Ouch. Even with his ears missing, the sound was god damn painful. Elias unwound the chord wearily, setting aside and deciding to try an alternate note to prepare. So far he had managed to make a little more than an octave on his improvised fortepiano. It was so far an affair that didn't even have keys, he'd make those later. Somewhat of a private and personal project, he had still kept it under wraps for now hiding it under tarps and the likes. Briefly he thought of writing "DO NOT TOUCH" somewhere, but he felt that would only make some of the grubby pawed members of the crew only more interested in rummaging through what he knew he'd be somewhat embarrassed by.
Leaning back against the wall, the man stared at the ceiling. His situation was improved, much improved since he had first become a crewmate of the China Doll. Truth be told, he was also somewhat glad to be off of Pelorum. Oh sure sun and pretty people was nice but sunburn, and all the salt and all the other things he had lamented about were all items he was glad to be rid of. The news that they'd be going to some new world was welcome and something that interested him. Perhaps some place freezing. Some place that would make everything numb and not feel. Thinking over the thoughts that just came over him Elias gave his own cheek a sleep for thinking something an angsty teen would. No, he just wanted something different. Perhaps somebody already said where they were going, and he hadn't paid attention. He had found himself zoning out more and more, thinking about what he'd do once he fixed himself up and got himself money and got the chance to screw over those bastards who— what was that?
A summons. He stood up, looking up at a toe poking out from his sandals, the digit newly blue from the wrench that he forgot about on his lap falling down. Oh well.
The Mechanic sprayed himself with a few deoderants, knowing full well he smelled like a sweaty pig that took a plunge into motor oil. Ah! Now he smelled a chlorine gas attack with a hint of spearmint. Throwing off his apron and putting on a dusty shirt he made his way over to the galley. Stopping in a hallway, he looked at a fire-alarm. The handle was slack, sticking out the tiniest bit from its resting position. He flicked it a few times, and when no klaxons sounded he grunted. A liability. The sated mood soured, but it didn't matter for now. He simply made his face wraps a little bit less tight to not accent his expression.
Arriving, he looked at the drink set out for him. Cupping a hand over it to hide a bit of himself as he sniffed, it was quickly confirmed what it was. He appreciated the gesture and research into the results of his physiognomy. It was sugary crap full of artificial flavouring he wouldn't have ever consumed before he was mutilated by the reavers. Now though, it was a rare ambrosia in the midst of his new life. But also a reminder of the greater things he ought strive for, like getting a new tongue.
He nodded to the people already there, preferring to stand for now rather than trying to cram himself into a chair.
Heya! With the snows starting and less grass-touching in my immediate purview I thought I'd look into finding some RP to spend time with and hopefully blossom into a good long term writing partnership
I'll start with a brief preface about myself. I am early 20s, English as a second language what with being French Canadian, but secondarily Anglophone I consider myself quite literate with big fancy schmancy words with enough syllables to make the head hurt and spin. If you want a writing sample of mine, I am happy to oblige. I might snoop your profile for a feel of how you write, and might ask for one. Don't get offended, I'm sure you're great! But, I just want to make sure we'll vibe stylistically :> Its also very important to me that we get along as people rather than merely meshing writing styles because discussing plot and the likes is critical!
I am happy to find smut in an RP, but it should be if present a natural progression of a story. Moreover, with me being a fan of slow burn / long term plots, it will usually be some time before we get into it. suffice to say I am looking at a plot|smut ratio of 75|25 at absolute most if you approach me though I will tend to go for less of it (after all, what movie or book is a quarter sex? well, not counting THOSE ones...). I have in general very few limits about any content from stuff in smut to gore, as long as you bring it up beforehand (by default I'm incredibly vanilla but flexible). However if its the only thing you bring up I won't be interested at all. Also, I will only RP cisgendered heterosexual relationships as the male if you have any interests in romance and/or smut. Any amount of diverse side characters is fine and encouraged of course. I'm not really actively looking for nsfw rp though, I welcome ideas with or without it all the same. To be honest, I don't even really need romance in my RPs either, something entirely platonic is really awesome too. Just make explicit if you want or don't want it, or if you want to leave it to "we'll see what happens" (realistically this means probably not or not for a very very long time).
Also plz nothing adult (violent or otherwise) involving kids. I thought this goes without saying but unfortunately not :<
ALSO, I'm not an e-boy and not looking for an e-girl. I have an SO and we're probably going to get married after we both finish our current step in education. Not looking for actual relationships here. Again I thought this goes without saying but.....
In terms of quantity and quality of posts, generally 3+ paragraphs minimum 1-2 times a week is what I bring to the table. I'm willing to wait months for quality, but it's really got to good stuff and please let me know if you do delay. I consider myself an advanced writer for these reasons, but I try not to be a snobby bastard about it. If we both have nothing to do some day, then I'll also be happy for some rapid fire replies. In general, though, I will be forgiving and understanding if you have any issues just tell me! Which is a nice segue to the next point.
I generally don't do character sheets and that kinda thing but I will oblige if you insist.
Talk. Let's talk a lot in OOC. Share musics we think are relevant, arts, etc. If we can get along and are constantly talking in OOC (as long as this doesn't distract us from actually posting xD) that would be awesome. If we are discordant in the OOC, then its unlikely our actual RP will work out.
For here I will primarily RP through either DMs or some service like google docs. If you use instant messengers like discord or google chats I would be fine communicating with those but please only after we have worked something out in on-site messages first. To be honest I have only come to use a few of these recently (most of my life I have used slack professionally, but that's not quite the same :>) and for a lot of RPs I find they distract from actually writing hence my hesitation.
Now, let's have fun
Please, if you DM me, tell me a bit about yourself and what of the below you enjoyed :D
Plots
Never thought I'd see you again. Not sure I wanted to. - New!
This has been an idea rolling around in my head for a while. In summary, our characters once knew each other a long time ago, very well. Platonically could have been best bros or siblings, or if you want a little romance they could have been lovers or even outright married, perhaps even with poor kids left suffering by their separation. Regardless, the point is there was something that forced a whole abyss between them. Only some coincidence of circumstance forced them together again. Maybe on meeting each other they rekindle their friendship or love exactly as it was, missing each other too much despite their differences. Maybe something only forces them into the same situation as they remain resentful, thus having to "start anew".
I kind of had two fandoms with more specific ideas in mind for this.
Our characters are both from Quel'Thalas. However mine ended up as a High Elf, loyal to the alliance, while yours ended up a Blood Elf loyal to the Horde. Maybe the adventured down the same dungeon, maybe they got captured by the same nasties, I don't know, but something brought them together again.
Here, we are both from Demacia. But your character was a mage, while mine a Knight or even Mageseeker. Your character had to flee, or perhaps is in hiding, or even participated in the rebellion against it. However we are reunited against some greater foe. Perhaps your character fled to Zaun and mine needs help of your's catching a genuinely evil mage he was tracking. Maybe after magic was no longer persecuted our characters had to work together to now fight off the attacks of the winter's claw and such.
Possessed
This would most likely be in a medieval fantasy setting but could be adapted for others. In this RP, you will play a character (or rather two!) who is a demon, a fairy, an astrally projecting sorceror, some supernatural force who has possessed somebody that is near and dear to mine. A best friend, a wife, a family member, perhaps a feudal liege or master of my apprentice. Regardless, this possession was not meant to be, and even the possessor acknowledges this as something terrible has gone wrong. There will be lots of despair as the original person of your character's body every so often reclaims their mind and flesh but every time for a shorter period, slowly losing bits of themselves. This plot can go many different ways, with the possession being resolved eventually and our characters having to deal with their new lives following the dark path they were in. An even darker path could be the possession finalizing, and my character now having to live with this new life where a dear person is now someone else entirely. This could potentially go on to have romance/smut elements if interested though it would certainly be an enemies to lovers deal.
I would be open to somewhat of a reversal of roles although I might make huge revisions to details if so.
Somewhat similar to the first mentioned plot, one or both of our characters got struck with some affliction that will transform them. Vampirism, lycanthropy, something else. Our efforts focus on the two goals of first curing this, and second getting revenge on whoever caused it. This can have added drama like one or both of the characters being "hunters" of this condition, and having to struggle with the revulsion they see in this person they stay by. Alternate drama bonus could be in going so far as one of the characters being one of vampires or werewolves or whatever who sympathizes with the plight, perhaps so far as being the one who caused this affliction (though, in this case it would probably have to have been on somebody else's orders. Then again great drama can be brewed if it is later found out it was done entirely willingly :D although some thinking in explaining this will have to happen).
I'd be happy to take either role in this
What Duty Demands
This would most likely be an "Enemies to {X}" trope fulfilling plot. A classic HunterXHunted affair. In this, I want to be some sort of hunter (again it doesnt matter here of what: vampires, demons, whatever), or keeper of the law like an Inquisitor and you should be a subject of interest to my character. Perhaps you weren't the one originally the target, and instead only found by coincidence after we were both at the sight of a greater foe. Regardless, your character would be "captured", however circumstance forces them to slowly gain each other's trust as far more dangerous common enemies bring them together. Could wind up with your character "corrupting" mine, my character "redeeming" yours, or them finding a middle ground and reconciliation between their different worlds. Perhaps from these two can be built a bridge between their cultures (the Montagues and Capulets reconciling but Romeo and Juliet aren't dead :D), or in the inverse entirely the discovery of their growing accord could suddenly enflame great new conflicts between their two worlds (Romeo and Juliet aren't dead, Montagues and Capulets still stabbing each other :< ). Many layers of angst and drama can be added if say issues of species from your character being a tiefling or other "undesirable" come up and there's that prejudice to overcome after the initial mercy
I'd probably be open to a reversal of these roles too if you bring a really cool idea.
The Souls that Wander
Loosely inspired by BG3, Dragon Age, DivinityOS, and more broadly DnD and general "party" dynamics this would involve both of us probably playing a good deal of characters in a large camp/party travelling to accomplish some epic goal. I had a loose plot about some plague of suicides based on medieval things like sudden groups of people laughing or dancing to death and finding the origins of this but any plot will do.
Writing Projects:
These are things I sort of wish to eventually bloom into group roleplays, perhaps using our one-on-one time to create a prologue of sorts before the introduction of new players. You would of course be a co-GM of sorts as this expands to include new people. In fact, you would arguably play a "main character" of sorts within (I would prefer to have "secondary" leadership like a first mate or a narrative driver like a "quest giver"). These are the two things I have the most "ready" plot for, both of these being things I have mulled over for quite some time though admittedly have not yet committed all that much to writing yet.
Finding Truth in the Void: A Mass Effect investigative crew RP: This is for a spin-off of the RP I am cooking up where the players are Cerberus crew. In Finding Truth in the Void I want to create a prologue of sorts for the Spectre team that will investigate the activities of Cerberus after the end of the Reaper war. Perhaps stumble on the same conspiracy as them, and either work together, focus on it, or stick to your first duty and try to deal with Cerberus first.
On the Graves of Old Heroes: A Runeterran (League of Legends) Rags to Riches RP on high stakes:
On the borders of Noxus, Demacia, and the Freljord, there are stirs of ancient power. Yet, our focus will first be upon ordinary folk travelling with a scientific expedition of Piltover to investigate potential insights into ancient technologies. However, from here things will go awry. I won't go into details, but I want to trace the "mount and blade" like progression of mercenaries, guards, wizards and even scientists from people not even worthy of a footnote on the pages of history, to those occupying whole chapters of it.
Misc
Stuff I am interested in for a 1x1 though the details are to be ironed out Fandoms: Mass Effect Blizzard (Warcraft, Diablo, kind of SC and OW?) Runeterra (Arcane, League of Legends, etc.) Warhammer (much more 40k, but if you hand hold me I can do fantasy) Firefly Cowboy Bebop DnD (incl. Baldur's Gate) Probably a bunch not mentioned In general I don't actually like playing in fandoms for 1x1 RPs but they give great inspiration. (I know the irony of listing fandoms just before saying this but I am covering bases!) Still if you have an amazing idea in them I'd be happy to oblige!
Settings:
Historical (in particular of my dearest North America and France) & pseudo historical (i.e. history with fantastic elements. Perhaps mythology and folklore is real or stuff along those lines).
Fantasy of any kind.
SciFi
Not a big fan of post-apocalyptic stuff, sorry. Not that big of a fan of modern stuff either (not a gun nut, car nut, etc. XD) . Willing to consider either of these if you have an extremely good idea though.
Tropes:
Enemies to... (friends, lovers, you decide!)
Reluctant Teamup (yeah these two are like the same thing xD)
Hunter and Hunted
Intrigue (broad, but including things like noble courts, detective mysteries, etc etc)
Oathsworn (My or your character is somehow bound to the other by some promise, be it to defend them with life or other such things)
Not a particularly big fan of slice of life or other "mundane" stuff after working in academia, sorry. Not really a fan of horror and the likes either. Not to say there can't be dark scary themes per se but I've read Lovecraft and King extensively and couldn't get the appeal of either. Call me a basic bitch but the only part of horror media I have ever enjoyed are jump-scares :>
Prima Nocta
In this let us consider the trope of prima nocta, droit du seigneur, the right of the master, and many such names for it. While somewhat ahistoric, it is certainly a fun and pervasive fantasy trope of a noble having hypothetical freedom to bed any of a lower title than he if they lack protection.
Quite simply put I'd play a feudal lord of some sort, one of your character's social betters. Perhaps my character is smitten with yours in a less fantastical take. Maybe he exercises this privilege as a way to sire a bastard with his existing wife not providing heirs. It could be he sees some magic blood within the woman of choice he desires for his progeny and damn the fact the marriage would be called morganatic. Perhaps he takes advantage of this to freely enter your character's home suspecting her to be a rebel or hiding some wanted folk (or any other sort of crime) and somewhat hides this under this pretext. This could have a whole bunch of themes going along with it be it enemies to lovers or maybe related with some intrigue.
Vae Victis
Based loosely on the conquests of Alexander (but not only him) where a conquered people, particularly the nobility would have marriages organized with the conqueror to create a sort of mixing of cultures to solidify the victory.
A princess (if not literally) being married off to my warlord or Emperor or more more lowly officer or even simple soldier getting a hand in marriage (could go as far as a conscript soldier getting a Queen's hand in marriage for as a reward for some act he did to solidify humiliation of the conquered people) as spoils of war.
This could go in many ways. Perhaps there could be intrigue as the victorious general now having control of a new land decides to usurp his own master for yet greater glory with a new wife in hand and great courtly intrigues abound. It could even be that your character manipulates mine to have ambition and try to usurp the greater conqueror to thus indirectly take revenge on the one that conquered her folk. Perhaps this could more simply focus on the two of them and the clash of cultures and overcoming resentment and initial conflicts.
This could be done in a fantasy setting anywhere from a classical period to a medieval or even early modern, or industrial/steampunk one. I also had an idea for a setting I thought this would be fun to do in that is somewhat based on a near future (2100s?) where nukes, global warming, etc. all dropped as calamity, but it didn't cause a total apocalypse. Rather, simply the ruination combined with great technologies of the world has returned to a sort of neo-classicism where warlords with great technologies, perhaps armies of clones or barbarian cyborgs create a time that even if advanced is still ever reminiscent of ages passed. Similar scifi ideas could be done where Roman galeas are worn on top of space helmets.
I surrender.
This would be a reversal of sorts of the above ideas power dynamics to some degree based loosely off of this tumblr post, I don't have that much more to say. Maybe my character was a young Knight defeated by a person he thought a savage easily defeated foe and has a sudden realization things have NOT in fact, gone his way. Perhaps your Robin-Hood type character robs the manor of my character, thinking it empty only to find my lad therein. Maybe my character was kidnapped or captured in battle for ransom his family don't seem to care to pay, and thus being useless to "hold" further he joins yours in whatever they do. Perhaps just a simple peasant lad captured on a raid. Could be expanded in any amount of ways, but in the image is the summary of the vibes to go off of. Would work best with well muscled ladies that can bench 225 but details details :D
THANK YOU FOR READING! Very grateful for your time :>
Slynn, a male or unisex derivative of Sylynne - one of the heroes of Asclepius - was the name given to the strange star child. It was fitting, the child seemingly having a similar origin to the starborne woman that graced Asclepius many centuries ago. A fellow human supposedly from a fallen civilization she had brought great knowledge to the world. Oh the technologies she carried on her lone vessel weren’t particularly impressive, some constructs now long buried in archives of the world.
But it was the philosophies and ways of thinking that she developed that set her out so, instantly grasping the zeitgeist upon Asclepius in her era and improving upon it as any dedicated polymath should. It was in her memory a great many were named, and the gargantuan being that had now come to Asclepius was certainly fitting of the legacy. Slynn had learned to adapt its skin to look more human than it would merely displaying its natural form looking of liquid mercury ever running along its flesh. A pale young man with chin length black hair bound tightly in a pony tail, the strange being would be unthreatening if one saw it from afar. But once one examined it from the distance of a few paces this illusion would melt. Even forcibly hunching itself ever so slightly under its robes in a permanent effort to look non-threatening the primarch was much taller than any living person on Asclepius.
Yet it was decidedly human. Willingly submitting himself to a great many tests it was quickly discovered that the thing was human. Its heritage was clearly in that of a forge of flesh, but still there was something resembling mankind as it was known on Asclepius therein. Incomprehensible, but still distinctly of Terra’s seed.
Indeed the primarch cooperated fully with all examinations done of it, the questionings, and experiments. It was difficult to take the smallest of samples, such was the durability of its hide, its meat, its bone. Thankfully, Slynn was glad to oblige, drawing his own blood, beeling off his own skin. When asked how it could not feel the pain of this, Slynn looked at them with pure confusion. “I do feel the pain.” was the simple response, and after some discussion the super human elaborated that in fact hurting itself was incredibly painful. However, there was a greater good to be served in doing this.
Slynn did a lot more than study himself however. Invited directly by the Polymaths to study, it quickly ascended the ranks of students to surpass those who were studying for decades. Yet dutifully Slynn wished not to skip any steps, like a sponge absorbing every single bit of knowledge it came across. Without consulting a data-slate, it knew the name and much of the lives of every single person on that great performance of the fall on the fateful day that the child slammed into the soil of Asclepius. Elementary things like what someone ate for breakfast on some day or the science behind a plasma generator seemed to be no different in the mind of the starborn. A voracious maw, one that could only be fed by knowledge and yet would only hunger ever more.
It was only a few years before Slynn stood together with the Polymaths. The greatest men of Asclepius, they found their minds honed by centuries dwarfed by the alien that had been on their world less than two decades.
If they were lesser men, they would have been jealous. Instead they were honestly nothing more than perplexed. They knew of all sorts of genetic experiments to make the brain a more refined tool. After all, every person on the planet benefited from such. But Slynn was something that could only beggar belief.
The primarch was now a teenager if one assumed it followed ordinary human maturation. It had already joined the ranks of the Polymaths. Yet, for the moment, it had no apparent interest in trying to become the most equal of the first among equals, so to speak. No it came to the Council of High Studies seemingly eager to only fulfill that which its name implied it was intended for. It wanted only to learn, and to apply its knowledge for the betterment of its adopted people.
Seemingly, it only struggled with two things. One, was the forbidden arts. This was ultimately for the best, but it nonetheless interested the Polymaths and Proctors that Slynn couldn’t even comprehend the concept of the warp. The equations of the gellar fields were incomprehensible to the youth. The very idea that something could be so absent of logic bewildered Slynn, and to the shock of the Polymaths who had not previously encountered any negative emotion from the being seemed to anger and upset the primarch too.
For the first time ever the youth raised its hands in fists and smashed many statues of the Lyceum around it. Of course it then apologized profusely and ran off to hide in its quarters. Nobody dared knock what with the display of sudden if ultimately harmless violence, but some of the handmaids that brought food to the suddenly reclusive Slynn reported that they heard tears from its rooms.
It was thus unsurprising that once returned to its studies, Slynn could not particularly understand the ancient war that separated Brahms and Asclepius, and why it recoiled in seeming terror like a puppy yelled at when Proctor Balear raised his voice to not prod at the matter. Slynn was nearly twice as tall as the ancient, yet rebuke from his teacher seemed to hurt more than any of the surgical implements that had pierced its flesh years ago.
From this one point of unclarity spiralled a great struggle to understand history, and emotions of ordinary people. Sometimes Slynn would speak to people in a monotone voice, yet the primarch would bear an eerie smile wider than its cheekbones and yet not even showing any teeth! At others, Slynn would have his mouth agape with an otherwise absent expression as it was listening to glorious poems and speeches, many of which it was known for a fact the extraterrestrial had enjoyed on prior and later occasions.
Every single one of these eccentricities was recorded very, very thoroughly. Slynn gave great contributions to the philosophies of Asclepius and indeed was already making changes to the sciences of the world. It was thus clear that Slynn would be remembered as long as Asclepian civilization stood.
These events would make it quite simply to understand in hindsight, why Slynn quite abruptly was made privy to the most intimate secrets of Asclepius. One day the inhuman was summoned by the Council of High Studies, supposedly for a matter that they had never discussed before. Indeed Slynn was taken to a room in a complex he was not aware of, for it did not appear in any map available to him. Within something of a planetarium. It was beautiful, a display of the stars undiluted by the atmosphere even if unlike mortal man the primarch could see well past it.
A few Proctors nodded to the arriving primarch, looking upon a hologram of strange otherworldly scenes. Aliens, clear by the pointy ears and yet ever so strangely human. Other similarly anthropoid creatures now with green skin, and at last the sight of the first aliens in combat with amber skinned humans. It was only some images later showing foreign architecture did Slynn understand what was being displayed. Something was happening both on Brahms, but also here, because of it. Somebody was uniting the disparate peoples of the world, and they had fought off aliens. Aliens that the Polymaths never spoke of, who were now very mad with Asclepius.
Suddenly, Slynn felt hurt by all the knowledge withheld from the young superhuman. Suddenly, he knew his world was about to change and expand perhaps as much on the very day that as an infant he landed on the world he called home.
Curious to see the party comp. I have a basic idea that could work any one of three ways in terms of race/class. We seem Alliance heavy, so here's some KEK KEK KEK FOR THE HORDE!
Tall, muscular, long haired, Alhassar is the spitting image of an idyllic warrior of Quel'Thalas. Perhaps the human diet has made him a little bit bulkier, softer around the edges than most elves but one can still most definitely appreciate the toning of his build. His hair is of a red tint, while his amber eyes are deep set with tired grey skin around them that would otherwise imply a much greater age than a mere century on most Elves. For the most part his skin is absent of any marks like scars, the man very careful to heal his body such that it maintains a pristine aesthetic. This being mostly a product of vanity, he would not be against preserving scars that could be described by youth as "cool".
Alhassar has the haughty, arrogant personality stereotyped of Elves that has come to be much tempered by his time surrounded by humans. That isn't to say he has stopped thinking he is better than everybody around him, but he has effectively stopped any verbal or otherwise expression of this. In the modern day Alhassar presents as a polite, reserved, but most importantly dutiful soul. He has an almost childish need for obeisance to rules, promises, oaths, and "fairness" one generally finds more in line with personalities stereotyped of Dwarves.
(WIP) -Somewhat self-made, a merchant or the likes travelling frequently from Quel'Thalas to Lordaeron -Volunteered to help at many point as war came and went to protect his business interests and as something of a challenge to himself -Oaths still sworn, he remained in Lordaeron among human forces as the blood elves left the alliance. -While initially frustrated at his kin he long considered traitors particularly as they came to ally with trolls and orcs he has come to be homesick and miss family, hence joining the neutral Argent Crusade in hopes of reuniting with lost heritage.
A large sword with a blade thickening at the end, a bow, a somewhat mismatched suit of armour that is heavy but missing a few parts to not interfere with archery, and two books: a psalter of the light and a tome of magic. Otherwise he carries little more on his person, having no personal effects and generally assuming in a somewhat too self-assured fashion that he will be able to forage for sustenance and a good place to sleep.
Had a thought of maybe a high elf 'dex-paladin' that perhaps joined up in hopes of finding a few people he knew before that are now BE and reconnect with them. If anybody is interested in playing one of these counterparts to him let me know :D
The twelve Marines stood assembled before their commander, naught but loincloths on their frames as their skin glistened with the snowflakes melting from the moment they touched each body. Captain Krassus looked upon his troops, then to the data-slate that summarized their combat records, their biometrics, the complete transcripts of every word they ever said in proximity of a means to record them.
“In twelve hours, we will take Fort Orti.” No cheers, just a few lips curling in half smiles. A small mark was made on the dataslate with an imperceptible move of the finger.
“Anwar. You will lead the infiltration of the facility. Brothers Karduk and Axios will assist.” All three Marines named were exceptionally short, of them only Axios bowing at the command. Another mark on the dataslate.
“I will lead the overwatch team.” A few snickers came about, comments about not wishing to risk himself in the thick of it. Another mark on the dataslate. “Brothers Gamaliel, Iskander, Perrax, Tojar, with me. The rest of you are on the assault team. Make your preparations, acquaint yourselves with any information on your respective dataslates you have not yet considered. The operation begins in four hours.”
With that Krassus departed to the Rhino, his own preparations yet to be made.
“In place. Go.” That was all that the trio needed to begin the ascent of the wall. Cameleoline cloaks covering their Urshite dress were just enough to hide them from sentries along the walls of the frosted settlement. It was important not to slay them, and before descending the walls they waited through a full two patrol cycles huddled near some munition crates covered with fresh snow.
Eventually they descended, and went to the central compound that composed the largest portion of the settlement of Fort Orti. “Move to the West Gate. The South has too much scrutiny now.”
Immediately the three Astartes shifted their movement, wheeling around to the alternate entrance to Fort Orti. The place was not just a fort, that much was clear. It was just a manner of naming the site, for hundreds of civilians were milling about the place. For one, the extraordinary cold made the cooling of many archaeotech computers very simple. But it also pumped rich dark promethium component substances deep from the ground, and it was thus that the civilians by far outnumbered the warriors in the place. Their lack of armament would not save them from the Will of the Emperor. The Marines were exceptionally tall for humanity, but at about two meters with a few more or less centimetres they could all plausibly pass for an ordinary person, perhaps one on some combat stims accounting for the bulk beneath their thick coats. Such after all were not uncommon, for looking left to right the infiltrators saw men that would probably have as much muscle as them, even if it was merely the physique of homo sapiens and no performance enhancing chemicals could bring it to the caliber of an Astartes.
Now the three infiltrators split into different directions. There were three main targets that each would have to secure. The auspex and vox augurs would have to be overridden first and foremost to prevent reinforcements being dispatched in a timely manner. Second, the climate controls would have to be disabled. The inhuman frost which a person could withstand for mere hours even covered from head to toe in the heavy layers that were uniform here would set in upon the climate regulation being disabled. It would kill all present as well as any bullet or blade, or at least bring them to submission. Finally, power would have to be cut in a very strategic and specific manner to ensure the present work of the Marines could not be undone, yet very carefully to not give nearby forts the notification that quite abruptly all activity in Fort Orti had ceased.
Anwar arrived at his target first, smashing apart the lightbulb in a service elevator to the roof of the main building of the Fort. Thus clinging in a spider-like fashion to its ceiling amidst a changing of the guard, dropping down behind them as they exited the carriage of the elevator, the ceaseless blizzard masking his sound. The old guard was going off duty, and in their weary state they didn’t notice the new guard had one extra fellow among them. As the elevator closed, the Space Marine hefted his heavy stubber and unleashed a brief rain of bullets on the mortals, until each was fallen. He did not execute those gurgling on the ground. They that survived the extraordinary firepower could yet make productive turncoats. Once more shouldering the machine gun he ran forth to the console and got to work. Unfortunately, as his fingers did their work he heard the sounds of the elevator opening once more. Brief panic gripped the Astarte, some sort of workers appearing. The civilians looked at him in a similar state of fear after they saw the corpses, hurriedly pressing the buttons to send the elevator back to where it came from. The doors closed just as a grenade passed them, a brief hiss of triumph escaping the Marine’s lips as at the very least the security would now have to manually ascend to his position rather than using the same elevator.
“Overwatch! They know I’m here.” he growled into his vox-bead. “We are well aware. Stand by.” was the sole response he got. He began demanding everyone hurry, but quite unfortunately he heard the high pitch whirr as he spoke that told him there was nobody listening to him. For now he was alone as he heard distant screams as Urshite troops began the slow ascent to get to his position without an elevator. Thankfully, he heard the faintest crack of a bullet whirring some few dozen metres from him, the overwatch team’s sharpshooters already thinning the ranks of the rapid response teams.
Climate control was manipulated shortly after in a very timely fashion. Brother Axios had made his way to the control room for it, and with a rap of either knuckle brought the duo of technicians there to an unconscious state. A great deal of irrelevant machinery was torn out of its position by Axios, who used it to barricade the entrance after closing the door. Finally, he got to work. The life support systems that kept the inside of Fort Orti relatively warm were turned against the thousands present, gushing freezing winds inside where previously it cycled them out. It would be mere minutes before the first screams would come that something was wrong, people comfortably in bed suddenly shivering. The first deaths would happen in less than an hour.
Brother Karduk however, proved to be a weak link. Strolling down the mess hall on the way to the power controls of the structure he did not notice that his uniform had the same serial number on his breast as one of the guards that he passed by. He did not recognize the sound of a drawn pistol, and while he was fast enough to stop the bullet aimed for his head its strike to his neck was enough to bring him to his knees. As more bullets riddled his flank, he fell to the ground as the world went black. The last thought he had was that he had failed in more ways than one. In his effort to save himself he had still died, yet now the progenoid gland in his throat was ruined. He would be a shame, forever cursed in the annals of The Undying Onslaught.
“Overwatch! My right, my right!” Krassus heard the pleas in his own vox bead. With a sigh, he had to write off Karduk. “Assault team, move out.” he gave the order, and at once four missiles flew out from the hill the Marines were camped on to each destroy a long targeted stationed vehicle.
The four Marines in the assault team ran towards the walls, gaining some initial height by using chain-axes as picks to help them climb swiftly. Jump-packs roared, and the assault team entered sky before each crashing down in a brutal impact crater on different parts of the ramparts surrounding Fort Orti. It was a very brief skirmish to tear apart the defenders there, but a quite necessary one to prevent return fire upon the overwatch team, for now two heavy bolters began their fire. Snow sizzled and evaporated as it fell on barrels hot enough to melt flesh, Brother Anwar at last getting wonderful respite as many dozens of men climbing stairs and ladders or pulling their way up grapples turned to gooey piles of meat and bone. Muttering some thanks to his vox-bead for now being unpinned, Anwar rose and ran through what little remaining stub and auto-weapons were arrayed at him and forced apart the doors of the elevator before jumping down the dark depths of the ruined shaft.
The assault team zipped and zoomed about the exterior of the Fort, the sky brightening with fired bullets and heavier munitions as absolute chaos reigned from the jump-pack borne Marines’ efforts. Soon though, Krassus gave them the order to get inside. Indoors, they at last discarded their jump-packs and each drew an autogun, preferring them to a bolt-pistol against these oh so fragile yet numerous mortals.
Fort Orti was damn well labyrinthian, the facility’s complexity only navigable to the superhumans thanks to the HUDs that gave them exact directions of how to get to the internal comms room. Unfortunately, Karduk’s failure was now showing its fruit. As the four Marines turned a corner, a turret came from the wall behind them and bisected a warrior at the waist before his thrown chainaxe destroyed the bullet-proof emplacement. The stricken Brother was left to fend for himself, crawling into a room where he could perhaps at least defend himself until the Imperial flag flew here and he could get help.
A door was soon after activated as a trap, the Marine it was aimed to squash just narrowly avoiding death and merely losing his shooting arm for it.
They did eventually get to the comms-room, the place conveniently having cameras to observe the whole Fort. A very brief firefight with the mortals within ended when the last man standing surrendered, getting a swift backhand into unconsciousness as the Astartes entered the room.
“Attention people of Orti. If every single one of you unloads and lays down his arms, you will be spared a slow, painful death of freezing.”
Briefly, men kept pushing towards the climate controls, to the comms room, to the roof. But with every person that fell to the creeping chill, morale cracked. One by one, squads of soldiers would stand before cameras with their weapons in a pile, the munitions for them some distance away. Krassus chuckled as he watched the feed from a camera of one of the Assault-Marines. In some instances, the little humans would kill the more heroic of their own number that refused to surrender, such that perhaps they would get reprieve from the frost.
Hundreds had already began to succumb to hypothermia when the last unit had dropped their guns. Using their jump-packs the Assault team swiftly navigated the structure such that they could goad all the formerly armed men of the place together.
Grinning happily to himself behind his helmet, Krassus gave the order to restore the heating of the place, a figure falling over after a bout of paradoxic undressing in a camera feed.
“Brother Gamaliel begin duties as Apothecary. There are more than two hundred viable youth specimens to examine therein.”
The Captain got up, and stretched, before heading off to the Rhino they had arrived on to communicate with higher command. “Krassus out.” he told his force, before tearing out the vox bead.
The Primarch strode through the streets of Ummaria, his insistence on being let in to see its ruler somehow having had the entirety of the guard give him free reign to walk through the great city he was in. Hundreds, soon thousands of people came to watch the silver child. From afar that was certainly what it looked like. Yet those at the very fronts of the crowds would realize that this thing had corded muscles that even to the naked eye could be seen to be greater than that of even the mutants on some of the planet’s cursed lands.
Nobody spoke to it, all were in awe. Sheitan, some people called it. They had seen the rabid tribesmen bring forth such creatures at times, and this stranger certainly had an otherwordly appearance like they did. Yet, it was not prancing about tearing people apart. In fact, it had an otherworldly beauty and not one that brought the mind to immodest thoughts like the sheitan that were of handsome form.
Priests murmured strange thoughts as they saw it pass by, was this a Deva? An Avatar of God, of the Truth? It certainly seemed to foresee a higher purpose for itself, as it went right towards the palace of the Grand Heirarch.
It ascended the steps with the confidence that it was meant to be here, time almost slowing for the onlookers. The steps designed carefully to take a solar minute for most men to ascend seemed to take lazy hours for the arrival to traverse. But, if one looked at the sun it would not have shifted by any amount.
At the top, two guards stood sentinel. Their wills were stronger than that of billions on Brahms, but they melted as they saw the Primarch smile at them in a way so horrific. The corners of its lips went as high as either eyeball, and at that moment they opened the gates.
The smile very abruptly became the usual friendly gesture as the two men acquiesced to the unspoken command of the skylander, the child walking inwards. There in the distance sat Roskandar, the Heirarch. His son flanked his left side, the High-Priest of Ummaria flanked his right.
As the Primarch stood before him with hands clasped behind his back, Roskandar’s desire to wait for the intruder to explain himself wordlessly as a show of his will collapsed even quicker than the spines of the guards that had let it in. “What are you. I know of your arrival, the messenger pigeons flew faster than you came. You were not invited!” The Grand Heirarch roared, rallying some of the menace that had let him climb to his current position all those years ago.
For its part the child cocked its head, examining the Heirarch for a few minutes, as if watching an interesting new insect under a microscope. Eventually however, he knelt and then pressed both hands and forehead to the ground in supplication in an almost instant reversal of what many present has mentally parsed as an attempt to intimidate the ruler of Ummaria.
“Oh Lord of Ummaria, you are a ruler noblest, one to whom I am supplicant.” The stranger said, its voice not in the slightest suppressed by its position and indeed seemingly louder, as if spoken by lips within one’s very ears. Yet despite this it was soft, tender almost like a lover’s touch.
“I seek to find service under you, such that your throne may eclipse the very sun.”
“Rise.” The Grand Heirarch growled faintly as he was mollified but still confused. “That tells me little, no-name. Explain yourself. Who are you, where from, why do you believe I should take you in? What do you offer?”
Only when the Grand Heirarch did finish speaking did the Primarch stand as commanded, bowing to reiterate his almost unnatural recognition of a superior.
“I shall answer your queries in the order that makes the following best understood.”
“Go on.”
“I do not know where I am from, not in a meaningful sense. I know I came from the stars, my arrival heralded by a sharp descent from the stars. I come from a realm outside of this world, and yet I know not any more. The primitives of the wild seemed to think they had brought me forth, yet this I believe to be wrong. They believed me sacred. This I too believe to be wrong. I have no name, not one I care to keep. But I know I am destined for greater things.”
“Explain.”
“I am more intelligent than you. Any of you.” He said, turning to the High Priest and the many other nobles present within the chamber. Indignant gasps spread out across many voices, with the brows of the trio before the Primarch furrowing in a synchronous fashion.
“I mean this not as an insult, but as a mere observation. The previous sunrise, I knew not your language. I have been here some few hundred heartbeats, yet I know it better now than any present. If you would but give me the means, I can show you I can create great works faster than you could even think of them. I have already concluded knowledge your greatest researchers believe to be lost to time. I am stronger than any present in any physical test, with my bared flesh I could destroy your armies.” The Primarch closed its eyes, and inhaled deeply.
“But I will not. I know now that my betterness than any man on this world does not mean I cannot be humble and see the chinks in my proverbial armour. I am inexperienced, I know not of this world, how to lead it. But I may still serve, tell truths and wisdom none else will.”
“You wish to be an advisor after presuming so much?” The Heirarch demanded, for now to the surprise of the court not sounding particularly angered.
“Advisor, and student. There will come a day when I will be of greater import to this realm than you, but I can promise that when that day comes your children, grand children, and great grandchildren all of whom I will outlive will have secured themselves a finer life and fate than you could even dream of in this moment. This is a promise not out of mere confidence, but an inescapable guarantee if you accede to my request.”
The Heirarch stood at this moment, walking to a brazier some distance from himself and wafting the scented smokes leisurely drifting skywards back to himself. As sweat began to come from his crowned forehead he turned back to the Primarch.
“You come into my home, and promise to supplant my dynasty? Ambitious, but I am afraid I must decline. I bid you no ill will, child, but your promise is not enticing enough. If that is all, I believe I must exile you for this statement. I do not wish assembled company to believe this to be an invitation to come forth with similar ideas.” He stated, waving a hand across the onlooking court.
Shock came over the face of the Primarch, followed by a brief panic, its face molding and remolding itself into different shapes as it could not settle on emotion until eventually coming upon a pleading one. “You do not understand, I fault you for this. I warn you now. Should you reject me, I will find another realm to perfect. It will eclipse your’s, and in likely jealousy you shall strike out, forcing me to thereby destroy your majesty. I beg of you, do not do this. Ummaria is the greatest land of this world, I wish to see it prosper and grow! Not, to burn and shatter.”
“Is that all?”
“Please!”
“Leave.”
Fluid skin turned this way and that upon the child’s visage, until eventually settling upon a stoic one even as fluid tears came out of yet incomplete eyes.
“I hope you can forgive me for what will have to be done.” With another thought he turned to the Heirarch’s son. “I hope you can forgive your father for what he will bring upon you.”
With that, the Primarch left Ummaria as wordlessly as he had first entered it.
He wandered the deserts for some days, perfecting his thought, his speech, coming to new conclusions, thought systems and patterns. His musings in the arid sands were stopped abruptly as a column of people walked towards him. A majority were shackled, with some prodding and goading the restrained folk with spears and other cruel implements.
With great curiosity the Primarch walked towards them. “I say!” he called out. Hundreds of heads turning this way and that to try find where the newcomer was. “I say!” He repeated, this time using the power of his voice to have all the humans instantly know where he was calling from.
In a flash, he sprinted towards them, in particular stopping before their leader based upon his head-dress having the most flowers and shiny stones on it.
“Tell me, why are these men so restrained?” he asked cheerily.
“What?” the warrior asked.
“These people. They are not able to act freely owing to these chains binding them. Why is this?”
“They are mine?”
“Elaborate, please.”
“You have something in your ears, sura? We defeated the Godless. Did the wisemen not summon you?”
“They do not wish to be like this?” the Primarch asked, ignoring the latter question. The thought was very common!
“The desires of the faithless do not concern sons of the great four!” The tribal shouted, seemingly pleased with himself as he roared and shook a spear to the subsequent cheers of his fellow warriors.
“I see.” It took a little more than a second for the warband to be slain, most of the fallen bodies having only a finger-shaped hole in their throats.
With a flick of its wrist, it tossed a rusty key towards one of the shackled men who undid his collar and then passed it to the next one.
“Who are you?” the bearded fellow asked, his skinny, starved frame trembling slightly as his freedom was bought with a sight far more terrifying than he had imagined the horrors his captors would inflict on him.
“I have told this tale many times, but I am delighted to recount it again. Very simply, I came from the sky. Many believe they called me forth from their Gods, but this is likely a thought in error. I do not know of anything before I fell from above! I have no name, but since it is so often asked of me, would you give me one?”
A small rope of stunned drool hung from the man’s beard, before in awe he rasped a phrase. “Amunal. Born of the Sun.
Salkor looked upon the wide assembly of the Martian parliament. Hundreds of figures representing all the forges, and indeed the voices of the broader galactic Cult of the Machine were present, all array in small cubicles that provided no privacy, but rather simply served to give a small workspace for each to accommodate the often bulky assortments of cybernetics the Martian Priesthood bore. In many cases, representatives were not present in person and instead had a servitor bear a screen, hologram projector, or other means of display along with vox gear to relay their speech.
"Let the rite of percussive appraisal begin!" A tapping noise would come as mechanical fingers struck the foam upon the hundreds of microphones in the parliament, each followed by a quiet expression of "Testing, testing, testing, one-two-three...." the noise punctuated on occasion by random squeals as incense drifted into the devices.
“Have the spirits of the transmitters been sufficiently appeased?” The Fabricator-General asked, but the slightest of binharic whines through the air indicating the words had been outputted.
“Yea and verily, o’ speaker.” Returned a servitor to his side.
“Very well. Before we begin, is all the roster present?” the question was redundant of course, the milliseconds of it ultimately a waste of time as a part of his heads-up display showed that indeed all nine hundred and seventy three figures scheduled to be in attendance were in fact present in one form or another. But it was tradition, and to brook the mere thought of violating it would cause indignant outcry and the pointing of plasteel fingers.
“Good. Today we mark the thirty-second plenary committee of the Martian plenary, which I now state to be in session.” A gong would ring at glass shattering volume behind him. “The occasion is a solemn one, and indeed one of emergency.”
“Get on with it!” a heckler demanded, a fact that was made all the more annoying as in the cybernetic communion of the hundreds of figures assembled there was no anonymity, yet Forgemaster Antares seemingly felt no regrets about his outburst as Salkor examined him with his ocular implants.
“On this day, an unacceptable attack happened.” A hologram activated behind Salkor and in front of the assembled parliamentarians. It displayed hundreds of missiles fired and laser countermeasures ineffectively attempting to destroy them. Although all present already knew of the attack, they nonetheless immediately broke out into bickering and accusations.
“Silence!” The Fabricator General demanded, flicking a wax-encrusted switch to deactivate the optic cables connecting individuals, such that any speech could only be made through analogue means and without private mutterings upon the noosphere. “I am ordained as servant of our Omnissiah to bring order to this madness. We are all aware of the tensions between different schools of our faith.” he said, not elaborating on the tense situation of the electro priests. “The violence that stems from it is unacceptable, however. Thus, while we will abide by all the laws and ordinances of this establishment and the red cloak, the right is waived by the commission to bring the perpetrators of this matter to justice.” He heard the gurgle of respirators and static of old synthesizers as again cries of protest came, but they were ultimately ignored.
“Thus we will begin with what is known. Magos Khur, the missiles fired upon the aircraft of the Corpuscarii pilgrims came from your Forge. The serial numbers and make and model inevitably match to Manufactorum IL-99. In particular, the photoreactive plasteel diamantine coating on the warheads is a known specialty of your forge. Do you have any comment?”
“I. AM. UNABLE. TO. SEE. HOW. THAT. INCRIMINATES. ME.”
If Salkor had a lot more of his human biology from brain to respirators system, he would have sighed. The Magos used an ancient synthesizer that was an archaeotech pride of his, supposedly reliable enough to last many tens of thousands of years without any parts needing replacement. The trouble was, his pride and joy seemingly would take that long to construct paragraphs. “You are not incriminated, we simply need to know if any orders were placed that were suspect.
“I. KNOW. NOT. OF. ANY. SUCH. ORDERS.”
“Very well, then we will require a full listing of any and all orders for your surface to air and other missiles matching the remains we found for the last three years.”
“THERE. IS. NO. CONSTITUTIONAL. BASIS. FOR. SUCH.”
“In this emergency we have waived the requirement to only receive the exact work orders matching each serial number given that far too many of said serial numbers have not survived.”
More outcry, and now on somewhat expected partisan lines. The Fulgurites were eager to defend their little gun runner, while a great many Magoses were enraged at the precedent being set. If this was centuries ago, Salkor would understand. He absolutely would hate the rest of Mars to have a right to root around in his work. But, what other options did he have? This was the closest to a middle ground he could come to.
“THIS. OUTRAGE. CANNOT. STAND.”
“No, but neither can we have your air-defence penetrating missiles used against fellow Martians. We are to be better than this, and yet we seemingly are not.”
The bulbs that displayed the preparation of speech of Magos Khur’s synthesizer began to glow, but this was interrupted by a great shock that rattled the Parliament building.
All present immediately read hundreds of readouts, a servitor then unfolding a screen from a mecha-dendrite beside Salkor. “The entourage of Magos Loiy is no longer present. The entourage of Magos Khur is departing. The entourage of Magos Khur is no longer present.” it announced. That was certainly an understatement, as the site where several vehicles an dozens of Skitarii and attendants once stood was now ash.
Salkor played back the footage of the servo-skulls that had observed them. It had taken mere milliseconds, but nonetheless there was a capture of the blue wave that fell from the sky. Dreamily, almost like a cloud the plasma had descended from the sky and turned the figures into nothing. A great many figures not part of either Magos’s party wwas caught and melted in part of entirety.
To Salkor, this was an opportunity. “Magos Khur, if you would care to reveal information that would make you reasonably believe you are at risk, security may be provided for you and your forge.” He announced, quite satisfied with how this line of inquiry was going even if the sum total of disaster had only just doubled, perhaps tripled.
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