Andreyich

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

The Confessor had taken the end of the fighting calmly, reloading his arms and putting them into their slings or holsters. He moved cautiously to Lisbeth, in an almost protective manner knowing that she had to fight the man of her dreams in a proper state of rest with holy arms at her side, rather than in a state of injury or exhaustion after being ministered to. Horacio was not about to tell them their business, and that she shouldn't chase after heretic aboard but the man had seen enough to know caution was best exercised here.

"I concur with the Sisters. The foe must be slain with utmost urgency lest this all be part of some grand plot." He said quite simply, reading from a prayer book he got from some recesses of his clothes. The Confessor didn't bother to speak much more, not having any further input. Instead he went forth to the fallen armsmen and traitorous humans about. He prayed for the souls of all, not asking for forgiveness or salvation but rather fair judgement - which in the case of good men would equate to the same thing. For the traitors however, the Emperor had much penance planned in the afterlife.

Then he returned to his comrades, somewhat more solemn looking. Whatever input the others had he didn't bother asking about. He was a leader, but not a commander and this would reflect quite simply on his actions. Thus he would go along with whatever was planned upon, his duty done either way.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Waldemar

Username: @Andreyich

Character Name: Vladimir (or Waldemar, which he typically uses in unfamiliar company) Ivanovich Vetrov

Race/Species: Kislevite Human

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Career and Skills: Vlad has spent much time honing magical skills in the Imperial colleges but they are not nearly as good as can be, for there were few other ice mages there to pass on their specialized skills to him. As such, most of his powers are uncontrolled bursts of his ice magic fuelled by emotion, desire or desperation. However, on days where the winds of magic flow truly strong he can manage up to three unique spells of his respective school. From his studies and Noble upbringing he did receive a few more skills. First is fencing and swordplay which he can at least hold his ground in, and is improved by the blood-freezing cold in his blades. The other important skill he got is speech in several languages; both main Kislevite tongues (Ungol and Gospodar), Bretonnian, Reikspiel, and Norscan, all of which he is a good negotiator and fluent in save for the rolled "R"s.

Weapons: The only real 'weapons' in possession of the Kislevite are two familial blades (one a Shashka, and one a Szabla) and a long staff with a crystal of ice or diamond at the top cut to a fine point so the weapon could be used as a spear.

Attire: The man has little in the way of armour, preferring to just wear his round fur hat or 'papapkha,' along with simple trousers, tunic, a heavy fur coat and leather boots with steel caps.

Equipment/Other: He has little in the way of equipment other than his old but tough horse "Paul" along with spurs, saddle bags and saddle, reins, and whatever else he will need for the old boy. He always makes sure to have a pot, kettle, tea leaves, sugar and butter with him for a very strong and nourishing tea to help him end the feebleness he feels after using magic.

Physical Description: The Kislevite is of moderate height at 5'11 with pale white skin contrasted by mud-brown hair and icy blue slightly Asiatic eyes, as well as a very ruddy complexion. His face is very elongated and aquiline save for the small nose and small forehead with a low hairline. A distinctive physical features is a scar on both hands where excess thumbs were amputated. Vlad is double jointed at many points in his body (wrists, thumbs, elbows, knees) and has a naturally very lanky build that despite years of hard work driving him to the peak of his muscularity is still not very much above average and is best described as sinewy.

Mental Description/Personality: Vlad is a polite and helpful if somewhat impatient man, that will always put a coin in a beggar's hand. That said he had a somewhat irate and unpredictable personality with mood swings and such. He is still very affected by a longing for home, and the fact that even if he does safely get there he will not be able to see his father is just more melancholic.

Background/History:
Vladimir was born to an affluent Gospodar family outside of Praag doing business with the Ungols of the city. His father was a rather stereotypical Kislevite nobleman; a bulky man with a red face, a beard, a constant friendly laugh verging on a guffaw and a warm heart. His mother was somewhat inverse, an Ice Witch. She married him just as many Ice Witches marry noblemen to make sure their sorority keeps power in the country. She was a stunning lady with the usual charms that let her seduce his father. Yet, everywhere else she was a cold and calculating person with her duty first and foremost in her mind all that time.

As the boy grew he was mostly raised by his father and his tutors having a rather happy but isolated life spending most days hunting, fishing, riding with his father or lazily pretending to do what his mentors desired of him.

However, at some point in the near future things were to change oh so drastically. A raiding party of Norscans had just plowed through a nearby river and was going to a pond where he and his father were. To their luck the family had their body Guards with them which more than stood their ground, but just as the assault happened his father was thrown into the icy water to drown by the Northerners.

As Vlad looked on at his struggling parent with tears, he was overcome with grief and anger, and felt something within as many magically gifted people do at their first exhibition of their power. He screamed and flexed a few fingers to suddenly water under his father freeze and push the man out on a small floe of ice.

At this point the teen boy was exhausted from the magical exertion had had undergone, and lapsed from consciousness. His father however, got out of the water and soon realized what had just happened. The aging man had to think quickly and called home for some of his most trusted men. The boy was re-dressed and put in a coach. When he came to his sense, his father had a long talk with him. It was filled with many tears and much lament but there was no choice. If the boy was to come home it would be at most a few days before either his mother killed him. Two family swords, much money and an old family servant who both knew would defend and help the boy until either of them passed. He was sent off to the Imperial colleges of magic, to most likely never see hearth and home again.

When he arrived in the Empire he was quite surprised, and it took much adjustment. He began his studies working as hard as he could, learning about the winds of magic. Eventually his servant passed away, and this coincided almost perfectly with his money running out. He had to take one work elsewhere to subside properly, menial stuff like washing, or even cleaning privies. However, he got the most he could from his learning until about a year ago when he reached the peak of what the colleges could teach him. When this truly dawned, Vladimir now a young man decided to find his fortunes elsewhere. He saved up for a short time, and now set out to find himself work, fame, glory, and a life that wouldn't have him hunched by his thirties. Thus, he set put for the guild of esteemed sellswords to make use of his unique talents and abilities.

Warhammer 40,000: Lilaethan (Eldar Roleplay)

@Lucian
I really don't like craftworld eldar, but I really do like Exodite Eldar and my point is could I play as a space wood elf riding a t-rex?

Warhammer 40k: No Pity, No Remorse, No Fear! - A Black Templars RP

The meltas breached their intended hole, and the Apothecary stood high up to gaze over the shoulders of his Brothers to see what was within. He checked the load on his pistol and gave his chain-axe an experimental whir once more, eager for the scent of battle. Klaus did his role dutifully, but retrieving geneseed from fallen brothers was not something he enjoyed. Every time he'd have to stare into their dying eyes, and almost every time he would have to make the pronunciation that they were unfit to continue life as a dreadnought.

The Apothecary cautiously stepped out, making sure he was mostly surrounded by his Brothers and servitors. A simple-minded man might call it cowardice but in fact it was loyal duty. Oh how the serpent of the anger within him wanted him to charge, oh how he wanted to run forth and cover himself in gore with his chainaxe and fists. But the fact was it wouldn't and shouldn't be. He had an oath to be read to administer treatment to whoever might need such.

Still, he raised his plasma pistol and cautiously scanned the environs for some threat that his brothers and the servitor wetware might have missed. As the Techmarine pronounced where they were to go, he cautiously followed with his pistol raised and his axe prepared for a parry rather than a strike like the blades of his brothers.

Warhammer 40k: No Pity, No Remorse, No Fear! - A Black Templars RP

today or tomorrow my brothers

RIVER GOBLIN'S AVATARS AND CHARACTER ART SHOP

a dabbing duck please

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

As the Hospitaller Sister entered Horacio's eyes turned red in panic and he raised his pistol, before he lowered it, exhaling with relief. He relaxed, lowering his weapon and closing his eyes as he was tended to. "Just sow it shut." A shudder born of placebo came from him as she gave him the injection in the arm, wondering how the woman had guessed that he had suffered a nasty smack from the kroot to his shoulder.

Yet just as he was tended to, he was called to war once more from outside. "Coming Sister!" He shouted, muttering thanks to the Hospitaller as revitalized he picked up his weapons and ran out. Quite calmly he racked in shells back to his shotgun and a fresh magazine into his bolt-pistol.

They walked along the corridors of the ship to the genetorium. The Confessor hoped they could get at the enemy close and undetected where they could unleash automatic bursts to quickly even the playing field. Yet, it would not be. One of the foe ran off, so it seemed that a straight up fight would once again be the norm.

Horacio raised his shotgun in one hand, and with the other pointed. "See the enemy! See their cowardice and the vile forms it takes!" With that, he lowered his shotgun, and let the sight fall centre-mass on the Tech-Priest. He had the ordinary pellets loaded in at the moment for he had not the fore-sight to load in slugs, but with the massive calibre of the Blackhammer-Pattern derivative he was using it would still be nasty even to cybernetics. He fired once, twice, thrice, and so on taking steps towards the Tech-Priest with each pull on the slide. His Rosarius shield flared with power as enemies assailed him with their firearms but he cared not as he drew his bolt pistol again, and flicking the full-auto mode on sent off his magazine at the Tech-Priest (regardless if it was by now beaten, for he knew such amalgams of flesh and machine could be quite deceptive).

Warhammer 40k: No Pity, No Remorse, No Fear! - A Black Templars RP

The Apothecary was quite unsettled by what he saw. Could they really have traveled that much in time? The warp was a fickle thing and one knew of stories of men meeting themselves because the warp brought themselves years back in time. But was that not the pathetic rumouring of mortals? For it to happen to such an honourable, such a grand Astartes vessel was unthinkable. He hesitated before replying. "My Lord, in all truth this is beyond my ken as an Apothecary. However, I pledge that what I can do to remedy this grave turn of events, I will do to the fullest of my ability." Dumbfounded, Klaus kept looking at the display. Unable to make any sort of sense of it, he gave a tired sigh before resigning himself to the current truth of the matter. With that, the Marine awaited what input the others might have and the next assignment the Chaplain would provide.

It was not too long after the discussion started when the ship rumbled, the solid impacts of macrocannons going upon them. The Apothecary was undisturbed, and said a quick prayer for the humans aboard the ship doing the ordinary naval work. With his newfound Brothers he rushed to the boarding craft, Chainaxe already whirring in anticipation.

Not now.... he muttered, for nor strangling the serpent of anger inside him. Klaus had a more important task for now, and it was quite likely he woudln't even taste blood that day. Just as the Chaplain began to pray, the Apothecary followed, intoning the same words. However, as they began to finish his words trailed off slightly differently.

"Death, war and blood;
in vengeance serve the Emperor,
in the name of Sigismund!"

After his time in the Deathwatch and serving with both an Imperial and Crimson Fist - theoretically gene-Brothers to the Black Templars - and reading texts of the past, his opinion of the Templars Gene-Sire had... changed.

Retaking the Front (40k Astra Militarum Roleplay, Currently Full)

All was good for the happy ratling, as they flew on and on. He was definitely not happy with what one could easily call a crash-landing. Still, work was work. He fell over with a grunt in annoyance before he drew his pistol and turned off the safety in one handy motion. With his other hand he grabbed the mask he was issued and slapped it into place, wincing as the elastic straps hit him.

At last, he stepped out of the lander. The enemy wasn't quite in sight or range for his sniper and regardless he didn't have any targets yet. Adelbert calmly waited for whatever the hell would be their target, with his pistol held forth in examination of the terrain. He was not happy at all when he heard an unsettling noise. At this point he realized it was true rumours spread faster than lasbolts, for all ready he was hearing six different theories on just what precisely they were going to be fighting here. No, that wouldn't do at all.

In a second he ducked, and moved inwards to the formation of soldiers. Sure, one could call him a coward. But when you were dead cowardice is the least of your worries. When the scream of 'mutants' came about, he redoubled his efforts. He had seen what real scum humanity could become, and he knew his mutations were rather benign in comparison. One time Adelbert had even been cursed to see a scalie, an odd thing from hive sewers that look like an Ogryn decided to get romantic with a turtle. Adelbert cursed quietly for reminding himself of exactly what evolution could do to mankind, as he levelled his pistol and got ready for the attack.

Retaking the Front (40k Astra Militarum Roleplay, Currently Full)

@Ollumhammersong
will post tomorrow, promise