BCTheEntity

The Three Realms War [A DMC, Bayonetta and Darksiders RP]

Fortuna City, Eastern Gate - Encounter With a Halfbreed

Scarecrows? That's the best they have in this area?

Fodder. Destroy them.

The two angels promptly got to work, contemptuous at their foes: Iscah's claws retracted to reveal the flamethrowers beneath them as she approached, and she began to twirl around and between the demons and their blades as the holy flames of Paradiso poured forth from her hands, setting alight both their cloth and the beetles beneath, this proving to be a particularly effective tactic for the nature of her foes. At the same time, the claws of Iacobos' left hand gauntlet merged to produce the barrel of a gun, crackling with lightning, and he began to fire into the crowd wherever Iscah was not, gunfire shredding those Scarecrows far from him, whilst advancing forward into the clear path forged by his partner and himself save those few moments when one of the hellspawn dared to get close enough to swipe at him, to which he responded with an artful dodge and a counter-strike from his untransformed gauntlet, often slaying the beasts with no more than a couple of hits.

It did not take long for the demons to start fleeing before their advance rather than mindlessly attacking, and they were soon through the Eastern Gate and into the city proper. Little threat presented itself to them at that moment, and they disengaged their respective weapons, reverting their gauntlets to the standard form, claws and all. Even still, both angels could just about detect the presence of weak demons prowling about, perhaps waiting for the two to weaken so they could be finished off. Cowardly.

And, not so cowardly, a much greater essence presented itself too, though unlike the purer darkness of a true demon, this was muddied with the unmistakable tang of mortal lineage. The source soon presented itself: a seemingly human-like girl, in nondescript shirt and jeans, yet bearing a variety of weapons on her person, including a long blade engraved with runes of as-yet unknown purpose. Iscah's immediate response to her presence was somewhat aggressive: drawing up to her full height, she spoke out loud for the first time since she'd descended to the mortal realm, a sneering tone clearly showing her opinion of the girl: 'Well, well, well. A demonic halfbreed. How interesting.'

By contrast, her partner was, whilst still on edge, much less vicious with his initial words to her, analyzing the situation for a moment before speaking. 'If I'm not mistaken,' he began somewhat cautiously, 'I can only assume you're in this place as either a leader to the hordes that were here, or a destroyer of their ranks like ourselves. Tell us which it is, or we'll be forced to destroy you in turn.'

Surely you mean "and", Iacobos? Iscah asked her partner silently, a glance in his direction the only indicator that they were communicating. She's a demon, we want her dead!

She's part demon, the Glory retorted, and we might not want her immediately dead. Contrary to popular belief, at least some of their lot are capable of seeing sense and turning on their own. If this is one of them, delaying her demise is surely worth the additional damage output?

...if she turns on us, it's your fault, Iscah conceded, turning back to the half-demon to see whether or not she might, in fact, be beneficial to the cause of Paradiso: a rare, yet sweetly ironic event, to be sure.

@rivaan@Sho Minazuki

A Tolkien based RP: Out of the Past

@Jbcool "As if any mere dwarf could slay a Balchothi warrior such as myself. The dwarves are slow and bulky; the Balchothi are quick, agile, and no less strong than is needed to pierce their hides of stone."

"...dwarves do have stone skin, do they not?"

Warhammer 40K: Beyond the Law - A Mercenary Adventure [MATURE] (Open for business, apply within.)

The Guy With a Massive Robo-Arm

Harvin Freimasen is a thirty one year old man raised on the Civilised World of Slome, a place possessed largely of technology similar to what might be found within the first century of M03. With fairly light skin, a somewhat thin build, unkempt dirty-blonde hair and green-blue eyes, he would not nominally be anything special to look at; however, this is countermanded by both the crazed expression of vague fear constantly plastered to his face, and the immensely oversized robotic arm in place of his normal left arm, adding disproportionately to his mass for a total of about 100 kilograms, complete with support implants between it and various points on his body to let him move somewhat normally. The reason for this artificial arm's absurd weight is rather apparent, being as large as his torso on its own; further to this, however, it is overloaded with, and can shift apart its external plasteel plating in various ways to reveal, a variety of weapons, including a number of las and solid projectile weapons, up to and including a Hellpistol and a heavy stubber, and two drive-linked chainswords on both the underside and overside of the arm. Most precious of all, the arm hides an Angelus Bolt Carbine, making use of expensive and illegal bolt rounds intended for Astartes rather than human use.

Naturally, the ammunition and upkeep costs for all of these weapons would be extreme if he were to use them constantly, and so he often conserves ammunition against less threatening foes by simply charging arm-first into close combat, using his artificial arm like a shield (the armaplas proving effective against light las and solid projectile fire as well as many close combat weapons and even chainswords, though less so against stronger assaults like bolter rounds and power weapons) before bludgeoning the target with incredible force, though this is naturally an idea to be avoided against greater threats. Other than this, his protection is limited to flak armour, and the fairly plain beige clothing worn underneath, and the arm itself could easily prove to be volatile for all the ammunition stored within both attached to the weapons and ready to be loaded in, should its defenses be pierced.

Naturally, people are inclined to wonder what necessitated the robotic arm in the first place, and those rare few who espy the Bolt Carbine to ask how in the Warp he got one of those. It all started, as they say, at the age of about twelve, when a Chaos cult invaded his home town of Silentumo. Naturally, the majority of the townspeople knew nothing of this cult until it was too late to protect themselves from a horde of cultists in the dark of the night, but Harvin in particular failed to awaken until the attack had actually reached his home's front door. Though he did his best to find a way out before it was too late, he found himself cornered by a man with a heretical symbol across his chest, like a circle with eight arrows pointing from it, and an immense axe which smelt of death and made Harvin want to throw up. The cultist was shockingly fast with the weapon, and if it had struck his body, it would have dealt mortal damage; yet for his youth, Harvin was rather agile himself, and managed to dodge the weapon's blow to some extent, merely losing his arm at the shoulder instead of his life.

Even that would have been fatal were the injury inflicted by a normal weapon, or if Harvin were a normal human. However, the axe was a weapon with a daemonic force bound to it, and Harvin was a latent psyker. The combination of the two forcibly awakened Harvin's psychic power then and there, reflexively searing his new wound shut and blasting the axe wielder into giblets in a single burst of energy. Whilst it saved his life in the short term, in the middle of a Chaos attack is not when any psyker wants to awaken, and Harvin found himself only halfway conscious from the searing ache of the Warp pressing against his mind as he made his way out of his house, through the streets, avoiding contact with everyone and using his psychic abilities to kill the few cultists he encountered, though each use of his power only worsened the headache. Through luck or the Emperor's mercy, he managed to get out of town otherwise unscathed, and then ran another few miles before unconsciousness finally took him, barely avoiding the wrath of the Astra Militarum force consequently sent to cleanse the town of everything in it, heretical or not.

Though physically, all he had lost was an arm, and he managed to walk his way to a town unaffected by the madness and live there as a basically homeless person for another few years, his mind never really recovered from the trauma. Aside from anything else, he desperately feared his own abilities as a psyker, knowing full-well that whatever force had led to his home's destruction that day could just as easily take notice of him and crush his psyche into nothingness on a whim, and so refused to use his powers unless it was absolutely necessary. That in turn focused itself into a form of directed obsession - through luck and self-education, he scavenged enough materials to build himself a new arm, only to become concerned that maybe something like what happened before would happen again, necessitating the addition of a hidden weapon, then another, then armour plating, and so on, and the arm soon became obnoxiously bulky, to the point of needing hydraulic supports to be welded into his flesh and to the arm to keep him stable. And even then, he carried more than just his own self from the ruins of his hometown: though to this day he is unaware of it, the remnants of those souls who had died in Silentumo both good and evil latched on to the energy emitted by the newborn psyker as he ran, feeding off his power like parasites to sustain and protect themselves, and in turn inflicting upon their host hallucinations of a gore-covered dimension made of metal, often infested with monsters which were and are just as capable of injuring him as anything in the real world, being essentially minor manifestations of Silentumo's dead in the fabric of the Warp.

Time passed, as it does, and it eventually happened that Harvin, at the age of nineteen, found himself stowing away on some rich noble's spaceship, acquiring access (albeit painfully, thanks to the influence of leaping through the Warp on his mind) to the wider galaxy, only to learn just how backward his planet really was by modern standards... or, more accurately, how ineffective and primitive his cybernetic limb was when faced with modern armour. And yet, how many Tech-priests there were! Scions of the Omnissiah, seemingly a counterpart to the Imperium's ruler known only as the Emperor, and masters of its technology to an insane, impossible degree. If he had their knowledge, just a bit of it, surely he could make his arm better than it was, rebuild it to match up with the threats faced by humanity? Naturally, finding a Tech-priest with the relevant information to do so was a difficult feat in itself, and trying to convince them to fix up his arm once found was all but impossible with no Thrones of his own, leading to building frustration and, ultimately, a thought too insane to contemplate for long without discarding it.

Alas, Harvin did not have time to contemplate it for very long. He had a chance encounter with a Tech-priest in a lonesome corridor of yet another starship, and the thought occurred to him like a near-irrefutable argument: before he could convince himself otherwise, he used his psychic power to knock out the Tech-priest, then dredged every ounce of data from the priest's mind, copying it over to his own, but knocking out a good half of the priest's own memory in the process (including, coincidentally, the priest's entire memory of the past twenty four hours, Harvin included) and severely messing up his own thought processes for a time. Far too much of the information gained was unworkable for lack of training, advanced tools, and Warp static, and was eventually discarded, but what he could utilise was more than enough to achieve his rebuilding dreams. Naturally, since he'd already done something rather abhorrent, he figured frisking the offline cyborg for items to sell was no further issue, and in doing so acquired easily the most valuable personal item he'd ever encountered: a gun with an immensely wide barrel and room for just three massive bolt rounds in its clip, which he would later learn was an Angelus Bolt Carbine, one of the stronger human-portable weapons in existence, which would eventually be built into his future arm.

With everything said and done, Harvin realised he would need much more advanced materials to perform his rebuild... and to acquire those, he would either need to find scrap and weaponry to build from, or get quite rich, and the former was ironically less prevalent on a galaxy-wide scale than it had been on Slome. So, naturally, he began to put himself out as a mercenary at the earliest opportunity, because there was no other way he could reasonably function in his state, and even the role of mercenary was rarely good for his mindset what with the blood and gore involved, as well as the surprisingly-high degree of politicking involved in payment negotiations. Small jobs at first, of course; then, as he acquired his materials and a few new guns to replace those of his homeworld, steadily increasing the amount that the jobs he took were worth, until he reached about the middle class of "society" beyond the Imperium's laws - in other words, with enough money to subsist comfortably, minus the reputation needed to become truly notorious, though in his mind, this is perhaps for the best until he can find a larger group to become part of. Now, in his early thirties, Harvin remains an individual who is, not broken, but somewhat cracked as a result of his experiences, and further bent and deformed so as to fit into his role: friendly enough on the surface and reasonably skilled, yet unhealthily paranoid, obsessed with his arm's continued functionality, liable to experience yet another hallucination of faceless nurses or oversized worms split in twain at any moment, and generally likely to emit a range of high-pitched screeches whilst in combat. Funny to watch, not so funny to be on the receiving end of.

Warhammer 40K: Beyond the Law - A Mercenary Adventure [MATURE] (Open for business, apply within.)

@NecroKnight I personally like the idea on its own, and in theory the syntax could work to cover the way she processes and speaks Low Gothic... but speaking the language doesn't seem to be that difficult for the Eldar in canon. So, I'd say go with Hank's idea of having her speak very formally, rather than with broken SPAG.

A Tolkien based RP: Out of the Past

@Jbcool Hey look at that.

A Tolkien based RP: Out of the Past

It seemed, then, than the noose had loosened just enough that if he so wished, the Golden Serpent could take the life of another foe, though in doing so he would surely be killed, as he had no doubts of before. And the King offered his own sword to do it with! What deliciously cruel irony it would be, for a king to bring a prisoner into his midst, only to have the prisoner kill him with his own weapon. And yet, in turn, a voice called to Saptheth, an inhuman yet lilting tone- demonic, perhaps?- that claimed his lineage would be moot if he were to slay the king in such a manner, citing honour as the reason. Looking round the royal, Saptheth narrowed his eyes at the shadows, and whatever creature lurked in their depths.

'You seem to lack understanding of my people's customs, fiend,' the Golden Serpent uttered back to whatever foe hid itself from the light, replying in his native language. 'The honour of the Balchothi is reserved for worthy opponents, not the figurehead for a butcher's nation, and certainly not the murderer of the Balchothi himself. Should Eorl die by my hands, it will be most just.' Returning to a straight posture, Saptheth continued to glare into the king's eyes, taking time to assess the situation. To take the sword would be simple enough; to decapitate Eorl simpler still... indeed, a smart man would not have put himself in this situation to begin with. Then was it worth obeying the orders of a fool, Saptheth asked himself? Or would a sacrifice on the mercenary's part prove more suitable in the long run?

An answer was reached in his mind. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Saptheth reached a hand out, but not to the weapon's hilt. Instead, he laid his palm on the flat of the blade, pressing downward to tip the weapon across the royal's arm until it fell, clattering against the floor of the keep. Though it was unlikely anyone else in the room would know the intricacies of the act, the gesture involved in tipping a weapon from the owner's hand was generally intended to turn down a duel in a somewhat offensive manner, suggesting that they were seen as very little threat. Not a lethal insult on its own- that would be completed by stamping the weapon underfoot- but nonetheless upsetting to the already-offended party, and Saptheth hoped the general impression would carry over into Westron culture.

'Know that you live not because honour demands it,' Saptheth stated dryly, 'but because you dance on the thin line between bravery and stupidity. It... amuses... me.' And, he withheld, silently murmuring the words in his head, because surely a fool like yourself will drive this nation of Rohan into the ground within your lifetime, or else die of your own accord. With that, he crossed his arms over themselves, and waited for the king's reaction- and the reactions of others in the room, in fact- to his act of disrespect.

@Jbcool@DrunkasaurusRex@Vor

A Tolkien based RP: Out of the Past

Yeah, I've been procrastinating a bit too much here as well, so I'll try and post in this soon. And I know roughly what I want Saptheth to do and say, too, so that's not even the problem, it's just me being lazy/preoccupied.

Warhammer 40K: Beyond the Law - A Mercenary Adventure [MATURE] (Open for business, apply within.)

@Hank That's actually a way better suggestion than daemons. Given how many witches presumably go through their lives not being attacked by daemons on the level of their soul, I'd assume those events are actually comparatively rare, and generally not survived. And the ghosts of dead men past make for a way better Silent Hill theme than LOL SUPER-MONSTERS, especially if it's their actual souls (or fragments thereof) which are just about sustaining themselves on his own psychic power and limiting his real strength in the process.

Warhammer 40K: Beyond the Law - A Mercenary Adventure [MATURE] (Open for business, apply within.)

Okay, I have something like a basic outline for this potential character now:

As a kid, this guy was caught up in some form of Chaos attack that killed... a large proportion of his home planet, probably, but certainly nearly everyone in his home town. He himself lost an arm, and as a result of the excess Warp power in the area, he awakened a fair modicum of psychic power, then inexplicably managed to escape death with his soul and sanity barely intact. "Barely" by 40K standards, of course, meaning he wasn't lost outright to the Ruinous Powers, but still ended up severely mentally scarred. Being on a planet with perhaps slightly over modern-day standards of technology, he found the resources to build himself a new arm, only to become obsessed with making it ever more complex and better able to defend himself from being killed, resulting in an obnoxiously bulky construct with a bunch of automatic weapons and a lot of integration into his flesh to support it, which only got more complicated once he finally found his way off-planet, discovered how comparatively weak the arm actually was, and rebuilt it to the best of his abilities, becoming a mercenary to fund the rebuilds, and because what the hell else could he do in his state? All the while, he was forced to fend off daemons which were drawn to his mind every so often, something that he as a witch just about managed to deal with by manifesting the encounters as horrible hallucinations of monsters in a world of gore and metal rather than the reality of mind-fracturing monsters in a soul-obliterating realm of madness and Emperor-knows-what, so he's naturally not in the best state mentally, but better than he would have been otherwise (totally insane and/or dead and/or possessed). He hardly dares to use the fairly limited psychic powers he has, and unless forced, will do so but sparingly.

I think that incorporates assets from everything that's been brought up as possibilities for him so far other than the Jokaero's digital weapons. Obviously, that's just a rough draft; @Jbcool will receive the full version in a while, assuming nothing I've brought up is too infeasible. If anyone else has comments for further improvement, that'd again be appreciated.

Warhammer 40K: Beyond the Law - A Mercenary Adventure [MATURE] (Open for business, apply within.)

@Hank Great character sheet right there, and I'll fondly admit that I've learned something new about the WH40K universe thanks to you. Xenarch death-arc has a nice rhyme to it.

That said, you've also reminded me that the Jokaero exist, and have rather powerful Digi-weapons. All things considered, that probably won't be something I integrate into my character... but on the other hand, is it in any way reasonable for a human to have a greatly oversized cybernetic arm with a multi-melta or a lascannon or something mounted into it? I'd guess no, and again might just drop the idea anyway, but hey, it's worth asking.