Andreyich

Descension (A God SoL RP)

I understand where you're coming from they definitely weren't white but Egyptian Gods looked more or less like modern Egyptians, Arabic/North African rather than Black/Sub-Saharan African. Anyways might make Ulgan, Burkut or someone else from Tengrist pantheon, maybe some other Central Asian God idk, going to do some sick throat singing to dab on the shitty music of other pantheons, along with flexing the fact mans still has modern day worshippers

Warhammer 40k: Sons of Titan - A Grey Knights RP

Stay alert and kill anything that moves, we are not here on a mercy mission; remember, we are the hammer!

The words of the Justicar echoed in young Olympio’s mind. Naturally with all the psycho conditioning he received and with the fact this was his first blooding he did not feel anything even close to remorse, regret, or hesitation in this act of genocide. He was however rather saddened by the fact there was not a redeemable soul left in this locale. Even before the drop pod landed Olympio scanned the minds of the world’s denizens. Many were thinking of simple mundane things, the pictures of innocence. Families lived and loved, tragedies and triumphs were had, and the things that the Grey Knights were ultimately fighting for thrived on in the world. But these people they were descending to meet would have none so much as deserving the Emperor’s mercy, only death in a most spectacular way possible with the hope of insuring that from the corpses present the seeds of heresy would not at a later date sprout again as they had to create this little scenario for the Strike Squad.

As they entered the drop pod Olympio started a prayer, looking at his brothers while speaking to himself. He felt now that he had not articulated the full extent of what he had felt aboard the vessel, but alas now it was too late to worry their minds with the esoteric. Only bloodshed awaited them, and that they would more than do their duty in. Olympio knew he had not the fiery pyrotechnics of one, nor the bladework of the other, nor the veterancy of the Justica. But they would be blind insofar as he saw, relying on the fact they were to only deal with rabble at most having a mark or two of Slaanesh to empower them.

As the pod hit the earth Olympio was the last to exit, making sure he finished his prayer before joining the fray. The scene initially seemed empty, a ghost town being their field of battle. But soon scanners, superhuman sense and a psychic reading of the town revealed that this was not in fact true. A horde of enemies soon descended upon the Knights who clearly had been expected. Olympio pressed his blade to his face, before flourishing and charging into the thick of the foe with the simple words “Emperor!” on this mouth. He did not fire his stormbolter, believing that the strength of the enemy did not merit the waste of precious psybolts when a nemesis force weapon would more than suffice. Sure, he took a lot of las and auto fire that he could have avoided but other than the occasional scratch upon his armour it would be nothing of note. Indeed as the distance closed the Marine already felt that he could track the movements of the heretics before him and evade their fire with janky movements, while being able to outright dodge some of the ballistic projectiles they spat at the holy warriors.

As he neared the lines of the amassed foe he jumped over their overwatch fire crushing two hapless foes under his ceramite boots. He had to act fast then to not get overwhelmed by the enemy surrounding him but this was not particularly hard with a nemesis force blade in his hands. A single pirouette with the blade split in twain the first wave of oncoming attackers and from then on he rushed forward to make use of the space he had just made by cleaving a further line in the enemy formation. Some of the enemy tried to parry with their improvised blades and bludgeons but this didn’t work. Olympio didn’t even try to go around their blocks, knowing his weapon would simply cut through their unrefined plasteel arms. He cut through more and more of the foe, but as the combat went on he noticed the enemy parted from him rather than trying to envelop the warrior, and it was clear why moments later. The terrain around him started to exploded the few heretics that did not get away being nearly instantly vapourized by the autocannon mounted on a roof. It was a rather surprisingly powerful one with twin barrels allowing it to cycle at twice the speed of a typical autocannon, a perfect weapon to rip apart space marines carrying both the rate of fire of automatic small arms and the potency to actually penetrate armour of a lascannon. More shots from the weapon rang out, one shell detonating dangerously close and leaving one leg of the Grey Knight broken. Olympio cursed his arrogance, knowing that if he failed to pay attention to his surroundings but a few moments longer he would now be a red mist rather than simply possessing a leg broken by the shockwaves.

Once more he zigged and zagged with superhuman speed of Astartes to insure the shells narrowly missed him. He knew he could not persist like this forever and he could not rely on his Brothers just yet for they all had their own little battles to deal with. He breathed in, closing his eyes momentarily in spite of the grave danger he was in. This was not the moment to try and make predictions faster and more accurate than he had before, but it was the only way out he knew — but he only needed a few truthful milliseconds! He slowed down, and eventually he turned side ways just narrowly avoiding a strafe of foretold exploding munitions before raising his sword and letting witch-lightning leap from it’s tip all the way to the roof, connecting with the feed-system of the guns and overcooking their ammo with a bright and gory display. Letting more lightning leap from his finger-tips to the heretics running at his back thinking they had an opportunity, he once more took a two-handed grip upon his blade and charged into a clump of gunmen. The Grey Knight could only hope that the Justicar would forgive him for using his powers unbidden when the squad may well have been expected to ration them for the all but inevitable case that a greater foe appeared.

Battle of the Nations

It depends on the infantry. In the Russian Empire it was indeed as you describe it, infantry only given a few balls and powder charges every so often to practice their firing for leaders like Kutuzov preferred to use only a volley or two to disorient the foe before charging. However this was not the case for all European militaries at the time, much less their elites.

What Are You Listening To?

Heroes of Might and Magic: Defying the Gravekeep

NO, YOU MAY NOT. I WILL TELL YOU MYSELF IF IT COMES TO BE PERTINENT.

The figure went lower to the ground and craned itself to come face to face with the young Lordling, the darkness of its helmet visor staring into Brandon's eyes despite having nothing in particular to actually be staring with.

I crawl through your every vein and nerve.

I see the valence of your soul.

The figure straightened out, making a noise reminiscent of one clearing their throat save for being far raspier, and with a metallic quality to itself. Again the being spoke, its voice not quite so overwhelming if still very loud.

Believe it or not, but you are dead child. You were cut open in far more places than is necessary to cease your breathing for the doers of the bladework sought to pull out your innards. Unfortunately for them those who I presume to be your heroic comrades interrupted their work. Unfortunately for you however, they were far too late to stop them ending your life. You are the victim of the Followers of Marcel Brunnerstadt. That name is in truth far longer, though you only need know it as I spoke't.

He is a powerful Necromancer long dead in the corporeal realm, but not having faced the final death his vile soul is still roaming the world with many evils in mind. They reanimated your body, imbuing it with a great many fel magics. But they did not banish your soul from it, and thus you are alive... except not quite. You understand, child.

The figure waved a hand, and in the darkness a slit opened revealing the same sight as that which was there through the visor of the helmet Brandon had put on his head earlier.

"Though some of the followers of the fallen Necromancer have been foiled, he has many more that will try once more very soon. Given you are one of the few who are aware of this predicament, you will go forth and bring an end to his villainy once and for all. Question? There better be none, for time is wasting and we must strike out upon the road as soon as possible."

War Never Changes 2 : A Post Nuclear Nation Roleplay

Legio Oklahoma

”Yeeeeeeeeeeeee-haw!”

“Get me some of that yankee ear!”

The taunts and jeers from the advancing Ghosts we unending and all equally unelegant but threatening. Alexus had most certainly underestimated the strange tribals as they bore down on the Legion’s position with their combined arms assault. Cavalry and storm trooper vanguard advanced after some sort of mortars blunted the proverbial phalanx of the Legion, followed up with more ordinary troops to cement gained ground and provide covering fire for further advances.

But Alexus knew he would prevail. He was operating under what was once known as deep battle doctrine, and while at many points the will of the auxilia nearly gave out the Legionnaires always seized victory from the jaws of defeat. The ghost people had advanced too far for their own gokd, and soon their salient would at its root be attacked from two sides turning it into a pocket – a pocket that would become a great many slaves and pieces of equipment for the Legion.

"My Lord, they're about to come into our trenches, shall I order the signal?"

"No."

"But my Lord, they are bearing down on our very positions, surely it is time?"

"Though to most this lesson comes earlier you will yet learn that victory belongs to the bold young Centurion." and as far as Alexus was concerned, that was that.

From their dugouts his Legionnaires unleashed powerful volleys of fire bringing down a great number of the incoming foe, but it was not enough. The Ghost Klan entered the positions of the Legion and bayonets were raised against tire irons and golf clubs.

Again the Centurion by Alexus started to say something about having to react, but he shushed the man as his eyes closed. The Centurion Maximus waited until he could finally smell blood and powder, and at last he nodded to a pubescent Speculator by his side. A firework erupted, and following it two more on either flank, and yet two more, and so on and so forth. Drawing the ripper gifted to him by the new Emperor himself in a powerfist clad hand Alexus turned to the Centurion by him. "Let us assist the brave Legionnaires" he stated, before roaring a battle cry lost to history and wading into warriors of the Ghost Klan.

The strategy was not one Alexus was wholly comfortable with, reminiscent of what the NCR had done to his comrades at boulder city those many years ago. And yet such frontline bait and trickery was becoming standard for the Legios as a whole, netting victories in every theater of war; Alexus had doubted the Frumentarius Emperor and his ways, but he had proven himself in the crucible of war more than once and - stopping his close quarters slaughter to look ahead with binoculars - it seemed yet again. The Ghost Klan outnumbered and outgunned the Legio Oklahoma but with creative stratagems and secure logistics they were gaining ground daily. However, Alexus at the same time had little to show for it. The Ghost Klan had largely made a living by feigning weakness and thus attracting raiders who they in turn raided and decimated. They had little in the way of any cultivated farms or industry, and the poor stock that they were would have little use beyond a hefty sum of slaves. Of course it would be a road to new conquests that would at least pay for itself in plundered equipment, and Vulpes Inculta was far more understanding than his predecessor. But somehow he couldn't shake the feeling this was a failure for which he would be reprimanded.

He could only focus on the future now, he muttered to himself as he disembowelled a Klansman. Perhaps if following this he could strike upon Texas….

---

Legio Nebraska

Dead Sea had to admit that Nebraska was quite a beautiful place. The rolling grass contrasted by plateaus and dotted with the animals not too mutated, or at least mutated not quite so ugly.

But he wasn’t here to view the beautiful vistas. The Red Prolas Tribe was a threat in the locale, and one that had to be stomped out fast with unparalleled brutality. Like the NCR it carried more to it than just a promise of prosperity, but also a component of nostalgia for dead pre-war ideologies. The big Red Book they followed, with which the Frumentarius ghoul was apparently very well acquainted; men over the sea were apparently very much supportive of it while America was bent on eradicating. Dolos believed his experience from before the war would help crush these strange people and as far as Dead Sea could see he was right.

Most important was to crush the lesser tribals that they were using their strange internationalism to gradually take in. Without their little compatriots though, the men of the Red Book would be nothing.

“They’re in this cave.” The Speculator pointed, Dead Sea nodding thankfully. He made a motion, and the column of Tributarii that came along went inside with their rifles upraised. Resistance was… futile.



Fully automatic fire cut through the first lines of defenders and the attempts at ambushes in melee within the elaborate cave system were easily foiled by the Tributarii’s own experience in close quarters combat. Any who surrendered were given the kindness of mercy, Vulpes and Dolos believing they could quickly reorient the tribe, while the present advisors from the people of the Red Book had to be interrogated. The defeat of the tribe took less than an hour, and their leadership was chained before being made kneel.

Dead Sea looked at them from Shaman to Chieftain. They were pathetic now, brought low and fearful. But that would change.

“Unchain them.” he said, repeating himself when the Tributarius beside him gave a confused look. “Unchain them. The Rock Stalker tribe is now under the protection of the Legion.” the Centurion Maximus said, smiling behind his mask — the campaign was going well.

The Division | Mao Mao & Andreyich

PENNSYLVANIA PLAZA // JAMES FARLEY POST OFFICE

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"Likewise, Ma'am." Badger replied, lowering his saluting hand. He wasn't a particularly big sports fan, unless one considered chess as such which his past comrades didn't. This meant he had not in the past had much time spent around the Madison Square Garden, so he had little idea what he might be getting into there (especially with recent changes). Still, duty was duty and if he'd be sent into the depths of hell he'd only ask for a spare magazine.

Nodding as the assignment was made clear to them, Badger raised an eyebrow as the woman expressed her suffering. He very, very much wanted to make a snarky comment about pretending to be hot shit when you have a wound but he restrained himself. Saluting again to the woman he stepped out, letting Firefly get through the bullshit of talking to brass. Leaning on a wall he filed his nails as he waited for his comrade to come out, believing the world having fallen to anarchy was not an excuse for being poorly groomed.

Putting away his little vanity objects he once more unslung his rifle and spoke while moving to save time. "I say we get up on the rooftops in the area first. See what we're getting into. Scavengers might have already picked everything clean, and if not there's a good chance we won't be the only ones looking for the fuel. Could easily be a rat's nest of some sort, ambushes and traps at every corner."

The fuel was needed urgently otherwise they wouldn't ask of it. But if they barged in trying to get it as fast as possible they'd die and not get the fuel anyway so as far as Don saw there really wasn't a reason to rush things, one of the stories of Aesop coming to mind now. The only difference was that the hare would step on a landmine or get its throat cut by someone in an alley whereas the tortoise would make it to the end of the race on a pile of ne'erdowells' corpses. Badger of course saw himself as the tortoise, not fancying bullets in himself. "Of course, once we get an idea of what we're up against we should act as fast as possible, high speed and low drag, in and out, push any bastards we come up against as hard as possible and force them off of what's ours."

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Warhammer 40k: Sons of Titan - A Grey Knights RP

Brother Olympio

Name: Olympio

Rank: Battle-Brother

Specialisation (If any): N/A

Psychic Aptitude: Olympio is a very powerful psyker even by the standards of the Grey Knights, the leadership of the Chapter considering him for the Librarius or even the Prognosticars should his career prove fruitful; however, his powers are rather unfortunately for a Grey Knight in the fields not immediately tangible in the battlefield; very powerful telepathy, divination, and even the power of logokinetics are natural to young Olympio. Thus he will in battle more often than not simply lend his power to his Brothers rather than using it himself.

Appearance: Brother Olympio is a fairly tanned man, his skin the shade of aged wood, with matching dark hair and brown-green eyes. He is generally bald, with his skin from head to toe covered in tattoos and decorative brands or scarrings from his past though these fade rapidly with time.