Andreyich

All for one for all! | A Warhammer Fantasy Int. Check

@Lucian The RP has already started. However, I would be glad to have you on board. If you work fast we can still fit you in before the next Chapter but if not I'd be eager to have you in the next one onwards.

All for One for All! | A WHFB Adventure [APPLY]

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Credits to @Lucian, The Arrival of Galadred

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As the first droplets of rain began to sprinkle from the sky, a merchant caravan meandered through the city of Nuln's southernmost gate. The merchant's wagon was a hefty thing, drawn by two pairs of two horses, and packed to the brim with silks and other expensive textiles, all rolled into thick spools of a multitude of colors and patterns. The wagon was a veritable rainbow of color in the otherwise drab gray of this first section of the city. Once past the relatively ornate gate, the city's stonework seemed to have been washed of any brightness that may have once been there by the sort of rain that threatened even now to fall in a deluge from the grey-clouded sky overhead.

The merchant who sat the wagon, driving the horses along with the occasional yip or flick of the reins, was as vibrant as the wagon itself, bedecked in the very textiles he intended to trade and sell. Showing off the goods, one might say. Surrounding the merchant, however, was a loose collection of sellswords and guards who matched the surrounding grayness of this part of Nuln far better than the merchant. Scruffy swordsman in dented plate, road-weary faces shaded by the hoods of the cloaks they all drew about their heads in preparation for the rain. All but one.

Walking a few paces behind the wagon was an elf, though one might have to look twice to tell him apart from a tall, well-built man. His short-cropped blond hair was being plastered to his head by the rain as it increased from a light drizzle to a proper rain. Unlike the others, his cloak had no hood. The white lion's pelt wrapped around his neck and came down to the middle of his calves, testament to how massive the creature had been in life. The monstrous lion's head rested on his right shoulder, staring out in a perpetual roar. This was the first thing that caught most eyes, the second being his pointed ears, which began to cause the upper lips of the more superstitious commoners to twitch upward in xenophobic judgement.

If the elf noticed those looks, he gave no outward sign. His sharp eyes continued to scan the streets for some last potential threat to his current charge before his contract was complete, his elven mind working quickly to consider every potential angle of ambush or attack. Fortunately, Nuln seemed safe enough, and especially well patrolled so near to one of its gates. The merchant's wagon made it to its intended stopping point, and the mercenaries were all handed their wages. After a brief moment of chatting (the shedding of the loose bonds of road-born camaraderie,) the guards left the merchant to his own devices as he set up shop in the rain, and set off toward the nearest inn. The elf did not join them.

Without word, the well-muscled Asur began to help the merchant with the heavier-lifting. He had somewhere to be, and though the clouds hid the sun, he could tell he was already late, but the merchant had been jovial and kind on the journey, and watching him toil alone in the rain gave the elf a pang of guilt that he'd struggle to ignore if he didn't return the kindness in some way, so he spent the better part of the next hour helping the man lift the heavy spools and arrange his stand in the market.

"I thank you, elf." The merchant said in his strange accent when the work was done, "Though I've nothing left to offer until business starts up. Maybe you could stick around, help protect my stock (and myself.)" The last bit was a whispered laugh, "For a fixed rate of pay, of course. After all, now that I've seen what that axe can do, I'd hate to hire anyone else as a guard. My wife back home would feel much better if she knew you were protecting me on the roads, Gar-uhh... errr, Galor..." The merchant trailed off. The elf had only said his name once, and spoke rarely on the road, except when it was necessary. The man fidgeted awkwardly.

"Galadred." The stoic elf offered mercifully in his deep voice after watching the man stammer a moment. He gave a small laugh, a sign that the man had not offended, for which the merchant seemed visibly thankful. "I'm afraid I must decline your offer, friend. I have my own business in this city, as it happens. I bid you safe travels, nonetheless." And with that, Galadred turned on his heel and walked off back into the rain, heading for a very specific tavern.

It had been some time since he had set foot in Nuln, and Galadred had never been to the tavern that was his current destination. As he walked the city streets alone, dogged by the rain, his mind wandered, comparing the architecture to that of his homeland, which brought on the inevitable bitter ache in the pit of his stomach. The longing. The echoes of his shame and the betrayal that lead him to be here. His brow furrowed, and he forced himself to focus, purging the creeping depression from his mind. Finally, he had something to do besides guard human merchants and prevent drunken tavern-brawls. Finally, he had a duty that was, just maybe, a match for him. The thought burned like a torch, the creeping shadows of regret and shame melting away in its light. It was with this renewed mindset that he entered the tavern, striding quickly to the bartender and giving the woman a curt nod of greeting.

"I am here to speak with Agniezka Voorman." Galadred said. The barkeep mumbled something about 'another one,' though The Lion did not hear the full extent, and didn't care to, judging by the tone. He was too focused on this rush of almost boyish excitement to finally be a part of something worthwhile, and perhaps to some deeper degree, interesting again to bother with the thinly-veiled vitriol of such an individual.

The pathway from the tavern he entered, to the one in which he now stood made no sense. While he was no worker of the winds himself, he could tell that he had walked paths that had been magicked. Surely they were designed that way to keep unwanted visitors from reaching this place. It also explained why he was allowed to keep his great battleaxe, Argent Roar, slung over one shoulder with a thick leather strap. He had the feeling that if he had not been invited, he never would have found his way to this place.

He had been invited though, and so the sorcerous pathways had lead him true, and now he stood in the doorway, beckoned to the table where four others sat. He stepped forward, pausing in his stride a moment as he noted another of the Asur among them. This instantly put him a little on edge, but he continued to the table and unslung Argent Roar from his back, laying the axehead on the floor and leaning the haft against the table. He gave a brief look to the others, eyes focusing for a brief moment on the other elf, then passing to the table. He picked a bottle of alcohol, seemingly at random, poured himself some with the glass set in front of him, and drank without hesitation, not saying a word. The one who had summoned them all here surely had enough to say for the lot of them.

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The briefing.

As the table slowly filled with new members it was hard for Hugo to not drift off into sleep after his great meal, perhaps some of the teas and other select items he consumed being the only thing truly preventing this. He only politely smiled to the arrivals, even if he couldn't actually fathom looking upon his new comrades with a friendly view. They were so... well, when he was a student in this very city's university many used the term "buzzkill." What was with all the Sigmar-cursed black? Or the faces, from the Elves to the Brettonnian they looked as if they had a powerful force of suction push all of their faces to the centre. Still, these were the people entrusted to him and even if they were not the type one could have a chat with at the very least they looked capable.

Hugo was not born with a very good memory truth be told, and he'd be among the first to admit this. But he was quick to acknowledge this weakness and as such he adopted a method one of his professors called the library of the mind, cataloguing and associating everything so that information could easily be retrieved from memory forced into the depths of his brain. It all came to him, the Elf being a wizard of sorts and the Brettonnian lad being a nasty bastard with a kill-count extending into the hundreds over the decades of his life, if reports were to be trusted. The Cultist was far younger, but he could nevertheless be depended upon to do good work if the dossier spoke true. Yes it was a very, very capable group. Alas, it paled compared to the group that had been devastated prior to this one. The fact he now had to hunt a quarry that greater men than he failed to defeat did not give any confidence to the noble.

But he'd make do.

"Thank you all for coming!" he said, straightening out in his seat, and bowing before the assembled company. "I shall leave the mutual introductions for later, I know who you are and seeing as none of you appear to be talkative company in the traditional fashion we can then save time by getting through that on the road. You are all here because you have unique skills that some in our organization believe can be used to safeguard this world from the End Times that are oft prophesied. Our first assignment is somewhat of a probationary one for you new inductees into our Order, but to describe it as simple is... well, a futile effort in trying to boost your morale. Should this assignment be successful, it shall be part of a long string of operations to hunt a greater foe that this team is being groomed for."

It was at this moment that Hugo wondered if any of them would question how so much was known about Zartai, and yet this team would be - to their official knowledge - the first sent after it. "The Old World has been maligned by beastmen from before the foundation of the Empire, their threat at most an auxiliary one to that of the Northmen. However, one of their kind has become worrisome for those that represent Order on the grand scale of this planet. A creature we know as Zartai, an ungor, one of the lesser beastmen typically a mere mutated human has managed to become a chosen of three of the Dark Gods, now seeking to find favour in the Lord of Change. In conjunction with great artifacts that have come into his possession it will be a catastrophe if he ascends to become a Champion of Chaos Undivided in the true sense that he represents all four of their malign Gods, rather than none." At this point several papers on the wall were pointed to including a drawing of the vile fiend and a map indicating where he had been.

"After an extensive session of interrogation of one of his followers it has been revealed that to gain favour of the Lord of Change he must incite war between races or failing that at least incite war within them in memory of the war millennia ago waged between Asur and Dawi supposedly aided by the foul deity's hand." The man stopped to drink some water, both lips and tongue rather dry.

"Agents of our Order have strong reason to belief he is at work in Marienburg and the nearby Seas. We have been informed that somebody is smuggling warpstone to Ulthuan, ground up in the manner that lets it have narcotic uses, this in turn correlating with strange occurrences in that far-off land. The ships that get caught with it seem to have little in common, those of High Elven merchants and human or even Dwarfen ones seemingly being used to carry crates of the stuff. A long investigation revealed that the only commonality between the vessels is that they all went to port in the Wasteland before coming to the Asur Coasts. Typically Marienburg, but a few have docked in Broekwater, Mannansport Zee, and some smaller villages by Reaver's Point. As of late a reverse effect has been noticed by the Marienburg directorate in the Wasteland's ports, and rather than cooperation we are only seeing hostilities grow between the two realms. We, the Black Badge, are tasked with investigating this and putting a stop to it. Given a previous Northward trek of our furry friend there is little doubt he is at least in part responsible. We leave for Marienburg at first Sunlight, there are accommodations for all of you to rest until the morning. I have been given a hefty sum to finance this venture and should any of you need something for our investigations and possible confrontation then I suggest you ask now, for after this meeting I shall be going right to bed."

Most of the speech had been recited from memory of about half an hour with quill. He stuttered a few times, but ultimately he said everything he wanted to in good time, though no doubt many thoughts would have by now come into the minds of the people before him. "Thoughts?" Hugo asked, slightly shifting his weight on his chair as the dark got darker.

All for One for All! | A WHFB Adventure [APPLY]

Chapter One: The Sending of Four

Hooray, Hooray for the Emperor's Benevolence! — In which friends are made — It becomes clear man and elder race aren't all that different — The Paradox of the Wasteland — On the Prudence of being a Polyglot

Hugo groaned, but it was a groan of pleasure. The table before him was truly a mess, yet there was method to the madness. On the right were all the finished drinks ranging from wines red, white, and sparkling of Brettonnia combined with good Gisoreux Brandy, to Bugman's ale, to a sampling of Kislevite Kvass and Vodka with a cup of Arabyan coffee and two Nipponese teas. On the left was the charred stub of a hanscha roll-up from Araby, an expended tube of Cathayan pipeweed, a sniff of mints from Khuresh. In the middle was a veritable genocide of animals surrounded by the harvest of many plantations, the man not even remembering every single thing brought to him that had by now been consumed.

Such moments were rare, but when they could be organized they were bliss. The music played in the... tavern wasn't to his liking (at least when brought before the current weather and time of day) but it was good, and as workers of the establishment cleared the table in the rather large booth the Agent of the Black Badges looked out of the window. He'd been here many times before, but the effect was still something that made his brain feel upside down.

This Chapter-house of the Black Badges was under one of Nuln's more reputable taverns, not quite good enough for the upper nobility but good enough for the growing bourgeoisie of merchants and lesser nobles. Except looking through the window the word "under" felt disingenuous. Agents of the Black Badges would ask an elderly barmaid with red hair to speak to Agniezka Voorman, before being lead down a set of stairs. Through the stairs they would navigate a complicated passage of many turns, ramps, and for some even a ladder and staircase or two before finding themselves in a tavern with a wholly different clientele; the fact that through windows one had a good aerial view of Nuln despite having had such a long downwards journey simply demonstrated that the Black Badges had very, very good Shadow Wizards under their employ.

Though it would almost certainly play havoc with the minds of the three invited agents, they would certainly have to be thankful for respite from the rain. It wasn't a downpour that blocked the skies, but few people liked being wet for very long. Having been given a physical description of the men that were to join him, Hugo looked at the doorframe for them to enter the scene as well as through the window to perhaps catch a glimpse of the motley assembly. Even in the streets below, a High-Elf, a dark Brettonnian, and a disciple of Morr wouldn't be hard to spot.

Once they entered Hugo would wave towards them and motion for each to come over and sit at the table he was at. Though there was a great board covered in papers within the booth, Hugo would tell the arrivals for now to simply order refreshments not wishing to discuss business until all the agents were assembled.

All for One for All! | A WHFB Adventure [APPLY]

PROLOGUE

It had been a good day for the tribe.

The little man looked so silly, flailing with his arms. Or, well, what was left of them anyway. Truth be told it was fairly impressive how after both hands were cut off he quickly scraped his bones to create improvised daggers of them. The stuntie even managed to take a minotaur before finally coming to the inevitable grasp of the most excellent Lord Zartai.

"Not quite reaching me, are you?"

This angered the Slayer even more, but with his mangled arms the only thing he could do was try to cut through the plated arm of the beastman, unable to reach his exposed body. This prospect failed before even starting, and after a few more mocking moments Zartai squeezed, before letting the headless body fall to the ground amidst its former comrades.

The Ungor Sorceror screamed as somehow there was enough squashed brains in the dead Dawi to get him to stand back up, and use one hand to impale a Gor Warrior whilst using the other to slash Zartai across his thigh. The Deathblow. Zartai had heard of it, though somehow he hadn't heeded the wisdom of this hearsay. Picking up the club of the fallen minotaur he bashed the Dwarf until there was naught left of him save a red puddle. By now all of his wounds had healed, and already he was ready to travel once more from this battlefield. The party was a very tenacious one truth be told, but it didn't last; it couldn't. Between the twinned Spellsinger and Spellweaver, the Slayer, the Knight of the Blazing Sun, the Witch Hunter, the Ranger and the Shaman from Albion they had managed to slayer hundreds of his warriors of the years they quarrelled.

Though a depleted one, Zartai's force was nevertheless to be reckoned with. He alone possessed enough mutations and magical gifts to make short work of much of what his adversaries could throw at him, but by his side there was still a Bray-Shaman, many monstrous beasts, and a great gaggle of mutants and simple heretics seeking their brothers in faith. Even now there were many more coming to serve him, and they were more than simple fodder, oh no. These were those powerful enough to taste the very flow of the warp, those who knew that Zartai had gained favour of all the Chaos Gods save Tzeentch, and that where he went there plunder would follow.

"Leave the wounded." He announced. His many underlings protested, but he hushed them all into silence and simply repeated the order. They could easily be replaced he reasoned, while time could never be. In fact he knew that was wrong, but it was an answer that satisfied or at least mollified his followers. Thus they headed North to the prosperous Wasteland, a status they hoped to change soon. Zartai would commune with Htarken again soon, and then the old world would know suffering.

All for One for All! | A WHFB Adventure [APPLY]

The world suffers. The forces of Chaos amass in ever greater numbers lead by new Champions. Yet they who should stand against them are more and more mired in their own petty problems, the forces of Order beset now by Death and Destruction in addition to their eternal enemy from the North. The organizations previously created to stand against the threats to all that is good now prove insufficient, and thus against new challenges must be assembled new warriors. Only time will tell if these will truly suffice.

From the West ride foreigners be they from fair Brettonnia or enigmatic Ulthuan. They came to the land of the Twin-tailed Comet where they shall meet the Sons of the Empire. Heroes? Time will tell, but they shall make their best efforts to be as such. Their lives and skills vary as night and day but all their means will lead to the same end. Every one of their living days will easily be their last, but at the very least their sacrifices wouldn't be forgotten, for in great chronicles they are recorded.

BOOKS:

Book One: In Defence of Truth

Prologue

Chapter One: The Sending of Four

How come there are so few Table Top Roleplayers here?

I imagine they stay away to learn how to seduce. They die they die.

Here? They're Alchemistknightessesesesss.

@reaping Adder

What did he mean by this

Heroes of Might and Magic: Defying the Gravekeep

"No, they're doing that because you're so charming. What do you think you bloody fool?"

The short retort was followed by something recognizable as the muttering of the elderly when confronted by the lack of experience found in youth. Perhaps it was just a momentary annoyance, but it seemed that at least for now the voice had a very poor tolerance for words of rhetoric or self-evident observations it deemed unnecessary.

However, whatever rapport the boy might have lost by annoying the spectral man was quickly regained when his immaterial ego was stroked by the usage of the higher honorific of the two offered. Some excitement entered Lord Dietrich as Brandon described the presence of orcish barbarians, the man eager to taking the fight to them, albeit with a hint of anger.

"Orcs? Bloody youths, I thought they would be exterminated by now! 'Course, it would help to know when exactly now is but it bloody well seemed long enough to give you time to clear some savage throngs."

The voice grumbled, pausing for a moment when asked about what one best do if against Orcs and their allies.

"The groin's the most important bit. If its a goblin you're against then protect your own, if its an orc you fight then go for their's, but if the opportunity - or perhaps need - presents itself you should be ready to follow the advice against one race when fighting the other."

....

"The literal lesson of that is very important, but I hope you can take the metaphorical one to heart too."

Time passed on the march, and Lord Dietrich subsided his previously incessant complaints at least for now, the seriousness of the situation at least temporarily neutering his flippant edge. This would not last for very long however, for as the battlefield was finally approached the ethereal man felt his old self once more.

"Pipe down, pipe down, you don't have to say it to them they know what you want. Some of the zombies might sound like they still talk but that's just gasses escaping and the occasional spasm of a vocal chord, nothing more. Don't throw everything at them at once, either let them do that first or let them show their ambushers if they got them.... Oh, and challenge their leader to single combat."

All for One for All! | A WHFB Adventure [APPLY]

@TyrannosaursRex the format of CS I created was to give me the bare minimum of what I as a GM and your fellow players would need demanding only said minima, but you went above and beyond; I'm honoured to have that sheet in the CS tab. That said, I think most DMs including myself prefer to first see the sheet and give it the okay before getting it posted to the CS tab.

With that said a few thoughts. Though few among them would have any reason to divulge this there would be those who quickly bite through the disguise; older Elves, Witch Hunters, and magic users for the most part.

Second, with such detail at my disposal I'm curious if you would be ok with the appearance of people from Jehanette's past in the story given the almost 100% chance we will eventually make our way to Brettonnia (I've already written it into three different plot lines). Most likely members of Alison's family, perhaps the same Greenskins for a cool revenge arc, maybe a few folk who recognize the unique heraldry especially when combined with the Knight's appearance.

Third, does Jehan travel light with just the full plate for protection or is there chainmail and/or cloth armour beneath, etc.

The Division | Mao Mao & Andreyich

PENNSYLVANIA PLAZA // JAMES FARLEY POST OFFICE

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As they went further through the building the fact the people who had shot the police officers found it necessary to go for the head like the first ones the Agents had seen, Badger at least felt a little more confident for it might suggest they lacked long-rifles to penetrate the body armour of the Agents. Of course that was probably wishful thinking and whoever had done this massacre was probably just either A) saving bullets or B) making absolute sure that their opponents were dead. The former of the two options meant that the stinginess of the opponent could be levered against them, whilst the latter would insure that if one of the Agents got taken out of action then they wouldn't recover, for this foe would make sure to execute them as they had the now dead men at their feet.

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Badger stood impassively as Firefly spoke, nodding to his counterpart as he finished. To him it seemed that the man was speaking this warning as much for himself as for Don who knew he didn't really need it. He was well aware he was a cold utilitarian bastard; the only thing he would consider offering the souls that would be there might be a bullet of mercy, but even that was likely out of the question given that with all the factories closed down the ammunition the agents had was to be rationed.

They went through the scene, and though it was a harsh sight the Agent calmly did his duty looking side to side making sure no threats were hidden between the pictures of misery. Eventually they made it to the elevator, Don frankly quite surprised it was still operational given the state of disrepair of everything else. In fact, he was rather suspicious. "Weird that the elevator's working, when everything else is so fucked." Of course given the security room was still functional it wasn't that much a surprise, but still something to think about.

When the topic of the men being sent here was broached, something like a smile finally went on Badger's lips. "From how it sounded I was certain the answer is 'C: All of the above.' even as they were briefing us. They simply couldn't know exactly what is going on here, but they likely guessed its a rat-trap with ninety-nine percent efficiency, money back guaranteed. Chances one of us are going to be part of a mortality statistic are pretty high I think, but I don't think that's the fault of the pricks that sent us here. Look around, there's no more coffee runs to be done, everything is a suicide mission, and amongst them this isn't that bad. I think a bullet to the brains is nicer than having some dipshit use a baseball bat to turn my ribs into aspic."

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War Never Changes 2 : A Post Nuclear Nation Roleplay

Denver Reclamation Force Squad Thaddeus

Thuck. Thuck. Thuck.

The axe finally broke through the barricade, the glare of flashlights immediately following through the opening. They didn't reveal much beyond old bones.

"Nothing." the voice rang out, the combined task force relaxing. A Frumentarius kicked a skeleton, ancient parts of which turned to dust. The search of Denver's ruin's had been fruitless thus far, and leadership was getting angry.

Of course, fruitless was a comparative term. Thousands of crates of medicine, preserved foods, munitions, electronics and other valuables had been secured, but that was not what the Governor wanted and that was who could order their deaths with a lazy flick of his fingers. What he described was… well, to some of the men present with more tribal backgrounds it was all but incomprehensible, but the more learned warriors knew they'd know it when they saw it.

The most veteran of the Frumentarii did a few taps on his Pip-boy before giving the squad a rest, and then an order to continue. There were occasionally ghouls in these basements and sub-basements, but the few that were about were… well, the only way to describe them would be to call them mangled. It was as if something had ate their flesh, but wasn’t sufficiently famished to finish them off. A rather pathetic display was even now before the warriors as a legless torso made an admittedly fervent effort in crawling towards them. The poor thing was put out of its misery with a gladius to the skull, before the men continued.

They were getting tired both in the moment and of their greater work. It was repetitive to say the least, and yet it yielded no results that would bring them glory or at the very least save their hides. Decanus Cyril suggested the governor be informed that all the buildings were searched and his quarry was not found, but in unison the Frumentarii shot the idea down. Though in any hypothetical punishment by decimation they had a fair chance of survival owing to their favourable view by the Emperor, it was still not absolute guarantee their heads would escape wrath of the Lord.

No, they had to do this and they had to do it well. It was a harsh life down here, the main thing that they packed being water and munitions, with the abundant appearance of wandering dogs feeding them.

Another basement was entered, and flashlights were turned on. Once again they went through all the rooms they found, marking down any with something valuable in them with a pink chalk X to make it clear to following parties of Scouts they should look within for things further marked within.

“Hold.” Everyone looked to the Frumentarius who whispered, doing his bidding. He motioned for all to follow him into a room previously cleared that they closed the door to. Flashlights were turned off such that eyes could acclimatize to the dark, and soon peering through the missing doorknob all could see what the man had heard.

It was a cyberdog which was a sight not particularly rare but not common either in Denver. But it looked odd. The steel was fresh, no scars upon it and it was also so wet its fur gleamed in the gloom. The gait of the beast was odd, a limp that with every step seemed to right itself. Similarly the animal had odd spasms that happened every half second at the start of its journey through the vision of the Legionnaires, but by the end they all but stopped.

Eventually the door was opened, and looking down the soldiers could see that the thing had left a trail of an odd slime behind itself.

Cusses of confusion rang out, and slowly the trail was followed to its origins. They went deeper into a sub-basement, and then a sub-sub-basement, where they found a blast door. It was battered, a great hole preventing the blast door from being effective in its purpose. The slime-trail had continued here, and now it was illuminated by a blue light from the other side. The squad wasted no time in finding out what the hell they stumbled upon, and a combination of pickaxe, mattock, chainsaw and blowtorch swiftly dismantled the rusty barrier.

The Decanus grinned, bright lights of the place lighting up his bandana’d face so well one could see his expression behind the mask. They had found what they came for.