ClocktowerEchos

Above the Wastes - A Mad Max RP with airships

Adept of Redemption, the Astral Missionary

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|+| ADEPT |+|

^{|| Male || The Adept of Redemption || 30's ||}

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PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:

Adept is a tall, lean man whose piousness radiates from him. His facial featuers are sharp, eyes are a bright, deep blue like the stars on a cold night and long hair dyed white. Although not stronger than the normal man, his stamina is something to behold, especially if a matter of faith or holy duties are involved. He many not be able to swing a hammer the fastest, but he will keep swinning the hammer longer after anyone else has already given up. Scars, burns and other marks of penitence and self flagellation cover his body with their owner proudly boasting them as blessed markings.

He wears elaborate, flowing white robes with yellow trim, a gift from his mentor when he was tasked to commune with the heavens and preach to the masses as a missionary. His tall, white hat easily catches the sun in such a way that its impossible to miss or ignore him. While his robes have gotten dirty, they are always expertly taken care for by their owner. Under his robes, a light, breathable cotton armor similar to that worn by Aztec warriors from the World That Was. A pair of brass cuffs protect his forearms.

PERSONALITY:

To understand Adept, you must understand the creed that the cult he is a devotee of, the Celestial Order. It is one of love, mercy, kindness and the complete eradication of those unworthy who have no room in their hearts for the Star God. Most of these people are raiders and pirates and other lowlife with normal superstitious wastelanders simply being potential converts. However those who preach another deity are the truest of heretics and must be converted before being burned for their sins of heresy.

A true zealous firebrand, Adept readily gave up his old name and took on the title of Adept of Redemption, studying and learning under the Prophet of Redemption. His belief is unwavering, his will is steel and his mind is fearless, Adept sees his mission as holy and seeks out to convert as many to the embrace of the Star God as he can with his powerful voice. He follows the holy book of the cult, the Solar Canon, as holy writ and takes great joy in giving sermons and converting others, even if most just find him annoying.

However, his zeal and devotion does give him some qualities that many crews and captains admire which grants Adept some leeway in his more religious tendencies. Like many of his cult, Adept lives an ascetic life and is more than happy to sleep in cargo holds, armories or even just on deck so long as he has somewhere to put his cult icon. In addition, his work ethic is highly reminiscent of the Protestant Work Ethic from the World that Was, able to work long hours with little rest. The fact that he, like many in his order, can be nocturnal also makes him a perfect candidate for a night guard. During combat, Adept has gotten enough experience with guns to be able to man deck guns at an acceptable level and is a surprisingly tough bastard in melee. Plus, while many won't admit it, some find it strangely calming or invigorating to have a fearless, loud priest shouting about how the Star God is protecting them and will smite their enemies.

BACKSTORY:

When asked about his background, Adept will simply scoff it off and state that whatever happened before joining the Celestial Order does not matter and all that matters is his new found holy purpose. Being one who actively denies his own past as caused quite a few rumors from his previous employers and coworkers. Some say he was a street urchin picked up by a cult member, some say he was born into it. Other say that he was a failed merchant, a destitute artisan or even a criminal pirate before he found the light. Regardless, even the Order itself doesn't divulge the histories of its members unless they were specifically born into it. All that is known is that he quickly took to the Order's teachings and lessons, excelling in book keeping, copying, preaching, and navigation through the use of holy celestial bodies.

What is known however is that roughly 13 years ago, the Adept of Redemption first appeared on top of a pile of tires in the middle of the market in a small town called Kynestown. Although many just assumed him to be some variation of the average preacher, the Adept had actually preached his word for several months without missing a day, a rare feat for the average street corner priest. Slowly he gained followers and turned them towards the Heavenly Fortress, the home base for the Celestial Order. Afterwards, he would be replaced by another member of the cult and he would vanish for a time.

Two years after leaving Kynestown, he arrived on a cliff side city known as Inyokerne where he would find his first position aboard an airship. Apparently he had received orders from the Prophet of Redemption to travel the skies in order to both gain new converts but also "commune with the endless void beyond". Since then he has been travelling from town to town, coming down from the heavens to spread the good word of the Star God, the Lord Solaris, the Lady Lunari and the Starbound Saints.

DESCRIPTION:

Adept is the textbook definition of an insane zealot, but a helpful insane zealot. He has served on a few ships and spent planet of times in market places trying to convert more members to the light of the Star God. He is fearless believing he has the protection of his patron and can hold his own in a melee fight. His ascetic and low maintenance cost is what gets him on many ships as he often only request a third of the pay of most other crew members so long as he may pray and preach. He tends to the spiritual well being of a ship (so he likes to think) and has a very strong work ethic that makes him ideal for tasks such as hauling and and cleaning. The fact that many of his order are also nocturnal (including him) makes Adept a perfect candidates for nightly watches. His proudest achievement was converting the Captain of a C rank ship.

SKILLS:

• Preaching and Orating
• Religious and Spiritual Matters
• Endurance
• Navigation
• Cult Connections

Equipment:

• A copy of the Celestial Order's holy text he copied himself: the Astralnomicon; the Book of Stars
• A brass disc, intricately carved by cult artisans with the symbol of the Order, the Holy Star
• A Censer styled like an old gothic lantern
• A staff with an ornament a star within a circle and a ribbon going through the circle, also has loose-hanging rings that jingle.

QUIRKS:

• Knows how to quickly start a fire (useful for burning heretics)
• Can write extremely quickly
• Mildly paranoid of "shadow heretics" and "abyssal demons", sometimes thinks he can see them from the corner of his eye
• Knows how to make the Order's secret "Golden Geleece", a strong alcoholic brew sometimes used in rituals and sometimes sold for cash
• Really, really enjoys the rushing wind while on an airship, especially at night.

Mon Dieu, Mon Seigneur, Mon Imperateur; Tout pour vous! - A Warhammer 40K Guard RP [High Casual/Low Advanced] - FULL !!!

Remaking my regiment since unique regimental composition apparently isn't one of my strong suits.

Korlann 99th Regiment of Foot, "the Blackcoats" WIP

Korlann 99th Regiment of Foot

^{[The Blackcoats]}

_{^{"Gentlemen, you shall do you Duty to the Imperium or you will Die trying."}}

_{Regimental Strengths}

• Thin Black Line - A sense of duty and bravery is instilled into every Korlann soldier with drills modeled after the famed Mordian and Praetorian regiments. While no where near as strict and brutal, the 99th is without a doubt a stalward and steadfast regiment; a reliable unit with a proud history of service, honor and almost no desertions.

• Stiff Upper Lip - While not specially adapted to any singular enviroment to the degree a Catachan or a Valhallan regiment may be, the Korlann 99th has served across dozens of worlds and hundreds of terrains, landscapes and ecosystems. They are an adaptable lot and will stoically endure nearly any environment (with more than the occasional grumbling) barring a few extreme examples.

_{Regimental Weaknesses}

• Baggage Train - A slow moving, foot-based regiment to begin with, all Korlann regiments are accompanied by a herd of camp followers and the 99th is no exception. With few vehicles outside of a few chimeras, civilian trucks and ambulances, the 99th marches everywhere it goes with its attendants. Although some of these followers are as hearty as the soldiers themselves and provide certain luxuries while allowing the soldiers to focus on their own duties, it does little to increase the speed of their movements making them vulnerable to raids and lighting attacks.

• Indolent Nobles - An unfortunate trait exhibited by many noble commanders across the Imperium, the noble-born officers of the 99th are either unsuited for their positions as they are either cowardly or simply incompetent. Its said that only a combination of the actions of the lower ranking NCOs and skills of Lord Marshal Cain that the regiment has averted compete and utter disaster.

• Psyker Commander - An abrasive and ambitious man, Lord Marshal Cain was long thought to have extraordinary luck and foresight which when combined with several family connections, propelled him through the ranks. A latent pysker, he was only properly registered and later trained when he a pysker from another regiment identified him as one. Although he has since been properly trained and his powered honed, rumors and omens spread about both internally and externally despite the great benefit his powers of Divination and slight powers in Telekinesis. His cold and often apathetic attitude does him few favors either.

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<sub><sup>"The March of the Imperium can't afford to pause for the likes of you."
- Lord Marshal Cain to Warboss Grazwakka.</sup></sub>

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_{Daily Morning Muster}

3,000 troops + 700 camp followers

The most basic unit of command of the regiments of Korlann is the 20 man platoon consisting of a sergeant, a banner bearer, a heavy weapons team and 16 soldiers of the line. The most common of these heavy weapons is either a Heavy Bolter or a Lascannon. The traditional firing line has the heavy weapon placed in the center right in front of the sergeant and the banner bearer with eight men on either side of the heavy weapon formed into two rows of four. The banner bearer is also the platoon vox caster.

Above the platoon is the company, formed of 4 platoons and a command platoon and an artillery attachment. Platoon command is identical to the regular platoon except consist of 11 men with specialized communications equipment instead of a heavy weapon but are granted command of a Griffon or a Basilisk artillery piece.

A battalion is formed from 6 companies totaling 600 men and the entire regiment holds five battalions under its banner. Battalion command consists entirely of special members and lacks any guardsmen. Such members include: 2 quartermaster, 4 master surgeons, 1 enginseer, 3 vox casters, 5 commissars, 2 junior commissars, a Major, a banner bearer and assistant.

Each battalion also has a single company of horse to accompany them. These Horse Guards are always of noble blood and are not divided up into smaller subsections. Unlike many Imperial cavalry units, Korlann companies of horse do not carry hunting lances and instead use cut down carbines and chain sabers. Typically used for scouting, these noble riders are the only non-command troops allowed to wear capes or animal skins. Indeed many companies of horse have their riders wear the pelt of a beast the wearer has personally slain during their initial recruitment ritual.

Beyond the simple soldiers, camp followers are also a common sight. These are typically women either related to or a solder indentured servants as well as other persons whose skills are valuable to the regiment. Camp followers include; cooks, servants, cleaners, tailors, confessors, priests, nurses, squires, logisticians, translators, wenches, and engineers.

_{Quartermaster's Inventory}

• Mars Pattern Lasrifles x 3,100; Standard issue
• Laspistols x 1,200; Standard issue side arm for officers of all rank
• Hotshot Powerpacks x 7,000; 99th prefers well aimed, powerful shots over rapid spraying
• Korlann-pattern Bayonet x 3,200; Long and sleek, perfect to pierce the hide of heretics
• Black Korlann Uniforms x 3,200; War is no excuse to fight in unsightly uniforms
• Flak Armor x 3,100; Standard issue, include shoulder guards, styled to look like metal
• Blessed Chain Sabres x 550; For Horse Guard companies, blessed in exchanges for knightly vows
• Power Swords x 100; For high ranking officers only
• Carapace Armor x 650; For Horse Guard and high ranking Officers only
• Frag Grenades x 8,000; Each man gets a pair
• Krak Grenades x 8,000; Each man gets a pair
• Heavy Bolters x 50; For Heavy Weapon Squads
• Lascannons x 40, For Heavy Weapon Squads
• Autocannons x 30; For Heavy Weapon Squads

_{Motor Pool Registry}

• Griffon Heavy Mortar Carrier x 60; Company Support
• Basilisk Heavy Artillery x 40; Company Support
• Chimera APC x 18; For officer use mostly
• Goliath x 6; Unarmed, used for transport and construction
• Assorted civilian trucks and ambulances

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<sub><sup>"Is al'ight sir, all in a day's work eh?"
- Last words of Pvt. T. Atkins.</sup></sub>

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_{Enlistment Standards}

Recruitment is done by a lottery system on Korlann where every citizen from age 15 to 35 must enter at least one ticket into the system. Citizens may enter their name more than once for the ability to earn bonuses such as days off from work, additional pay, more rations and certain luxuries. There is no limit to the number of times one may put their name in, but the local administration tends to "forget" to give bonuses past five tickets.

Volunteers are also welcomed with open arms during recruitment and while they receive no bonus from the lottery system, they receive special bonuses for their patriotism and willingness to serve the God-Emperor. Such bonuses include additional rations and preferential treatment when it comes to promotion or assigning to important positions. Most NCOs are indeed volunteers which has created a strong tradition of competent lower-ranking officers that are sometimes even better than their noble commissioned counter parts.

The nobility of Korlann does not take part in the lottery system, finding it distasteful in addition to being exempt from it due to ancient decrees. However, instead they must enroll at least one child per generation into the Royal Arsenal Academy to be trained as commissioned officers. Their training is decidedly less physical and much more academic with trainees studying manners of logistics, leadership, formations and even linguistic diplomacy for interacting with other regiments. The fact that such officers aren't always competent or even willing means that Korlann regiments have an unfortunate tenancy of incompetent leadership, saved only by the skills of the lower ranking officers.

_{Commander Dossier}

Lord Marshal Gieram Cain

_Traditions

Korlann is a rather unique plant as once it was a primitive world best comparable to Terra in its late Iron Age. Upon being discovered by the van Korhold Rogue Trader dynasty in M37, the planet was named "Korlann" after them and what followed was one of the most successful technological and societal upliftings to date. Since then, the planet has slowly become what is a "proto-hive world" with the beginnings of hives appearing across the surface. Although not exceedingly blessed with natural resources, it lays on a critical calm zone in the Warp making it an extremely common stop for anyone heading into the Hadran Sector in Segmentum Pacificus. Due to this key location, it has made a great fortune for being a center of trade and communications. Decades of politicing and religious negotiation has also let a few Ministorum holy sites to be built and sanctioned on the planet, bringing in handfuls of pilgrims regularly.

Korlannders have since become accustom to the myriad of cultures and persons that often stop by their world to refuel ships and pick up supplies. From the eccentric crews of Rogue Traders to highly esteemed Administrum officials, from the secretive Inquisitorial agents to the innumerable Imperial Guard regiments, the star ports and space stations are constantly abuzz with activity. Even in the more rural villages, people often see glimpses of such colorful people. This constant barrage of foreign cultures has made the people of Korlann more receptive to those hailing from other worlds although will still see themselves as superior; such is the famous Korlann "soft arrogance".

Another bonus of its strategic position is that it has a great deal of local power and can even call in favors from surrounding worlds. Many once petty nobles have married into highly esteemed Imperial families and dynasties, creating an intricate network of marriages, alliances and loyalties that crisscross the surrounding sectors and beyond. The guard regiments also take full advantage of this and often recruit veteran guardsmen from disbanded companies to train their own soldiers. Some regiments take heavily off of their trainers, going as far as to modify their uniforms to emulate that of more famous regiments (the 99th is one of the regiments who are not subscribed to this practice).

At one point in time, the van Korhold Dynasty held personal dominion over the planet and surrounding systems, but relinquished control of them to the Administratum over something known as the "Ravens Incident". No one on Korlann really knows what happened in this incident but neither the van Korholds who have since moved on or the Administratum is speaking.

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<sub><sup>"Seems we are doomed to die on this rock; face forward and ready your rifles.
Wouldn't want to give the Emperor a poor first impression would we now?"
- Last words of Col. Wensley to his troops on Jorvug 4.</sup></sub>

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Mon Dieu, Mon Seigneur, Mon Imperateur; Tout pour vous! - A Warhammer 40K Guard RP [High Casual/Low Advanced] - FULL !!!

WIP for later use and storage, not done yet.

My Hider

39th Griskan Gunners

_{Regimental Features}

The Griskan 39th, also known as the Iron Lions, are classified as a "mobile artillery" regiment that's 2,500 men and women strong. They excel at bringing devastating, close range artillery support to the front line for immediate barrages. They advance behind the main push, establishing "fall back" lines so should the advance falter, it doesn't have to retreat all the way back to the original main line. Where as traditional artillery regiments may require set up time and are generally unable to provide meaningful support should the enemy be too close, the Griskan Gunners can bring down the hammer where other regiments would worry about firing "danger close".

_{Regimental Flaws}

Although able to quickly set up and maneuver around the battlefeild, the Griskan Gunners lack the more traditional heavy artillery such as Basilisks and Colossus. This means that their firepower lacks the punching power that a more traditional provides. In addition, their proximity to the front line means they are at a considerable danger of being overwhelmed unlike other artillery regiments who stay far behind. More than one regiment has been wiped out when their fallback lines failed. In addition, many would consider what the Griskans have to be outdated and more at home in a PDF regiment than a true guard regiment as seen with their use of vehicles such as Goliath trucks and Medusa siege guns. Griskan regiments also have a bad habit of flaunting "faux bravery" as they see themselves more courageous than other artillery regiments but have a tendency of deligating actions of real courage to infantry regiments citing that said regiments are "better equipped to handle them" and that "mobile artillery is still technically just artillery".

Regimental Composition

Regimental Organization:

Command Company

A Company

500
Section 1 - 100
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B Company

C Company

D Company

Regimental Armoury Allocation: Here we describe what armaments your regiment brings to bear, and [how it brings it to bear As an example (doesn't need the same level of detail) for the above regiment:
Kantrael Short Pattern Lasgun: Standard Lasgun of the Regiment's Guardsmen x2,000 power packs x10,000
M35 Magna-Core Plasma Gun: Issued to all Special-Weapons troops x260
Flak Armour: Issued to all but officers, x2000
Carapace Issued to Platoon Commanders and Sergeants x100
Chimera [multi-laser refitted in favour of autocannon] x24 issued to platoon and company command squads.
Kantrael Pattern Laspistol: x1000 issued to officers and other troops x1000 power packs (separate from lasguns)
Hell Hammer Pattern Lascannon: Issued to every heavy weapons team, x60
Heavy Stubber: issued as a special weapon to each guardsman squad. x60 (2,000 bullets each)
Duelling Blade: A Ceramite-Plasteel-Adamantium composite sword of moderate weight, used for outriders and other troops x1,000

_{Quartermaster's Logs}

• 5,500 x Mars Pattern Lasgun w/ 8,000 Power Packs and 6,500 bayonets; standard issue armament.
• Full sets of Griskan Warplate; standard issue armor.
• Chain Halberds; issued to the rank of Sargent.
• Accatran Pattern, Mark XI Combat Shotguns; issued to all NCOs
• Mordian-styled Power Swords; issued to all COs
• Accatran Pattern Mark II Laspistol; issued to all COs

Regimental Commander CS

An important thing to note is that while detail is appreciated and desired, you should not make it so much that you will be hurt or upset at the loss of them.

Name: Lourant of Ulgramor, "the Bernard"
Age:58 (has had rejunivation treatments)
Gender: Male

Physical Description:

What do they look like? Pictures may be linked but if it's just a picture so help me God. If it's an anime picture, so help you God.

Equipment:

• What are they expert at?

Personality:

Lourant of Ulgramor is the product of an intricate network of noble marriages that span the subsector. He's had a fairly sheltered childhood and tends to see the world as much softer and lighter than it often is. Uncompromising on his morals and zealous in his beliefs unless massive evidence is used to disprove, Lourant's sense of honor has more than once overtaken his sense of reason. He famously once let a heretic mutant champion pick up his weapon in a duel as fighting a man who is unarmed is dishonorable and not sporting at all. Despite his idealism however, he is still tolerated and even appreciated by the men under him as his sense of heroics often causes him to stay at the front and try to mingle as best he can with the average trooper. His nickname is proof of it as "Bernard" is a derogatory term among most Griskan regiments describing incompetent noble commanders, but Lourant has actually encouraged his men to call him that.

Capabilities:

• Inspiring Troops
• Being Diplomatic with other Regiments

Failings:

• What are they expert at?

Regimental History: Quite simple. I'd prefer you include at least one triumph and one catastrophe; unless they are a freshly raised regiment.

Regimental/Planetary Culture: Also quite simple. What's their home like? What do these people look like? What's their interpretation of the Imperial Cult? Do they speak High Gothic, a local tongue or both?

_{Regimental Culture}

The 39th is considered one of the "Rusted Regiments" of Griskan, named so as they are so old that their founding monument on Griskan has began to rust. Every regiment raised on Griskan is granted a founding monument, a symbol casted to either represent them or their sacred task. Of the hundreds of regiments that have served the Emperor, only about a dozen have had the honor of being a Rusted Regiment. Of course, all of this is only really a half truth as like many of the Rusted, the 39th has been decimated, reformed, destroyed, reorganized and combined several times over its history.

The start of the day marks a every important ceremony which takes place among the 39th and can be split up into two parts: the First Shot and the Ringing of the Bell. The Ringing of the Bell is when all of the guardsmen walk up and ring a copy of the Bell of Lost Souls. This is done to signal the official start of the day as well as prayer and reminder of the vows taken by the regiment upon leaving their home world. The 39th takes this to a whole new level by equipping all of its officers with a smaller silver bell.

The First Shot ceremony which a specially carved shell with the name of the enemy or enemy commander engraved upon it is fired ahead of the day's main salvo. Carving the name of the enemy on to artillery shells and other ordinance is common among all Griskan regiments, likely due to the planetary tradition of carving oaths, vows or promises into stone and other hard materials. Its said doing so allows the shell to more accurately find important targets in the chaos of battle. On the note of carving names, the same practice is done to vehicles to show their age and experience. Any vehicle with less than a certain number of names and/or blast marks, holes or burnt marks is considered "unbaptized" and generally more unlucky. Unbaptized vehicles are also less likely to be given more prodigious assignments and are often placed further back in the firing line.

Religiously, the Griskans 39th are no less and no more devout than any other regiment but have a more polytheistic worship of the Emperor by including various saints in their prayers. While there are the common guard saints such as Ollanius Pious, there are a number of others such as Sister Amzerala the Orkbane, Redbarrow Sarge the Born-to-be-Leader and Helcalin the Forgefather. Strangest of them all however is a little known saint known as Saint Euclid, the Patron Saint of Geometry. While extremely strange to many at first glance, anyone who knows about the saint and the nature of artillery will immediately recognize the importance of his worship.

_{Planetary Culture}

_Recruitment

Recruitment is done by a lottery system on Griskan where every citizen from age 15 to 35 must enter at least one ticket into the system. Citizens may enter their name more than once for the ability to earn bonuses such as days off from work, additional pay, more rations and certain luxuries. There is no limit to the number of times one may put their name in, but the local administration tends to "forget" to give bonuses past five tickets.

Volunteers are also welcomed with open arms during recruitment and while they receive no bonus from the lottery system, they receive special bonuses for their patriotism and willingness to serve the God-Emperor. Such bonuses include additional rations and preferential treatment when it comes to promotion or assigning to important positions. Most NCOs are indeed volunteers which has created a strong tradition of competent lower-ranking officers that are sometimes even better than their noble commissioned counter parts.

The nobility of Griskan does not take part in the lottery system, finding it distasteful in addition to being exempt from it due to ancient decrees. However, instead they must enroll at least one child per generation into the Royal Arsenal Academy to be trained as commissioned officers. Their training is decidedly less physical and much more academic with trainees studying manners of logistics, leadership, formations and even linguistic diplomacy for interacting with other regiments. The fact that such officers aren't always competent or even willing means that Griskan regiments have an unfortunate tenancy of incompetent leadership, saved only by the skills of the lower ranking officers.

Being remade into something else.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Loheir leaned on his sword, his nostrels flaired at the scent of burnt flesh and ash. It was an odor he was far too familiar with and one which still tugged at his being. The voices of Holoheim haunted the very back of his mind, their cries blowing in the distant winds. Although none of them knew and many would rather him not, Loheir remembered all of them by name and face. There was Wilburg the Butcher who'd give him raw scraps of venisons on occasoin, Brunida the Innkeeper who gave him the cold bed and an even colder stew, little Dietsar who-

Emotion dragged the Bretonnian's heart down as he lost himself to his memories. Years of "questing" had taken a toil on him for all the comrades he watched die, all the innocents he failed to save, all the vows he couldn't up hold. He sniffled spat out a wad of spit on the ground; had he been younger he would have likely started to weep right then and there. But he had since long cried all his tears out and just like him, his eyes had no more tears to sacrifice.

The knight's mind shifted to a memory of a distant battle on the Bretonnian-Imperial border against a mob of vile Orks. Loheir remembered how he cried out for a surgeon, an apothocary, a priest, anyone to save his dying friends. But no one came and he watched them all die one by one in his arms. A voice rang in the distand winds, just barely louder than the shrill cries of help that paused for a second, "You watched them as they fell. You held their hands tight as they died, hoping they'd drag you down with them."

Through gritted teeth, Loheir banished the voice from his mind and forced himself back into reality. The voice was getting louder everyday it seemed but the man only allowed a fraction of his mind to wonder what it really meant; he dare not focus his entire mind and truly ponder its implications. Still in the recovery period, his veteran senses forced him to duck the second he heard the "thwunk" of an arrow embedding itself somewhere. By whatever was still out there in the heavens, Loheir hoped that it was either that halfing or that hunter and wasn't someone trying to add him to the number of bodies in front of him. At least not yet.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Loheir the Lost, the Lonely Lord

Username: Clocktower_Echos

Character Name: Loheir the Lost

Race/Species: Bretonnian

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Career (if any) and Skills: A former Questing Knight, Loheir knows plenty on fighting and wielding a great sword. Despite taking the Questin Vow, he never completed it due to his cynicism. At one point he was the protector of a small Empire hamlet, defending it form bandits, orks and beastmen almost entirety by himself as the villagers refused to support him or even give him any real respect. While defending the villagers, Loheir would continuously loose more and more of that which made him a Questing Knight until even his vows were forgotten and he forgot why he protected them. In a final act of sacrifice, he gave up the only person in the village who cared for him who was also his lover to a hedge wizard in the hopes he'd be able to enact a ritual to cleanse the area of beastmen. Except the spell backfired and turned the village to ash along with everyone in it, even Loheir's lover. Having lost everything once again, he left the ruins and wanders forever onward into an endless horizon for reasons he no longer knows or really cares about.

Weapons: While in the past Loheir had an arsenal befitting a Knight of Bretonnia, all he has left is a great, nameless two-handed machete that once belonged to an equally nameless beastman. Ages ago, he used the machete in conjunction with his Bretonnian shield -the only thing which survived his journey and ensuing battles- but now he exclusively uses it as a two handed great sword with an extended hilt, forsaking his shield as he no longer feels the need of self-preservation nor the protection of others.

Attire:
Looking at him, no one would suspect Loheir a Bretonnian knight until he opened his mouth. His armor is a motley amalgamation of crude plates taken from beastmen and orks, forced into something resemble proper armor over a chain mail tunic. His long boots and his gauntlets are but tough leather with metal plates sewn on top and nothing of his heraldry remains, not that Loheir would want any of it to be seen. Under his armor is a ragged and patchwork tunic, surviving all which its wearer has. Around his neck is a blue scarf, lovingly made by the sole maiden he ever fell in love with, and the ashes of said maiden in a pouch around his neck.

Equipment/Other
The ex "Lord of Holoheim" carries little on him. Rations, two waterskins, a sleeping mat, a small dagger, a broken vial of blessed waters and the ashes of his former lover in a small pouch around his neck.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):
Tall, well built and brawny, Loheir's apperance is larger of that than a normal Bretonnian. Indeed, many of his detractors have claimed him to have illegitimate Norscan blood to insult him. His body is covered in countless scars, bruises and scratches. His dull blue eyes had long since forgotten the energy and excitement of youth, leaving them colorless and hollow. His once proud mane of brown hair has been dirtied to the point of blackness with only the inkling of grey hairs breaking the dirty mess. His beard is unkept and ragged, owing to the limited time and equipment Loheir has to groom it. It wouldn't be far to say that it would be easier to assume that Loheir is some common, well built mountain bandit than a son of Bretonnia.

Mental Description/Personality:
Cynical and somber, Loheir is every well acquainted to the concept of loss and failure. His mind is a network of paradoxes and contradictions, but the man himself cares little for any attempts to clear it. Most of his actions, he does not know why he does, perhaps its out of what remains of a sense of duty or that deep down a part of him still cares and believes. Regardless, everyday is a sort of haze of him with the only real clarity being that of combat or direct orders. While meloncoly, Loheir hasn't cut himself off from the outside world and quickly latches on to people who seem even mildly interested in his story or can at least understand him, likely due to never having too many connections despite desperately wanting them in his younger years.

Background/History:
Born the youngest of an already long line of sons and an even longer line of siblings overall, Loheir was destinent to never inherent anything of value from his parents. At best, he'd get a small parcel of land and maybe a dozen peasants to lord over, but Loheir didn't want to live such a pathetic life but he was unable to escape his destiny. As such, the boy grew cynical and distant with only enough Bretonnian traditions of honor and chivalry not to be led completely astray.

Born naturally brawny, Loheir was the first of his brothers to become a Knight Errant despite his youth. He didn't spend his time feasting or learning or socializing, Loheir knew that the best way of escaping his menial fate was through war and battle. After intense pressuring from his family, Loheir reluctantly took on the Questing Oath. Granted whatever remained in the family armory, Loheir set out to "prove his worth" to a Lady he didn't believe in and a Lady who would never appear to him despite nearly two decades of Questing to come.

Every fight, every battle, every conflict brought him further and further from home. As days turned to months that turned to years, Loheir fought his way ever more distant from his home until one day, he arrived in a foreign land, surrounded by people who didn't speak his language and couldn't care for him. He had long forgotten his holy duty and noble oaths, content with wandering and simply surviving every fight he went into. Known as "the Lost", Loheir begun to forget why he kept throwing himself into battle after battle, perhaps the thrill of combat was what made him feel alive, perhaps it was truly the only thing he was good at, perhaps he simply wanted to vent his anger upon his foes in rage against the poor hand he was dealt by fate. Whatever the reasons, it was certainly no longer for some forgotten vow in the back of his mind.

It would be the village of Holoheim which Loheir's fate would truly be sealed however. A lonely hamlet beset by foul beastmen raiders and greenskin marauders, what remained of Loheir's nobility and chivalry was used to protect the villages. Catching the beastmen unaware, Loheir's skill at arms and superior weapons allowed him to slay a handful before the retreated into the forest. When he turned to the villagers however, he did not see joy or relief on their faces. Instead he saw was contempt and unsettling shame from them as they had to rely on an outsider to defend themselves. Loheir was given a cold stew and an even colder bed as rewards for his trouble.

Just like how he did not know why he kept fighting, Loheir stayed at the village and protected it from further raids. When he tried to leave, the villagers reluctantly begged him to stay and protect them as they knew their local lord wouldn't raise a finger to save them. As such, Loheir was crowed the unofficial Lord of Holoheim, but there was no glory. Instead of becoming Loheir the Lord, Loheir the Lost was more akin to Loheir, the Lonely Ruler for his subjects gave him no gratitude and only the most begrudging of spiteful respect. Those who spoke of him as "lord" were insincere and often mocking as their shame grew with every day that passed as many began to suspect that he wasn't fit to protect them.

Nevertheless, Loheir fought on for the people for reasons he didn't quite grasp himself. While he drove off raiders, bandits and greenskins, the Bretonnian kept losing a bit of himself in every fight. First he lost his helm, knocked off and crushed under hooves. Next was his heraldry, ripped off during a brawl. His horse came next, blocking an axe with its body meant for Loheir. After that was his armor, which had been worn down and ripped apart over a dozen fights and skirmishes. And finally, his sword broke after an axe shattered it in two. Despite his heroism and bravery, the villagers only came to despise him more because of how increasingly reliant they were to his service. Loheir was only staying out of what remained of a sense of duty and a woman he fell in love with and protected with the only weapons he had left, the crude greatsword of a beastman and his shield.

But when a wandering hedge wizard arrived at the village one day, an offer was made: in exchange for the hand of the maiden that Loheir was in love with, he would burn all of the threats to the village. Making one final sacrifice, Loheir accepted the demands and allowed the wizard to take the maiden's hand. However, the ritual went awry, instead of burning away just the beastmen, the entire village went up in smoke, burnt to ash, slag and rubble in seconds. Out of primal fear, Loheir ran from the village as it burned, the cries and pleads for help forever haunting him. When he returned to Holoheim, nothing remained as charred bodies where fused together. And the woman he loved so deeply? She had been reduced to ash before the what was Loheir's "throne"; a stone chair that had once had a blanket draped over it to signal that it was the "Lord of Holoheim's".

Now truly alone, Loheir wept and he grieved for even now, he failed to protect even those who hated him. He spent days in the ruins, wandering the burnt out homes and sitting upon his ruined throne, gazing upon what ashes where left, perhaps waiting for someone or something to come out of the forest and simply end him there. But nothing came for him, not even beastmen or greenskins. Having shed enough tears, Loheir left his battered sheild, the only piece of equipment that survived from Bretonnia, upon his throne of cinders and extended the handle of his great sword, no longer feeling the need of self-preservation and having no one else to protect before marching off into the distant horizon, once again for lands unknown.

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world! [REBOOTED] [FULL]

Might as well chuck in my interesting since I'm already making a backstory; basically a cynical Bretonnian knight who forgot his vows and is trying to subtly find a way to go die in combat or something like that.

Wippy just for later use

Username:

Character Name: Loheir the Lost

Race/Species:

Gender:

Age:

Career (if any) and Skills:

Weapons:

Attire:
Looking at him, no one would suspect Loheir a Bretonnian knight until he opened his mouth. His armor is a motly amalgamation of crude plates taken from beastmen and orks, forced into something resemble proper armor over a chainmail tunic. His long boots and his gauntlets are but tough leather with metal plates sewn on top and nothing of his heldrary remains, not that Loheir would want any of it to be seen.

Equipment/Other

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):

Mental Description/Personality:

Background/History:

Never a particular zealous scion, Loheir grew up cynical and distant with just enough of the Bretonnian traditions of honor and chivalry to not be led astray. The youngest of four brothers and the second youngest of seven total siblings, Loheir was never going to inherant anything of value and would begin to see himself more of a warrior than a lord. While his brothers were taught managing realms and reading classics, Loheir trained against dummies and partners. While his siblings attended feasts, Loheir went on hunting trips and expiditions against the orks. Despite his youth, he was the first of his generation to become a Knight of the Realm but was the last to take up the Questing Oath.

With his great sword and horse, he set off into distant lands to fight for the name of the Lady but his lack of devotion and zeal meant she would never appear. He travelled far from his home, so far that many thought he had died on some nameless battlefield or slain in his sleep. They didn't care, there were other scions to attend to and he was just the youngest. Loheir had indeed survived and had fought his way into the Empire, caring less and less about his holy duty and more about the simple act of fighting and surviving. Every day he lost sight of the light of the Lady, and everyday he wandered farther from his home until he saw it no longer.

It would be at the village of Holoheim which Loheir would first make a true name for himself. The village was beset by constant beastmen raiders and was in desperate need of defenders. But their pleeds for help had gone unanswered by the local lords and no mercenaries were will to die for such a pathetic hamlet. Deciding that he would preform at least one chivalrous act in the increasingly less hopeful quest, Loheir entered the village and drove back one such raid. His superior arms and armors, the few things bequeethed to him by his family, allowed him to cut through the cloven ones with eaise and he drove them back. But instead of praise, all he recieved was a cold bed and colder stares for the villagers despised having to rely on a foreign Bretonnian to save them.

Time and time again, Loheir would come to the villags' rescue, each time returning to the inn with less of himself. First he lost his helm, knocked off and crushed under hooves. Next was his heraldry, ripped off during a brawl. His horse came next, blocking an axe with its body meant for Loheir. After that was his armor, which had been worn down and ripped apart over a dozen fights and skirmishes. And finally, his sword broke after an axe shatttered it in two. Despite his heroism and bravery, the villagers only came to despise him more because of how increasinly reliant they were to his service. Loheir was only staying out of what remained of a senes of duty and a woman he fell in love with and protected with the only weapons he had left, the crude greatsword of a beastman and his sheild.

When the maiden fell in battle one day, Loheir fell into deep grieving and threw away his sheild and instead extended the handle of his greatsword for he no longer felt the need of self preservation nor the protection of others. Despite all his time of unlfiching bravery and the dozens of times he drove off beastmen and even orks, the villagers showed only bitterness as their prejiduce would not subside and their shame only burned as hatred. Until one day, Loheir simply left the village, leaving his sheild and what remains of his old armor in his little room in the inn and march further into the distant horizon.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Heccarim

_{Husband of Arden @Pupperr and Sorrin @WeepingLiberty}

Heccarim looked at Sorrin with greater disgust as she vomited what little her stomach held out the window. Her cries for Arden did little to improve her standing. The scale for Sorrin was definitely leaning towards "House Pet" at this rate the Drakkan thought as the small Gem attempted to find solace in the arms of the stronger one. She didn't even know how heirs were produced and her general exuberance was… annoying. The Warden wasn't used to prisoners having this much energy and cheer when they were told they were being dragged to Harand Kor. Sure they were Gems who had never heard the storeis that Drakkans did but even then, Arden seemed at least aware of the gravity of the situation. Sorrin looks more like she was being unwillingly dragged to a party or a ball instead of a prison.

While he would never consciously admit it, this happy-go-lucky demeanor chipped at his personality; anyone with such a personality always did. Perhaps it was because of how grim Drakkan tended to be that he never learned how to deal with them. Perhaps he just couldn't comprehend how one could be so happy while knowing so little. Sorrin would break first, her eyes would go from filled with happiness to filled with tears. Her voice would cry out for any who'd listen to her agony instead of just Arden. Her frail limbs would drag behind her as flesh chains, if she still had them at all.

The whips below deck cracked as the ship groaned to the sound of drums, the waters churned as slaves pulled oars back and forth. Hoblars dashed between their legs either screaming obscenities or pricking their feet with needle-like brambles. With the carriage loaded and strapped down, its hooded driver rang an ancient bell. Vultures and crows flocked to the ringing instead of running form it like a carrion call and the ship rocked its way into the currents north.

The Warden sat in his cabin, staring intently at the two gems for a moment of silence that seemed to have lasted forever; only broken when he chewed on a thin slice of very red meat. The silence was clearly making everyone in the room uncomfortable, but Heccarim hide it well. Mostly due to his mask. His mind was trying to figure out the puzzle that was breaking these two. If he really wanted it to be over quickly, a lobotomy would be all that was necessary. However, missing part of your brain doesn't do wonders with trying to rear a child in its infant years. Plus given the Gem's constitution or lack thereof, so much as a bad paper cut might as well have caused them to bleed out and die.

As the two tried to comfort each other, the Warden called over for another plate of food. A trio of Hoblars nodded in unison and scampered off to fulfil their master's orders while the Warden himself got up and produced a new set of collars. Through his strength advantage, he picked up each girl without a sound and replaced their old collars with a new one before chaining them to either side of the room on opposite walls. Their new adornments had small barbs that while only irrating under normal circumstances, had a grated and chaffed with any pressure.

"Where you are is of little importance." Heccarim turned to face Arden, her stomach growled faintly as the wind, "Harand Kor is where you will be shortly. The meat however, isn't for you, but this is."

A plate of mostly fruits and vegetables clattered through the door on the back of three hoblars which Heccarim instructed to be placed between the two Gems and chained each of their hands to a handle on the side of the platter. The idea was that if one of them got hungry and wanted to eat, they would have to pull the chain and platter to their side while also pulling the other into their barbed collar. With any luck, it would erode their trust in each other or at the very least starve them for what would be next if this plan didn't work.

Rapids hit the boat hard and the deck jumped up. Below the cries and shouts of the rowers hitting the ceiling or the walls echoed off the crack of whips. The beasts that pulled the carriage were spooked but Heccarim stood as still as a statue, unmoved by the rough waters, "Your naivete is… unwelcomed Sorrin. But I suppose your enthusiasm is something worthwhile. Arden however, what about you? Are you so willing?"

Honestly it didn't matter, its not like the Gems had much of an ability to resist but it was nice to be able to try and pry some more information about them out of their pristine beauty. Plus this was going to be an amusing form of entertainment should everything go to plan.

Summary

>welcome to the USS (DSS?) Harand Kor Express
>don't worry we don't beat passangers here, we just beat the crew to row
>Sorrin is strangly cheeful despite everything
>Arden is acting more appropriately
>Holbars be a Hoblarin'
>The Warden is so scary, he can fear the laws of physics and rough waters into submission apparently
>New chains, new games
>geniusplantoerodetheirtrustinoneanother.gif
>silent evil laughter

Rug Raiders - 40k Ork RP using Roll for Shoes

@Antarctic Termite Just higher than the counter roll, which happens to be 5. If you can roll a 6, you will suceed and also be able to gain a level in shooting or melee depending on your choice. Alternatively, you can just spend one of your XP to instantly pass but not level up any skills.

Rug Raiders - 40k Ork RP using Roll for Shoes

Sparks fly out of the ceiling and rain down like small bright stars on to the mass of orks. Although the hat would have no doubt helped Adruk's claim to fame, it would seem that simply shouting a war cry was enough to motivate some nearby orks. One of many cries, it managed to rally 18 boys none the less who have stopped fighting each other and have begun to fight orks currently around the trio in a manner that could be called a "protective circle" in the loosest of sense.

Most of these boys also seem to be having mixed emotions about the Ork Gurl in the origami captain's hat.

Rug Raiders - 40k Ork RP using Roll for Shoes

https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/11525

@Lauder Congratulations, you've successfully inspired some boys with your Waghh! 18 in fact! You now have 18 assorted Ork boyz looking to you as their nob.