Flagg Member
Strange. This outcome I did not foresee.
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On a similar note, we may want to work out some history btwn our characters, no? especially within the Imperial and Chaos camps. Likewise, it might be cool for the Passenger to have some kind of history with one or more character? Perhaps the Tau and Ork dudes have encountered one another before? Some thoughts.
Very interested.
Velim doesnt need to be involved in the convo at all, so that's probably the easiest solution. I would just suggest that lucille and rudolf's conversation somehow get the three people in the bronze lantern outside the 'talking in the pub' stage. My 2 cents.
Awesome lineup for Fel! Tomorrow I'll touch up his CS a bit to make it, you know, barely passable as english and also add some more color and detail. I wonder how Kargan and Fel will get along...probably not well at all, lol.
Happy to collab. Should we set up a three person PM thingo btwn Lucille, Rudolf and Velim?
We all may need to collab a bit to get the Rudolf/Lucille/Velim crew moving.
Yeah, sorry it's so poorly written and vague. I wrote it super quickly (and at work!) just to get my general sense of him down, but I imagine his history will be fleshed out in the RP. Im also not quite sure how the RP will be starting, so i figured i'd leave plenty of wiggle room for what he's been doing in the lead-up to Vigil.
Looking forward to the start of this!
Looking forward to the start of this!
updated my CS.
Billions will bow before him, pleading for his mercy.
Title: The Harbinger of Decay
Name: Lord Athanagoras Fel
Equipment/Weapons Loadout
A corrupted rosarius.
Plague Staff: a powerful force stave.
Psychic amplifier: An alpha/alpha-plus psyker, Lord Fel relies on his considerable warp-powers along with the durability and strength granted by the wasting powers of Nurgle in combat. His ornate helmet is inscribed with powerful warp-runes designed to augment his power.
Psychological Profile
Lord Fel reflects the dark beneficence of his master Nurgle, manifesting kindness, humor, generosity and even honor- all, of course, irredeemably twisted by the dark power of the Warp into perversions of their true forms. Beneath a mask of unflappable amiability and politesse lies cold cunning and megalomaniac ambition. Fel is driven by the desire to freeze the universe into a decayed, diseased stasis, a twisted image of the Imperium of Man, ruled by himself as its god-king. Convinced that in the eternal stagnation granted by the lord of decay lies the salvation of mankind, Fel is believes his work is the only possible salvation of the Imperium.
A shrewd manipulator, Fel is intensely hostile towards the other chaotic powers- though pragmatic enough to work with them when he must. Still considering himself a servant of the late Emperor and an Inquisitor, Fel possesses a certain admiration and fondness towards the servants of the Imperium- a fondness, it must be said, that does not prevent him from unleashing horrifying disease and destruction upon the dead Emperor's servants when it suits his purposes to do so.
Brief Biography
Athanagoras Fel was once an Inquisitor in the service of the Imperium of Man, and for centuries hunted down the servants of the dark gods he would eventually come to serve. The scion an aristocratic family on Scintilla, Fel's intellectual curiosity and psychic power naturally inclined him toward radical philosophies within the Holy Ordos. He was famous within the Inquisition for his incredible charisma and ambition, as well as for his psychic talents.
Aware for many years of the failing mechanisms of the Golden Throne, Fel devoted ever more time and energy into seeking out solutions to the approaching doom, dabbling in secret and forbidden arts....
Fel disappeared with his entourage some seventy years before the coming of Abaddon, after an expedition to a pre-Imperial xeno-archeological site on Ploutus II. He was presumed dead by the Holy Ordos, which was anyway preoccupied with the mounting crises throughout the Imperium.
Reappearing in dramatic fashion within the disintegrating Imperium following the Emperor's demise, Fel contacted old Ordos colleagues and announced that he had found the path to the salvation of man. He declared himself the Emperor reborn, using his tremendously enhanced psychic abilities as evidence, and gathered vast armies of the deluded and despairing under his power...
[sorry for the short bio, i suck at writing those. I plan on fleshing out his past as the rp progresses, esp. his doings in the Ruinous Pact in the lead-up to Vigil]
Title: The Harbinger of Decay
Name: Lord Athanagoras Fel
Equipment/Weapons Loadout
A corrupted rosarius.
Plague Staff: a powerful force stave.
Psychic amplifier: An alpha/alpha-plus psyker, Lord Fel relies on his considerable warp-powers along with the durability and strength granted by the wasting powers of Nurgle in combat. His ornate helmet is inscribed with powerful warp-runes designed to augment his power.
Psychological Profile
Lord Fel reflects the dark beneficence of his master Nurgle, manifesting kindness, humor, generosity and even honor- all, of course, irredeemably twisted by the dark power of the Warp into perversions of their true forms. Beneath a mask of unflappable amiability and politesse lies cold cunning and megalomaniac ambition. Fel is driven by the desire to freeze the universe into a decayed, diseased stasis, a twisted image of the Imperium of Man, ruled by himself as its god-king. Convinced that in the eternal stagnation granted by the lord of decay lies the salvation of mankind, Fel is believes his work is the only possible salvation of the Imperium.
A shrewd manipulator, Fel is intensely hostile towards the other chaotic powers- though pragmatic enough to work with them when he must. Still considering himself a servant of the late Emperor and an Inquisitor, Fel possesses a certain admiration and fondness towards the servants of the Imperium- a fondness, it must be said, that does not prevent him from unleashing horrifying disease and destruction upon the dead Emperor's servants when it suits his purposes to do so.
Brief Biography
Athanagoras Fel was once an Inquisitor in the service of the Imperium of Man, and for centuries hunted down the servants of the dark gods he would eventually come to serve. The scion an aristocratic family on Scintilla, Fel's intellectual curiosity and psychic power naturally inclined him toward radical philosophies within the Holy Ordos. He was famous within the Inquisition for his incredible charisma and ambition, as well as for his psychic talents.
Aware for many years of the failing mechanisms of the Golden Throne, Fel devoted ever more time and energy into seeking out solutions to the approaching doom, dabbling in secret and forbidden arts....
Fel disappeared with his entourage some seventy years before the coming of Abaddon, after an expedition to a pre-Imperial xeno-archeological site on Ploutus II. He was presumed dead by the Holy Ordos, which was anyway preoccupied with the mounting crises throughout the Imperium.
Reappearing in dramatic fashion within the disintegrating Imperium following the Emperor's demise, Fel contacted old Ordos colleagues and announced that he had found the path to the salvation of man. He declared himself the Emperor reborn, using his tremendously enhanced psychic abilities as evidence, and gathered vast armies of the deluded and despairing under his power...
[sorry for the short bio, i suck at writing those. I plan on fleshing out his past as the rp progresses, esp. his doings in the Ruinous Pact in the lead-up to Vigil]
The Bronze Lantern Inn, Cromerth
He was not, on the whole, much fond of civilization. The noise, the stink, the dust, and- above all- the people. They were the worst part by far, with their braying laughter and grubby hands and stupid, staring eyes.
Someone's unwatched brat was running about in the hall, pounding on the walls, while next door some noisy mouthbreather was busy berating his wife.
Below his window, a crowd had gathered to watch clowns totter about on stilts, swinging wooden swords at each other and screeching bawdy jokes. In the pub downstairs, hoarse laughter mingled with angry shouting.
How was a man expected to think in such clamorous surrounds?
He closed his eyes and sank lower into his bath with an irritated grunt, sending steaming water over the sides, soaking the room's rough floorboards. He reminded himself that Cromerth was just a momentary, necessary indignity. He had the book, after all. Now it was just a matter of getting home.
Home. The thought brought a pang of longing. He pictured his distant, lonely library, the rain pattering against the crooked windows and cracked stone roof, the smell of old parchment and wet pine, the endless, quiet hours. He had not seen it in over a year.
"SLUT!" screamed the mouthbreather in the next room. His shout was followed by the loud swack of a hand striking flesh, and a woman shrieked.
He opened his eyes- bright green- with a sigh. Honestly, such noisome nonsense would be enough to drive even Shada the Imperturbable into a rage....well, it would have had Shada not turned himself into stone five centuries ago. Still, the noise was intolerable.
He stood and stepped out of the bath, water streaming from his weather-worn body. He stomped into the narrow, leaning hall and kicked open the flimsy door of the neighboring room. Inside, a fat man stood over his wife, who lay crumpled, crying on the floor. Both looked utterly shocked at their quite uninvited, quite undressed guest.
"Wha..." started the fat man.
"I am taking a bath," he said, "I don't want to listen to your-"
The fat man, angry now as well as confused, charged, fist raised. "Who the fu-"
He sidestepped the fat man's punch almost lazily and, in one smooth motion, picked up a water basin from a nearby table and brought it down on his assailant's head. The basin shattered and the fat man crashed to the ground, dazed and bleeding.
"It's bad manners," he said, wrapping a towel around his waist absently. "Making so much noise. Honestly."
He stepped gingerly over the fat man and went back to his room, slamming his door behind him.
The water was lukewarm. He sucked his teeth in annoyance. A perfectly good bath ruined.
Later...
Dressed in his rust-colored robes and dark travel coat, he clambered down the narrow, crooked staircase to the Inn's first floor and snapped at a serving girl for a goblet of wine. "Nothing cheap, thank you, and an ale for while I'm waiting."
Pipe wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth, he sat himself in a corner table and produced a small scroll from his coat pocket and began reading, oblivious to the din of the pub. It was a letter, just (discretely) delivered by raven to his room from one of his acquaintances. He had been expecting it for some time.
Athalus,
Your last missive confirms my fears. The Signs are too many and rule out coincidence or an imposter...and the stars do not lie to those who know them as I do. Astripio is aligned with the Southern Huntress- a configuration in the sky not seen since his last rise. If the Elves are still blind to the danger, it is only because they no longer know their own Art.
If you have not done so, I think it wise to consult your Friends. At this point, more information would be worth the risks of Contact. I await your next.
Uthos
He read the letter twice, frowning, before touching the paper to the smoking bowl of his pipe, where it quickly caught alight. The note burned to ash in his fingers, and he swept them onto the floor.
"Athalus? Athalus Velim!" came a cry, and he looked up, his thin mouth twitching into a sour smirk. "How long has it been?"
"Too long, Rudolf," he said as the burly, bewhiskered dwarf waddled over to his table. "Much too long."
He was not, on the whole, much fond of civilization. The noise, the stink, the dust, and- above all- the people. They were the worst part by far, with their braying laughter and grubby hands and stupid, staring eyes.
Someone's unwatched brat was running about in the hall, pounding on the walls, while next door some noisy mouthbreather was busy berating his wife.
Below his window, a crowd had gathered to watch clowns totter about on stilts, swinging wooden swords at each other and screeching bawdy jokes. In the pub downstairs, hoarse laughter mingled with angry shouting.
How was a man expected to think in such clamorous surrounds?
He closed his eyes and sank lower into his bath with an irritated grunt, sending steaming water over the sides, soaking the room's rough floorboards. He reminded himself that Cromerth was just a momentary, necessary indignity. He had the book, after all. Now it was just a matter of getting home.
Home. The thought brought a pang of longing. He pictured his distant, lonely library, the rain pattering against the crooked windows and cracked stone roof, the smell of old parchment and wet pine, the endless, quiet hours. He had not seen it in over a year.
"SLUT!" screamed the mouthbreather in the next room. His shout was followed by the loud swack of a hand striking flesh, and a woman shrieked.
He opened his eyes- bright green- with a sigh. Honestly, such noisome nonsense would be enough to drive even Shada the Imperturbable into a rage....well, it would have had Shada not turned himself into stone five centuries ago. Still, the noise was intolerable.
He stood and stepped out of the bath, water streaming from his weather-worn body. He stomped into the narrow, leaning hall and kicked open the flimsy door of the neighboring room. Inside, a fat man stood over his wife, who lay crumpled, crying on the floor. Both looked utterly shocked at their quite uninvited, quite undressed guest.
"Wha..." started the fat man.
"I am taking a bath," he said, "I don't want to listen to your-"
The fat man, angry now as well as confused, charged, fist raised. "Who the fu-"
He sidestepped the fat man's punch almost lazily and, in one smooth motion, picked up a water basin from a nearby table and brought it down on his assailant's head. The basin shattered and the fat man crashed to the ground, dazed and bleeding.
"It's bad manners," he said, wrapping a towel around his waist absently. "Making so much noise. Honestly."
He stepped gingerly over the fat man and went back to his room, slamming his door behind him.
The water was lukewarm. He sucked his teeth in annoyance. A perfectly good bath ruined.
Later...
Dressed in his rust-colored robes and dark travel coat, he clambered down the narrow, crooked staircase to the Inn's first floor and snapped at a serving girl for a goblet of wine. "Nothing cheap, thank you, and an ale for while I'm waiting."
Pipe wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth, he sat himself in a corner table and produced a small scroll from his coat pocket and began reading, oblivious to the din of the pub. It was a letter, just (discretely) delivered by raven to his room from one of his acquaintances. He had been expecting it for some time.
Athalus,
Your last missive confirms my fears. The Signs are too many and rule out coincidence or an imposter...and the stars do not lie to those who know them as I do. Astripio is aligned with the Southern Huntress- a configuration in the sky not seen since his last rise. If the Elves are still blind to the danger, it is only because they no longer know their own Art.
If you have not done so, I think it wise to consult your Friends. At this point, more information would be worth the risks of Contact. I await your next.
Uthos
He read the letter twice, frowning, before touching the paper to the smoking bowl of his pipe, where it quickly caught alight. The note burned to ash in his fingers, and he swept them onto the floor.
"Athalus? Athalus Velim!" came a cry, and he looked up, his thin mouth twitching into a sour smirk. "How long has it been?"
"Too long, Rudolf," he said as the burly, bewhiskered dwarf waddled over to his table. "Much too long."
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