Oh great, the Psyker is hearing voices, this isn't going to go poorly at all.
Eisenhorn
Member
Inquisitor of some Note
- Last Seen: 13 hrs ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 2891 (0.64 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Eisenhorn 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
vue2026,
Zeus23,
Bentus,
Not a Sayan,
Fading Memory,
CrypticMeaning,
Lurking Krog,
Ariamis,
ppppppp,
Lunamaria Hawke
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
@Jbcool I must have misread it then, I thought there was one unaccounted for. Please stand by while I resolve the misunderstanding.
Edit: Consider it edited then, I apologize for misreading the post that was made.
Edit: Consider it edited then, I apologize for misreading the post that was made.
"Solch ein trostloser Ort in der Tat..." The muttering of the German surgeon was oft ignored by those he traveled with, though the only souls capable of hearing him at this point was the ferryman who was unfortunate enough to have to tolerate the presence of the solemn, oft unpleasant company of the man. Such was their general disdain for each other was the fact they had not spoken a word to each other, the silence only broken up by the mutterings of the Surgeon and the odd sound of a flask being opened and its contents drained just a little bit more. His mutterings ceased however, leaving the sound of the water as the ferry carried on. Dr Gwerder had resumed reading from his journal, the notes and ideas that had led the point that he was out here in the reaches of common decent folk. The reek of dampness and even death, the latter of which a rather old odor that was familiar to the man. Autopsies were rather common place in his work, though, so the reek of death, in its varying forms and aromas, was not unknown to him.
"We have arrived, the weather this time held fair, despite the signs." Ignoring, or unconcerned with, the murderous look from the ferry man, without a word Dr Gwerder stepped away from the ferry and strode into the fishing village. The place was in the path of the disease he had been tracking, and yet there was no sign of it yet. None that he could see, and outside of a single maddened fellow shouting at the water, who was already engaged in conversation by others, so he wrote that off for now. He had no interest in dealing with either of them, and for the time being he had little recourse but to seek out someplace to stay for the evening. From there, he would look through his notes and figure how to pursue his research from there. This was the last place he had noted the disease having been spreading towards, and yet, his instinct spoke sternly that nothing was here for him in regard to such things.
Tracking down what passed for an inn in this misbegotten village, the surgeon approached the innkeep with purpose, seeing little of worth in the place. But it would suffice over the mud and filth of the woods and outdoors in general. "A room for the evening, and a bottle of your strongest spirits." The innkeep looked rather poorly upon the rude newcomer, but the sight of a surgeon's tool bag indicated that he would have the money for his demands, and the business of a innkeep would continue even with rude guests. Producing a bottle, the Doctor provided payment for both, up front, before retiring to an unused table, seating himself and opening his journal. Uncorking the bottle, he found its contents woefully weak, but considering the fact this village was unpleasant at best right now, it would have to suffice his needs for some small measure of inebriation. Wo habe ich aufgehört...?
Dr Gwerder spoke to himself in his native tongue, muttering as he thumbed through his more recent entries, those relevant to the illness that had brought him here. While he was not afflicted with the strange malady, those who had been never seemed to survive, or else wished themselves dead. The Doctor's handwriting was nigh illegible to anyone other than him, coupled with the half decipherable German, made for a strange figure indeed. He was mostly drowning out the yellow clad minstrel as he strummed away, the man's mutterings and singing reminding him far too much of those that hounded him at home. He would delight in informing his sister that her suggestion to go abroad to avoid such unpleasant fellows had been for naught, but as of now, he had little else to say or do besides go through his notes and attempt to plan out what was next to be done. He had few options as of yet, pursuing the madman, disturbing those drinking, or attempt to wrangle answers out of the minstrel being the most feasible few. The idea of this trip being a waste threatened to rile the temper of the newcomer, which it threatened to be without any significant progress within the next few nights.
"Please restrain yourself from using warp powers on me unless absolutely necessary." The Krieger had to crane his neck backwards a notable bit to look up at the psyker who currently had her hand hovering over his head, the tone of voice noted despite the mechanization her armor, as much as someone could call it such, gave her voice. He wasn't a fan of anything warp related, doubly so after certain events he was forbidden to speak of at this point in time, but needless to say he had no desire to be flung about like a toy in the storm all because of a psyker overreaching her limits. The tech heretic brought up the idea that they could use standard grenades to create foxholes, and he added onto her statement, finding it as a solid idea barring the fact they were on the assault at the moment.
"You would need Krak grenades in specific, frags do not typically have enough innate explosive force without some sort of dome in place to focus the blasting power. Otherwise, that is similar to Engineer methods of digging emergency entrenchments during hive world activities." Outside of merely clarifying on a specific detail, Ansgar was in agreement with her latter suggestion of using explosives to dig emergency fortifications, though the wisdom of such during an assault action was dubious at best. If they found themselves on the defensive, however, it would be a suitable action to provide them someplace to take cover. Of course, that train of thought was shut down when they came under heavy weapons fire from further in the tunnel. Otherwise he would have objected to the free reign that the Psyker had just been given, but that was for another time.
The Celestian had hit a switch that blew the back hatch open, the Skitarii and Malig out first, and the Krieger was hard on his way out after them when the rockets hit, blowing the Rhino to pieces and scattering the non Mechanicus around. Ears ringing, the Krieger was moving on instinct and training as his thoughts refocused on damage control. He could feel blood running down his face, mask check confirmed no breaches however, pain in his ribs, likely fractured or broken. He pushed himself upwards and, upon attempting to stand, his left leg gave out. Looking down, there was a fairly obvious problem in that his left knee was dislocated, popped out of place and preventing him from moving properly. He didn't have time to relocate it yet, instead forcing himself into a kneeling position so he could at least keep firing.
Sighting in the Galvanic Rifle, he began firing shots that wouldn't run the risk of hitting the charging Astartes, attempting to provide additional suppressing fire alongside the Skitarii firing line. While the Skitarii Rangers were firing off precision volleys, the Tech Guard that lacked longer ranged weapons went about assisting any member of the retinue not up and fighting, though once the Apothecary was in melee, Ansgar could not longer safely fire without endangering the Astartes in his fight against the Traitors. Unable to act further, he turned his attention to the dislocated knee. The Krieger was no Quartermaster, but he couldn't wait on either assistance to get moving or for someone else to relocate it.
Bracing his leg against the ground, the Grenadier gritted his teeth and wrenched his knee back into place, making no sound outside the sickening pop as his knee was wrenched back into place. The shooting that caused did nothing to help alleviate any of the rest of his pain, and he got back onto his feet just in time for the Apothecary to finish off the three Traitor marines. "Moving up to reinforce the Apothecary." With that, the Grenadier took off at a brisk run, wasting no time in testing the extent of how well his relocated knee would hold up. It withstood the run up to the barricades that had been seized, and he crossed over the barricade to take position aiming down the tunnel further, watching for additional threats that may manifest after the killing of the three Traitor Marines.
"You would need Krak grenades in specific, frags do not typically have enough innate explosive force without some sort of dome in place to focus the blasting power. Otherwise, that is similar to Engineer methods of digging emergency entrenchments during hive world activities." Outside of merely clarifying on a specific detail, Ansgar was in agreement with her latter suggestion of using explosives to dig emergency fortifications, though the wisdom of such during an assault action was dubious at best. If they found themselves on the defensive, however, it would be a suitable action to provide them someplace to take cover. Of course, that train of thought was shut down when they came under heavy weapons fire from further in the tunnel. Otherwise he would have objected to the free reign that the Psyker had just been given, but that was for another time.
The Celestian had hit a switch that blew the back hatch open, the Skitarii and Malig out first, and the Krieger was hard on his way out after them when the rockets hit, blowing the Rhino to pieces and scattering the non Mechanicus around. Ears ringing, the Krieger was moving on instinct and training as his thoughts refocused on damage control. He could feel blood running down his face, mask check confirmed no breaches however, pain in his ribs, likely fractured or broken. He pushed himself upwards and, upon attempting to stand, his left leg gave out. Looking down, there was a fairly obvious problem in that his left knee was dislocated, popped out of place and preventing him from moving properly. He didn't have time to relocate it yet, instead forcing himself into a kneeling position so he could at least keep firing.
Sighting in the Galvanic Rifle, he began firing shots that wouldn't run the risk of hitting the charging Astartes, attempting to provide additional suppressing fire alongside the Skitarii firing line. While the Skitarii Rangers were firing off precision volleys, the Tech Guard that lacked longer ranged weapons went about assisting any member of the retinue not up and fighting, though once the Apothecary was in melee, Ansgar could not longer safely fire without endangering the Astartes in his fight against the Traitors. Unable to act further, he turned his attention to the dislocated knee. The Krieger was no Quartermaster, but he couldn't wait on either assistance to get moving or for someone else to relocate it.
Bracing his leg against the ground, the Grenadier gritted his teeth and wrenched his knee back into place, making no sound outside the sickening pop as his knee was wrenched back into place. The shooting that caused did nothing to help alleviate any of the rest of his pain, and he got back onto his feet just in time for the Apothecary to finish off the three Traitor marines. "Moving up to reinforce the Apothecary." With that, the Grenadier took off at a brisk run, wasting no time in testing the extent of how well his relocated knee would hold up. It withstood the run up to the barricades that had been seized, and he crossed over the barricade to take position aiming down the tunnel further, watching for additional threats that may manifest after the killing of the three Traitor Marines.
Finally got a fellow sorted out.
"...and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Voss stood up from his kneeling position at the end of his bed, in the standard issue room that most Spartans received as part of their position. It was still something he wasn't used to, remembering bunking with his buddies in the ODSTs, and generally found it was far too quiet for his own comfort typically. A glance at the digital clock confirmed that, as usual, he had wrapped up his morning routine around 0630, which meant others were still just waking up. Walking over to his desk, he checked the noted events on the digital calendar, and the lack of deviations was rather infuriating, really. While he wasn't as gung ho or loud as his peers, it didn't change the fact that it got old waiting. Oh sure, the busy work was there, but after awhile, the busy work didn't do the job of keeping someone's mind occupied. Pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, he went about showering and getting dressed in the typical attire issued to Spartans when not in their armor.
Owing to the fact he routinely skipped breakfast, it gave him time for his other pursuit outside soldering. Sitting at his desk, he resumed working on the latest treatise on modern architectural practices compared to those employed by humanity past, as well as those encountered among alien species. He was attending a college program that he kept up with between involved missions, the college in question catering specifically to UNSC combat personnel and their sometimes unique needs due to deployments and the like. Sure, he didn't expect to get out of the UNSC in any way except a coffin, doubly so now that he was a Spartan, but it didn't feel right to just sit on his ass and not keep preparing for the potential future. He had a good hour before he had to report for live fire exercises. If memory served, today was in longer range weapons, not his preference, but he didn't have the luxary of being able to specialize anymore. He'd gotten better than he ever had been as an ODST with long range weapons, but compared to most marksman in the Spartan branch? Not winning any ribbons for marksmanship, that was certain.
Around 0745, as Voss was saving and securing his computer, came a sharp series of knocks at his quarter's door. Odd, he wasn't late for anything, nor was he expecting anyone to come by and make sure he didn't lose track of time for another five minutes at least. Answering the door, he was faced with a woman, likely mid fourties, holding a data-pad, and his instincts promptly told him this was likely an ONI spook. He'd kept in touch with the ODST forces on the station, and they had told him, quietly, the spooks were up to something, that they were getting tasked with more unusual missions than usual from the ONI lot. Voss didn't like ONI, despite playing a similar game of secrecy as he did, but was obligated to work with them as much as any Spartan was. "Spartan Voss."
The ONI spook's curt greeting got a brisk nod in return, and the data-pad was promptly handed over to the former ODST as he read over what little details were on it. Get in his armor, report to Docking Bay [A1-33] for a mission on board the Infinity Class Super-carrier Solares, and follow orders from there. Not a lot of information to work with, and as typical of the spooks, it wasn't likely he was going to pry any information from the woman as he handed the data-pad back. "Understood." Whether or not the woman was expecting more of a response or not from the Spartan was unknown, but he stepped passed her and locked the door to his quarters, sealing it and heading off towards the armory. He didn't like the lack of information right now, but if he was getting tasked, that meant odds were that things were about to get noisy for the poor sods on board the Solares. It certainly was better than sitting around on some space station, doing the same thing day in and day out though, so he couldn't readily complain there.
Sure enough, his armor was on stand by when Voss arrived at the armory, a Gen 2 Ricochet model. He got a lot of looks for that choice, considering someone would think a man as involved with demolition as Voss would have wanted something sturdier. But he much preferred the lack of interference the Ricochet offered in terms of maneuverability and weight, offering a rather nice balance between weight and protection. Covered vitals, didn't restrict range of motion, and at a relatively light weight for a Gen 2. He had initially worked in the ODST inspired Helljumper variant, but quickly ditched it in favor of the Ricochet once he got his eyes on it's specs. Suiting up in record time, another perk, he was off towards [A1-33]. The sight of a fully armored Spartan moving at a brisk pace caught some attention, but at the speed his walk was carrying him, no one had time to question him or otherwise say a word otherwise.
Upon arrival, he saw a pair of ONI operatives as well as two Spartans that had arrived before him. The first, a female based off stance and armor fit, was utilizing the Argus variant. Good recon set up, far as he read on the variant, and more information gathering capabilities was never unwelcome. The other Spartan, male, was wearing a Warrior variant of the Gen 2 armor. Pervasive, wide spread in use, and for good reason, given its improvements in most fields of use. He had also been introducing himself upon Voss' arrival, Adam. Either the female Spartan had already introduced herself, or had yet to respond to the introduction given. Either way, it would be fitting for an introduction to be made, since it was likely he would be working with them on this secret mission dumped on them by ONI. "Weiland Voss, a pleasure."
Voss stood up from his kneeling position at the end of his bed, in the standard issue room that most Spartans received as part of their position. It was still something he wasn't used to, remembering bunking with his buddies in the ODSTs, and generally found it was far too quiet for his own comfort typically. A glance at the digital clock confirmed that, as usual, he had wrapped up his morning routine around 0630, which meant others were still just waking up. Walking over to his desk, he checked the noted events on the digital calendar, and the lack of deviations was rather infuriating, really. While he wasn't as gung ho or loud as his peers, it didn't change the fact that it got old waiting. Oh sure, the busy work was there, but after awhile, the busy work didn't do the job of keeping someone's mind occupied. Pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, he went about showering and getting dressed in the typical attire issued to Spartans when not in their armor.
Owing to the fact he routinely skipped breakfast, it gave him time for his other pursuit outside soldering. Sitting at his desk, he resumed working on the latest treatise on modern architectural practices compared to those employed by humanity past, as well as those encountered among alien species. He was attending a college program that he kept up with between involved missions, the college in question catering specifically to UNSC combat personnel and their sometimes unique needs due to deployments and the like. Sure, he didn't expect to get out of the UNSC in any way except a coffin, doubly so now that he was a Spartan, but it didn't feel right to just sit on his ass and not keep preparing for the potential future. He had a good hour before he had to report for live fire exercises. If memory served, today was in longer range weapons, not his preference, but he didn't have the luxary of being able to specialize anymore. He'd gotten better than he ever had been as an ODST with long range weapons, but compared to most marksman in the Spartan branch? Not winning any ribbons for marksmanship, that was certain.
Around 0745, as Voss was saving and securing his computer, came a sharp series of knocks at his quarter's door. Odd, he wasn't late for anything, nor was he expecting anyone to come by and make sure he didn't lose track of time for another five minutes at least. Answering the door, he was faced with a woman, likely mid fourties, holding a data-pad, and his instincts promptly told him this was likely an ONI spook. He'd kept in touch with the ODST forces on the station, and they had told him, quietly, the spooks were up to something, that they were getting tasked with more unusual missions than usual from the ONI lot. Voss didn't like ONI, despite playing a similar game of secrecy as he did, but was obligated to work with them as much as any Spartan was. "Spartan Voss."
The ONI spook's curt greeting got a brisk nod in return, and the data-pad was promptly handed over to the former ODST as he read over what little details were on it. Get in his armor, report to Docking Bay [A1-33] for a mission on board the Infinity Class Super-carrier Solares, and follow orders from there. Not a lot of information to work with, and as typical of the spooks, it wasn't likely he was going to pry any information from the woman as he handed the data-pad back. "Understood." Whether or not the woman was expecting more of a response or not from the Spartan was unknown, but he stepped passed her and locked the door to his quarters, sealing it and heading off towards the armory. He didn't like the lack of information right now, but if he was getting tasked, that meant odds were that things were about to get noisy for the poor sods on board the Solares. It certainly was better than sitting around on some space station, doing the same thing day in and day out though, so he couldn't readily complain there.
Sure enough, his armor was on stand by when Voss arrived at the armory, a Gen 2 Ricochet model. He got a lot of looks for that choice, considering someone would think a man as involved with demolition as Voss would have wanted something sturdier. But he much preferred the lack of interference the Ricochet offered in terms of maneuverability and weight, offering a rather nice balance between weight and protection. Covered vitals, didn't restrict range of motion, and at a relatively light weight for a Gen 2. He had initially worked in the ODST inspired Helljumper variant, but quickly ditched it in favor of the Ricochet once he got his eyes on it's specs. Suiting up in record time, another perk, he was off towards [A1-33]. The sight of a fully armored Spartan moving at a brisk pace caught some attention, but at the speed his walk was carrying him, no one had time to question him or otherwise say a word otherwise.
Upon arrival, he saw a pair of ONI operatives as well as two Spartans that had arrived before him. The first, a female based off stance and armor fit, was utilizing the Argus variant. Good recon set up, far as he read on the variant, and more information gathering capabilities was never unwelcome. The other Spartan, male, was wearing a Warrior variant of the Gen 2 armor. Pervasive, wide spread in use, and for good reason, given its improvements in most fields of use. He had also been introducing himself upon Voss' arrival, Adam. Either the female Spartan had already introduced herself, or had yet to respond to the introduction given. Either way, it would be fitting for an introduction to be made, since it was likely he would be working with them on this secret mission dumped on them by ONI. "Weiland Voss, a pleasure."
I always thought, at least for the Spartan IV's, their former rank would still carry over, even if within the Spartan branch they operated on the hierarchy system.
In
Something Beyond The Abyss, a Lovecraftian Horror RP.
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
I'm here as well.
Added a voice choice for Voss, until I change my mind on it, or not.
In
Warhammer 40k: No Pity, No Remorse, No Fear! - A Black Templars RP
→
8 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Likewise, I will have to pass on this one. The mention was appreciated though, sure as sure.
© 2007-2026