A slightly smaller Mess

+Affirmative. Warning, there appear to be some kind of pods being jettisoned from the ship+

"Do we have a landing location...?"

"Within the bombardment zone"

"Well. Then give the order to fire when they land."

+Roger that+

"And make ready to move... They're making a landing zone. Its time to do our job."

"Yes my lord"

Laurence rises to his feet, the black clad soldiers scattered around the hilltop following suit, from their kneeling and alert poses. "Whatever lands there, and isn't dead from the bombardment, we're going to deal with."

it doesn't take long for the guns to start singing

As the many barrels blare their tune, the imperium's grandest church organ, Laurence and his motley entourage are on the move. He and his masked warriors move with the same lithe grace, seeming to float across the earth, feet barely touching it, despite their heavy boots and heavier armaments.

In his now shared quarters, the once-captain of the dauntless class light cruiser Emnity, looks into a small mirror, a straight razor held in his fine augmetic hand. The white porcelain is worked with traceries of silver, which function both as decoration, and as the direct interface of the mind impulse unit embedded in the base of his brain.
He pulls the blade across his skin slowly, removing the short growth of greying hair from his cheek, grown in the time since he last undertook this part of his daily ritual. Severe in appearance, and to most people, in temperament, he is a firm believer in ritual. The hardening of the mind and soul by habit. However, in times of late, his ritual has been disrupted by first, a total lack of responsibilities, and then, by a new one.

+My lord, we are detecting dropships. Super heavy. Similar to thunderhawks.+

a slightly squeaky little voice pipes up
"Whatya doin?"

+Continue the barrage. And have a squadron of lightnings in the air, but have them hold outside engagement distance. they could be Gunships.+

He washes the accumulated soap and hair from the blade, in a bowl of tepid soapy water beneath the mirror. He turns, most of the soap cleared from his face by the blades passes now. "I am shaving. It is important to stay presentable." His tone is stern, but there is an edge of fondness in it. Almost a fatherly tone, but not quite. Perhaps closer to a distant grandfather.

"Roger that"

"Whyyyyy?"

As they continue to move towards the landing site, one of the black clad soldiers, with IV stencilled in pale grey on their shoulder, points out a low rise, outside of the orbital bombardment area, and the group adjusts their direction towards it.

"Because for people to respect you, you must look respectable." He wipes the blade on a cloth, and folds it closed, putting it down gently on the side. Turning around properly, he wipes his face dry on a hand towel.

"Sir, reports back about the dropships. Large. Heavily armed and armoured. Void shielded. Design is unknown to our pilots."

"....okay!"

Laurence pauses for a moment, probably contemplating the volume of fucked he is. "Have the squadrons called off, there's nothing they can do."

"So, young lady, you had best have your hair tied up properly, hadn't you?"

"affirmative sir....sir the squadrons report engagement by enemy air superiority fighters."

"...but why've I gotta look all Respectabuble?"

"Draw the enemy into the anti aircraft batteries, and disengage."

"So people know to respect you... And we're going out today."

"Affirmative, transmitting orders.... Pilots report hostile aircraft remaining close to landing zone. Defensive formations."

"out? how? we're on a ship, we can't breath out there"

"Withdraw the fighters. Save the fuel."

"To a different part of the ship. We're going to go and see someone."

"Affirmative"

"...ooooohhh? who?"

Reaching the low hill, they get eyes on the landing site, still burning from the bombardment.

"A friend of mine. You're to be on your best behaviour."

around now the Castellum strongholds are landing, emplaced weapons already armed and ready, shields powered up

"oooo *smiles* You have a friend?"

The soldier with "I" stencilled on their shoulder speaks up. "How do you rate our chances of an assault?"

Laurence: "Without alerting them to my presence?... Low."

"Could you make a tear?"

Laurence: "over this distance, yes. But... loudly."

A smile pulls at Nicholas' mouth as he picks up a hair tie from the dresser and crouches down to tie up her hair. "I took you to see Catheryn not two days ago."

the stormbirds are landing too. void shields erecting in great bubbles, astartes disgorging from the hatches.

"she counts as a friend?"

Laurence glances over at the mechanicum ruststalker. "Any suggestions?"

"Of course. We have been friends for a long time."

"Negative. Our numbers are too few. Direct engagement offers almost negligible chance of survival. Hostiles have already established defensible beachhead, well fortified, and well manned. Enemy strength here will only grow. Suggest performing recon as long as possible, then returning to defensive lines."

she giggles
"only joking"

Number one shrugs. "The cog man has a point."

Laurence: "True enough. We'll sit here for a while and watch."

He smiles as he ties her hair into a neat ponytail. "All done. Shall we go and see my friend now?"

"affirmative sir"

"okay!"

Waiting occurs

Our adorable duo wanders off to see if they can't go find Caiber

for now, more troops, and tanks, are landed. in worrying numbers.

it takes em a bloody long while

Laurence: "You know... I really want to be in amongst that..."

and where do they find him?

he notes a worryingly large area close to the centre of the LZ has been left bare

in the engine room

"... Thats encouraging."

Byrne: "Caiber!? I know you're in here!"

the skitarii is looking up into the air now. the sky has noticably started to darken, and laurence is sensing something very wrong indeed.

*Behind him*
"Who's the girl?"

He slowly pulls one of the pistols strapped under his arms, removing the magazine, and checking it is fully loaded.

He rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "A young lady Inquisitor Immalia came across. She asked me to look after her."

"Sir, I feel you are slightly under-armed"

"Hm. Hello there"
*she turns to caiber*
Girl: hi!

"You would be wrong."

"Hmn. I was not expecting that."

he gestures to what he's looking at

Caiber: likewise...
the girl is smiling

Laurence looks in the gestured direction.

"Are you alright?"

he sees why the sky has darkened. a ship, a fucking huge one, is in very, very low orbit...at least it looks like a ship. albeit one unlike any other he has ever seen. Not a trace of machinery or mechanism anywhere. like a great, black, spire of bone and chitin upon its side.

Caiber: been worse. yourself?

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