The first grenade flies long but Drips adjusts and the second seems to hit true
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Before Cormaeg has finished his sentence, Drip squeezes the trigger.
Dreamer swings the launcher he is manning to cover the area Vect indicates. "I have a shot, awaiting the word"
Need more stopping power Drip leaves the old mounted las and makes his way to the front of the ride, ducking past Thud as he looses another salvo. "Duct, if you're free, take my place and give 'em some love" He grabs the handles of the grenade launcher and swings it towards the horrors. The hard knock of metal on metal resonates as the pivot locks, well short of the angle needed. "Speaker, I can get the angle, back up and round. Find me a shot!"
I'll take that
Maybe its the sound of the mauler cannon, maybe its the tension in the vehicle. But Dreamer is up, awake, and manning the worn las mounted in the hull as if nothing has happened. Absent mindedly wiping drool, or maybe vomit, from his chin with the back of his glove. "Can't get a good angle here, are we engaging?" Regardless of the bad angle, he sprays the creatures, not wanting to look too closely, trusting Thud'dr's eyes to have ID'd whatever they were and judged accordingly.
During the journey so far Cuthbert has been periodically checking their tail, sighting down the mounted lasgun. By chance he is looking, just as the sky falls in upon them.
Cuthbert recoils from the weapon and slumps back into his seat. "Well that wasn't nothing." He stares blankly across at Grox for a second, then drops to the floor. Out cold.
Completely normal, standard-issue, best quality regimental Lasgun Ancient... The Famous Forgeworld of... Ryza. one common and two uncommon previous owners.
2 Common Quirks
Assuming I've read the tables right, Noice!
The war-horn blast catches the chimera and makes Drip jump. Rising out of his seat he sights down the rear facing lasgun to see what might be behind them
"Grox!" he gesticulates at his comrade implying he should take a look through the other hull mounted weapon.
Dreamer takes the other door 'seat,' opposite Grox. Once he is perched on what is optimistically called the 'seat' he begins his 'checks' each and every item he carries is touched in turn and mentally checked off. Spare las-clips, 1-2-3-4, check. Grenades, smoke: 1-2-3, krak: 1-2, Frag: 1-2. the count goes on... As he finishes, the last two items are the most obvious, his personal rocket tube is hung in a rack next to him, ready to arm at a moment's notice. Lastly his las, a shorter frame than the others in the squad, with what almost looks like a custom folding stock. Dreamer is careful not to catch anyone's eye as he arms the weapon and takes his final position. Seconds later the sound of the revving engines, the shouted orders, even the Ogryn's bellows seem to fade into the background. Like Dreamer is underwater. Replaced by a repeating tap of metal on metal, louder and louder, a woodpecker on his skull. His rifle is vibrating in his hands taping on the metal frame of the chimera. Just when he can't bear the deafening noise anymore he shifts and the tapping abruptly stops. His hands are still shaking. No-one else seems to have heard the deafening noise. Then the voice comes. Into hell again"Death claims the unwary or the incomplete. you will watch them all die as you have watched before "A true man may flinch away its embrace..." You can do nothing. you are nothing. "...if he is stalwart, and he girds his soul with the armour of contempt."
The voice is silenced once again, Cuthbert takes strength from his benediction. It is not fear, he knows that, it is doubt and truth be told, experience. His hands are now rock steady.
"Looks like Thud'dr had the right idea, without rockets these're just over-sized clubs" Hoisting one of the local launchers to his shoulder, Cuthbert runs through the rudiments of its operation for Grox "Not had any field experience with these. But the basic principles apply. Point this end at something big. Brace the thing, preferably resting it on something solid. Say the word 'ease', I'm told it stops your head exploding from the pressure. Then a gentle compression of the trigger spoon like so. That's about all I can give you on short notice. You won't be very accurate." He reaches for his own gear and removes a much more slimline tube. "I'll be using this when I can. I can load her myself but I can keep up a higher rate of fire, when needed, with support. I'll carry fresh rockets in a sling when we're on foot, they just slide in here, and that rune primes the tube."
Not much Cuthbert would want to requisition, just some more rockets/missiles to be honest. I've got 6 Krak, I'd like a couple more and maybe some frag/scatter? Plus he would make sure to check the other launchers and the chimera are well supplied with ammo
"...Good to know my friend. How about you? Grox is it? Can you handle a tube if it comes it?" He eyes the man's power fist, trying to work out if the thing is built into the flesh.
"Trooper... Mister... Pastor... Thud'dr?" It is clear that Cuthbert has not had a lot of dealings with Ogryn "How effectively could you wield one of these?" He could probably fire one on the move... Probably not very accurate though... Can his fingers even work the trigger? He hefts one of the shielded launchers and hands it to the ogryn.
"Ok sarge." Cuthbert flicks a glance at the Lt. in his view very much a "high-up." "The lieutenant's put me on the launcher tube. Making more bits of them than they make of us is what I do better than most. If I can be plain, Sarge, do you know where we're headed? Looks like we've been given a lot of launchers here. Are we to expect armoured resistance?"
Cuthbert is poised to drop from the chimera roof next to the motley quartet, when he reconsiders, not wanting to make another bad impression. He drops from the other side of the vehicle and approaches on foot. Drawing himself to his textbook attention. "Sergeant. Private Drips." He is not as thrown by the obvious pre-existing bond between his squad mates as one might think. The regiment had suffered extensive losses in recent years and almost constant rearrangements meant being ready to drop into all sorts of social arrangements.
Cuthbert walks around the vehicle slowly. "Not the worst ride I've had the pleasure of using. Are we med support sir? Or just lucky?" Hoisting himself up, he stands on top of the tank. "I'd be a good option for the launcher sir, one of the best." There is no irony in his voice, no false modesty "It's a shame we don't have a gear head with us, we could try and mount one of those siege launchers up here. Wouldn't want to try myself, on account of the spirits, Sir." Looking down he spots a newcomer approach, atop the chimera, he crouches on his haunches to watch.
"Clear as Sacra, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
"Standard Las, Sir?"
His eyes flick over to where he has left his kit in a pile, a couple of carry-alls and two weapons cases. "Yes sir, standard las. And launchers. Shotguns, autos, las-locks, bolt-action, stubbers... Carbines. I can turn my hand to most in a push. If I may speak freely sir?" His pause I barely long enough to catch a breath, let alone reply "These local launchers are inadequate for the effective mobile operations of the modern guard. Sir. They will require a static and stilled strategy that is not suitable for mechanised advance. I recommend we only make use of them in the direst of circumstances. Sir." He is still stood to attention in full salute. But for one misdemeanor he has not even moved his eyes.
Sorry, I'm away from my laptop for a few days. Not sure what I'd try to requisition. I'll be back with my precious pdf's tomorrow so I'll check then. For the moment, Cuthbert is not very impressed with the local launchers and would like some extra ammo for his own launcher. I'm more than happy to chase down some hapless local and requisition it myself.
As the ogryn slumps, he reveals a much smaller guardsman behind. The man is looking through the crates of gear next to the chimera.
"Spinward drift, that will need adjusting for. There'll be kick too..." Flicking from one hypothetical target to another, he realises too late that he has a 'target lock' directly between the eyes of his Lt. He drops the weapon, wincing at the clanging impact, and throws a parade ground salute, eyes locked to the middle distance. "Private Drips, reporting to muster as ordered, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Before Cormaeg stands a private, his uniform is... Perfect. Not the unblemished perfect of a fresh recruit, nor the starched crispness of a try-hard. There is just no element of the well worn uniform that even the strictest commissar could find fault with. The man is otherwise unremarkable: tallish, blondish, a classic trooper.
En Route to Atria
A New World a New War
Karakathonia 1
Mechanical Effect = 38 Insanity, 4 Corruption,
I'll read up on what all that means mechanically and then get to writing up his story so far and spending some XP. Cuthbert is intended to be a grunt soldier. Lasrifle in hand, trudging to war, surrounded by madness. While I'm here...
Cuthbert's milestone rolls: First Blooding
Assault on Hive Spire 1
Assault on Hive Spire 2
I'd like to introduce Private Drips. 'Dreamer' to his comrades. I've set him up him as fresh faced recruit (special weapon trooper), ready to age like a fine wine. Cuthbert joined the guard on the recommendation of his fiance's very good friend, Brian. Cuthbert is very thankful for this recommendation and talks often about his betrothed, Mary, and how happy they will be together "when all this is done." That's why they call him 'Dreamer.' Meanwhile it can be imagined that Mary and Brian are having a great time together back home. |