shower of gore and the glowing fluids from cracked syringes, Excision burst through the back of the last shade-serpent with a muted roar, combined agony and anger as his augmented lungs seized fresh air and his mechanical limbs tore him a way to freedom. Acidic slime and horrible internal fluids coated him, slicking his gnarlskin and running in rivulets down his barred mask. He spat and coughed, pulling himself awkwardly free as the walkway twisted. There was a scream of dying metal. Kayle leaped, somersaulting to land behind the Incubus as the way back to the caverns finally folded, tearing, into a dangling strip of metal fatigue and bloodied girders.

Caethir paused from his cleaning of the great Shrine-blade and looked at Kayle in enquiry. Daranúr smacked the lump of meat at his feet one more time, for emphasis, and stared at the place where the walkway was.

"Yes, but was he big enough to fall that far?" Chy'ier queried Em'eyeth.

There was a grunt, and the sound of metal scraping on metal. A thin whirring hand came over the edge of the drop, questing. It was joined by a scarred, fleshy fist, closing in around a broken stancion. Excision growled, clawing his way over the edge, and Caethir leaped down to haul him up by the shoulders. Daranúr took a firm hold on his thick leather belt and together they heaved the lumbering Wrack to safety. The only sound, for a moment, was his rasping breathing and the pit-pat of falling stones.

Caethir took in the scene as his helm's sensors relayed it. He thought he could hear more of the writhing creatures, massing in the dark. With a quick nod, Kayle confirmed that she had the mission objective. Time to leave.

With a last glance at the hostile shadows, the Incubus took out the portable webway gate and activated it, ushering the street-brawler through first. Then the urchin and the pilot, escorting the shambling Wrack. He took rearguard, klaive at the ready. Just as the webway gate closed, he swore he could hear the snapping of jaws.

Daranúr stepped out into the webway, his bloodied new toy clutched to his chest. At once, he looked around, but the shifting grey walls and floor - and ceiling? was the ceiling the floor? - his head hurt a little - well, it was quiet. He walked over to the singed, battered Raider and hopped up onto the deck. A brief check of the cabins revealed nothing that wasn't meant to be there. He had to concede, mostly, that this was good. He watched the little Twitcher and the scantily-dressed Reaver emerge from the little vortex, and reached over to give the Wrack a hand up onto the vessel. Never hurts to be in with the medic. Lastly, the tall Incubus strode out, pocketing the dimensional device and nodding to him, one fighter to another.

"Well, boys, time to leave. I can't wait to get into a nice hot bath." Kayle took a swig of the stored water to wash away that wretched dust, and poured some over her face and neck, shaking out her hair. Better. Now to see if this wounded bird would fly them home.

They couldn't go back the way they had come - the webway breach had seen to that. Kayle got the craft moving - they all felt safer in a moving target - and Daranúr and Caethir pondered (and argued) over the map they'd appropriated from Valarauka. There was no sign of the silver-tongued one, but that was no surprise. Chy'ier offered the occasional helpful bit of insight as it came to him, but, as Em'eyeth remarked, they didn't seem to want his input. So he went instead to watch Excision knit and purl and form for a while, before getting bored and deciding to arrange all his shinies in descending order. Order of what, he wasn't yet sure.


After some time - it was hard to say, in the twisting confines of the labyrinth dimension - the familiar portal of a permanent gate loomed ahead, one of the main arterial portals into Corespur. With a whoop of triumph Kayle looped the limping craft through, saluting a passing transport of Trueborn Black Heart jauntily as she passed. The untrammeled vista of the Dark City lay below, and stretched above in all directions. They were back in Commorragh.



Extra Info:

All: You have made it back to the Dark City! Where you go next is up to you ... Chy'ier has the loot from the command centre, while Kayle has the Dracon's box (there is definitely nowhere to conceal it in a Wych suit). You are at the main Corespur thoroughfare; it is relatively easy to get to major destinations from here.

Kayle: Exacting Vengeance is in severe need of proper workshop maintenance. Lykretill'an, however, is really not going to be pleased to see it like this. You have the Dracon's box. It is undamaged and at the moment as she requested, unopened.

Daranúr: You have an Astartes Heavy Bolter. As such it can take a lot of abuse, which is good because it has. It's got half a clip of ammo.

Excision: You are battered from being constricted and on the way to being digested, but you have not lost any of your augmented limbs. However, they could do with an overhaul and you need to rest to finish healing fully.

Chy'ier: KING BUTTON. And, a lot of shiny things, including a pocketful of dataslates. Oh, and that nice warm grenade.

There was a slight hiss of air as the Incubus took off his helmet and let his hair down. With a deep breath, Caethir sucked in the air of Commorragh once more. It was good to be home, well, as close to "home" as he will get for some time. He glanced up at the dark suns and bathed in their light. Ever since he was a child he would climb the highest spire he could and bask in the dark suns rays. This tradition carried over even to his adulthood and after each raid or mission he would stop and enjoy the glow. Each raid could be his last, and he would enjoy every minute he could basking in the glow of the dark suns. "Its good to be home"
 
Caethir had positioned himself next to the Reaver for the flight back. It was partly to help her guide her way back, but also to keep an eye on the Dracon's Box. He doubted she would try to do anything stupid with the box, but one could not be too careful, especially with the motley crew they have. If the Reaver had payed attention to Caethir's comment, he cared not.
 
The raider banked slightly to keep within the traffic airspace. The metal moaned under the stress of even the slight maneuver. They were suppose to return the ship to the Mechanic in one piece, not splintered. Maybe there was a way to get some repairs done while they waited...
 
"Reaver, head left at the next lane. I rather not hear that mechanic's mouth when we get back about the shape of his vehicle, so we need to get some repairs done. There is a place near here that we can get the work done quickly and efficently."
 
Caethir pulled out The Guild's symbol cut from his now destroyed coat. Its time to pull some weight around, and as well get back his favorite fashion acessory.
 
 ________________________________________________________________________________
 
OOC: Caethir is going to lead them to a Guild workshop to hopefully pull some favors to get a decent repair job on the raider, as well as get a new trenchcoat. This can give the group some downtime.

"BUUUUURRRRRRRAAAAASHH!" was the sound that came from Chy'ier after every tight turn or jolt that the lunatic lady made with the sailboat.

"She's doing this on purpose Em'eyeth" Chy'ier mumbled to himself

"Your turn? Why?"

"You can do that?" he questioned the space next to him as another turn was coming up "BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRHHHUUURRRRSH"

"WhyYesIcanChy'ier!!" Em'eyeth exclaimed as she took control and fetched her most prized possession from the ruckus, the King Button.  

Em'eyeth stood up and stretched the muscles of Chy'ier like a kymerae out from a nap. "OhChy'ierLooksLikeIt'sTimeForSomeShoppingAndSomePartying!"

"Whereisthefinishline,thingstodomoneytospend!" Em'eyeth called to the incubus while spotting a delectible specimen or two over the side while toying with her button.

"Whereisthefinishline,thingstodomoneytospend!" Caethir cocked his head to the side in thought for a second. he normally tried to drown out the Feral One's rantings, but there was something off about this rant. This was different somehow. The Incubus sensed this several times during the mission, but this time the murderous eyes were now apon him. Eyes like that would get a blade rammed through the Young One quickly...
 
"After we get the raider fixed, then we will see the Dracon."

"Andifidontwishtowait?Itsnotoftenigettostretchmylegs." She replied to the incubus with her eye on a suitable prize.

"Ohhhhh.I'llberightbackIdroppedtheKing!" She hollered at the incubus while she threw her button at the unsuspecting prey.

"BEEPBEEP!" she screamed as she quickly jumped off to fetch her pray and the button.

----------------

Em'eyeth is going to wait until it's painfully obvious to where the incubus is headed with the boat before she jumps off.  She's trying for a dive kill on someone using the red button as a distraction.  Preferrably with a target with Ghostplate and/or shardcarbine for Chy... a Venom blade wouldnt be bad ether...  :BeggingFace:

Excision felt no such sense of exultation or relief as they arrived in the twisting airspace of Commoragh. Home? No... This was not home. This was the lair of patrons, cattle, canvases, and victims... But not home.

Home was much further down than the Labyrinthine streets bellow, spires that jutted upside down in a place where no light shined even from the light of dying black suns. The dull flicker of flayed screaming visage brazers, the thick reek of blood and sterilizing chemicals, the distant screams that moaned in a dead wind.. THAT was home.... And he had not seen it for a very long time... But home was not his destination. Now, he sought the attention of something he cherished just as much.

It was no doubt the intent to impress the beautiful and elegant lady that lead him to pay no heed to the others, limbs and mandibles working tirelessly (or atleast the ones that could still freely move without causing too much pain) to repair his body. Excising scraps of burning and dying flesh as was his namesake before quickly grafting and knitting new hide to replace it. wiping saliva, acidic chemical, and blood from his body, overseeing bodily function diagnostics and ensuring all assets were at tolerable conditions. He couldn't go to his Lady like this...

Oh but by the Muses he was tired.... It was not until he had completed the bare minimum of work, seated silently and alone in the personal quarters, that he finally collapsed from exhaustion. And so he simply allowed slumber to take him, laying there asleep on the floor with a bed no more than a few feet away while his own bodily apothecarian systems went to work.

This wasn’t his home. This wasn’t anybody’s home. Who in their right mind could use a word to mean a safe and secure place for the Dark City? Now, the endless crystal labyrinth-slums of T’llionoch… they were fun, but still not home. The truth was that the mercenary had not been able to call anywhere home for a long time, so he decided to rectify this. His home would be wherever his new favourite toy (his Heavy Bolter) took him.

The things they’d see together! The streets washed red with the blood of the weak. The limp and twitching forms of those who could no longer hide from the grasp of the thirster. With his new favourite companion he would deliver masses into the maws of She Who Thirsts. It would be fantastic!

“I don’t care where we go.” He attempted to start conversation with the Incubus to stave off boredom, but didn’t really expect much in return from the Shrine-blade. “But if we go back to see that mechanic I have something I’d like to try out with my new cannon…” He smiled, drifting off into thought as he gazed longingly at the dirty muzzle of the gun. “What’s your story, anyway, Incubus? Where’re you from..?” He hushed his voice to a whisper “And what’s the deal with that Reaver prowling around after you? You done something to offend her ‘highborn’ nature?”