A slightly smaller Mess

Jax: "I reckon." *he steps from cover, as does Serah*

+If you say so tough guy+

Serah: *Under her breath* "You have no idea..."

the knights seem to almost chuckle before turning to the ship
Serah can swear she hears the sound of electric guitar coming from one of em
OOC it's the immigrant song

Serah grunts, and sprints forwards towards the ship's hangar door with speed evidently boosted by her armour, taking great loping strides. Graceful and with purpose.
Jax jogs after her, falling behind quickly, especially as he periodically halts to bring his rifle up, putting his eye to the scope, searching for the source of some sound or movement.

OOC WE COME FROM THE LAND OF THE ICE AND SNOW
FROM THE MIDNIGHT SUN WHERE THE HOT SPRINGS BLOW
IC its obvious however, the knights are deliberately slowing down for them

Serah: "How are we to open the door, young knight?"

+Well, first we gotta clear a path again+

Serah: "As the emperor wills."

+You're a bloody laugh a minute you are aint ya?+

Coming to a halt, her back to a shattered pillar, previously holding a guard tower aloft. Before the knights had their way with the area. She replies in deadpan. "You will see laughter soon."

+Oooh spooky+
+Alright knock it off brother. Make sure you leave a few for them, eh?+

Jax: "Mark em and we'll drop em."

Serah slings her bolter, unclipping the bolt pistol and chainsword from her hips.

*audible chuckling*

*Across the vox to serah* +Clear off any that climb on our new friends. Don't need them getting taken out.+

Serah: +Of course.+

With that, serah turns around the pillar, and begins advancing from cover to cover, in short sprints, towards the assumed position of the enemy.
Jax meanwhile, finds an elevated spot, ducking into a building across the street, and climbing a ladder to the roof, flipping out his rifle's bipod, and settling down.

Laurence walks across the wooden floor of his home's balcony. Resting his hands on the low wall at its edge. He looks out upon the violent sea. Waves batter the cliffs, two hundred feet below, water cutting into the stone with inexorable force. Sidonai stands at his back, flesh and bone flowing like water. The daemon's volatile form shifting its appearance with horrible speed. Male and female, alluring and terrible all at once.

He steps back from the wall, glancing at the amesac on the small table, just one bottle, half empty already. Not enough, not enough by far. He pours a glass anyway, sitting in one of two chairs of fine ironwork. Absent minded, he holds out an open palm, drawing moisture from the air until it pools in his hand. Pulling it together, and drawing the heat from it, he creates a small chunk of ice, and drops it into the glass. "How long will i wait, to watch my home burn? I did not take the warriors for sadists."

Sidonai takes the seat opposite, facing the house rather than out to sea. "I would savor victory... The anticipation of the blow is sweet."

Laurence looks down into his glass, and mutters. "Did I truly set you upon my enemies?"

The daemon's lips open into a smile, flashing perfect teeth, that become bladed fangs as it speaks. "You did..." The creature licks its lips with a tongue longer than its mouth should accommodate. "They irritated you, so you ordered them killed. It is of no consequence... to an inquisitor, how death is dealt, only that it is..."

"Perhaps... Perhaps."

In orbit over the paradise world, a small contingent of renegade ships descend into bombardment range. Most seem to be acting as escort for the lead ship...and it stands out from the others. It bears the colours of the legion, albeit with hints of green scattered about. Its armour and hull seem rotted and decayed like the flesh of a long dead beast, its engines coughing and belching noxious gasses into the void. To even view the ship is a challenge, as it is obscured by clouds of buzzing, disease ridden insects, somehow surviving against all possibility in the vacuum of space. Before long the ship has entered bombardment position above the planet, and its weapon systems open up. No lances or torpedoes are launched, no searing beams of energy or shells of high explosive soar towards the planet's surface. Instead, objects similar to drop pods, albeit somewhat flimsier and smaller, begin to speed towards the population centres below....

Across the city, atop the tallest buildings, and in the wide commons, the squat forms of anti air platforms have been planted. Wide legs, topped with missile emplacements, or rapid firing cannon. They light up the darkening sky with streams of tracer and tracks of half burnt rocket fuel. The crews are fresh, inexperienced, They trust in the emperor, and in their commanders to lead them though. To defend their home.

The pods speed towards the surface, through the storm of fire that faces them. Those that are hit rupture, spewing their contents into the atmosphere, which seems to be some kind of gaseous substance. Those that penetrate the storm, smash into the earth below, similarly rupturing, releasing their contents at ground level.

Those guardsmen and members of the planetary defense forces which have them, enact gas drills as soon as they see the oily vapor. Some, however, are lacking, and some are simply too slow. Inhaling the foul gas.

for now....nothing happens. the bombardment ends, the ships returning to high orbit.

Those who inhaled the gas are laid out, and seen to by those soldiers with medicae training, the others remain at their posts, breathing heavily through gas mask filters.

they seem to be just fine

Once more, the terrible wait begins.

days later, the first symptoms set in. not everyone who breathed in the gas shows them, but some who did not show it also. Their flesh seeming to begin to rot while they're still alive

questions go up the chain of command. And orders come back down it. With too few commissars the carry out the deed, officers put down the infected. The bodies are burned. Laurence does not come down to the bunker level, and his order to remain there to the others is not changed.

before long lyanna requests to see him

For the first time in four days, the bunker door opens, and Laurence walks down, accompanied, as always, by the Daemon. Lyanna can see the shift in his appearance, back to what it was when she first met the man. The dark bags beneath his eyes, and the faint smell of alcohol. "You asked to see me?" The usual upbeat swing in his speaking is gone.

Lyanna: This city is fucked.

"I know." he replies blankly.

Lyanna: you know what this is?

"Walking pox. They're shooting the infected and burning the bodies. Gasmasks are mandatory."

Lyanna:...why the hell do you think gasmasks will help?

"Morale."

Lyanna: morale will just drop faster when they realise it won't work.

"They're already dead. I may as well give them a modicum of hope."

"Its worse than that and you know it"

"They'll hold, and buy is precious time. The commissars should have faith enough to hold the infection at bay."

Lyanna: They're not sororitas. They're not strong enough.

"So far, no commissar has fallen ill, despite executing the infected themselves. A measure of protection."

Lyanna: this is nurgle. The infection is smart. They're already infected en masse, its just incubating within them. They're carriers for it.

"That's why the city is closed. No one in, no one out... When it takes hold i'll give the order, and the city will be shelled. The regiments inside will be hailed as heroes who held off the first wave.... Unless you have a better suggestion?"

Lyanna: why are we waiting that long?

"Because shelling our own men, while they appear alive and well. Isn't a great idea for morale."

"appear to whome exactly? Eachother? when you're going to shell all of them anyway?"

"The officers? The ones who i need to keep the others in line?"

lyanna: who, the ones likely carrying the infection as we speak?

"They are outside the city. They were not inside it when the infection landed. Meetings upon meetings, as is their usual."

"And these guns? and the men with which you plan to fire them?"

"Outside the safe limit."