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Verik Vancaskerkin

Deathstroke Clade Vindicare's page

57 posts. Alias of Huntarr.


1 to 50 of 57 << first < prev | 1 | 2 | next > last >>

"Renegade Space Marines. Chaos. Performing some kind of malefic ritual."

Spending Fate point to get 20 for Init.

"Kill them all! For the Emperor!"

Deathstroke draws his Exitus pistol and shoots the Human involved in the ritual in the head, hoping to disrupt it if it's not too late.

"Zaddion, forget the manufactorum. Return to the Hall of Justice. Chaos sighted!"

1d100 ⇒ 45 vs 73 Called Shot, Half Action to Aim

Damage 2d10 + 4 ⇒ (7, 6) + 4 = 17 Pen. 9

"Quick. Get inside! We need to find whoever is behind this and put them down before they rip the whole forsaken planet apart!"

Deathstroke activates the Auspex in his spy mask, searching for lifesigns within the facility.

(Uhm, I didn't send him to the medical area. I sent him to the mineheads.)

"If the mineheads are clear, move to the manufactorum. Rescue any tech priests you find and tell them to sit tight."

Deathstroke kills several more inmates during this conversation.

Deathstroke follows Sariel, covering his flank with his lathe blade.

Sticking to the shadows, Deathstroke maneuvered to rejoin Sister Justine and Brother Sariel. They needed to move fast, because whatever was going to happen would happen inside and quickly.

Deathstroke observed the situation with a sigh and a frown.

"Deathstroke to the Commander in charge of orbital forces. We need air support at the Hall of Justice. ASAP."

Deathstroke turns and heads back to the hall at a dead run, stealth temporarily forgotten.

Deathstroke slipped from the building, and headed to the manufactorum to the north.

Deathstroke radios the group.

"Brother Sariel and Sister Justine should check on the Hospitallers of the chapel. Zaddion should investigate the mineheads. Don't go underground without backup, though. I'll take the manufactorums."

Huntarr turns and is struck silent by the absurdity of the entire situation.

(Is the Hall of Justice cleared and secured?)

"Split up. We can do this faster as individuals. Just be prepared to respond to calls for assistance. Scorched Earth. If it's not wearing an official's uniform, assume it's an enemy. If you can find out what's behind this, do so. The sooner we eliminate the source, the sooner our duty is done."

Deathstroke fades into the shadows, using his spy-mask systems to search for living people in the building as he goes.

Silent Move 1d100 ⇒ 12 vs. 81
Concealment 1d100 ⇒ 81 vs. 81

"Let's get this facility cleared. Everybody maintain radio contact. Once we finish here, we'll move out into the city proper."

Deathstroke heads towards the roof of the facility, clearing each floor, room-by-room.

Deathstroke consults the maps that he has of Saint Annard's Penance. Plugging the coordinates into his sky eye, he sends the drone to get maps of the closest manufactorum.

He addresses the highest ranking Arbite:

"Arbite, what is your name?"

After receiving an answer, he continues:

"You're going to be pulling double duty. First of all, you're responsible for keeping this area secure. Get on the vox and get as many loyal Arbites to regroup here as you can."

"Secondly, you will act as an information officer. We will have questions about people and places. It'll be your job to answer those questions expeditiously. Do you understand?"

"Brim, old friend, we need you to get the Vox back in working order. Seal yourself in with the guards. They can protect you while you work. The rest of us are going to check this place from top to bottom and figure out what went on here. Then we're going to find the people who did this and kill them."

Deathstroke brings up the rear of the group, ensuring no attack from behind as they move towards the command center.

1d100 ⇒ 14 vs 81 Silent Move

"Aid is here. Police this area. Gather up and inventory all weapons and gear. If you find anything with strange markings on it, brig it to our attention. I understand an Inquisitor came down a few days ago. Do you know anything about him or his retinue?"

Deathstroke wanted to keep them busy so that they couldn't dwell on what's going on. The last thing he needed was panicked Arbites.

"We're on a penal world where the prisoners outnumber the guards by more than a thousand to one. We have a week until the surface of this world will get viral bombed into oblivion, and we have no idea who is actually behind this. I would say that Resistance is In Extremis. We'll be fighting block to block to our goal, unless we come up with something suitably clever."

He waved the Guardsmen over to where he stood. He addressed the trooper of the highest rank.

"Trooper, sitrep." (He spoke in Military Tongue, to give them a sense of familiarity.)

He allowed the Sky Eye to continue to run, gathering intel on locations and strengths of allies and enemies, street layouts, and building states. (We can use this info to come up with an actual plan.)

Deathstroke activates his Sky Eye before moving out to confront the Horde with sword in hand.

"We need solid intel. Deal with these scum, and hold position."


1d10 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12

Deathstroke nods at the Commander.

"Then we better get moving."

Deathstroke moves onto the shuttle and straps himself in.

"How long do we have before bombardment begins?"

Deathstroke was neither surprised or unnerved by this turn of events. Working under a ticking clock of doom seemed to be standard operating procedure for the Holy Ordos.

Deathstroke takes picts of the hologram from all angles, via his Spy Mask.

"What types of air defenses does Saint Annard's Penance possess? Can we be dropped off inside the prison itself? We can keep the prisoners busy while your ground forces organize. And we should move quickly, before they consolidate their hold on the defenses."

Deathstroke would look grim if anyone could see his face.

"To be honest, Commander, if Heresy is involved, a large portion of your forces down there may not be yours, anymore. Would explain how the prisoners were able to plan and execute on such a large scale without being detected."

He looks at Brother Sariel.

"I think if we ensure the prisoners don't get control of the command center, it'll go a long way to stopping this thing in it's tracks."

"Brother Sariel speaks the truth of it. We will assist in retaking the prison in a manner that I believe will meet with your approval. Quick, surgical strikes to remove the ring leaders. Once that has been accomplished, things should return to what passes as normal. All we need are maps, a list of likely suspects to engineer such a rebellion, and an Aquila Lander to get us down there. We can start with ground control to find out why contact was lost."

"Commander, I'm Deathstroke, an Imperial Throne Agent."

Deathstroke holds up the Inquisitorial Rosette.

"What information do you have about the uprising, thus far?"

"No problem. Go ahead. I'm going to the top of the food chain."

Deathstroke switches to a command frequency to see who everyone is deferring to in the chain of command. Then he will comm that signal privately and offer assistance. All the while, he continues to move towards the shuttle bay with the intention of requisitioning a ride to the planet's surface.

"Uprising on the planet. I figure I can find out more at the shuttle bay."

Deathstroke slipped on his Spy Mask as he moved through the crowd, activating the runes that would allow him to listen in on the comm chatter of the Naval security forces.

(Deathstroke speaks Secret Tongue: Military. What are they saying? What orders are being sent out?)

(Deathstroke is already moving.)

"Time to go to work."

Deathstroke heads out with his duffel and follows the troopers to the shuttle bay.

"No, not yet. After I get refreshed, I'm thinking about arranging transport to the planet. I'd like to see this Inquisitor Bramstrok for myself."

Deathstroke stands and moves into the refresher. After his shower, he suits up once more, and moves back to the main room to run a complete weapons check and to reload his magazines.

"A captured renegade should have some interesting tales to tell."

(Just a note: Clade=Temple Deathstroke Clade Vindicare is the same as Deathstroke of the Vindicare Temple. His name is simply Deathstroke.)

"Nothing relevant thus far. Any chance you left some hot water for anyone else?"

Deathstroke nods, and turns back to the Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant, could you please inform the Medicae bay to inform us immediately of any change in the Inquisitor's status or condition? It is imperative that we are kept apprised, and I'm certain that the medicae would be ill-at-ease with several people such as us tromping through their medbay, not to mention the other patients."

After receiving his answer, Deathstroke goes into his room and immediately moves to the indicated terminal to begin his history lessons.
He filters the most pertinent data about the Inquisition, Bramstrok, and any mention of Clade Vindicare in the last 500 years.

"As in as yours...."

"Haven't you heard? Everything old is new again." Deathstroke said with a slight tilt of his head to indicate that he was smirking behind his mask.

"Five centuries is a very long time. Do you have a Librarium that we can use to catch up on current events? How stands the Imperium?"

"What livery did these Marines wear? Which Inquisitor did they accompany?"

Deathstroke was slightly relieved that there was another member of the Inquisition nearby.

"Thank you. And you are...?"

Deathstroke sat back, and started using his spy mask to listen in on he military's communications, to ensure that there were no nasty surprises waiting for them on the station.

Deathstroke slowly shakes his head.

"Jealous? No. Cautious, and far from stupid. This situation is rife with the possibility of overreaction and misunderstanding. Don't add to it."

Deathstroke stares at Zaddion.

"Put those things away. These men are on edge as it is. Are you trying to get Inquisitor Drakos killed?"

Deathstroke grabs his duffel of equipment and boards the vessel, sitting next to Brim for the trip to the station.

"He'll be okay, Brim. We'll make sure he gets the best care possible."

"Brother Sariel is quite correct. You men, follow me. I will take you to the Inquisitor."

Deathstroke leads the men to the Inquisitor's stasis pod, but he never lowers his guard for an instant. 500 years is a long time to not know what is going on.

Deathstroke holds up the Imperial Rosette as he had been the one tending to the Inquisitor.

"Did you bring a medicae as requested for the Inquisitor?"

"Please insure that your transport is appointed for Astartes. One will be accompanying us."

Deathstroke waits for the hubbub that is about to ensue.

"I am Deathstroke Clade Vindicare, Imperial Throne Agent. Sending bona fides now. We have been adrift and in stasis for 5 centuries, Commander. Please understand that if the codes seem a bit out of date."

Deathstroke touched several buttons to broadcast their Inquisitorial Codes.

"Is there anything else that you require? Inquisitor Drakos is in dire straits."

Deathstroke's sigh was barely audible as were most of the things that he did. He moved to another cogitator array to attempt to identify the nearby vessels.

"We are an Inqusitorial Vessel that was set adrift due to catastrophic damage to our navigational array. We guard the Inquisitor Jack Drakos, who is in need of immediate medicae attention. Can you assist?"

He awaits a response from the hailing vessels.

How much longer till we move along?

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