What Moors in Starlight?

I personally think RTs are underused in 40k. Liked, they're arguably as powerful as inquisitors provided an inquisitor isn't about, but WAY more freedom for fun and fuckery.

Want to extort a planet dry? Want to conscript a bunch of dudes? Want to have sanctioned xenos? Want to potentially boss around space marines?

It's all in the fun package of having your own ship and hype squad.

Light Cruisers, Heavy Cruisers, and Battle Cruisers? Sure

Grand Cruisers? I guess.

Light Cruisers, Heavy Cruisers, and Battle Cruisers? Sure

Grand Cruisers? I guess.

Fucked up little guy

Fucked up horse

Woman (dead)

Woman (Wet)

Woman (dead) (wet)

"Our last friendly contact was more than a day ago. No one has been here, that we know of."

A small but perceptible stiffening rippled through all of the gathered Red Wolves as the Rogue Trader revealed his objective. All, save the Lieutenant himself, who remained cool in the face of it. He nodded once, settled into a combat stance, and turned towards the encircling dead. "Fall in then, Karstann," he said, gesturing, "and sync your vox channels to ours."

The Lieutenant took point, squad forming around him with the Helix Adept in the center, and started cleaving a path back the way they'd come. "Form a wedge until we get into the stairwell, then stagger our numbers in line. Keep the Adept in our center if you want to live." A secret not so well kept as those on the black ships, the aforementioned Adept indicated her person by lifting a hand again- as if the emblems were not evidence enough.

Two of the Red Wolves took to the fore, two more flanking to the side of their medicae, leaving space between them for the black-garbed retinue to fill. If Karstann so chose... The front center was there to take. Regardless of his choice, the Astartes pressed forward into the writhing Unbelievers, pulling the trigger only when a cluster pressed too close. Nyko, for her part, had only a powerblade drawn, more focused on reinforcing her negative presence than anything else.

Nyko could do nothing as the group descended. It should be a compliment to the retinue that there were no undead for her to dispatch, but a not so small part within her felt shame that the best she had to offer was not the skill to lead them through these tribulations, but the power of a mutation she had merely been unlucky enough to be born with. An Emperor's blessing as much as it was a curse, she resolved to wield it with as much ferocity as the Rogue Trader was with his chainsword... If for no other reason than to feel as if she were doing something to help. Anything.

The humming kept the worst of the thoughts at bay. The worst of her ego from driving her to insubordination and undue risk. The even beat set a predictable tempo to her movements, which made it all the more difficult to let her mind run away with negativity. Or ideations of grandeur. Idle hands, idle thoughts, and all that schola grox shite. A tenth, a tenth, a tenth again, our victories to atone, Nyko hummed on, watching the Rogue Trader look back. It could mean only one thing if they shared knowledge of such dour marches... Nyko let that little surprise sustain her through the cloud of pessimism.

As the Red Wolves and their compatriots did the wetwork, she would continue on the dry, holding up the field around them to stave off the overwhelming numbers.

...

There passed a hardwon hour of corpse slaughter, down the same way the Red Wolves had come on their ascent. The Lieutenant had let the Rogue Trader's words hang in the vox unaddressed in that time, choosing to deal with the knowledge when it became pressing.

The time had come, and it was pressing.

"Our last friendly contact was more than a day ago. No one has been here, that we know of."

A small but perceptible stiffening rippled through all of the gathered Red Wolves as the Rogue Trader revealed his objective. All, save the Lieutenant himself, who remained cool in the face of it. He nodded once, settled into a combat stance, and turned towards the encircling dead. "Fall in then, Karstann," he said, gesturing, "and sync your vox channels to ours."

The Lieutenant took point, squad forming around him with the Helix Adept in the center, and started cleaving a path back the way they'd come. "Form a wedge until we get into the stairwell, then stagger our numbers in line. Keep the Adept in our center if you want to live." A secret not so well kept as those on the black ships, the aforementioned Adept indicated her person by lifting a hand again- as if the emblems were not evidence enough.

Two of the Red Wolves took to the fore, two more flanking to the side of their medicae, leaving space between them for the black-garbed retinue to fill. If Karstann so chose... The front center was there to take. Regardless of his choice, the Astartes pressed forward into the writhing Unbelievers, pulling the trigger only when a cluster pressed too close. Nyko, for her part, had only a powerblade drawn, more focused on reinforcing her negative presence than anything else.

The Brawler banked, playing it's nose bolter over an encroaching swarm of the risen dead. "Throne on Terra there's a lot of these frakking things." The small gunship slowed, until it hovered in place over the teeming hordes of the undead. "This AO is warpfrakked to hell, Captain, what are we even looking for out here."

The Red Wolves had climbed the tower days before, when safety was a reasonable confidence. Setting up a base of operations there to lend aid to the manufactorum's starport, the administratum building should have been a sure point of refuge. The line had been drawn while the rest of the remaining forces retreated up the well, and for a day, it had worked. Then, someone in the ranks turned. What had been indeed a place of safe harbor, quickly turned to... This.

Now, the squad was facing down the barrel of an unfortunate gun. There were no allies coming to their rescue, and the gunship had been stowed three days before, shipped offworld in anticipation of their later escape.

Manic corpses welled up out of stairwells, seethed in tangled, corpulent chunks out of doorways and halls, drawn by the scent of warm meat. Just ten more minutes. You just need to make it ten more minutes. Nyko fell back from a flooding lift column, dragging her wounded comrade up and away from the hands trying to claim him. Ten more minutes, and then ten more after that. When she drew near to the hungry congregation they flinched back, cacophonous in their displeasure. Like being struck, the innumerable Unbelieving toppled away from the Hex Adept, leaving their kin to rise up in their place... And tumble away again, in pain.

Ten more minutes. A mantra, a tool. The thought kept her focused on what was directly ahead of her, instead of the broader picture around them. They would win the game of attrition eventually, Nyko knew. In no scenario would the squad's limited ammo see them to the starport before they were overtaken. It was a numbers game at that point, and though the swathes of the enemy recoiled at her presence, they did not sleep. They did not eat. They did not stop. Still, it was better to see her squad through the next ten minutes, than it was to dwell on their rapidly diminishing odds.

"Cover me! I need to patch him before we can move again!" Nyko leaned down over her battle brother, searching for the source of the blood even she slammed a connection home into the back of his helm. Come on, come onnnnn...! Beside them, the three other Wolves circled and laid down interlaced, periodic fire. The linked systems between Nyko and the injured Marine found the damage swiftly, a shaft of rebar run clean through in the softer armor between the ceramite, hidden from visual by merit of the blending colors. We should have picked different colors for our armor.

The blow hadn't been fatal, but it had been lucky. A hair's breadth any direction, and it would have meant severing an artery. Working against the undead clock she cut off the portions of metal sticking out, dressed the wound, and pressed a dose of Stimm into his suit's intake. Until there was time enough to remove the rebar and pack the wound properly, it was safer to leave it in.

"Come now, time to move."

For all her being an Untouchable, it did almost nothing to stop the endless undead from trying to. They pressed in on all sides as the squad pulled back up another level, staggered formation pulling back in leapfrog fashion. Desperate for some breathing room, the lieutenant barked out an order to hold. "Adept, give us some space! I think I hear a ship inbound."

Nyko blew out a breath inside her helm, wishing she could rub away the exhaustion etched on her face. "On it."

The thing they don't tell you about being a Pariah... Is that it's not like tensing a muscle. It's almost like... It's almost like turning yourself off. Relaxing to the point you don't know where you end and the world begins. How do you do that? How do you direct an ability like that?

The sounds of lasfire only two levels above them registered to the Wolves surrounding their Adept, but it would have to wait. Nyko let the armor hold her up for the precious few seconds she needed, sagging into it as she did her best to let the adrenaline fade. The noise of war and oncoming death, going mute. As smaller boots made their way into the open office floor the Red Wolves stood in, they would be met with a tangible wall of uncomfortable pressure. As if laid upon by wet blankets fashioned from unease, a powerful absence of something could be felt here. No... Not an absence, but a void.

Below the floor they were on, discordant screams from rotting throats could be heard, bodies spilling out of windows to pop, wet and bloated, against their allies far beneath. Nyko came back to herself, the precious few seconds she was 'gone' just long enough for the interlopers to assemble.

At the Rogue Trader's apologetic tone, Nyko turned and backstepped towards the group, sharkish helm grinning in the dusty light. "If you can stay long enough to follow us back down, we won't need to be." The crush in the corridor began to bulge, members underfoot dragging themselves free of their trapped parts, smearing entrails in their wake. The Red Wolves held their fire, conserving what little ammo remained to them.

"Hmm." The lieutenant considered Nyko's words a moment, then nodded. "The Helix Adept has the right of it. If you can reinforce our advance, I am confident we can make it to the starport."

"What, or where, is the asset in question?"

The Brawler banked, playing it's nose bolter over an encroaching swarm of the risen dead. "Throne on Terra there's a lot of these frakking things." The small gunship slowed, until it hovered in place over the teeming hordes of the undead. "This AO is warpfrakked to hell, Captain, what are we even looking for out here."

The Red Wolves had climbed the tower days before, when safety was a reasonable confidence. Setting up a base of operations there to lend aid to the manufactorum's starport, the administratum building should have been a sure point of refuge. The line had been drawn while the rest of the remaining forces retreated up the well, and for a day, it had worked. Then, someone in the ranks turned. What had been indeed a place of safe harbor, quickly turned to... This.

Now, the squad was facing down the barrel of an unfortunate gun. There were no allies coming to their rescue, and the gunship had been stowed three days before, shipped offworld in anticipation of their later escape.

Manic corpses welled up out of stairwells, seethed in tangled, corpulent chunks out of doorways and halls, drawn by the scent of warm meat. Just ten more minutes. You just need to make it ten more minutes. Nyko fell back from a flooding lift column, dragging her wounded comrade up and away from the hands trying to claim him. Ten more minutes, and then ten more after that. When she drew near to the hungry congregation they flinched back, cacophonous in their displeasure. Like being struck, the innumerable Unbelieving toppled away from the Hex Adept, leaving their kin to rise up in their place... And tumble away again, in pain.

Ten more minutes. A mantra, a tool. The thought kept her focused on what was directly ahead of her, instead of the broader picture around them. They would win the game of attrition eventually, Nyko knew. In no scenario would the squad's limited ammo see them to the starport before they were overtaken. It was a numbers game at that point, and though the swathes of the enemy recoiled at her presence, they did not sleep. They did not eat. They did not stop. Still, it was better to see her squad through the next ten minutes, than it was to dwell on their rapidly diminishing odds.

"Cover me! I need to patch him before we can move again!" Nyko leaned down over her battle brother, searching for the source of the blood even she slammed a connection home into the back of his helm. Come on, come onnnnn...! Beside them, the three other Wolves circled and laid down interlaced, periodic fire. The linked systems between Nyko and the injured Marine found the damage swiftly, a shaft of rebar run clean through in the softer armor between the ceramite, hidden from visual by merit of the blending colors. We should have picked different colors for our armor.

The blow hadn't been fatal, but it had been lucky. A hair's breadth any direction, and it would have meant severing an artery. Working against the undead clock she cut off the portions of metal sticking out, dressed the wound, and pressed a dose of Stimm into his suit's intake. Until there was time enough to remove the rebar and pack the wound properly, it was safer to leave it in.

"Come now, time to move."

For all her being an Untouchable, it did almost nothing to stop the endless undead from trying to. They pressed in on all sides as the squad pulled back up another level, staggered formation pulling back in leapfrog fashion. Desperate for some breathing room, the lieutenant barked out an order to hold. "Adept, give us some space! I think I hear a ship inbound."

Nyko blew out a breath inside her helm, wishing she could rub away the exhaustion etched on her face. "On it."

The thing they don't tell you about being a Pariah... Is that it's not like tensing a muscle. It's almost like... It's almost like turning yourself off. Relaxing to the point you don't know where you end and the world begins. How do you do that? How do you direct an ability like that?

The sounds of lasfire only two levels above them registered to the Wolves surrounding their Adept, but it would have to wait. Nyko let the armor hold her up for the precious few seconds she needed, sagging into it as she did her best to let the adrenaline fade. The noise of war and oncoming death, going mute. As smaller boots made their way into the open office floor the Red Wolves stood in, they would be met with a tangible wall of uncomfortable pressure. As if laid upon by wet blankets fashioned from unease, a powerful absence of something could be felt here. No... Not an absence, but a void.

Below the floor they were on, discordant screams from rotting throats could be heard, bodies spilling out of windows to pop, wet and bloated, against their allies far beneath. Nyko came back to herself, the precious few seconds she was 'gone' just long enough for the interlopers to assemble.