DepressedSoviet

Grand Theft Auto: The Syndicate

So I'm going to have to rescind my interest in this RP. I'm backlogged with both work and free time stuff, and I don't think I'll be able to get to this. I'm sorry.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@NecroesIt's been shown that, with some difficulty, humans and orks can naturally understand each other. Also High Gothic is the psuedu-latin that the Imperium uses for naming things(like Adeptus Astartes). Low Gothic is the one that's Space-English.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

Joran Hull, Escaped Penal Legionnaire

Name: Joran Hull

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Faction/Race/Species: Human/Ex-Imperium of Man

Sub-Faction: Ex-Savlar Chem Dogs

Rank/Position: Former Penal Legionnaire

Mental and Physical Traits: Joran is concerned primarily with one thing and one thing only: Himself. He only cares about his survival, his needs, his wants, and that's it. So when he was given the option to get out of Savlar's toxic mines, he took it, not caring that it meant service with the Imperial Guard. This mentality aided greatly in his survival skills, and perhaps its what let him escape, though its certainly what made him want to even try to escape. But escape he did, though not after acquiring plenty of useful skills and equipment as a Penal Legionnaire. Joran is skilled in both melee and ranged combat, though he fights much more randomly, with almost no distinct style or rhythm to it. He's also great at jury-rigging ramshackle equipment, and a damn fine cook, if you're willing to taste the sludge-looking dish he calls food.

Appearance: Joran has a very ragtag, scavver look to him. His hair is a filthy, matted mop, almost black from a mix of natural color and filth. His eyes are a bloodshot grey, whether that's from lack of sleep, excessive chem use, or both is unknown. His body is covered in dirt, scars, and burns, and he's rather lanky and thin. His one set of clothes is a hodgepodge of uniform pieces from various other Imperial Guard regiments, such as the black combat boots of a Catachan, the khaki fatigue pants of a Cadian, thick black leather gloves from a Steel Legion regiment, the grey fatigue jacket of his own penal uniform, and the headscarf and goggles of a Tallarn.

Wargear: Joran's gear is just as scrounged as everything else he owns, and it shows. Armed primarily with a Steel Legion lascarbine jury-rigged with a flamer pistol attached(he stole it from someone else in his regiment that built it), and an autopistol with a noble's name carved on the slide. He also has a rather large knife he claims he stole from a Catachan, though most don't believe him. He also carries a varied assortment of random grenades, each of which look different, and none of which he knows what they do until detonated. For armor, he wears a mismatched assortment of Flak and Carapace pieces looted off the corpses of other fallen guardsmen, all an assortment of colors and camouflage patterns. His assorted equipment includes both a nose-and-mouth respirator and a full head gas mask, a a wrist chrono timepiece that always lists it as 10th day of the 6th month, in the year M987, but with the correct time of day, a pair of magnoculars that cover everything with a red filter, and assorted cookware and utensils for making and holding food.

History: Prior to being sent to Savlar, Joran actually flew a cargo ship for a civilian trade organization. Eventually, he got sick of flying the same route between the same three planets every week, so he decided to take his ship and run, just trying to see where he could go. After killing the other members of the crew, fending off landing dock security, flying off into the stars, and ditching the cargo into space, he thought he was home free. Unfortunately he either didn't run far enough, or wasn't too good at covering his tracks, because he was found, and sentenced to work the Savlar mines for murder, resisting arrest, grand theft, destruction of property, and a myriad of other smaller charges.

While there, Joran showed his great survival instincts for the first time, making contacts and alliances with the other prisoners and the more morally corrupt guards. Gathering a decent amount of supplies and supply chains, Joran had just about as comfortable a life as possible on Savlar. So when the time came for another Penal Legion to be raised, the overseer of Joran's section of the prison decided he was living a bit TOO comfortably, and 'persuaded' him to volunteer into service with the Guard.

While in the Guard, Joran did surprisingly well, taking to killing and combat quickly. After a few years of skill, persuasion, and good fortune, he had amassed decent gear, excellent survival and field duty skills, and was ready to make his escape.

Taking the opportunity to board a cargo ship docked at his legion's base camp for a supply drop, he managed to escape WITHOUT having to kill anyone, hiding away in the cargo hold, and escaping when the ship returned to the nearby hive world it had departed from. Escaping from the ship, Joran managed to find and board a transport ship that would take it far from his penal legion, far from Savlar, and to a place where he could hopefully live his life the way he wanted, away from the rules of strict monotony.

what has the avatar above you been put in jail for and why?

Jailed for being an upper-class aristocrat! DOWN WITH THE BOURGEOISIE!!!

Interplanetary Space Friends - A Game About Space Adventures, Friendship and Fast Food

Elarin's eyes opened exhaustedly after the ball of sauce-covered paper bounced off his snout. With a hiss of air as the spines on his head and neck were removed from the holes they made in the upholstery as his head shifted forward. Elarin noted that Vanessa was talking about the various missions listed on the want ad, including one that was actually someone offering help, and a massive space battle. Elarin scratched his snout a bit with his first two claws on his left hand, and glanced down at the list. He read through the list, making careful note of the less violent cries for help, then took to listening in on the conversation.

Elarin had a good internal laugh at Fiddlesticks trying to hit on Vanessa, which was audible as a small hiss to any that cared to listen. When Fiddlesticks began to question Will(or rather THE Will, but Elarin had taken to calling it Will)'s authority as Captain, he spoke up.

"Let me stop ya right there, kid. Will and I are two of the longest-serving members of this ship's crew. We've been through more together than I care to remember right now, so believe me when I say that Will is probably THE most qualified person here to captain the ship."

With that, he pulled a sucker from inside his sweatshirt pocket, unwrapped the paper, and popped it in his mouth. "Now, about these missions. The Quest for Flavor certainly ain't designed for combat, even with all those modifications that Mr. Icey, or whatever his name was, added, so that mission's out. Now, I can get us to the planets listed in the other ones no problem, but as far as which mission I'd rather help on, I'd like to hit up this 'Zane' guy. He sounds like a pretty cool frood, someone who knows where his towel is, all that jazz. So I say we help him out, but that's just my vote. I'll listen to whatever anyone else has to say."

Interplanetary Space Friends - A Game About Space Adventures, Friendship and Fast Food

@ValorIt's really, Really, REALLY minor, so don't panic about it, but Elarin would still be asleep, or resting at least, while the job ad was printed, unless someone intentionally wakes him first, or the food arrives.

Also sorry to everyone if this seems like I'm trying to avoid interaction: Elarin doesn't trust autopilots that much, and no one else seems to be able to fly the ship very well, so I thought it'd be fun to have him be suffering the effects of the intergalactic equivalent of an all-nighter drive from one state to another.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

@JbcoolMy bad, I'll edit that real soon.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

Zaphiel watched as the ceremonial painting of the Initiate's armor was done. When the servitors and the Ecclesiarchal priest walked to his armor, Zahpiel made the sign of the Aquila over his chest in deference to the God-Emperor and his servants that stood before him. Truly Zaphiel was blessed to witness such a ceremony. But as he watched the servitor apply the paint, he couldn't help but feel as though the black coating was a bit redundant in some places, given his home chapter's heraldry, as well as the armor color of the Chaplains in general. Nonetheless, Zaphiel was respectfully quiet during the ceremony, and when the time came to affix the silver pauldron of the Deathwatch to the armor, Zaphiel did so with great internal honor, feeling proud to be part of such a monumental occasion.

When Zaphiel was introduced to his mentor and partner, he immediately felt a sense of camaraderie with the fellow sons of Dorn. Giving them both a salute, he stated "It is an honor and a privilege to fight alongside you both. I look forward to our endeavors together." With that, he turned to face Brother Koldobika and asked "If it is not too forward of me, might I be reunited with my Rosarius? It holds both personal and professional sentiment, and I want to ensure that it is once again in my possession."

GTA: The Syndicate

@lovely complex@Universorum@Silent ObserverI'd be up for this

Interplanetary Space Friends - A Game About Space Adventures, Friendship and Fast Food

After driving for the entire eight-hour flight to the Hederson's Ribs above Nurr-Slugg, Elarin was exhausted. Resting his head against the backrest of the booth, his claw-tipped fingers rapped against the laminated cover of the menu, as his bloodshot, glazed over eyes glanced slowly from item to item, his tongue occasionally darting out of his mouth to taste the air whenever different dishes were walked past their table by the server-robots. Eventually, a server approached the table the group was seated at, and Elarin sat up a bit as the bot spoke. "Welcome to Henderson's Ribs. I am Walter. What will it be?"

Elarin emitted whatever the reptilian equivalent of a yawn was, before sluggishly tracing a claw along the menu, answering Walter the Waiter with a worn-out voice.

"I'd like a...medium serving of ribs, a small bowl of corn, a small basket of...regular fries, and a coffee, doesn't matter what planet." With that, Elarin handed his menu over, and rested his head back against the backrest again, his head spines poking small holes in the leather upholstery. Closing his eyes, Elarin mumbled out something that sounded like "Wake me if you need me.", or maybe it was "Take these if you see peas."

Unless he was woken up by someone priorly, Elarin would carefully sit back up once the food arrived, the hiss of air being let out of the leather backing as his spines were drawn from the puncture holes they had made.