Iria de Germania
Sister Superior
The planet Endorius, an arboreal world with fast growing trees that produced an absolutely dizzying amount of wood-based products for Imperium Nihilus. A hive city right smack dab in the middle of the largest continent processed and produced finished products as well as raw cut lumber for other manufactorums to deal with. Well, it had, until the idiots went and rebelled thinking the Warp troubles would allow them some means to establish a strong defensive stance or... maybe they though the Imperium stretched too thin to reclaim them? Didn't matter. The legions, a pair of Astartes chapters, and three Orders of Battle Sisters had arrived to abuse them of the notion. Iria's squad, along with two others, had arrived to represent the Order of Singing Sisters in their gleaming white armor (the officers with gold accents). And the battle had been joined.
Dumb bad luck had knocked her from the sky. Not shot down, knocked down. The rebels of this forested world were neither that good nor that lucky, it hadn't even been their weapons that had created the shrapnel that had ultimately damaged her Seraphim jump pack. No, Imperium surface to air weapons had destroyed a rebel craft far above where she'd been operating with her Sisters. That shrapnel had fallen, fast and silent, long after the boom of the origin point's destruction had been swallowed by the surrounding battle... and hit her jump pack. The damage had caused it to open full throttle while rendering one wing semi-operable. Luck had nothing to do with what followed. Discipline, skill, and sheer toughness had allowed her to make the emergency efforts in response to the sudden acceleration and loss of control that had allowed her to get it into a flat spin and crash at a shallow angle into the tops of a series of trees that broke her momentum and shut down the pack. The pack, or what was left of it, had eaten most of the impact and her armor had gotten her through the rest after she reached the ground and tumbled through the undergrowth.
Iria had laid there for a full three breaths, silently accepting the situation the Emperor had chosen for her before getting on with the hard work of living up to His expectations. She detached from what was left of the Seraphim pack and rolled to her hands and knees, pushed up to her feet, and only wobbled a bit. She was sore, there were injuries but they were minor, but before she worried about that she checked her weapons. Her Godwyn-De'az Pattern Bolter was just missing, though she couldn't remember when it had left her hands. During the sudden loss of control, the flat spin, or the crash... had to have been before the crash, she'd used both hands to control her final turn against the first impact and recalled them being empty. Her Seraphim Inferno Pistols were both present and functional, her Neural Whip in place, and the melta bomb she liked to carry in case of hard targets... she dug through the wreckage of her jump pack and came up with the device. It had miraculously come through the whole ordeal with little more than superficial scratches on the casing. She had most of her grenades left, they'd not gotten into close enough combat for her to throw more than two so far except to dig out a couple of stubber emplacements as she soared over them.
She then did a self assessment. She'd live and she could walk. That was as good as being uninjured at all, though every step reminded her she absolutely was not uninjured. She'd flown well off course, over a ridge, and skipped off the tops of trees to land well away from the offensive. She needed to get hiking if she was going to reach the battle again and make herself useful. She sneered at the idea of falling back while she was still as fight worthy as fresh infantry from the Astra Militarum. She looked around to gain her bearings, ensuring that she wasn't about to pursue an echo back toward the battle and realizing going straight up over the ridge wasn't going to be immediately viable without her jump pack. If she traveled along the valley she'd landed in she could conceivably find her way around to the enemy flank, where her return to battle would be greatly outsized as she caught the foes unaware and looking the wrong direction. Maybe blow up an ammunition dump or capture someone in enemy leadership. Make the whole misadventure worth it if she could force a surrender by turning her misfortune into a victory in His name. Good enough for her. She started striding along the valley's length though she kept her eyes to the ridge on the off-chance she could more quickly find a way back to the fight. That would take precedence over the 'chance' of flanking.
She was walking no more than twenty minutes when she felt the rumble in the ground, making her immediately dip into cover. The sounds of distant battle had covered the sounds of breaking trees and crunching earth as what could only be a tank was coming up behind her. She couldn't see it yet but any amount of proximity made it obvious from whence it came. She moved carefully through the underbrush until she found a wide, shallow riverbed. They must be following that track, were there more behind it, her face broke into a grin as she spotted it coming around a bend in the river crushing river rock beneath its tread right along with fallen logs but bearing the markings of the Imperium's loyal legions on its hull. She stood, pulled her Sabbat-pattern helmet to shine her smile clearly for all to see, and stepped up onto a largish rock in her gleaming white and gold armor. She then, rather cheekily, stuck out a thumb as if hitchhiking. She'd have shown a little ankle, too, if such a thing had been possible in Sororitas power armor. But the humor of the moment wasn't lost on her.
Valen Draeve
Dumb bad luck had knocked her from the sky. Not shot down, knocked down. The rebels of this forested world were neither that good nor that lucky, it hadn't even been their weapons that had created the shrapnel that had ultimately damaged her Seraphim jump pack. No, Imperium surface to air weapons had destroyed a rebel craft far above where she'd been operating with her Sisters. That shrapnel had fallen, fast and silent, long after the boom of the origin point's destruction had been swallowed by the surrounding battle... and hit her jump pack. The damage had caused it to open full throttle while rendering one wing semi-operable. Luck had nothing to do with what followed. Discipline, skill, and sheer toughness had allowed her to make the emergency efforts in response to the sudden acceleration and loss of control that had allowed her to get it into a flat spin and crash at a shallow angle into the tops of a series of trees that broke her momentum and shut down the pack. The pack, or what was left of it, had eaten most of the impact and her armor had gotten her through the rest after she reached the ground and tumbled through the undergrowth.
Iria had laid there for a full three breaths, silently accepting the situation the Emperor had chosen for her before getting on with the hard work of living up to His expectations. She detached from what was left of the Seraphim pack and rolled to her hands and knees, pushed up to her feet, and only wobbled a bit. She was sore, there were injuries but they were minor, but before she worried about that she checked her weapons. Her Godwyn-De'az Pattern Bolter was just missing, though she couldn't remember when it had left her hands. During the sudden loss of control, the flat spin, or the crash... had to have been before the crash, she'd used both hands to control her final turn against the first impact and recalled them being empty. Her Seraphim Inferno Pistols were both present and functional, her Neural Whip in place, and the melta bomb she liked to carry in case of hard targets... she dug through the wreckage of her jump pack and came up with the device. It had miraculously come through the whole ordeal with little more than superficial scratches on the casing. She had most of her grenades left, they'd not gotten into close enough combat for her to throw more than two so far except to dig out a couple of stubber emplacements as she soared over them.
She then did a self assessment. She'd live and she could walk. That was as good as being uninjured at all, though every step reminded her she absolutely was not uninjured. She'd flown well off course, over a ridge, and skipped off the tops of trees to land well away from the offensive. She needed to get hiking if she was going to reach the battle again and make herself useful. She sneered at the idea of falling back while she was still as fight worthy as fresh infantry from the Astra Militarum. She looked around to gain her bearings, ensuring that she wasn't about to pursue an echo back toward the battle and realizing going straight up over the ridge wasn't going to be immediately viable without her jump pack. If she traveled along the valley she'd landed in she could conceivably find her way around to the enemy flank, where her return to battle would be greatly outsized as she caught the foes unaware and looking the wrong direction. Maybe blow up an ammunition dump or capture someone in enemy leadership. Make the whole misadventure worth it if she could force a surrender by turning her misfortune into a victory in His name. Good enough for her. She started striding along the valley's length though she kept her eyes to the ridge on the off-chance she could more quickly find a way back to the fight. That would take precedence over the 'chance' of flanking.
She was walking no more than twenty minutes when she felt the rumble in the ground, making her immediately dip into cover. The sounds of distant battle had covered the sounds of breaking trees and crunching earth as what could only be a tank was coming up behind her. She couldn't see it yet but any amount of proximity made it obvious from whence it came. She moved carefully through the underbrush until she found a wide, shallow riverbed. They must be following that track, were there more behind it, her face broke into a grin as she spotted it coming around a bend in the river crushing river rock beneath its tread right along with fallen logs but bearing the markings of the Imperium's loyal legions on its hull. She stood, pulled her Sabbat-pattern helmet to shine her smile clearly for all to see, and stepped up onto a largish rock in her gleaming white and gold armor. She then, rather cheekily, stuck out a thumb as if hitchhiking. She'd have shown a little ankle, too, if such a thing had been possible in Sororitas power armor. But the humor of the moment wasn't lost on her.
Valen Draeve
