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Vulpes Inculta - Indianapolis

Chaos had erupted inside the fallen city, as the Cult’s warriors sprang their trap, assaulting Brotherhood and Legion troops alike in a mad bloody melee. It was like the earth itself had opened up and spit out beasts and men from the depths of hell. The Legion’s forces reacted immediately, and Centurions ordered their men into defensive formations as they’d been drilled and trained to do time and time again. Ambushes of this sort were not uncommon for The Legion to encounter: experienced as they were in fighting tribals and guerilla fighters in Utah and Colorado. But the Cult’s war beast abominations and horrific appearance unnerved even the hardened Veterans.

“Hold them!” A Centurion standing on a rooftop shouted above the din of battle as his Legionaries fought on bravely below. Blades against blades, chainsaws revving and tearing into flesh, gunshots ringing out and blood coating the concrete and rusted steel of the city. A molerat mount, riderless, and covered in spears like some kind of twisted porcupine road through the carnage before collapsing from exhaustion and blood loss. Despite the ferocity of the sudden attack and the horrors they faced, the Legion would give no ground. All would rather die than shame the standard of Caesar.

Vulpes Inculta road with the Praetorian Guard towards the battle, his gaze fixed ahead and his mind immediately turning to planning a counter-attack now that The Cult had revealed its plan. He should have seen this coming, Indianapolis had fallen too easily and it was hard to imagine how the Cult could have allowed such weak fighters to represent them on the field. Now the truth was made manifest: they’d saved their best warriors in reserve and only now committed them to a final assault. They could never hope to claim victory, but victory wasn’t their objective.

He suppressed a grin, he had to give them was a trap that he would have gladly sprung himself against The NCR. Perhaps it was not entirely as...imaginative as some of his past work...but no less deadly for that. The fact that they’d been able to conceal such abominations and such raw power for long enough to make them all pointed to the Cult’s war leaders even in such a backwater part of their territory having far more strategic acumen than he or perhaps even The Brotherhood’s Inquisitors had been willing to consider.

The group of Praetorian horsemen were just about to regroup with the main column when out behind the rubble sprung a group of cult marauders. The horses reared up in startled protest and stamped impatiently at the sight before them. Each cultist was mounted on horrifically twisted and mutated molerat beasts, abominations that seemed to scream madness. Their riders, too, were no less gruesome with gore-riddled spikes and heavy armor and helmets. The lead rider, a massive ungainly brute, clenched his jaw in a malicious grin, and then he shouted,


Vulpes steeled his nerve, sent up a silent prayer to Mars, and drew his gladius. The Praetorians immediately followed suit, their unsheathed blades singing with desire for blood and glory. He gripped the reigns of his horse and lowered his blade at the approaching foe,

“Take them head on. Break through..” He said calmly to the men around him, “LEGIO INVICTA!” He yelled finally and spurred his mount forward.

“LEGIO INVICTA!” Came the Praetorians reply. A war horn blared out proudly.

And they charged.

Time seemed to stand still as the two groups raced towards one another before finally they clashed, riders tangling amongst each other in bloody carnage. The Praetorians were the Legion’s elite: the best fighters hand-picked to guard Caesar. They fought just as well with blade, firearm, spear, and fist. Each man would give his all in this battle.

Vulpes knew his target. As the slaughter raged around him, he singled out the lead rider and raised his gladius in a challenge,

“Your dark god cannot help you,” He taunted, “I am a Son of Mars...and I am Legion. We will tear your monolith to the ground, and see your degenerate Prophet nailed to a cross...your end is coming. Sooner than you think.”

The Aces Theatre at the Tops Casino- The Vegas Strip

One scotch, one bourbon, one beer…

The soft jazzy tune drifted around the smoky atmosphere of the Aces Theatre. Thomas, seated in the booth with Cait, was sipping on a ice cold nuka cola orange: his favorite flavor. His arm wrapped tightly around the redhead in a display of affection he rarely showed in public around The Institute. The two Courser bodyguards, disguised as they were, looked like two well dressed button men standing to either side of the booth. Patrons of the Theatre assumed he was some sort of mob figure with his squeeze or perhaps a big-shot Nevada tycoon in cahoots with Mr. House. They were not...entirely wrong.

Cait refrained from any alcohol offered to her by the waiters. She was close to three years sober at this point, and never intended to touch the stuff again despite her earlier jokes. She knew she couldn’t risk falling back into her old ways. Thomas, who’d never been a big drinker in the first place, was more than happy to stick to cola when she was around as well. It suited him just fine: better in fact. So rather than be drunk, both of them just sat listening to the music and taking in the sights and sounds of the Theatre. Enjoying each other’s company in a rare moment of bliss.

Thomas would have to thank Robert later for giving him the chance to cut loose for a bit. It was certainly a nice change of pace from his usual busy schedule at The Institute. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings were the order of the day there. Not that he didn’t enjoy his work mind you, The Institute had become his life. He’d devote everything he could spare to it and its people. All he could hope was that Shaun would have approved of what he was doing, of the path he was treading for them. It was all he had left of him. He would see his final vision come to fruition.

“Is this what it was like?” Cait’s voice snapped him out of the hypnotic-like trance of relaxation the music and cozy atmosphere had him under, “You know….before.”

He looked down at her, wrapped as she was in his arms. He smiled,

“Yes. It was this and more. Not everything was good...plenty was wrong with the world before. But this...this is what was right.”

“I think I would have liked it then,” she replied as she nestled herself in deeper. She closed her eyes and continued listening to the music, nearly falling asleep.

“I think you would have too….”

Dr. Madison Lee - The Institute

“Have a good night Dr. Lee!” The cheery voice of Rosalind Ormand carried out the door of the Advanced Systems Division as it slid to a close. Dr. Lee took a deep breath and began her slow walk home through The Institute’s concourse and back up to her residence on the top floor of the atrium wing. Quiet hours had already begun, and artificial starlight shown through the domed ceiling of The Institute’s interior. To those born and raised in this underground paradise, the lights above were a calming presence, and something of great beauty. But to Madison, born and raised on the the surface, they couldn’t compare with the real thing even if she did find herself occasionally staring up as if she was looking at the infinite blackness that was the night sky. But like much of what was in The Institute, it was still artificial...and she hated it sometimes.

As she began walking up the stairs, she reflected on how things had changed since Shaun had died and his father had taken up his mantle: becoming leader of The Institute. New protocols, new directives...and now the implementation of the next step in whatever master plan the Milburn family had for The Institute and the world. It was being dubbed “Phase 4”, not without reason obviously given the last Phase, and despite her high rank within The Directorate her information about its objective and status was limited. But she knew enough to understand where it was eventually many “Phases” it would take, what they would eventually all lead to. There was only one logical outcome...perhaps the world would be for the better….or perhaps they were wrong and they would replace one horror with another kind. She wasn’t sure.

At this point though, she didn’t care. After she’d confronted Director Thomas about everything….the FEV experiments undertaken by his son…..Dr. Virgil’s confinement....the new Phase 4 directives...the secret missives he’d been distributing to each of the Divisions…the work he’d ordered Advanced Systems to perform without her consent....well after everything he had almost seemed impressed with her deductive skills. She’d threatened to resign, threatened to return to the surface, find Sarah Lyons and give her everything she’d need to bring The Institute to its knees as one final act of revenge.

It was a hollow threat, and she hadn’t expected to survive it, at least not in the form she was...but Thomas had only smiled. Smiled in that gentle, oddly comforting way that he always did. And he offered her a deal.

A deal she couldn’t refuse.

She’d taken it. Taken it like she was selling her soul to the devil, and doing so with gusto. Thomas wasn’t stupid, and he played her like a fiddle. He knew exactly what she wanted...and how far she would go to attain it. He dangled it in front of her like a carrot...and she snapped at the bait. Now...Thomas had her in the palm of his hands: she would admit that fully, but she didn’t care.

Madison stopped at the door to her apartment and paused briefly. The retinal scan confirmed her identity and the doors slid open with a hiss.

“Welcome home Madison, how was your day honey?”

The warm voice greeted her with a rush of dopamine. Stronger than the strongest drug any chem-addict could concoct,

“It was good James, I had a great day in fact…” She nearly ran over to the counter where James was standing: he looked just as she’d remembered him to be. Just as perfect, just as radiant and brilliant. Now...he was hers.

“I’m glad….I tried to make you dinner, unfortunately I don’t think it turned out as well as I imagined it would. I was never a great cook, but you know that...”

“Its alright...I’ll enjoy it all the same…”

And she leaned in and kissed him, kissed him deeply. Finally feeling his lips on hers….no matter how many times she felt them, she couldn’t get over it. After all these years of wanting, needing, and going without...she would do it no more.

“Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me all about your work. I’d love to hear about it.”

“I’d be glad to share,” She smiled, “I’m so happy you’re here again James….so happy.”

“I’m happy too Madison. Happy to be with you finally…..”

Yes….she now owed no loyalty but to the one who’d given her everything she’d wanted. Even if Phase 4 scared her….she’d see it through now. She had no choice. But then again….she never did really.
Indianapolis Town Square

“Sergeant Kyle…” Vulpes muttered to himself, “Of course...convenient for you to arrive here….” Dressed as he was in a Praetorians uniform with his helmet distorting his voice, he neither expected nor wished for the Sergeant to realize who he was, or that he’d interrogated him only some hours before. The Sergeant’s sudden appearance was...odd..but perhaps such coincidences could be explained by the work of Mars.

Before any conversation could continue, one of the vertibird co-pilots came running out of the aircraft, making a bee-line for them,

“Sergeant!” He shouted, “Its the Paladin-General! He’s ordering us to take off immediately! There’s some sort of situation! He’s asked that we take the Legate up with us for safety and that he get into contact with him immediately.”

The Legion troops all looked to Aurelius, waiting for his orders,

“Very well,” the Legate nodded, “I assume this must have something to do with the sudden appearance of the mutant. You two..” He pointed to two of the Praetorians, “With me. The rest of you,” His eyes fell on Vulpes, “Make haste back to the column and halt the advance. All legionaries are to hold their current positions until further orders are given. Am I understood?”

“Yes Legatus!”

Aurelius immediately followed Sergeant Kyle back to the vertibird and hopped aboard with two of the guards. In no time the vertibird was off the ground and hundreds of feet in the air. Aurelius watched as the horsemen below turned heel and began riding hard back through the city.

Once they were out of immediate danger, the co-pilot handed him the radio transceiver and Aurelius took it,

“This is Legate Aurelius,” He began, “What is the situation?”

Caesar Lucius - Santa Fe, Palace

Lucius waited for Barnaky to finish his thoughts on the question posed by President Harris before giving his own opinion on the matter,

“I sympathize with the Ruler in the South who fights these cultists….I’ve not had the chance to speak with Bartholomew myself, but rumours of his reputation proceeds him. However, I am concerned with over-extension of our forces. More than 20,000 sons of mars are now deployed to the east with my finest commander at their head. And if the information coming back to us from the front is true, the Warmaster is on the move. The actions of the Cult in stirring up disorder in the Keys via this ‘Suttbray’ could very well be a ploy to draw more men away that could be sent against them. Blood that is needed east will be sent south, its an old tactic, but not without merit does a stratagem become such.”

“I agree that allowing the Cult and the rebels to tear apart the Keys, or any stable nation neutral to these affairs, is not desirable,” Lucius continued, “But our focus must be kept to the east. I am willing to send a small force to help intervene in these Southern troubles and aid his Serenity in securing his position, but we should not distract ourselves. If the Keys fall, it is unfortunate, but should we burn Pittsburgh to the ground...and if we can silence The Cult forever by sticking the head of their blind prophet on a stake and raising their ‘Monolith’ to rubble….then it is a trade worth making. That is our true objective, and I wish to ensure we do not lose sight of it. That would be all I have to say on the matter.”

"Brother Martin here is fully briefed on these issues, and if necessary a teleconference can be set up with the Paladin-General and, if it pleases Caesar, Legatus Aurelius in Indianapolis can be convened."

“Of course,” Lucius nodded, “The Legate or one of his staff should be present and available to speak on behalf of the Eastern Legions.”


“Aurelius! Aurelius! Aurelius!”

The triumphant shouts of the victorious Legionaries resounded across the entrance to Indianapolis as the Legatus entered the fallen gates on horseback alongside Vulpes, his Praetorians, and a marching column of Veterans. The golden bull standard of Caesar and The Legion flew atop numerous rooftops and was held aloft by proud sons of Mars, signally that the siege was over and the enemy had capitulated. The remaining raiders, such as they were, had surrendered without further contest, only small pockets of resistance now remained, but they would swiftly be taken care of.

The Legion were not kind occupiers.

Those raiders that hadn’t killed themselves to escape judgement or been spirited away by the Midwestern Inquisitors, were now at the mercy of The Legate. And so the executions had begun. Every raider old enough to swing a machete was to be killed. Children that such depraved couplings between raiders had conceived, were to be enslaved and either sent to the camps or trained to become Legionaries to replace those that had fallen capturing their city. What few women that were healthy and clean enough to bear children were taken and were to be offered as wives to the Legate’s men.

And so the Legate entered the city to the victorious shouts of his men, and the screaming of the dead, dying, and those soon to be one or the other. The streets and former ramshackle walls of the city were quickly becoming lined with crosses. Screams of pain mixed with the sounds of hammers falling on wood and nails. Such was their number, that the Legion executioners began to run out of enough sturdy wood to make more. And so the beheadings began. Those that were to be swiftly beheaded could count themselves amongst the lucky ones, for their deaths were relatively painless: but no less grisly.

Barnaky’s soldiers looked on grimly, turning a blind eye to the proceedings. They’d expected such actions to be taken by their Legion comrades, their officers had tried to prepare them for it, but perhaps not all were entirely prepared enough to face the grim reality. Propaganda films and fancy words about brotherhood and mutual defense were one thing, but watching the Legion exterminate a city, raider or no, in front of your eyes was quite another.

Lanius rode down the streets of Indianapolis at a brisk pace, leaving the marching column behind, until finally arriving at what passed for the city’s “town hall”. A rough looking pre-war structure that had been turned by the raider leaders into a drug den and caterer to every vice their deviant minds could think of. Both he and Vulpes dismounted in the square outside the building, while the Praetorians stayed mounted.

“Order the men to make camp outside the city walls,” Aurelius said as he looked around him in disgust at the signs of squalor and degeneracy he was witnessing before him, “We’ll leave a garrison force within the city for the time being until we depart just to ensure its security. Once the men are rested and in good order, we’ll continue marching eastward. I don’t wish to delay our advance for long.”

“Culling the city will prevent us having to worry about a revolt flaring up behind us,” Vulpes remarked, “The Midwesterners may not all approve of our methods, but they’ll appreciate the results. With Indianapolis firmly in our hands, we’ll have a secure supply line as we move into the Cult’s territory proper.”

“Agreed. If we…” A sudden noise from afar caused Aurelius and Vulpes to turn in surprise. Some sort of great commotion was accompanied by the shouts and cries of men in battle. Something was wrong.

Suddenly a great hulking green mass burst forth from beyond a barricaded street. A larger than average mutant accompanied by two smaller abominable wolf-like creatures strode forward. The mutant carried a heavy club of some sort: bloodied from having apparently just smashed through whatever Brotherhood or Legion troops had barred its way.

“Where in Mar’s name did that come from?” Aurelius shouted as he drew his gladius.

“It must have been hiding in one of the buildings,” Vulpes remarked quickly. He thoughts immediately turned to this being some sort of trap left by the Cultists.

The creature barreled for the group of Legionaries, and the Praetorians wasted no time in reacting, “Legatus! Get yourself to safety!” The Head Praetorian cried out as he and his men charged forward on horseback. Spears were thrown at the creature but it simply shrugged them off, and with a tremendous effort, the creature swung its club at one of the horsemen: pummeling the Praetorian and poor beast he was riding to a bloodied pulp on the ground. One of the mutant wolf creatures charged for another Praetorian, and knocked him from his horse, but a well placed spear from his comrade felled the creature. The other charged for Aurelius, seemingly intent on sinking his teeth into the Legate. Vulpes immediately came to his old friends aide, and tossed a large throwing knife at the charging beast, hitting it square in the side and causing it to emit a pained yelp before it crashed to the ground and scrambled away.

The mutant brute however, was not so easily stopped, the Praetorians had been unable to delay it, and after taking another swipe at one of the horsemen, it turned and looked directly at the Legate: seemingly ready to run him down. Aurelius made his peace with Mars in that moment.

The sounds of spinning rotary wings caused the abomination to look skywards however, and like a guardian angel descending from heaven, down came a Brotherhood vertibird. Its forward guns pointed squarely at the beast. There was a brief moment of pause, and the mutant cocked its head ever so slightly as if vaguely aware of what was about to happen, before the vertibird’s guns opened up, and tore through its thick hide. The pilot laid down a stream of gunfire while the Praetorians rode clear of the flailing mutant. Seconds later and it had fallen to the ground in a bloodied heap of torn flesh, bone, and blood.

Once the vertibird had touched down, the pilot stepped out, his was face obscured by his helmet. Vulpes greeted him warmly.

“That was fortunate timing, do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Guess it’s just luck I was in the area...I happened to see the whole thing. All I know is I just helped out some of Caesar’s men by tearing a mutie a new one. Why, who’s he?” The pilot pointed to Aurelius, “Are you a Centurion? Apologies for the informal attitude.”

Vulpes was intrigued, he recognized that voice from somewhere...but his usually sharp mind was drawing a blank.

“Aurelius of Phoenix, Legate of The Eastern Legions,” Aurelius grinned, “I owe you my life it would seem. What’s your name pilot?”

The pilot pulled off his flight helmet, suddenly understanding the gravity of the presence he was in. He snapped to attention, “Excuse me, Legate I didn’t realize it was you. Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle, Midwestern Brotherhood Air Corp. If you’re the Legate, I’m glad I came when I did.”

“Mars watches out for his sons,” Aurelius nodded, “Your arrival is no coincidence.”

“I’m inclined to agree, sir.”

A crow perched on the roof of the vertibird cocked its head curiously, watching the proceedings below and focusing oddly intending on the Legion soldiers. The glint of red in its eye all but invisible.
Dwarf-things and man-things get nothing. Nothing!

Just kidding. Wampower is working on a post that should set the stage a bit for the dwarf/human side of things. Feel free to post something before that though. If your characters are newly arriving at the peak, perhaps a post of them on the road to the Karak discussing their reasons for getting involved etc. If they're just in it for money, obviously the promised pay is going to be very considerable.

It looks like I'll be handling the baddies of this RP pretty much exclusively. Unless we get more Greenskin/Skaven RP'ers. I'll work on getting something setup for the Greenskins to briefly set the stage for them as well.


Awesome sheet. Accepted.

Deep Below the Lower Halls of Karak Eight Peaks....

Fizquik Blacktail stood brooding within his laboratory, tucked within a deep crevice below the maze of ramshackle buildings and scaffolding which was the Pillar City. A surprisingly well constructed pulley system winched skaven in and out of his loathsome abode, which was brimming wall to rocky wall with all manner of hastily constructed mechanical equipment. The lines between magic and technology blurred utterly in the mad Warlock Engineer's lair. Luminescent jars filled with all manner of strange deadly chemical concoctions shared shelf space with rows and rows of half-finished inventions. Warp-lighting produced by spinning turbines arc'd around the lab between various electrical nodes and made the fur of many a rat-kin stand on end.

Amongst this display of insane science, a great number of wretched skaven slaves worked tirelessly to fulfill their masters wishes in as speedy a manner as possible, lest they become the next unwilling test subject for the Warlock’s latest and greatest weapon. They cranked levers, excavated large amounts of rock, spun turbines, or ran like mad rats atop strange devices to power some part of the lab. Fizquik’s engineer apprentices acted like vicious task masters, extolling the slaves to greater feats of physical labor under threats of horrific violence should they halt for even a moment. Their own blinding fear of the mad Warlock being the only thing that kept their envious hearts from turning against him.

While the din around him was chaos, Fizquik himself was unperturbed, keeping his snout glued to the schematics he’d created for his latest invention. They were nearly ready, it was time for a little test run.

With a triumphant squeek, Fizquik rolled the ratskin parchment up and lifted it upwards, extolling his own genius,

“I am mighty-great Warlock! Greatest of all Skryre engineers! Moskittar is sure to reward Fizquik with many more warptokens for this invention. We must test it now yes-yes, show fruits of my labors. YOU! Slave-thing!”

Fizquik pointed a claw at one of the wretched passing slaves. The poor skaven stopped immediately in his tracks and nearly emptied his glands with fear. No-one ever wanted to catch the Warlock’s attention.

“Go now! Scurry-hurry quick and pull lever over there!” He pointed to a particularly heavy looking rusted lever which was sitting preciously amongst arcing warp energy next to a large turbine generator.

The slave didn’t move for the briefest of moments, frozen with fear and was just about to beg for the Warlock’s mercy when Fizquik pulled out his warplock pistol and fired, blasting the slave back and leaving a bloodied mass where the warp bullet had tore through fur and skin.

“Too late!” Fizquik chittered manically, “Slave-thing too slow. Never make a Warlock Engineer of mighty Clan Skryre wait. You! Other slave-thing!” He pointed to another one of the passing slaves, “Pull lever now!”

Without hesitation the next slave immediately moved to obey the Warlock’s command. Judging, wisely, that it was better to take his chances with whatever mad device Fizquik was intending to test than to face certain death if he did not. The slave ran up to the lever and threw his entire body against it, wedging it back and initializing the process. The slave spilled to the floor and was getting back up on his paws, when a bolt of warp energy erupted next to his him and nearly seared his fur off entirely. The slave gave a loud squeek of utter terror before bolting away.

Fizquik stared up in crazed glee as he traced the energy flow released by the lever from turbine to turbine, electrode to electrode until it ended at a massive contraption at the center of his lab. A strange half-formed device that was a mass of pistons and spinning gears, kick started to life by the jolt of warp current. Fizquik’s goggles reflected the great green glow the device was giving off as he grinned in surefire astonishment of his brilliance,

“Yes-yes! More power! Pull all levers! Flip all switches! More! More!”

A crazed laugh escaped him which caused slaves and apprentices alike to wince with fear. His celebrations were cut short however, when the device began to sputter.

Fizquik lowered his gaze and his snout dropped in fear. The mass of Skaven within his lab ran for cover as the device shook violently. The Warlock ducked down behind a heavy boulder and plugged his ears just in time for a great explosion to rip through the lab. Warpfire blazed a bright iridescent green all around, engulfing every skaven unfortunate enough to be too close to it, and singeing the fur of many others far enough away to escape the immediate blast.

When it was finally over, Fizquik peeked out over the rock to see part of his lab in cinders, and the charred and mutilated corpses of many slaves all around. An unfortunate slave ran past him completely engulfed in warpfire before falling to the rocky earth unable to continue his flight.

“Hmm. Too much energy. Must fix-correct for next time. Bigger capacitors! Yes! That is the answer!”

Fizquik withdrew a tattered and hastily bound journal from his satchel and cracked it open, jotted a few notes down and returned it swiftly before turning his attention to his remaining workers cowering in the corners,

“Clean up this mess Slave-things! Quickly! Before I kill-slay each of you!” As if to prove he meant business, he fired another shot from his warplock pistol at a nearby slave, missing the poor rat by only a hair. He’d actually meant to hit him, but Fizquik would let them believe that was just a warning shot.

“How am I supposed to keep creating great inventions for Clan Skryre with such incompetent fools at my disposal?” He wondered aloud, “Slave filth. Must ask Clan Moulder for better slave stock...”

Fizquik was about to return to his work when a voice from behind him dared to call his name,

“Is this the lab of Warlock Fizquik?”

Fizquik spun around, and came face to face with a rather proud looking clan-rat. Clearly not one of his rabble given the armor he wore and the sword at his side...and lack of burnt fur,

“Who asks?” He snarled back, “Speak-say quick!”

With a smug expression, the visitor pulled forth a medallion and displayed it to the Warlock. It was jet-black with twelve scratches around its circumference. At the center, was the symbol of the Great Horned Rat. Fizquik eyed it suspiciously. It immediately dawned on him what this was, and the sight of a large heavily-armored Albino Stormvermin coming up behind the visitor like a bodyguard confirmed it. Fizquik couldn’t help but release a little fear musk.

“An emissary of the Council...” The visitor said proudly, “Council says its time for Skaven to take-conquer all of mountain for glory of Horned Rat...we have work to do.”
Alrighty, I'll have an opening post up for sure by this weekend. Ya'll can start thinking about what you'd like to do for your first characters post.
Fizquik Blacktail

Race: Skaven

Clan/Faction/Country: Clan Skryre

Class Descriptor: Warlock Engineer

Physical Description: A scrawny piebald rat pockmarked with scars and permanently singed hair due to experiments that have gone awry. He’s called “Blacktail” due to having, on one particular occasion, having burnt his tail while testing a new warpflame device , leaving it scarred and blackened.

Weapons/Armor and Gear: In battle, he wears his Warlock Engineer armor with an attached breathing apparatus designed to give him at least a modicum of protection from the warp lighting and warpfire he can unleash with his various devices. His weapon of choice is a warp-infused glaive that is able to channel warp lighting conjured from a small scale warp turbine attached like a backpack to Fizquiks suit. A small, highly unstable, rocket is attached to the glaive that he can ignite and launch out and above fray to rain warp-hell down on unsuspecting combatants. Aside from the glaive, he also carries a pair of repeater warplock pistols of his own design, inspiration from which came from observing the human version of the weapon and then improving it with brilliant Skaven engineering. Of course, Fizquik would never admit that he took an idea from anywhere other than his own brilliant self.

Background: Born into Clan Skryre, Fizquik was quickly destined to become a warlock engineer, having shown the necessary aptitude for tinkering and invention, and a general disregard for his own safety, that is so prized by the mad rat scientists of the Under-Empire. With a great number of successful (at least on his end) inventions under his belt, he was promoted to Warlock Engineer after his previous Warlock mentor had a rather ‘unfortunate’ accident tinkering with a Far-Squeaker. How was poor Fizquik to know that his master was still holding the Squeaker when he sent the Warp-current through it? Now that he’s officially taken his late master’s place, Fizquik has come to the Pillar City to build and test his inventions in the aide of Clan Mors' battle with the orcs and humans. So many new weapons to build, so little time.
Since we've got a decent amount of characters at this point, do you guys want to start with the IC thread and we'll see who else we pick up? I just hate to make people wait to start writing.
To whoever was the random idiot who vandalized the map: screw you we had a backup for exactly this reason.

Are Nipponsese characters OK?

Sure, as long as the backstory etc. seems reasonable lore-wise for how they ended up in Eight Peaks.

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