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Only War: The Forsaken

Game Master Eradico Pravus

Cast from a blighted homeworld, the Guardsmen of Company F fight for the Imperium of Man along the war-torn Spinward Front. Despised by enemies, disparaged by allies, they have no one to trust except themselves for they are... The Forsaken!


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Following Scope's lead, Dot keeps tracking through the magnoculars while talking in a whisper, "You nailed it good. These things are tough. Go for a head shot? Its skull is probably inches thick with a brain the size of a walnut. I dunno... maybe the throat."


Male Weapons Specialist

Slowing his jog to a slow walk, then stopping Hathin looks out at the xenos to the North that looks to have regained the rokkit launcher. Turning to Book "Book, keep him cautious" he slowly and carefully puts his plasma gun to a shoulder and lines up the ork. A few desultory laser shots ring out from his pious companion to keep the target guessing as Hathin draws in a breath and holds it. Squeezing the trigger his gun grows warm and gives a solid kick as a bolt of plasma roars forth towards the ork...

Half-action aim, half action standard attack. Book providing assistance, standard range.
BS (41 +10 +10 +5 = 66): 1d100 ⇒ 33 for 1d10 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14 Pen 6 Energy damage - Hit to Body
39/40 shots left in clip 1


Male Human Sniper

"Throat huh..."

As the Ork line continues to move toward us. The next round slides into the chamber.

"Good a idea as any."

I prepare to fire.


Male Human Operator

Im going to be waiting for my decisive roll, and hopefully pass it when the time comes.


Male Sergeant

Sarge will try to get something actionable out of the Brontians over the vox

The Warmaster wrote:
Murjoff removes the receiver from his ear and glances up at his NCO. "Hey boss, I got one of the Brontians on the horn. Not getting much out of him and he sounds kinda panicky. You wanna talk to 'em?"

Still trying to trudge forward with Murjoff trailing behind him, Sgt. Mire squats in the muck of the shuttle-carved trench, and grabs the receiver from his adjutant, resting his carbine against the earthen wall and placing one hand firmly over his other ear.

"This is Sergeant Mire of the Oremor 4th, we're taking heavy fire approximately half a click south/south-west of Supply Depot 31. Engaged with greenskins at this time, unknown greenskin contingent moving west to east through ruins. Heavy casualties sustained on debarkation from lander; what is your disposition, say again, what is your disposition!"


Edwin turns to Scope's spotter and gestures to the ork some 150 meters from their position.

"Trooper Vinara, the green bastard is going for the damned launcher. See if your boy can put some rounds on him."

With that the burly stormtrooper takes off at a run. He crosses the broken ground left by the shuttles passing and slides to a stop in the western furrow, some dozen meters from the shuttle.

Edwin takes a run action, moving diagonally 18 meters. This moves him 12 meters (6 squares) left and ~13 meters (7 squares) up, bringing him to rest in the rightmost square of the leftmost furrow.

Taking my initiative a bit early, but I wanted to get my post in so that we can move things along.


"Sarge" wrote:
"This is Sergeant Mire of the Oremor 4th, we're taking heavy fire approximately half a click south/south-west of Supply Depot 31. Engaged with greenskins at this time, unknown greenskin contingent moving west to east through ruins. Heavy casualties sustained on debarkation from lander; what is your disposition, say again, what is your disposition!"

The sergeant's transmission is met with a burst of static. After a few seconds a shaky voice comes over the receiver:

<<Message received and acknowledged. This is Supply Depot... ***SSHHHKKKKK!!!*** ...under heavy attack. Fecking Greenskins. Northern wall has been breached. [Brief pause followed by small-arms las-fire.] We're pinned. My C.O. just took a round to the head. [Another pause as you hear some sort of explosion.] Not looking good here. Saw your shuttle fly in like a drunken skyrasaur. Hope to throne you can push some men north. We'd appreciate it. Watch your right. Majority of Orks are pushing in from woods east of your position. Feck! [Sounds of strafing on rock.] Emperor Protects! Vox-operator Lavoy, Brontian 4th, out.>>

After another burst of static the vox-set goes dead.

Sgt. Mire, make a Perception Test


Hathin De'Lark wrote:
...Squeezing the trigger his gun grows warm and gives a solid kick as a bolt of plasma roars forth towards the ork...

Book's fire causes the Ork to take a few side-long steps after which it takes a knee and prepares to take aim. A half-second later it is engulfed by super-heated plasma energy, which temporarily engulfs the Greenskin.

Pen 6 completely bypasses torso armor. 14 hits - 6 TB = 8 wounds delivered. 6 wounds remaining.

Although the Ork is now smoking and singed, it somehow remains upright.


Edwin Drususon wrote:
"Trooper Vinara, the green bastard is going for the damned launcher. See if your boy can put some rounds on him."

As the Storm Trooper sprints off, Dot mutters, "Some unit we're in. A Sarge, a Commissar, and a boy toy. Too many cooks in the kitchen if you ask me."

Drususon's movement is noted for round 3.

Dol and Vex are up.


Anselm:
Deiros, I apologize for the interminable wait. Believe me, your action will have significant consequences one way or the other. I added Dolf's dialogue simply in case you wanted the role-playing opportunity. Thanks for your patience!


Male Sergeant

Perception = 38, 1d100 ⇒ 51


Male Human Sniper

I know full well what would happen if that Ork gets the Rokkit Launcher. Those men in the shuttle would be as good as dead.

"Switching targets. Give me wind variance on the Greenskin with the Launcher."

I wait for Dot's coordinates so I can adjust my pips on the target.

"Sarge I softened up the nearest Runtherd. Need you to touch em off."


Male Heavy Gunner

Gerr trying something new. These dralk are moving around to much. I am going to see if I can get them to duck their heads.

Ok I think i am going to do this right. I am going to do some suppressing fire. From what it says in the copy I have its a Hard BS teste with no modifiers. BS=34-20=14 1d100 ⇒ 44


"Sarge" wrote:
Perception = 38, 1d100

Sergeant Mire, seasoned veteran of many a campaign, knows all to well what it is like facing a ferocious onslaught with one's back to the wall. Difficult to discern is whether the Brontian vox-operator's message reflected some exaggeration or a genuinely dire plight for Supply Depot 31.

As he takes the receiver back Murjoff reads the face of his NCO and asks, "Try Da Capo?" Asking of course should he attempt to contact the overall commander of Company F, Major Scarpa.


Dol wrote:
Gerr trying something new. These dralk are moving around to much. I am going to see if I can get them to duck their heads.

Pulling the trigger, Heavy Gunner Siegrfried dol'Tregre pulls the trigger on full-auto and unleashes a barrage of hot lead towards the charging Orks and Gretchin. He fans his heavy stubber, causing clouds of dirt and dust erupt all around the Greenskins.

Your interpretation looks correct to me, Cat. A pinning test will be required of the Orks/Gretchin next round.


Male Sergeant

Hearing Scope's words, Sgt. Mire moves to the opposite side of the makeshift trench, sizing up the wounded runtherd down his carbine's iron sights. Settling the folding stock into his shoulder, he answers Murjoff.

"See if you can get the Major, Enzo, if anyone can make sense of this tactical mess, he can. Some air support would be nice, but I have an inkling we're the only reinforcements those Brontians are going to get for a while!"


Male Weapons Specialist
The Warmaster wrote:
A half-second later it is engulfed by super-heated plasma energy, which temporarily engulfs the Greenskin.

As his plasma strikes home Lark smiles genuinely for the first time since he last killed. Roaring as he opens his arms "Eat the fire ye feckin' xenos bastard." taunting the ork though he knows he's likely well out of earshot.


"Sarge" wrote:
"See if you can get the Major, Enzo, if anyone can make sense of this tactical mess, he can. Some air support would be nice, but I have an inkling we're the only reinforcements those Brontians are going to get for a while!"

Murjoff hunkers down, starts adjusting the frequency dial and says, "On it, Chief."


Commissar Vex takes note as Gunner Dol sweeps the landscape with lead from his stubber. "Excellent work Guardsman! Keep it up!"

The Commissar fires a round from his bolt pistol.

Shooting at Runtherd #2
BS (32) + half-action aim (10) - running (20) - long-range (10)= 12
Rolling,
1d100 ⇒ 93


Skrynne Southern Hemisphere
Near Supply Depot 31
45.818.M41

If they happen to glance back, the Guardsmen nearest the shuttle can see that the mangled exit-hatch has been blanketed in flame-retardant foam and the fire from the Ork rocket has diminished almost entirely.

The burning port-engine of the shuttle is another matter entirely. Fire shrouds the entire assembly and flames lick ominously close to a second jet-housing immediately beneath it.

Into the Fray--Round Four

Tactical Map

Each square=2 meters
Guardsmen with a comrade can assume their comrade is in an adjacent square unless noted otherwise.
Guardsman Tartare and his comrade are kneeling underneath the shuttle, attempting to vent fuel from the burning engines. This action will be completed on round five.
The brown furrows created by the shuttle’s landing gear provide AP 2.
Smaller green brush-trees provide AP 1.
Dilapidated buildings, rubble heaps, low stone walls provide AP 4.
The nearest buildings are approximately 30 meters away from the shuttle.
The main battle between Brontian and Ork forces is off map, approximately .75-1.0 km north-northwest.

The runtherd and gretchin are running (-20 to BS to hit)
The gretchin are "weedy" in size (additional -10 to hit)
The western-most Runtherd is severely wounded. The lone Ork to the north (off-map, approx 150 meters from "Point A") is wounded.

Initiative Order
Anselm 13
Scope 12
Doc 10
Orks 8
Sarge 7
Dol, Vex 6
Drususon, Lark 4

All:
Realized that I forgot to make dodge attempts for the Orks last round. Arg! Will get this combat thing down eventually!

Please continue to let me know if/when I make any mistakes with regards to your location or actions. Thanks!


Beneath the shuttle Anselm tries to recall every last bit of Mechanicus lore with regard to fuel systems. When unsure of the correct sequence he simply trusts his gut and Guardsman savvy.

"Lookit' that!" Exclaims Dolf, "Those lights went green. Gettin' a response from the main fuel tanks... I think you're on the right track... Dammit! Temperature gauge is spiking on engine three!"

Scope is up.


Male Human Sniper

Aiming for the throat/base of the neck.

Ballistic Skill (1d100=29)

Here's to hoping Dot's suggestion works. I watched all the holo vid's on how to kill these things and I'm fresh out of idea's.


BS (43) + Spotter (10) + Short Range (10) + Single Shot (10) - Called Shot (20) = 29/53, hit by three degrees. Roll damage.


Male Human Sniper

Sniper Rifle Damage (1d10+4=14)


Scope wrote:
Sniper Rifle Damage (1d10+4=14)

14 - TB 6 = 8 wounds delivered. Ork wound count 6 - 8 = -2 wounds plus additional damage per Righteous Fury (see below).

Through his sight Scope clearly sees the Ork resting the launcher on its shoulder ready to fire. Compensating for wind and bullet drop, the sniper targets the beast's throat.

The shot is dead on and strikes the area just above the laryngeal prominence, crushing the windpipe and shattering the spinal cord. A mist of viscera and blood sprays out the back of the Ork as it topples over, hitting the ground like a sack of wet rockcrete.

Dot says, "The neck. Hm."

Doc is up.


Male Human Sniper

There is a grim satisfaction seeing the Ork drop. One shot, one kill. Shame it took so many rounds. Goes to show those damn propaganda vid's on killing the Ork's was just that. As always learn what you need to in the field. Proud of Dot. Did good.

"Guess you are good for something."

I crack a smirk.

The Rokkit Launcher is neutralized for now. More men can make it off the shuttle without a

"Acquire me another target per favore ."


Will NPC Doc this round.

From their position in the trench, Doc and Zees add las-fire against the Greenskins.

Targeting Runtherd #2
BS (30) + Comrade (05) + Single shot (10) - Running (20) = 25.

1d100 ⇒ 44

Doc misses; Orks are up.


Northwest of the Guardsmen's position the Runtherds and Gretchin come under the withering fusillade of Dol's heavy stubber.

Each Greenskin is within the arc of fire. Due to the Mob Rule trait the Gretchin receive various bonuses (due to proximity of fellow Gretchin). The two Orks are outside the range from each other to receive a bonus.

Runtherd #1, WP (26) - Hard (20) = 6, roll 1d100 ⇒ 28 Note: already prone due to damage received.
Runtherd #2, WP (26) - Hard (20) = 6, roll 1d100 ⇒ 61
Gretchin #1, WP (22) - Hard (20) + ally (10) = 12, roll 1d100 ⇒ 94
Gretchin #2, WP (22) - Hard (20) + ally (20) = 22, roll 1d100 ⇒ 13
Gretchin #3, WP (22) - Hard (20) + ally (20) = 22, roll 1d100 ⇒ 48
Gretchin #4, WP (22) - Hard (20) + ally (10) = 12, roll 1d100 ⇒ 96

The heavy gunner's suppressing fire causes the entire Ork mob to immediately hit the deck. The only exception is a lone Gretchin (#2) charges 10 meters to the south before taking cover behind a large scrub-brush.

At a bellow from one of the Runtherds, the Greenskins return fire.

Due to low BS, -20 for pinning, and long-range modifiers, each will only hit with a 1:
Runtherd #1, 1d100 ⇒ 34
Runtherd #1, 1d100 ⇒ 50
Gretchin #1, 1d100 ⇒ 40
Gretchin #3, 1d100 ⇒ 15
Gretchin #4, 1d100 ⇒ 1

One hit, random roll to determine target (1-Edwin, 2-Sarge, 3-Vex, 4-Doc, 5-Dol, 6-Scope), roll 1d6 ⇒ 5

Dol, please make a dodge roll.

As before there is no sign of any Orks amid the building structures. Nor is there any immediate threat to the north where two Orks lay dead near the now-discarded rocket launcher.

Sarge is up.


Scope wrote:

"Guess you are good for something."

I crack a smirk.

The Rokkit Launcher is neutralized for now. More men can make it off the shuttle without a

"Acquire me another target per favore ."

Dot grunts in acknowledgment and says, "Nice shot. Only targets in range are northwest. They've gone to ground."


Male Weapons Specialist

Noticing that the runties coming in from the West are pinned down, Lark calls back over his shoulder to the rest of the squad. "You ladies planning on joining me?" while setting a wary eye to the buildings to his North East.

Stay in place and Overwatch against any targets presenting themselves from the buildings to the NE. If one appears, I'll fire off a standard attack.


Male Sergeant

Hearing Hathin's yell from the point position, Sgt. Mire grunts in reluctant acceptance that for once his hot-headed weapon specialist is tactically correct. Sizing up the situation quickly, he begins barking out orders of his own, shouting loudly to be heard over the din of the weapon's fire.

"Dol, keep up the suppressing fire! Scope, one of those greenskins so much as takes a peek at us, you put him down. Everyone else, advance to Lark's position and set up a de fillade on those 'herders, we should have fire coming from the rest of the company debarking off the shuttle coming soon enough"

Signalling Murjoff to move ahead, the Sarge sights down his weapon again, aiming for the wounded runtherd crouched prone under Dol's withering stubber fire.

BS = 30, (+10 for single fire, -10 for Prone target), 1d100 ⇒ 64, a miss.


"Sarge" wrote:
Signalling Murjoff to move ahead, the Sarge sights down his weapon again, aiming for the wounded runtherd crouched prone under Dol's withering stubber fire.

The vox-operator nods and scrambles north along the furrow-line.

Dol, we need to resolve your dodge-roll before you post an action.

Vex is also up.


"Sarge" wrote:
"...Everyone else, advance to Lark's position and set up a de fillade on those 'herders, we should have fire coming from the rest of the company debarking off the shuttle coming soon enough"

"Very good, Sergeant!" replies Commissar Vex. He pulls his chainsword from its scabbard and turns to the rest of the squad, "Into the breach, men! Glory awaits!" The political officer toggles the melee weapon causing the chainsword to roar into life and then charges headlong after De'Lark and Murjoff.


Male Heavy Gunner

Dodge unskilled Agl 34/2= 17 1d100 ⇒ 21

I am in disbelief as one shoots back that I stumble into the furrow trying to get out of its way.


Male Human Sniper

Hearing Sarge bark out commands I reply with a simple.

"Affirmative."

I keep my sights down range. Making minor adjustments depending on windage.

I ignore the Commissar's zealous blather. Before campaigns end he will either eat a bullet, or we will die so he can get another medal pinned to his chest.


Dol wrote:
I am in disbelief as one shoots back that I stumble into the furrow trying to get out of its way.

Dodge attempt just misses. Grot Blasta damage: 1d10 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7, 7 - TB (3) = 4 wounds delivered (8 remaining).

After catching his balance, Dol puts a hand to his temple and finds blood streaking down the side of his face and neck. Somewhat in shock, the heavy gunner realizes an Ork round must have glanced off his temple.

"Throne! Are you OK?" asks Gerr, a hint of panic in his voice. Looking to the others he shouts, "Medic!"

Dol is functional and may take his action(s) this round.


Male Human Medic

As soon as possible, I will make my way to Dol.

"I'm on my way. Come on Zees lets go."


Male Heavy Gunner

lol I have been waiting to use this line.

"What!? Yes I am ok I aint got time to bleed."

Keeping the suppressive fire up. BS=34-20=14 1d100 ⇒ 33


Shaking off his wound, Dol continues to pour fire at the Runtherds to the northwest.

Relieved that his partner is all right, Gerr waves in acknowledgment to Doc and stands ready to switch out ammo cans when needed.


Hathin De'Lark wrote:
Stay in place and Overwatch against any targets presenting themselves from the buildings to the NE. If one appears, I'll fire off a standard attack.

To the north Orks storm the Imperial compound. From the west the Runtherds fire towards the shuttle. From the south comes Guardsman las and stubbers shots. Despite the sounds of fire all around him Weapons Specialist De'Lark maintains vigilance with his gun raised, scanning the structures east and northeast of his position.

Overwatch mode engaged until your initiative next round.

Drususon is up.


Male Human Medic

"Just because you have a hard head, doesn't mean I shouldn't check you out."


Edwin stays low as he sprints down the jagged furrow left by the shuttle's landing.

Edwin takes a run action, moving 18 meters (9 squares) north.


Skrynne Southern Hemisphere
Near Supply Depot 31
45.818.M41

With the rocket fire extinguished in the rear shuttle exit, Guardsmen begin trickling through the mangled steel of the doorway and rush down the ramp. Other troops use emergency exits on either side of the grounded craft.

To the north the gatehouse protecting the main entrance to Supply Depot 31 is rocked by a large explosion. Debris and dust is thrown into the air as some sort of concussive topples the stubber-nest atop the wall. The iron doors to the compound wrench inward as several large Orks lob grenades and rush in. From the east comes the growl of loud, raucous engines and several Ork Warbikes buzz about the facility.

The fire that engulfs the shuttle engine rises in intensity. Where before it flared and spouted orange flame and smoke, it now burns with a steady yellow intensity.

Into the Fray--Round Five

Tactical Map

Each square=2 meters
Guardsmen with a comrade can assume their comrade is in an adjacent square unless noted otherwise.
Guardsman Tartare and his comrade are kneeling underneath the shuttle, attempting to vent fuel from the burning engines. This action will be completed this round.
The brown furrows created by the shuttle’s landing gear provide AP 2.
Smaller green brush-trees provide AP 1.
Dilapidated buildings, rubble heaps, low stone walls provide AP 4.
The nearest buildings are approximately 30 meters away from the shuttle.
The main battle between Brontian and Ork forces is off map, approximately .75-1.0 km north-northwest.

The runtherd and gretchin are prone (-10 to BS to hit)
The gretchin are "weedy" in size (additional -10 to hit)
The western-most Runtherd is severely wounded.

Initiative Order
Anselm 13
Scope 12
Doc 10
Orks 8
Sarge 7
Dol, Vex 6
Drususon, Lark 4

Anselm is (finally!) up.


Beneath the shuttle Guardsmen Anselm Tartare and Dolf Korelo continue to manipulate the emergency bypass system in an attempt to vent fuel from the burning shuttle engine. If the fire reaches the main fuel tank the ship will essentially become a giant petroleum bomb and could potentially incinerate anyone inside or in the immediate vicinity. As the bulk of the Oremor Penal Legionnaires remain inside the craft, the situation is dire.

Dolf smacks the assembly housing with a small utility tool and shouts, "Frag it all, 'Selm! Frag this! Are you sure you can make this work? Temperature dials rising. Engine three reaching critical levels..." Lights wink, controls bleep, and Dolf settles down somewhat. "OK, bypass override looks better. Port auxiliary control is green... Do you throw the switch or do we rewire the whole damn board?"

Hard Tech-Use Test required, earlier successful Tech-Use Test (during round one) mitigates the difficulty somewhat, and you receive a further bonus for Comrade assistance. If Operator Tartare invokes his "Put That Out!" order through appropriate role-play, Comrade bonus raises from +05 to +10.

Tech-Use (40) - Hard test (20) + 6 degree success bonus (20) + potential Comrade bonus (10) = 50. Please post and make a Tech-Use roll.

Deiros:
OK, here it is. Thanks for your patience! Degrees of success or failure will have additional consequences.


Male Human Operator

"Alright, I need you to FOCUS, or we are all going to be eaten by these damn greenskins, and I hate to look like an extra crispy version of myself... and hope that who ever it's my pinky finger chokes and dies if I do." letting go a nervous laugh as I imagine how actually horrible the ensuing explosion and burning would be That is assuming there is anything left of me to be made into "extra crispy" "Ok! We probably have no time to do the whole rewiring so, we are just going with the switch, you get ready and if anything begins to look worse use the extinguisher or get out and run as if you had any place to do so anyway and let the Emperor protects my pink arse!!!" as Anselm moves the switch.

[dice]1d100{/dice]


Male Human Sniper

I keep my finger relaxed on the trigger. Will stay in over watch until a target presents itself, and hopefully pop its head off by seperating the neck from the body.


Anselm Tartare wrote:
"Ok! We probably have no time to do the whole rewiring so, we are just going with the switch, you get ready and if anything begins to look worse use the extinguisher or get out and run as if you had any place to do so anyway and let the Emperor protects my pink arse!!!"

Dolf studies the panel for a moment, "All right. Worst-case scenario looks like we can engage environment protocols and activate fire-control systems." As Anselm reaches for the switch Dolf closes his eyes and quietly invokes, "Emperor protects."

Well played, Deiros, +10 comrade bonus awarded. Looks like your roll did not post correctly. Please re-roll, Tech-Use w/modifiers (50).


Male Human Operator

G%! d*$n it, that's what I get for typing with one hand while I handle the house tyrant with my other one

1d100 ⇒ 90

Fate Point for re-roll

1d100 ⇒ 2


Operator Anselm Tartare spent many an hour working the grease-pits of the motor-pool back on Oremor. But that time was usually spent underneath his beloved Scout Walker or less-favored cantankerous Chimera. Those are simpler machines. The auxiliary control system of a space-capable transport vessel is a much different issue. Unfamiliar with most of the rites and rituals for electronic systems, Tartare gives his best guess as to the function of several switches and toggles, let alone the sequencing. Yet the voyage aboard the void-ship which brought the Oremor 4th to Skrynne now bears fruit: who would have thought a night-cycle of playing cards and drinking rot-gut with lowly tech-mechs could save perhaps hundreds of lives? Anselm's memory of that drunken evening is fuzzy at best.

"No, Tartare, you stupid git! Those are overrides!" said inebriated Tech-Mate Botour, "You can manipulate shuttle systems from any of these access points!"

Down-cycling what he believes to be fuel lines to the the shuttle engines, Anselm then toggles another series of switches that should open apertures to allow fuel to vent.

Seeing his buddy close his eyes and lift a prayer to their God-Emperor, Anselm can only wonder if he won't be immolated in the back-wash of a huge explosion. He throws the switch.

Tech-use successful by five degrees.

On the data-bank above his head, numerous lights wink. Above the din of battle Anselm believes he can hear the shuttle engines wind down.

Beside him Dolf shouts, "I don't fragging believe it! Temperature gauges dropping!... Pressure dropping!" Tartare sees several dials go from red to yellow to green. "You fragging genius! You did it!" Tartare recoils when Dolf gives him a joyous blow to the arm out of relief and happiness.

Devoid of fuel, the inferno which engulfed the engine quickly dissipates and becomes a low burn.

"C'mon 'Selm. Let's go get some Greenskin!" says Dolf.

Deiros:
Fate-point well spent! Too funny about trying to post amid household distractions. I empathize!

Scope is up.


Scope wrote:
"Acquire me another target per favore ."

"Ten degrees left," whispers Dot, "That Greenskin is beggin' to be put out out of its misery."

Scope, your spotter indicates the left-most Runtherd which is clawing its way forward despite severe injury.

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