ClocktowerEchos

When Royalty Collides ~Closed~

<Snipped quote by ClocktowerEchos>

Dayum, Clockles! :/ Try talking to one of the GMs! You could get something resolved!

@NarcissisticPotato

Its not that I'm not able to talk to the GMs of my other RPs, its the fact that I am the GM of three RPs I'm currently in @_@

When Royalty Collides ~Closed~

@ClocktowerEchos
Whaaaattt, Whyyyyy!

Yes the RP is a little big, and not everyone has even posted yet. I get it may scare you off, but there's no pressure.

Unless you feel like you really really can't do it, please don't drop :'(!

@Neno 1445

The thing is that I can't even keep up OOC and the IC is just something beyond me at this point. The RP as a whole also isn't a "little big", its huge by most standards and I don't feel like I can put in the time commitment with everything else I'm doing, sorry :/

When Royalty Collides ~Closed~

I'm afraid to say it, but I might honestly have to drop out of this. I can't keep up with it given my other RPs I'm GMing and IRL stuff. Dx

What a Lovely Day (Mad Max NRP) [Now doing Pop. Rolls]

Poking for rolls, Hoping to either be Mutants or Information preserver people...or preferably both.

@Lucidnonsense

ROLLS

1 Genetic Make Up

Mutants: Those truly warped, or some would say adapted, to the new world. Barely human looking, every mutant group is unique in their phenotype but they all share a uniform resilience to radiation and toxins. Generally feared and hated by less altered stock, the smart know they can be a valuable asset and that their goods are not “tainted” as some would have you believe.

2 Cultural Meta-Group

Raiders: An unfortunate truth of the wastes is the prevalence of raider gangs. Savage and violent, they typically take more than they make but there are exceptions. Most don’t settle down in any place for too long, and tend to use up what they have quickly. Many treat the apocalypse as a sort of hedonistic paradise, murdering for fun, using homemade narcotics, and generally raping to their hearts content.

3 Leadership

Dictatorship: Whether they go by mayor, king, chief, tyrant, boss or any other blandishment of power, these men are the movers and shakers in the wastes. Strong willed and often ruthless, singular individuals often take charge of small groups, as has been the case in every historical era. They may have a close knit inner circle, but they always rule with absolute power when it comes down to it.

4 Cultural Quirks

Not the Lingua Franca: The group doesn’t speak the standard language of the wastes. Maybe they speak a different old world tongue, or maybe a new language that has emerged since the apocalypse. In any case, they have trouble interacting with other groups and require interpreters to treat with them.

Intellectuals: In a world that constantly demands 100% effort just to stay alive, it’s very rare to see a group even partially dedicated to mental pursuits, but here one is. Usually considered too brainy by other groups, these fellows spend their off time reading salvaged books and maybe even doing a little science/inventing/archaeology. Hold themselves to a higher standard of intelligence/knowledge than others.

5 Distinctive Appearance

Body Paint: Same as above, but they never go without their paint jobs.

Unique Body Mod: Come in many forms, from filed teeth to a specific kind of tattoo to ritual branding.

Body of Knowledge: The group preserves information on the bodies of it’s members. Technical diagrams scarified onto their chests, covered in tattooed text, etc.

6 Unique/Exclusive Resource

Water: The wet stuff. The real lifeblood of the wastes. In short supply, so those that control it are invariably very well off.

7 Equipment Quality

Ramshackle: Armor is cobbled together, guns are hand tooled, and houses/clothes are generally not in the best state. Pretty standard for most people, unfortunately.

8 Motor-Pool General Make Up

Fast: Sports cars, interceptors, maybe even a handful of race/supercars. Extremely fast, stylish, and fragile. Drink fuel like no one's business and will need a skilled mechanic to maintain, but the speed is generally worth it.

9 Special Vehicle Shit

Turbo-Charged: Engines are supercharged and often fitted with nitrous. The group's cars will be capable of incredible bursts of speed, at the cost of some special maintenance and materials.

Black on Black: Your come in any colour so long as it’s black. Stealthier at night, and more intimidating during the day. The black paint also seemingly correlates with higher skill among drivers. Re Choose to re-roll this or Shiny and Chrome if you get both.

10 Flagship Vehicle

A Fucking Tank: Slow, complicated, and chugs fuel faster than anything else you can imagine. It even has a limited ammo supply for its main gun. But it’s functionally indestructible, can wipe out any other vehicle with a single shot, and if someone sees one of these coming you can bet their fucking ass they’re going to run.

Well aren't you one lucky fucker.
You got everything you wanted and then some.
Just don't go overboard with your NS due to your rolls and try to be reasonable.

What a Lovely Day (Mad Max NRP) [Now doing Pop. Rolls]

IC is Open!

IC is open, anyone with an NS in the Chars tab is free to post!

If anyone wants to be the group attacking the Collegia war rig in my post, feel free but its first come first serve tho.

What a Lovely Day (Mad Max NRP) [Now doing Pop. Rolls]

The Collegia

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_{The old world is in ruins, its existence little more than a memory.
Some take it as absolute freedom,
doing as they please no matter how horrific or depraved their action.
Others take it as revival,
a restart from the world they see as corrupt and broken, deserving to die.
We on the other hand seek to find it once more.
For the past is where mankind flourished.
And even if we cannot call ourselves men.
The Collegia is always of the old world.}

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The clear blue sky watched the desert plans from above, an azure sentinel with vigilance of the endless dunes of sand. Such an ocean was only pierced by the occasional rusted wreck or lifeless bones of either man or the world he once made. Only settlements provided any true lives in these lands, and even then they were only half lives, no matter the genetic purity of the people. Humanity had long died, its patron God long since leaving the salted, sanded earth to its fate.

But there are those who wish to defy the destined death, those who wished to bring it back to its glory, or at least safe guard it. The Collegia was one such few groups, a collection of mutants ironically enough doing the task of safe guarding mankind’s greatest creations and research, always looking for more from its exalted scavenger runs. Such runs carried valuable knowledge for the Collegia’s cause, but they also made tempting targets for raiders who wished to gain something from the mutant’s war rigs.

“Slocke! On your right!” a red clad Legio shouted as he held on to the side of the War Rig “Sucinus”, returning across the wasted dunes, currently being attacked by someone who wished them dead. The soldier crawled up into his machine gun turret and began to open fire.

“I see the beasts!” Slocke rotated the pintle mounted maxim, carefully made by the forges of the Collegia, the gun screamed to life as it delivered lead to the raiders.

The Sucinus was what was classified as a “light” rig by the Legio Collegia. Made from an old, emptied out school bus, it had a pair of turrets on top to provide fire at all angles, a giant shotgun-like cannon poking out of the back and firing points in the windows.

Several bullets clattered and bounced off the heavy armor of the war rig, causing everyone inside to duck. With a deafening low roar, the blast cannon at the back fired, its hail of metal and stones sending a vehicle and its driver to a sandy death. The shell clattered to the ground, the crew loading in another homemade shell and taking aim.

The driver of the holy war rig crashed wildly into the tops of dunes, the cargo containers shivering hazardously as the vehicle landed. Cursing loudly as he went, the driver swerved left and right to try and shake the pursuers off, but it’s hard to loose someone in an open desert. The raiders were coming in closer as the guns just kept firing, a couple of IEDs flew towards the trail left behind by the armored bus, taking out another vehicle but it didn’t stop the others from taking its place.

“Say your prayers my brothers!” Slocke bellowed over the howling wind and the sounds of guns, “We are raised in the Collegia but are born in the old world! The Old World Anew!”

The rest of the crew tightened their knuckles and exclaimed the motto of the Collegia with great zeal, “The Old World Anew!”

Tiniest Empires: The Miniwars [Wargaming Miniatures the NRP]

IC is Open

@Sophrus@VKAllenFeel free to move over to the Chars tab and post IC.

As for everyone else, the Req Plates will spawn your first batch of stuff after the first day (so basically once everyone has posted once).

As for the tribes, if you have two in your sector, one will be hostile and the other friend (relative terms ofc). If you have one, I'll leave it up to you to decide and if anyone needs names/ideas for stuff behind the NPC tribes, just contact me and I'll write something small up.

Let's get postin' people ^^

Tiniest Empires: The Miniwars [Wargaming Miniatures the NRP]

603^rd Cadian Regiment
"Emperor's Chosen"

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The 603rd Cadian “the Emperor’s Chosen”, a regiment of many home worlds and guardsmen, tested in the forges of combat many times over now faced perhaps its greatest challenge. Last aboard their transport fleet, they were to head to the world of Qulora Prime to put down heretical secessionists only to experience some strange warp anomaly as they passed. Their ships buckled and moaned, testing their faith in the god emperor, until something happened. Within milliseconds, the Warp preformed its foul trickery on the regiment, sending them somewhere completely different. When they awoke, they found themselves on the floor of some massively blown up house, shrunk down to miniature sizes with a whole new accompaniment of Imperial civilians, all equally scared and afraid of their new situation.

It had been several hours since the first “arrival”, the vast majority of the regiment was accounted for even a number of armored vehicles found, still operational and combat ready minus some dents. The civilians were calmed, priests and sisters hospitallersleading them in a mass prayer. A few guardsmen took part in the congregation, but many had been busy getting acclimated to their new environment.

Scouting parties of Sentinels and Venators had been dispatched, the first major issue being an ascension of stairs, too large for the walkers and vehicles to safely traverse down and back up. Flyers would have to be used to preform recon runs at a later date. Presuming there was at least two floors, the rest of the “upper floor” was being scouted as the situation back at the 603rd’s new home was slowly improving.

With an enclosed roof over their heads, bedrolls could be laid out in the open without much worry. Although the carpet was soft enough to the point that some were more than content to just sleeping on the floor. Very, very basic defenses had been set up, heavy support weapons had been strategically placed around their nearby area (most was pointed towards the large open doorway for obvious reasons). As armored vehicles began to move about in greater quantities however, it would be then that the 603rd they were certainly not alone.

On either side of the bed, in the night tables laid two different tribal settlements. Up against the wall was the White Hawks and across the way by the window was the more civilized Council of Sunlight. After dispatching Sororitas diplomats with guards to either tribe, the 603rd learned a few things about their immediate neighbors. Both groups walked the lands of the Great House long before the guard did, a progenitor people if you would. The Council of Sunlight was a handful of different tribes at one point who all lived peacefully amongst each other in the “Mother’s Den”. Then the war-like White Hawks invaded from downstairs and easily swept over the unprepared tribes. After a bloody and brutal battle which still stained some parts of the carpet to this day, the tribes of the Den came together to form the Council and held their ground against that of the White Hawks before coming to an assumed peace between the two sides.

Of the two, General Karthis viewed the Council more favorably as they were just generally more friendly plus they worshipped a sun god, a god that could easily be seen as the God-Emperor making them more willing converts to the Imperial Cult. The Hawks on the other hand, they seemed like the bunch that did not seem to be keen on having tea with people. They would have to be dealt with before they became a permeant thorn in the side of the 603rd but for right now they were not taking any actions against the regiment and its new host of civilians and were much more pressing matters, matters of Chaos.

From the second they arrived here, the pious men and women could just feel like there was something off. After consulting with several priests and looking at readings from various machines, it was determined, there was definitely the taint of the Warp in this great building. The age old enemy of the Imperium had followed them here somehow for some reason. Some suspected the large circular object was the source of it and wanted to destroy it. But after the techpriests poked around with it and discovered it could be used as a potentially limitless energy source, any deconstruction attempts were banned and it became one of the first fortified areas, the HQ Baneblade, the Righteous Divinity was parked next to it, its big guns keeping a steadfast watch of their prized plate.

As the civilians slowly found shelter in the shade of a massive desk, things beagn the long, slow tedious process of getting settled. Filling up sandbags with dusts laying around and other small bits of paint and loose carpet strainds, defenses started to look slightly more formidable especially with rolls of barbed wire being rolled out; talks of mine fields rages within the Righteous Divinity. There were still problems yet to be faced but those would be handled soon enough. For now they were safe and secure (by Imperial Guard standards anyways), thank the god-emperor for that.

Legacy - Warhammer Fantasy-inspired War NRP

@POOHEAD189 Got a basic beastmen post up for you to come at. The alphagor in question also has a stolen dwarf cannon, something I've wanted to do for a while. And just to trigger the dwarves.

Legacy - Warhammer Fantasy-inspired War NRP

BEASTMEN OF
THE FIREBREATH

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With the words of the great Alphagor Varkex resonating in their vengeful hearts, more than a fair few warherds looked at the dwarves with longing of death of the stunties. For too long the tiny bastards had looked down upon them from their mountain keep and with the herds on the move, many a beastmen believed that the great holds of the dwarves could use some “redecorating” with a new paint scheme and interior décor options.

“Onwards beastmen! Burn their holds and spill their damned blood!” the Alphagor bellowed as his gors of all variety cheered around the nightly bonfire in their camp. Tarkur FIrebreath raised his cannon high in the air with two hands, his third wildly throwing around skulls on a stick. Tarkur was an interesting breed of beastmen, a so called “mutant alphagor; on his left side, he had two arms, one growing out of his side giving him quite the monstrous appearance. Needless to say this third arm has served him well and allowing him to weild his signature weapon: a stolen dwarven cannon.

It wasn’t quite as much “stolen” as many would think but more like “beat the cannon crews with their own artillery piece before taking it not realizing he hadn’t killed one of the crewmen (crewdwarves?) but only broke his spine and most of his limbs”. The cannon was the reason why he now has the name of Firebreath and also the reason why some brave if not fool hearty dwarves have tried to kill him. Retaking the cannon for honor or something, Tarkur honestly never understood the motivations of the lone suicidal dwarves that sometimes wandered close to him other than that their livers tasted good after being grilled. Just the liver though, the rest of dwarf was a bit too tough and chewy for his taste.

Stuffing his cannon full of looted powder and pitch along with scrap metal and weapons of fallen enemies, Tarkur let out a might roar that was echoed and amplified by his warherd as they set out to stamped over the dwarven lands. With his massive amounts of Blackhands fire bombers, the herd marched, war horns and drums bellowing in the wind as they dashed through the forests, driven by the scent of blood and powdered