Recent Statuses

3 mos ago
Current I'm a descendant of Charles the 5th of the Habsburgs but the only thing I inherited was the beautiful jaw
4 mos ago
something more important than this shitty war is happening its chris chan's birthday
4 mos ago
Me and the boys climbing mount everest just so we can moon the entire planet
1 like
6 mos ago
I simp for villains not because theyre hot but because they do genocide and other cool shit. Primo gene pool material
1 like
7 mos ago
yo we got a real sigma male here


If you enjoy my posts then consider pressing here to see my 1x1 interest check. Now listen to the tale of a man far from home longing to see its greens again.

About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.

Look at me and marvel at... I'll think of it, give me a moment.

Anyway, adding shit

Russian and Belarusian (native speaker)
English and a Quebecois/Parisien mongrel French as others
doing my best to learn other interdasting ones

Most Recent Posts

The sacrifice of Captain Abdulmecid would be an epic of Turkish folklore for decades to come; reprinted in books, novellas, film and radio shows, though the full truth of the matter would lie only in a single folder within a dusty archive off limits to the public. It would be on the last day of August that what many would consider the last true successful bayonet charge in history would happen. His company, out of munitions, food, and radio contact, would charge uphill into the defended position of the Armenian aggressor. His company was largely cut down with combined arms from machine guns to grenades, yet enough men passed through the barbed wire, such that the Transcaucasian post was decimated. Well, or so the Turkish correspondents given the seen relayed. Abdulmecid was the only one who’s feet passed the barbed wire, but it was true that his saber did bring down one of the foe. Coincidentally, it was the only foe that the charge had slain. Yet, revenge was had in the night.

The Mountaineer platoon had stumbled onto the corpses of their comrades in the night, marking them down for burial with full honours later. But work had to be done first. The barbed wire was clipped and carefully removed, not the slightest of steel jingling coming from the action. The Mountaineer platoon would spend entire hours crawling ever so quietly to the different posts of the sentries, but all would come to the same conclusion of strangling their targets with garrottes. This similarly was not done without forethought, for it was done just after the changing of the guard, ensuring that the rows of men sleeping peacefully in barracks were helpless against the slaughter to come. As rows of men were brought to the blade, eventually a slip happened as a man woke from a call of nature. He exclaimed as any would upon the sight of an invader carving the trachea of his comrades, a factor that lead to the flight of the Turkish special forces from the building. As panicked screams emanated from within, the Turks closed the doors of the building, gusts of fire licking the sides of the building as a burst from the flamethrower operator came. Some men struck upon the doors with fire axes, but bursts of bullets came through the wood of the door to bring down the men attempting the escape. More wise men tried to find windows to escape through, but these similarly only lead to the embrace of more Turkish warriors.

Men in adjacent barracks, convinced of a far larger assault than truly was taking places sprinted out with hands upraised upon multi-lingual cry to surrender rather than the doomed efforts to fight back that they had briefly witnessed from short exchanges at the nearby building; it was far more difficult to fire at someone in the dark, than it is to fire upon someone illuminated by the pyre their building has become.

Rather unceremoniously, these men were marched at gunpoint down the hill and towards the camps of the Turks.

The camp they were brought to was a rather small affair, for it was only for temporary holding and direction of different prisoners. Profiling was done of each man for their ethnicity, religion, ideological motivations, and the severity of their conviction in them. The Azeris were made to take interviews describing how they were forced at gunpoint to fight for the oppressive and tyrannical regime of Transcaucasia, and offered citizenship in Turkey where they would find freedom even if the government occupying their home threatened their families. The Azeris that did not agree that all of these things were true, also happened to have succumbed to their injuries on the brief march. Not too dissimilar was treatment of Russians, Persians, and Georgians. All told (or at least, were made to tell) stories of how they did not want to fight the Turk liberating them from their oppressors, and how though they have had historical differences they all appreciated the unity of peoples against sadism of the bloody red banner. They were given Turkish diplomatic passports, such that they could be handed over to respective governments within Iran and the vaguely functional parts of the Russian Empire. The Armenians? Well, some certainly were put before cameras, dictaphones and typewriters to record the fact that the Turkish Republic was coming with peace and muse in arms. However, just as many were left in ditches or pushed down ravines after complicity in the Transcaucasian communist party was discovered. But perhaps the most sinister treatment was given to foreign volunteers. There were single digits from all across the globe, but having not been recognized as legitimate combatants there were not found under any protections of law international or Turkish. It is thus mass graves rather far from the mountains would be dug, where archaeologists would one day discover peculiar specimens of biped without heads.

Though heroic, the sacrifice of Abdulmecid would yield a change in localized doctrine. Most infantry would henceforth cease offensive operations, simply defending positions - namely those bearing artillery that was so crucial to the operations. Offensive operations to break through and take territory would now only be done by special forces.

Within the South front, things were surprisingly to the inverse. Though the area of combat was far wider, far less territory passed hands as both sides grew wary of the other’s abilities. While for the most part the Turkish side hardly cared about losses to the civilian population of the Kurds and Arabs, they nevertheless would not shell villages and tribal bands for the simple concern of intensifying resistance to them, especially amongst the tribes and communities largely neutral in the conflict for the moment. Gradually, the concern of the Southern vultures was replaced by that of the enemy within. Though the varied socialist movements within Turkey did not bare particularly great popularity, the (relatively, on the global stage) open press and democracy had allowed for the student movements and other bearers of such ideology unhindered ability to disrupt the state. Though such men and women were often beaten by nationalists of all sorts without even necessitating the intervention of police, they were nevertheless able to block many critical roads and otherwise interfere with institutions in protest of the war that was seen as a mere step before a crackdown upon them directly.

The war of course, was not the sole reason for their protest. Though the early years of the Turkish Republic could have easily have been described as under a social democrat’s economic policy, many ideas taken from Frunze and the other influence of the North that came during the Turkish revolution and shortly after. However, though the geopolitics of the Republic have largely remained motivated purely be realpolitik, the hostility of the European internationale had lead to Turkish interest in greater autarky, but also distanced integration with broad economic institutions not standing against the birthright of the Turkic people.
Engineers from abroad were lured with promises of grand wages, for the oil fields that Turkey held had to be exploited for more than their mere value in export of their black gold. The native intellectual caste that would typical work upon this, certainly felt the pressure as their failure to help advance some sort of industry out of the oil fields was finally noted on all stages.

Thus, even as bullets flied in the Caucasian mountains and the deserts of the Levant heard the whistling of bombs, refineries began to be erected across the Turkish republic as the first stage of the economic plan to revitalize Turkey’s income streams; though the eye of potential competitors was to be averted for now, many even now would be able to predict that soon the republic of the crescent moon would be selling plastics made within its borders.
Though the battle was over, for a long time it seemed that sound did not in fact subside. Some more opportunistic soldiers got to the looting. Using the cover of other men from their officers, they got to bodies looting jewelry, pulling off boots, and in a few cases even using knives and blunt instruments to gouge out fake teeth. Others were eager to find vengeance, or simply show savagery and bravery when it no longer particularly mattered as High Elves were shown no quarter, even the ones biting off their tongues to commit suicide getting a rough beating to ensure their last moments were not comfortable. The few who were too cowardly to do such begged for their lives, though in many cases this was upon deaf ears particularly for the Nords and few Bosmer among the Legionnaires. Surprising to some, were the Altmer in the Legion such as Telleno being particularly cruel to their racial kinsmen, spitting on corpses and otherwise defiling and desecrating their eternal rest.

The Legate was seen by many, to be wandering the battlefield with his great maul dragging behind him in one hand, his mask not concealing the melancholy and shame befalling the man. However at some point he would sit on a rock near the road, and then a minute or so later motion to one of the Sergeants to come over. Saying some orders to him, a few men would fan out to ensure any deserters in the aftermath were apprehended, and the worst of the looters would similarly be stopped such that intelligence would not be lost.

At some point the Adjutants not yet dead would attend the Legate, and thus the order would spread that camp would be made here. In the morning, some men would be sent to escort the wounded back to the capital, though terrified rumours spread that these men would only be cut down by more Thalmor. When accounting for the wounded sent back to Solitude and their guardians, the casualties of the battle would amount to having little more than two thirds of the strength the Legion had set out with remaining. Though many Thalmor had fallen in the battle, it was clear this was a tactical defeat they would be glad to take for its value as a strategic victory.

For the squad, it would be notably reduced. Frelayne and Edward had both found themselves injured far too seriously through the course of the battle, and were sent back to find more serious treatment at the temple of the Nine, while the brother Rashid was taken dead, the best efforts of Ryjko being insufficient to resuscitate him. Rest, recuperation was the order, for while the Legate ruminated on what to do next the soldiery would have to be ready to tackle whatever was next.

It was claimed by the Soviet Ministry of Defence that the KSh suit was better than the ones of the French in every respect; faster, lighter, stronger, harder, cheaper, more ergonomic. Only the final two were vaguely true, the many cut corners and comfortable synthetic fibers put in making the suits simple to produce and easy to wear. Of course, the comfort only lasted so long as the servos didn’t twist the wrong way leading to one’s limbs getting torn off within their armour, a fatal flaw that had caused a recall after the arms and legs that had to be stitched back on entered the double digits.

It was thus no surprise to many grunts that - after sufficient trial in the Soviet armed forces - most of the suits were eventually relegated to use by the other members of the Warsaw Pact. Strangely though, just as men like Corporal Rudolf Stirlitz were seeing them deployed to the border forces of the DDR, they were getting recalled back to the USSR for some other purpose, one that was rather hush-hush and didn’t spread by word of mouth from Russian to Poles to Germans on military exercises. Still, while they were here the clankers would have to do.

One particularly annoying aspect of the KSh was just how god damn hard it was to scratch yourself in it. He had an itch standing at the post, staring at the West Germans for almost an hour now and there was no remedy to it. He could try rubbing his back on the bloc-post behind him, but chances are that would damage the thing and be taken right from his salary along with a mark on his file.

Looking on at the lines of cars going through customs control of the borders, he sighed as a cacophony of car horns blared at the sight of someone attempting an illegal U-turn on the road, prompting him to walk over to the concrete railing by the road. He gave a salute to the soldier on the other side that approached him, the two meeting half way and turning to face the traffic jam. “Morning.”

“To you too.”

“You saw the game?”

“Which one?”

“Never mind. What are we going to do about this one?”

“Don’t know. There’s too many trucks.”

The West German sighed, offering Rudolf a cigarette. As the sleeve on his uniform lowered, a tattoo of a 4 just below the wrist. Rudolf took the cigarette, but spotting the tattoo raised an eyebrow. It seemed familiar, perhaps from some briefing much time ago. The other man noticed this, and smiled. “Enjoy the smoke. Please, quickly.” he said, lighting the cigarette for Rudolf, before walking off to the road. As the East German took a long pull, he watched his counterpart go to the middle of the road. He was about to call out and ask him what he was doing, but the ball of oxygen consuming flame that the man turned into put a stop to that.

The air in the room was smoky, several of the attendant ministers and other personnel having lit up Cubans as the hours dragged on into the night. As problems domestic and foreign alike piled up, meetings like this were becoming ever more common, ever longer. Ties were loosened, and men switched to first name bases along with singular informal addresses rather than the Russian plural-individual formal address. In one of the corners the Polish representative was sleeping, while behind a door the German was calling his wife to tell her it would be another long day at work.

They had been speaking for so long now, and yet the agenda never seemed to shrink. Curtains were closed, and yet the protestors outside were still audible, occasional phrases on the themes of treachery to the revolution being possible to make out. The meticulous, central-planning of the Supreme Soviet was unraveling, it dawning upon the assembled men that everyone on the planet was working against the orderly world they were envisioning. There were too many variables, and the equation was unsatisfiable.

“Sirs, I’m out. Its too late.” Comrade-General Gagarin said. “No, wait, stay just a little.” Premiere Pavlenko said, waving a hand. “Please. Just a moment.” The Astronaut turned leader of one of the Soviet branches of armed forces sighed, sitting back down and once more removing the sweat-stained blazer had had been putting back on.

“Before we leave, we need to finalize what we’ve discussed so far, and I need your assent, comrades.” The Premiere continued. “Speed up the recall of the suits. In a week we need to start sending new satellites to orbit the moon, I want the announcement ready in a month by the latest. Yuri, when will Baikonur be ready?”

Gagarin shrugged. “You know the rails for spacecraft are slower. Maybe… two weeks?”

“Good. You’re free to go. Isaac, you’re next.”

“Well, Sir, I’m sure we can make something with the sea of Japan in… a week or two? An agent or two of ours in Kyoto were apprehended, but the rest of the country has more than enough. I can give the order today, but a cautious approach….”

“We don’t have time for it. Give the order after we’re done here, then send in the cruisers.

“Very well, Premiere.”

“And the Yugoslavs… well, its time for the Macedonians to decide they’ve had enough oppression. The President will either decide its time to finally join their comrades in labour to the East or… well, Bulgarians will decide they must support their Northern kinsmen with a peacekeeping mission.”

The Bulgarian attache spilled his tea moving to appear alert from his half-asleep state, before nodding along.

“The Hungarians should prepare to make a no-fly zone. I want anyone trying to intervene shot down, I don’t care if they’re UN or NATO, they go down.”

“Understood.” This came from General Harkony, a man appearing ever more in these meetings.

“I know you’ve said the Serbs polled seem largely averse to separatism, but try them anyway. It’ll be a lot easier to get RY leadership to shit their pants if their core of support gets cold.’

The Premiere sighed as he looked down to his computer screen, seeing the notification of new intelligence. Several men present followed, murmurs spreading among them.

“Isaac… what do we do?”

The Minister of Defence looked up from reading the message. “Well, you’ve been skeptical in the past, but hear me out this time. We have GLONASS, but we aren’t using it to a fraction of the potential we could. We have the greatest coverage for satellite navigation, tracking, imaging, and we’re using it so civilian planes don’t get shot down. Any proxy that doesn’t answer to us first and foremost we mess with their navigation and such. We use our anonymous agents to give satellite images, or rather information from them to the government. It won’t be hard to believe they got caught and ours weren’t simply by variance in competence. And not just in South Africa and Rhodesia, Sir. In the Americas, world-wide.”

Anatoli gripped his forehead for a minute or two in the silence, before at last replying. “Do it. While you’re at it, send more to the Arctic and Antarctic, secure the artifacts propping up there.”

The Minister of Science and Education opened his mouth to object, but seeing glares from everyone else simply sat deeper in his seat.
After more silence, Premiere Pavlenko looked to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. “Arrange a meeting with the Americans. Tomorrow.”

Been binge playing TWW3, and now really interested in something set in Warhammer Fantasy's Kislev and/or Cathay or with characters from there though I'm still glad to do other stuff.

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Would very likely depend upon the scale of the tech heresy and just what kind, but considering Rogue Traders often have as much authority as Inquisitors there wouldn't be much issue... Unless we go to a Forge World, and then it's just keep your mechadendrites to yourself lol.

<Snipped quote by Theyra>

Every Rogue Trader needs to have proper combat teams just in case, I don't see any reason why a guardsman would be an issue unless of course their former employer is a little salty.

It was going to be something fairly sus but not particularly chaosy; he was going to have been experimenting a little too much with intelligence for kastellan robots, machine spirits, brain implants, and other shit that could be classified as abominable intelligence.
<Snipped quote by Skwint>

Will have to watch the bulkheads, but if there's room for potential space marines, there's room for an Ogryn.

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

As long as they don't go pulling panels or taking things apart, our Rogue Trader has a fairly ancient vessel that's been in the family for a while and the family would be fairly upset if something broke lol.

<Snipped quote by BangoSkank>

On the point of a Ratling, really don't mind at all. Kind of had a bingo card for what we were expecting first and that's a pleasant surprise not going to lie lol. Though I suppose we'll have to wait and see what regiment he's from. Otherwwise we welcome our grim dark Bilbo Baggins.

As for the rest of the post, yeah I know there's a fair few out there who also rather enjoy a good jaunt into the 41st/42nd millenium, and while I do appreciate any love for the setting, a lot of the typical fare has left me a little jaded. Grim Dark can be fun, and it can certainly be a very interesting setting to explore, but not when there's very little else to go on. Most 40K RPs I see around are overly focused on the darker parts of the setting, the cruelty and suffering, thirsting laughter of dark gods and all that. Not to mention it is often hard to have an open 40K RP where people can come in and have all the options that are truly available.

Which really kind of gets me onto the whole aspect of "But why a Rogue Trader?" and it's for multiple reasons. Primarily, I want something where we can have a crew of a former Rubric Marine, Tau Pathfinder, Skitarii Praetorian, and ex-Arbites all working under a half-Aeldari captain. Being a Rogue Trader kind of opens the door for all that like an Inquisitor but with less red tape and restrictions. But not only that... Well, it is one of the few places where there is still some semblance of hope, where you can find some actually happy people. And that's what I'm shooting for. Some big dumb adventure in space with a bunch of people who if they were anywhere else, would be seconds away from killing each other.

However, since I have three more points of interest that I was expecting within the first 24, I figure it would be beneficial to drop what we've got at the moment for a CS skeleton.

The idea was somebody who is running away for a tech heresy he committed, and so would not be eager to fuck with his new benefactor.
Maybe down maybe a cult mechanicus fella or such
I'm going to wait for the Papal States sheet to come out then because depending on what the Pope and chums are up to influences what I do a lot.
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