Emerik looked around for the little a+!$*$~ who kept setting him on fire. His armour was going to take days to repair and reconsecrate, and that meant asking the Engineers for help. And they were always a little weird.
Scanning the shadowy intersection, Albaras see furtive movement beyond the rent and torn doors.
Emerik moved towards the doors, guns aimed out just in case they were hostile. Just in case they weren't he didn't simply spray the area with lead.
With a bestial cry, three figures spring from the darkness: a hulking ogryn, and two mourners in their ubiquitous gray cloaks. The ogryn rushes at Konstantine, swinging a great cudgel. The howling mourners sprint towards Binerith.
Albaras fires a volley over their heads, but they don't check their suicidal charge.
And actually I believe the apparently cursed Albaras has suffered a weapon jam.
The Ogryn swings his leaden club.
Binerith fires a short burst, from his las-carbine, at arm's length away from his attackers, blasting them down.
Konstantine fires a short burst into the charging brute.
The heavy club (apparently a section a pipe) pounds Konstantine in the right arm.
Alekseevna is next.
Apparently Alekseevna is trying to angle herself for a better shot.
So what of Albaras? Is he attempting to un-jam his weapon?
Emerik didn't have time to unjam his gun right now, and simply switched to firing the other. The Ogryn was the biggest threat, literally, and so he opened up on it.
The thick slabs of muscle under his faded leather apron soak up most, though not all of the damage that your point-blank shot-gun blast does.
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.
So that's a hit, with one degree of success.
Your shot almost went wide, but you still managed to blast a huge chunk of flesh from his right bicep. He'll probably be swinging that huge maul with a little less enthusiasm.
He grins. He wasn't the size of the ogren. But his weapon made up the difference
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Okay Albaras, the Emperor has smiled upon you: it appears that you didn't jam your weapon again and can actually attempt to shoot the Ogryn (taking a +10 modifier for his size/range).
Emerik shot the monster again with his unjammed gun.
The Ogryn's right leg crumples, as Albaras' shot-gun blast reduces to his knee to red ruin.
And with that we begin a new round.
The Ogryn, his brutish face beaded with sweat, clumsily swings his club.
The heavy clubs whistles through the air, narrowly missing.
Binerith, seeing that his opponents are unmoving : "Brother Konstantine, do you require assistance? "
"I will be okay. They are sluggish and clumsy. Should be able to dispatch them post haste" With that he opens fire into the Often
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Konstantine's spreads the Ogryn's guts down the corridor, sending his body reeling back.
The stink of blood and cordite fills the corridor.
Binerith :"I think we can say that the 'field' belongs to us."
"Good enough," Emerik grunted. He glanced over at Konstantine. "Can you check the body for anything useful while I unjam this damned gun?"
Mayweather comes limping out of his latest hiding place, whimpering like a beaten child.
Binerith inspects the cultists he slew.
Binerith : "Interesting comrades, they bear a tattoo that is closely similiar to the same epigram we saw on Haarlock's monumental crypt:'Death is but a door.'"
Albaras, Alekseevna(?), and Konstantine, please make a challenging (+0) Perception test please.
Emerik took a look around, to see what could be seen.
You're at a T intersection; right at the juncture of the two corridors, there's a pair of wide, massive doors, now heavily pocked with bullet holes. One of the doors is sagging on its hinges, with a gaping hole about midway up; apparently the Ogryn was smashing the door into kindling when you arrived. Through the hole the two of think you might have seen motion.
Reloading both weapons as a precaution, Emerik moved to the door, quietly peeking through and getting ready to feed anything inside with the blessed produce of the Machine Gods forgeworlds.
Through the jagged rent in the door you're looking into a spacious mourning chamber, dimly lit by illumen globes in the room's corners.
Just inside the door is a pale face, a bloodied PDF tunic just visible below it.
Guardsman: "Don't shoot!"
"Name, rank and duties, soldier." Emerik aimed a gun as well, just in case that tunic had been taken off a dead soldier. PDF might not be the Imperial Guard, but some of them weren't far off. Then again, some were little more than a hive gang funded by the people up top. Depended on the world.
Guardsmam : "Pontius Hahler, Lancearii, 3rd District Bastion regiment!"
"We thought we were done for when that Ogryn started smashing in that door!"
He slowly opens the door. At the rear of the room, at an ornate sarcophagus, another soldier is slumped. A third guard member is sprawled out on the floor.
"Wounded and dead? And I'm glad we could be of service. Can we have a report?"
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Emerik nodded to the man and went to see what state the other two were in. 'Not good' was all he could tell from over there, and he didn't have Medicae training...
The guardsman at the door has taken a slug to the right arm: a crude tourniquet has stopped the bleeding, but his arm hangs uselessly at his side.
A female guards-women is standing warily by the sarcophagus: she has suffered several superficial wounds.
The guardsman on the floor has joined the Emperor's Court of Immortal Heroes.
"Brave. All of you. But what are you doing here?" he says as he shakes his head a little
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Guardsman with wounded arm : "Were doing a patrol, when we came across poor Marvlus, who had been shot up pretty badly. We're trying to get him to an aid station; when those damnable heretics came across us. We ended holing up here!"
Female Guardsman : "What's going on out there? As anyone set a distress call? "
"Unclear," Emerik replied, moving the dead man into as dignified a position as he could. "We weren't in a good place when whatever has happened here...happened. We don't know what's going on, or why." Looking at the PDF, he rolled his neck. "You have two choices available to you. You can come with us, as we seek to escape, or you can remain here. I cannot say for how long this place will remain safe with the door like that," Emerik nodded to the shattered remains, "But it is your choice. If you stay, I will note the location and send help if and when I can, but promise nothing more. If you come with us...I can't say you'll survive. I don't know what's out there. But you'll die killing the enemies of the Emperor, and you say it proudly when you stand before the Golden Throne."
Checking his guns, the Guardsman smiled slightly. "Your choice. I will take no one who does not wish to join."
The two troopers discuss it between them: while they talk you notice the the room is noticeably hotter that the corridor outside.
Male Trooper : "Well, if you're going to try to get out, then we're with you. But we can't leave Marvlus here for those jackals!"
"We can't take him with us, either. Not easily. If you wish, we can burn the body. This seems the place for it." Emerik shrugged. "Marvlus stands by the Golden Throne now, issued with a lasgun from the Emeperor's own hand, armoured in the light of those who died in the Throne's service. I don't think he'll care what we do with that now."
Female trooper : "There's a crematory furnace just beyond those doors." She gestures towards the far end of the room. "Can you get the door for us?"
She begins to lift Marvlus, while her wounded comrade awkwardly tries to help.
"We will protect you till your comrade has been set to rest. Then we must hurry, i do not wish to be cornered. How does your weapons look like? Enough charges?"