I limit the contact I have with the Commissar. With the things have seen on Oremor, the things I know about, could get me killed by the Commissar. I will treat him he asks, but not otherwise.
Not really asked for, Lark proffers "Tell em the weapons they gave us were sh1te and we'd like something that doesn't look like a five year old could build it better" but doesn't have anything of worth to add as they linger.
Awareness (TN = 36):
"They're as tough as they look and as smart. Don't underestimate them, now go get patched up."
Planet Skrynne, Ruins Near Supply Depot 31
North of the guardsmen's position, the area surrounding the fort is chaotic. Gunfire and explosions reverberate, smoke and dust raised from tracked vehicles fills the air. Orks stream east, disappearing back into the jungle from whence they apparently came. Some pause, either to take stock or squabble amongst themselves.
Seeing survivors making their way toward the tree line. I snap off a few rounds. Better to kill a green skin today rather than it come back and kill ya tomorrow.
The sniper's first target is a burly ork armed with a giant cleaver. In its other hand it carries three decapitated human heads, tied together with their hair. The greenskin turns and bellows at other xenos, and it kicks a gretchin that passes by too closely.
Scope's shot drills into its chest and it is thrown back. As it sits up, angry and bewildered, the sniper fires again but misses. The sharp-eyed Dot, using powerful magnoculors, helps make micronic telescopic adjustments.
"Right ten, up five."
Before the ork can get to its feet, Scope's next shot scores and this time the beast does not rise.
Another target presents itself. Riding a misshapen, smoke-belching three-wheeler, an ork biker pauses to look back at the battle. Scope's shot misses the driver and caroms off the bike's twisted metal frame. The greenskin immediately revs the engine and drives into the safety of the forest.
A third ork enters the sniper's kill-zone. A hunched, lumbering monstrosity with long arms that nearly touch the ground as it moves, dragging a huge war-club. Scope sees that it travels with a severe limp and must be wounded. The greenskin stops for whatever reason, perhaps fatigued but the sniper does not care. Scope fires and the high-velocity round punches a fist-sized chunk of meat out the ork's back. It spasms in the grass. The sniper drills it a couple more times and the xeno is motionless.
"They're as tough as they look and as smart. Don't underestimate them, now go get patched up."
The commissar simply nods at the battle-scarred veteran's analysis. They approach the rendezvous point and with a wince Vex waves for the medic.
After hollering his unsolicited opinion to the sergeant, the weapons specialist turns north and moves past a large wooden building. Book shadows him to his left as they move across the field and scan for threats.
The sniper continues to fire at targets from his perch above the others. As shots ring out, Sarge waits for Murjoff to get more news from the vox. Dol is no longer present, he and Gerr making their way to the shuttle. The storm trooper and commissar approach.
Perhaps De'Lark is lax in his vigilance. Maybe it is innate overconfidence or temporary complacency. Most likely the specialist does not see it because he is unfamiliar with the planet Skrynne and its myriad hazards. He fails to note the slight change in the ground he moves across: a slight discoloration, some increased detritus, and a small bone stuck into the turf. A few meters from De'Lark there is a slight ridge or lip in the earth, effectively camouflaged by plant and soil materials. De'Lark blinks with disbelief as two black stalks coated with hair or barbs press out from the lip and a two-meter sphere of earth pops upward like a trap-door and a large arachnid, about half as large as a man, leaps forth.
Stunned, the weapons specialist can do little more than raise his plasma rifle in defense as the spider pounces. It rears up on its hind legs and attempts to drive two large fangs into the guardsman.
Book shouts, "Lark!" Too late. The spider springs and leaps upon the sporchi, causing him to yell once he feels the fangs pierce his flak vest and body. His chest goes cold as venom is injected and the arachnid tries to wrap its chitinous legs around the guardsman's back. De'Lark stares into a myriad of dull, black, lifeless eyes, just inches from his own, and he pushes back with his rifle to avoid falling beneath the weight of the creature.
Not aware of the danger below me I keep focused on the Orks making for the treeline.
"Sarge Orks breaking into the treeline. Nixed two, not sure how many got though safely before I got my cross hairs on them. At least one who got through is motorized."
Toughness (TN=40):
Initiative:
Mire spins around at Book's cry of surprise, eyes going wide at what he sees.
The appearance of the large arachnid is met with shock and shouts of alarm from Squad Mire.
The weapons specialist feels a dull ache throughout as venom seeps through his body.
The stormtrooper does not hesitate as he reacts to the new threat, shouldering his weapon and letting loose a singe shot in one fluid movement.
The stormtrooper does not hesitate as he reacts to the new threat, shouldering his weapon and letting loose a single shot in one fluid movement.
De'Lark struggles to keep the spider at bay, pushing back at it with his plasma rifle. The arachnid shifts backwards on all eight, crouching to spring again. It is then enveloped by the super-charged las-round from the storm trooper's hellgun.
The shot cooks through the black, shiny carapace of the arachnid's cephalothorax, leaving its front portion charred and smoking. The horror scrabbles in the brush and to De'Lark's alarm he hears the bug give a menacing hiss.
Despite the outbreak of shouting and firing beneath his position, the sniper maintains concentration. "Gretchin herd, 50 meters left," he hears from the spotter. From his prone position, Scope scans west and picks up on a pack of goblinoids some 600 meters distant. Smaller than orks, the sniper knows these creatures informally as 'ammo grotz.' True to their name, four of these little beasts pull a shabby-looking cart filled with ordnance. Through his high-powered scope, the sniper sees grenades and boxes of ammunition. Scope centers his reticule on the explosives and fires. He is rewarded when flames fill his ocular view. Looking up from the rifle, in the distance Scope can see a small inferno burning in the field.
The spotter crawls forward to see what the commotion is beneath them. Taking in the scene, Dot looks back at Scope and says, "You're not gonna believe this. They're fighting a great big... spider."
Moving back into position, the spotter mutters, "Spiders. Great. I hate spiders."
Back at the shuttle, Dol and Gerr race up the exit ramp. The hatchway has been completely blown off by tech-priests and the pair easily go inside. Moving past the now-empty infantry transport bay, the heavy gunner and loader enter the forward cargo area where the last of the Oremor vehicles are being lowered via hydraulic lifts by navy techs. Amid clamorous shouting from deck officers, blaring klaxons, and roaring engines, the entire bay is frantic with activity. Logistics ratings move boxes and equipment on sleds back and forth while grunts simply shoulder crates and lumber slowly towards freight elevators.
Amid the tumult Dol spots Sergeant Pagi, one of Company F's supply officers. Nudging Gerr in the ribs, the two race over to the non-com.
"Spider's eh?"
"Nothing like worrying about being dragged off in your sleep and sucked dry like a Oremorian passion fruit."
"They got it? Or do we need to redirect fire?"
As I await Dot's answer; I continue scanning down range.
I come up to Sergeant Pagi and snap a salute. When given permission I state, " Sir, I have orders from Commissar Vex and Sergeant Mire to resupply our heavy stubber and to bring back 1 canister for the companys plasmagun and 1 clip for each of our companies lasguns, and a clip for our companies sniper rifle. Sir"
" Also Sir, Sergeant Mire wanted to know the status of our operator with the Sentinel? Sir"
De'Lark attempts to bring his beloved plasma rifle to bear but the spider lashes out and knocks it from his hands. The weapons specialist pulls his chit-sickle from his belt and takes a swipe.
The mono-edged blade catches a fore-leg near the patella, it catches and De'Lark gives a vicious pull. With a sickly crack the leg breaks and the spider lurches to the side.
From his perch atop the building the sniper hunts for more stragglers.
As Scope surveys the battlefield he catches sight of something peculiar. At first he wonders if his vision is clouded so he blinks several times before looking through the sniper-sight again. An ork hustles towards the jungle-forest leading some sort of animal. At first the sniper thinks it is a dog but on closer examination it appears to be some sort of nasty creature with barbs, claws, and fangs. It snaps and slavers as it is pulled by its handler.
Whatever the monstrosity is, Scope decides it needs to die and he promptly drills it several times with his rifle. The ork handler rolls into the safety of some high grass and is gone from view.
"Spider's eh?"
"Nothing like worrying about being dragged off in your sleep and sucked dry like a Oremorian passion fruit."
"They got it? Or do we need to redirect fire?"
Dot looks back, scowls, and says with derision, "Thanks for the comforting thought." The spotter then crawls forward to look over the lip of the roof once more.
Sergeant Pagi is somewhat surprised by the appearance of the heavy gunner and his partner, nonetheless he promptly returns the salute. "Whaddaya got, guardsman?"
I come up to Sergeant Pagi and snap a salute. When given permission I state, " Sir, I have orders from Commissar Vex and Sergeant Mire to resupply our heavy stubber and to bring back 1 canister for the companys plasmagun and 1 clip for each of our companies lasguns, and a clip for our companies sniper rifle. Sir"
" Also Sir, Sergeant Mire wanted to know the status of our operator with the Sentinel? Sir"
"We're in the thick of it already, I know, I heard," says Sergeant Pagi. "As for the sentinels, that's easy. All armor was sent north to the station. Anselm left some time ago."
He gives a fretful nod towards the array of boxes and crates in the cargo bay, "Whoever packed this mess should be strung up. So far we've unloaded rations, rain-gear, and paper to wipe your arse... Just now getting to the ammo." Pagi shouts at one of his grunts lugging a crate. "But here now, what have we got?" He pops the latches and opens the box, revealing several drums of stubber ammo. The sarge gives a look about the bay, "Do you see any of them Munitorium desk-jockeys about? No? All right, Dol, this is probably the best I can do for ya. Better get outta here."
The non-com hands over two drums of stubber rounds. Gerr grabs them and says, "Thanks, sarge." The loader looks at Dol and grins, "Shall we?"
I grin back and to the Seargent, " Thanks you probably saved our lives. 8 orcs took most of my ammo."
I will move into range, if necessary, and aim, waiting for a clear shot. I. e. de' Lark gets out of the way.
"I don't know what the fegargo I just killed, but the spider looks more appealing."
I grin back and to the Seargent, " Thanks you probably saved our lives. 8 orcs took most of my ammo."
Sgt. Pagi winks, gives a nod, and says, "Later you can buy me a cup of whatever Throne-forsaken rotgut passes for drink on this skeit-hole."
Racing back whence they came, Dol and Gerr sidestep an anti-grav munitions sled and exit the shuttle via the aft rampway.
"I don't know what the fegargo I just killed, but the spider looks more appealing."
Still looking a bit put-off, Dot looks over the side of the structure and says, "Then get your sorry ass up here. It's about to eat the sporchi."
After a brief pause the spotter then mutters, "Which wouldn't be a bad thing, actually..."
I will move into range, if necessary, and aim, waiting for a clear shot. I. e. de' Lark gets out of the way.
Sparing the use of its ruined leg, the giant spider nonetheless is able to coil on seven others and spring.
As it leaps into the air the arachnid spreads its legs wide. Falling directly towards De'Lark, the weapons specialist sees the two hairy fangs which have already bitten him and also beneath those rows of small barb-like teeth.
Nearby Book squeezes off an ineffectual las-round, screaming incoherently, "Ee-Yaaaahhh!"
Dodge (TN=37+10=47):
For some reason the eight pointed star appear to shine upon one of the more recalcitrant of the Emperor's subjects and Hathin twists at the last second. The fangs of the spide tear through a join in his flak jacket, but their points slide across the bared flesh without leaving a mark.
Despite his wounded, bedraggled condition, the weapons specialist avoids immediate harm. To Sarge, De'Lark appears somewhat punch-drunk and he wonders what damage the spider's venom is causing. The arachnid continues to circle and hiss, spittle and poison dripping from its fangs.
Watching as De'Lark staggers backward after the spider-thing lunges for him again, Sgt. Mire raises his chain-sickle, thumbs the activation stud and charges toward the oversized arachnid before it can scuttle backward into it's tunnel.
The sergeant moves to aid the weapons specialist in time to see De'Lark shove the chitinous arachnid away from his torso. Up close Sarge is easily able to see the fangs withdraw from the sporchi's flak jacket and the non-com is left to wonder how De'Lark is still alive.
The arrival of the sergeant seems to confuse the spider; it pivots, raises its front legs and hisses at both guardsmen.
Trooper Drususon sees the commissar calmly lift his pistol, aim and fire.
As the spider coils to launch itself again, a loud shot rings out. A bolt round punches the insectoid at the base of two of its legs. The appendages are blown completely off, spinning the arachnid completely around and it falls to the green turf. From the joint where the legs were ripped free there is now a large hole in its abdomen. A sickly, white fluid gushes forth and the bug is inert and lifeless.
I will run up to De'Lark.
Grimly Lark collapses onto his knees, before leaning forward over the fallen bug. His knife is brought forth to stab repeatedly into the inert spider "Feckin piece of sh1t, fecking bite me will ye..." working out his rage for a span of seconds before he settles back on his haunches and his breath grows a little rattley and his face pales a little... but his leer remains unbowed.
Not sure if the weapons specialist is showing signs of shock or his usual murderous malevolence, Doc Zane races up to De'Lark who is in obvious need of medical assistance. Gingerly touches the sporchi on the shoulder, gently signifying his presence so as not catch a blade in the face. Seeing the two large puncture holes in De'Lark's flak vest, Doc swabs some samples of the spider's venom and also takes a quick blood specimen from the specialist.
I roll my eyes as Hathin buries his knife into the spider again and again. It's already dead you feckin' moron. All your doing is getting your blood pumping and moving the poison quicker through your system.
Good thing I usually don't say what I think. Live longer that way.
"Eyes back down range."
With the arachnid dead and the medic working on De'Lark, Sarge turns his attention to the battle. The orks make a full-scale retreat east and north away from the Brontian fortification into jungle environs. Unfortunately for Scope, no more targets of opportunities present themselves. Mire gets a nudge from Murjoff. Handing Sarge the handset, he says, "Cap'n Kluge is on the horn."
After exchanging acknowledgements, Major Scarpa's chief adjutant, Captain Kluge says:
<<Mire, we've got these green bastards on the run and vehicle units are in pursuit. We're going to set up picket lines in the surrounding jungles. Good job securing our flank. Saw you engaging the enemy when we moved out from Spina. Heard from Sergeant Pagi that your squad thwarted the enemy's attack on the shuttle. The major is happy about that I can tell you. I'm sure the navy would somehow hang all the blame on us for it being damaged if orks had reached it. Maintain your position. We'll relieve you in a bit with a squad rotation once we get things a bit more secure around the station.>>
Dot looks up from De'Lark's frenzy and takes up station at Scope's behest. After a quick survey the spotter says, "Too bad. They're moving away from us."
As the pair maintains vigil Dot breaks the silence, "Don't know what scares me more. The spider or that maniac De'Lark."
Moments after the arachnid's eradication, Dol and Gerr reunite with the squad. Seeing De'Lark covered in spider viscera and his own blood, Gerr says, "Gee Sarge, sorry we missed the bug hunt. We're locked and reloaded. Where do you want us?"
"Hey Sarge, figure we throw a charge down that hole just in case that crawler has any relatives?"
I let Dot's question fall. Some answers are best not pondered.
From his field medi-kit, Doc uses his bio-scanner and diagnostic cogitator to analyze the samples of blood and venom from De'Lark's system. The tests confirm what Zane suspects: the poison is an enervating agent meant to weaken and paralyze the victim. Due to his hardy constitution it appears that De'Lark is relatively stable, although Doc notes his speech is slightly slurred and he appears a little lethargic.
Just a few meters away from the dead arachnid is the lid to its lair which is slightly ajar. Hearing Scope's warning Zees looks at it apprehensively and levels his lasgun at it. Eschewing any potential danger, Doc moves to the spider's mangled corpse and uses a probe to extract more fluid from its venom sac.
"I know your going to hate hearing this, but you have to take it easier until we can get you to Medicae facility, and I can get to a lab to make a antidote. If it makes you feel any better about it, I know what I need to make the antidote, I just need the lab and time."
Lark initially tries to bat away the medic, but eventually succumbs to his probing hands and instruments. At the talk of bed rest and Medicae Lark brays a laugh "Feck that, ain't no need... I'm still good fer killin." forcing himself stoically back to his feet and looking towards the Sergeant with resolute jaw "Where do ye want me?... I've an itch to melt some flesh." patting his somewhat less than recently faithful plasma gun.
I shake my head at the carnage and lean up against the building keeping an eye on the ground looking for more trapdoors.
"Sarge, mind if I talk to you for a few moments?"