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>Oh dear, it's time for moar stories about my Deathwatch group!

So the party is busy mopping up a failed Ork WAAAAAAAGGGGHHH on some backwater planet.

Soon enough, they reach a rundown Hive that was hit pretty bad when the first wave of Orks rolled through.

I'm talking seriously fucked up here. Buildings that shouldn't be standing are, if only just. Civvies are fighting over scraps of whatever-the-fuck passes for bread in 40k.

Soon a haggard looking man runs up to the Kill-Team.

"Please, m'lords, I beg of you! My wife...she's...ah...uh...how can I put thi--" It's obvious that he's intimidated by the sight of five Space Marines and one Dreadnaught.

The Salamander Apothecary cuts in, not amused. "Our time is short, man. Get to the point."

"My wife is about to go into labor!"

>cont'd soon, my darlings~~
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The true calling of all Astartes: delivering the babies of the poor.
I feel like your Salamander is acting a tad unSalamander-y, but given the situation- it's kinda warranted.
...Space Marines cannot into childbirth.

Now, the Hive had a good doctor. Emphasis on the word *had.* Caught a Rokkit to the face when the Orks came rolling in.

Did I also mention that the Hive has various gangs vying for power as the Hive tries to rebuild? No?

Well the dude's hovel was located on the border of two of these warring gangers.

And they've been trying to sway him and his wife (read: intimidate through sheer force) to work for their respective sides.

Anyway, the guy leads the party to his hovel.

Sure enough, there his wife, huffing and puffing and screaming in pain.

The Salamander goes switches on DOCTAA MODO and starts to prepare to deliver the baby.

That's when things start to pile into the hand-basket that's hurtling at mach speed towards hell.

It all started when the civvie started to
panic, saying that "The gangs are coming!"


Mine have. Otherwise I wouldn't be telling the story.



4 space marines and 1 dreadnought vs the combined might of every hive gang in the city, while the apothecary delivers a baby.

This is like Seven Samurai only none of the samurai die and they slaughter all of the bandits without breaking a sweat.
Not gonna lie.

Kinda liking this group, and this setting. It's kinda nifty to see something other than SPHESS MEHREENS STOMP ORKS AND SOMETIMES CHAOS.

That kid better become a space marine himself.

He becomes the Psyker BBEG is my bet.

Suddenly, a firefight breaks out between the two gangs right across the fucking street, and it's threatening to spill over.

Gerald the Goomba-stomper is busy keeping an eye on the fight, ready to go split some skulls if things go further south.

It's pretty much back and forth between the two gangs, either side not gaining nor losing much ground, but otherwise they're leaving the guy's house alone.

And then there's a faint howl in the distance. A roar, if you will.


It starts to get steadily louder, but it's still pretty quiet.


And then, the gangs stop fighting long enough for one of the gangers to ask "the FUCK is that noise?"

His answer isn't far behind.





Ohhohoho. Ye of little faith.
Calling this shit now, It's gonna be baby -motherfucking- jesus with Orks, hive scum, and SPESS MAHREENS.

Dohoho. You say that as if it's obvious. [spoilerson/tg/areajoke]You're also very wrong.[/nospoilersfor/tg/ever]


The Orks were starting to form a new WAAAAGGGGHHHH, and boy the gangers were crapping their pants.

"Oh shit, the fuck do we do?!"

"Don't ask me, I don't fucking know!"

Soon, the gangers have stopped pissing around long enough to form a decent defense line...

Just in time for the Orks to rip them limb from limb. The gangers put up a good fight, but the outcome was never in doubt.

Gerald relays this to the party, and they all convene to decide what to do.

What was agreed upon was this:

--The Devastator would cover the doorway and alleyway leading up to the hovel to lay down suppressing fire.

--Ultra the Lucky Dreadnaught would be on the roof acting as overwatch.

--Gerald and the Techmarine would be in the soup, kicking Ork ass and taking their teef.

--And the Librarian would be busy covering the Apothecary, shielding him when needed and otherwise assisting with the Medicae checks when possible.

It was organized. It was efficient. It was theoretically foolproof.

It was also going to be put to the test quite soon.

Because the dad-to-be wanted to get involved. in his own words, he was "tired of being a coward," and he "won't let those nasty green sonsabitches get near [his] wife!"

I very much enjoy story please continue thank you.
>Dreadnaught would be on the roof


How did they stairs?
literally my thoughts. They would be defeated by the hovels stairs.
Rocket boots of course.
and the roof is meant to support the weight of a dreadnaught?

I dont gotta explain shit.
Aren't all roofs?
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That's too small...
No, that's the power of the Emprah.
it is just readible, just.
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They found a ramp wide enough for Ultra to walk on, but it wasn't easy because the ramp they found would buckle if he made a false step.

He would, of course, survive the fall.

The hovel and the civvies wouldn't survive the resulting debris.


I, honestly, wasn't going to let them put him on the roof because of this, but the party said they needed someone up top calling out high value targets, and I'm a sucker for modern military tactics in sci-fi, so I reluctantly allowed it.

The dude grabs an autogun from one of the dead gangers and starts to spray and pray, jeopardizing the party's plans because they didn't know this would happen.

The Orks smell blood in the water, and start to swarm the poor sod.

Gerry and the Tech already have their hands full trying to keep the Orks at bay, but now they have to keep an eye on this father-to-be with a throne-damn death-wish.

Meanwhile, the Apothecary is busy trying to concentrate on delivering this baby because Emperor's left testicle he *WILL* make sure that this kid will come into the world!

Ultra is busy laying down covering fire and calling out targets for the Devastator when the Dev's trusty heavy bolter starts to jam from overheating.

So now the alleyway is left wide open as the Dev is literally *dumping* Bottles of Holy Machine Coolant in between reloading.

The Orks are starting to become too much to handle.

And the woman is almost done giving birth.

When you say soon, do you mean another hour?

Posting was down bro.

Blame 4chan sys, it caused posting to be down.


Dev's HB *finally* cools off enough for him to fire again, but now he has to make up for lost time because the Orks are starting to make headway through the alley.

He was lucky Ultra was covering his ass, or else he'd be neck deep in the green tide.

Anyway, Gerry and the Tech are busy trying to provide decent covering fire for the civvie as he fucking goes all Rambo. I mean, fucker was scavenging the weapons of both gangs, searching for ammo and new guns.

Up 'til now, it's only been Boyz and Grotz that the party has been shooting up.

And then the Nobz show up.

And that's when shit really hits the fan.

The party kicks it into high gear, trying to hold these Orks off for just a few more hours until the baby can be born and rescue called in.

But if Nobz were in the mix, the Warboss and his entourage couldn't be too far behind.

And so the race against time is on.

I am, at first, relentless on the skill checks. Everything from Hard to Hellish gets thrown at the party, and things are looking grim.

Grim enough, in fact, that the party might end up TPK'd.

Behind my screen, I was quietly having an internal debate.

On one hand, I always wondered what it would be like to orchestrate a TPK, having always been on the receiving end of them as a PC.

On the other hand, I didn't want to end up as either a doormat GM or THAT GM.

So I decide to compromise with myself and throw the party a much needed bone.

The civvie got to be the hero he always wanted to be as he charged the Warboss, a Prayer of Final Sacrifice erupting from his lips.

Neither of them would walk away from their first and last encounter alive.

The question was...who would fall first?


Captcha, y u talk bout prison bonds?

Ok, tomorrow I'll finish this because I'm fucking tired.

For now I'll archive this thread and will continue in a new one.

are you fucking shitting me
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Why are you doing this to me
I will find you and shank you with a sharpened toothbrush in a dark alley.
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I need to sleep.



Fuck it. You want more, YOU GOT MORE, HOSS!


It was the clash of a mortal man and a fucking titan.

I make WS rolls for both the civ and the Warboss, and so far, the Warboss is winning.

And then the civvie gets Righteous Fury.

I roll to confirm.

He gets it, alright.

Basically, he runs up to the 'Boss, stuffs his auto-shotgun in the xenos' mouth, and fucking mashes trigger until it breaks.

It was enough to buy Ultra enough time to line up his shot and let loose with his assault cannon.

He fucking makes his BS rolls and gets crazy damage, but the civ is thrown halfway across the street, and looks fucked up.

I let out a sigh that I didn't know I was holding, but I know that now I have to let the party learn the fate of this brave mortal.

Prognosis was grim. Guy didn't look like he was gonna make it.

The Apothecary and Librarian rush out of the hovel a few minutes later, but they were too late to do anything.

Anything...except to deliver the last bit of good news he'd ever get to hear.

The kid? Baby girl. Beautiful green eyes like his, tufts of blonde hair like her mother's. Healthy weight. Would grow up to be quite the catch.

He smiles, and closes his eyes for the last time.

Those feels my players had, man. Those feels.
well done OP.
You are not faggot.

No, but I need fucking sleep.
Someon better have capped all this. A man needs sleep, after all.
rest now, sweet prince, and may flights of angels swing thee to thy sleep

Glad you signed yourself up for it.

>I kid, I kid

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