Flagg

Delta Green: Whispers in the Darkness

Alright, ladies, gents and @Leidenschaft, a new entrant, for your consideration.

Dr. Overman, I presume?

Name: Dr. William Overman

Age: 55

Gender: M

Appearance:

Agency: March Technologies, Senior Science Adviser for Special Projects

Education: Grew up on a ranch in Emigrant, Montana. Transferred to Yale as an undergraduate & graduated with a dual degree in physics & philosophy. Recruited from MIT PhD program by CIA at age 25. Paraphysics "Weapon" R&D for CIA for 12 years, before leaving in 2002 to join newly formed March Technologies.

Background

"Please state your name for the record."

"William Frederick Overman."

"Dr. Overman, the purpose of this session is to assess your-"

"I know the purpose of these interviews. They're to make sure those of us in the field don't turn out like Phillips or Wandrei. Not my first rodeo, miss."

"Very well. I'm going to ask you a few questions, there are no wrong answers."

"Yes there are."

"Very well, Dr. Overman. We'll start with something simple. How old are you?"

"Fifty four and eight months."

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes, a wife and a teenage son."

"Describe your relationship with them?"

"Thoroughly normal. I work long hours, my wife and I fight, make up, make love. Son blames me for her drinking, and he's not wrong, completely. We love each other- usually eat dinner together. Arthur- my son- and I go fishing some times."

"You bring up her drinking, does your wife-"

"I know March knows all about my private life, so there is no point in hiding things here. My wife is a heavy drinker, an english professor at NYU. Also a very devout Catholic, late in life conversion. Son is too, he got enthusiastic for it when he saw his mom join the church. Might be a fad. Might be looking for a way to connect with her."

"Your beliefs?"

"I don't think there's a God."

"Would you describe yourself as atheist or agnostic?"

"I think we're on our own and must do what we can."

"Do you believe in the devil, Dr. Overman?"

"In a manner of speaking, I do."

"Do your beliefs cause friction at home?"

"Yes, often, though I try not to be preachy and so does Alyssa."

"Talk to me about what happened in Florida."

"The bait'n switch, huh?"

"Excuse me, doctor?"

"Nothing. I consider the Florida operation in July a success. As you know."

"There were civilian casualties."

"That's correct. Still, the tablets were recovered unharmed. Civilian casualties were caused by the traffickers."

"You chose to engage them in a public space."

"Far safer that way."

"Why is that?"

"Dispersed intentional gestalt-"

"Could you explain that in laymans terms, please?"

"No, but, the bottom line is more witnesses, more conscious beings in the area, the more diluted was the ah, traffickers ability to draw on the power of what was, essentially, controlling them. Confused the signals, you might say."

"And what was that, what controlled the smugglers?"

"There is no English word for it, and if I called it by its true name I could do you considerable psychological harm. And myself."

"Was this your first encounter with such a- an entity?"

"I wouldn't be much good to the company if it were, would I?"

Personality: Calm, sardonic, amiable and easy going on the surface, fairly ruthless underneath.

Family, Friends, and Associates: Wife, Alyssa, of 20 years. One son, Arthur, 15 years old.

Likes: Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Bach, St. Augustine's Confessions, Cabernet Franc, Dry Martinis, & mid-town Manhattan, where he lives, because you can't see the stars there.

Dislikes: the night sky

Fears: What he knows is out there & what he suspects he doesn't know.

STRENGTH: 2
DEXTERITY: 2
STAMINA: 2
BUREAUCRACY: 3
INTELLIGENCE: 5
WILLPOWER: 6

Skills:
Gifted(+5): Xeno/Mythos archeology, Applied Hypergeometry
Adept(+4): Interrogation, Persuade, Mythos History
Average(+3): Handguns, Psychology, Anthropology
Novice(+2): First Aid, Awareness

Weaknesses: No real skills at hand to hand combat. Subject to intense migraines. Arrogance.

Operational Clothing/Equipment:
Clothing: Dark field jacket, shirt, jeans, hiking boots (off-duty: usually blazer, button down and jeans)
Weapons: Glock 19, fold-able utility knife.
Tools/Equipment: Al-Hazred's Verses (worn, black-bound book, ~300 pages); the Dreamer's Ring; locked metal valise with spell-regents and related materials; MarchTech microbead comms; MarchTech corporate laptop.

A Night Out

Non! Pour toi Dieu n'a plus de pardon! Pour toi le ciel n'a plus d'aurore! Non, non!

Overman tried ignore the assault on his ears. He hated the opera. Alyssa loved it, though, and he loved Alyssa, and marriage- like so much in this world- required sacrifice. Heaven knew she made more than her fair share for him, so a night at the opera was a small price for marital peace.

He found his wife's hand and squeezed it, and she squeezed back and gave him an 'I know you hate this' smile, before turning her attention back to the drama unfolding on the stage. The foreshadowings of a headache rumbled in Overman's temples.

His phone buzzed, three quick vibrations. Overman sat up. It was the Office.

Discretely, he checked the screen, ignoring the disapproving glares of his fellow opera-goers.

"Bill- just heard cousin Louis is in town. Better meet with him."

Overman sighed. Alyssa frowned at him and glanced at his phone.

"I gotta go. This is serious," he whispered to her.

"Who's Louis?" she asked with hushed annoyance.

"It's just a- I've gotta go, hon."

"Bill, it's a quarter to midnight."

Overman met his wife's eyes, "You got that right."

Something in his tone made her acquiesce. Dr. Overman crept out of the opera and into the misting autumn night.

-

He rode the subway down to Chinatown in his tux, alone except for a homeless man asleep on the bench at the other end of the car. He watched his reflection in the dark window, a pale face with black eyes.

He got off at Canal, wandering east to the dingy little Cantonese place- still open at midnight- where he knew he'd find 'Cousin Louis' slurping down noodles.

His phone beeped, he picked up the call.

"Overman speaking."

"Yes, I'm going to meet him now."

"They'll agree to that? You're sure? They've never-"

"Understood. Have the Curator prepare my case then, he'll know the reagents I need. I'll pick it up when I'm done here."

Overman ended the call and stepped into the steamy, savory warmth of Shanghai Kitchen. The host drowsily nodded him to the table in the back corner, where Steve Foster sat smiling.

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

<Snipped quote by Ollumhammersong>

I'm afraid, as a humanoid terror bird, that I have to agree with Hammer Time - we are anything but up-and-coming heretics; the Marines alone take us from a small-time outfit to a far more dangerous force. That, and due to our Inquisitor retaining his rosette, means we can quite literally requisition anything in Imperial space.

In other news... cheep-cheep, I'm a bird-man.

That is all.

@Jbcool

Happy to get rid of the rosette. Thought it'd be off-set by the declaration of excommunicate traitoris- so he can requisition stuff, but anything too ambitious would bring the entire ordos down on his head.

A Myth Retold: Lovecraft and Batman

@Polybius yo is that like interest? seems like this might be up your alley.

A Myth Retold: Lovecraft and Batman

She swallowed badly, whiskey burning on the way down. She coughed and lit a cigarette.

It was close to closing, only five or so regulars left, the die hard drinkers. Sinatra crooned about time wasted and love turning sour on the bar's tinny speakers. The Copperhead was hot and dank, the ancient AC doing nothing but make noise. Don was wiping down the bar, the dim light gleaming on his pate. Sergeant Bask was talking at him while slurping down his ninth beer.

"... old stations, the ones they closed after the flooding, kids down there like you wouldn't believe, tons of 'em, all strung out on this new shit," he said.

"Yeah, you said," said Don.

"Atlas," said Bask, "It's the whole department these days, all we deal with. Like wildfire, three months ago- nothin', now it's every-fucking-where. Rich kids, ghetto rats, everyone."

"Must be good stuff," said Don, sliding another beer across the bar.

Bask turned from Don and gave her a bleary, appraising look, "What do your people have to say about all this?"

"My people?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and rapping the bar for Don to refill her glass.

"Don't be cute," Bask said, "Oswald, what's he doing about this new shit? I know he ain't selling it. Ain't comin' from him."

"I don't come here to talk work, hon," she said, "and anyway, I work for a casino, not a drug dealer."

"Yeah okay," said Bask, "and my daughter's still a virgin. Peter Oswald runs half the fuckin' city, and you're his what?"

She smiled, "Executive assistant."

"Uh huh," said Bask, "the secretary- 'scuse me, assistant- of the fucking king of the under world knows nothing about this Atlas craziness. Why do you drink in this shit hole, anyway?"

"Shit hole?" said Don, a scowl creasing his impressive jowls.

"The mind is its own place," she said, smiling and snuffing out her smoke, "put the drinks on my tab, Donny boy, see ya soon."

Welcome to Kingston, a city of several millions in the American heartland, bordering Great Lake Oriab.

I'm looking to tell RP a noirish, urban low-fantasy story with a big cast. Emphasis on low fantasy- no elves or vampire covens. We'll be exploring- and building- the creepy, crumbling, neo-gothic/art deco, crime-infested city of Kingston, with a view *maybe* of building our own version of the Batman mythos. The idea here is of a masked vigilante trying to bring order to a crumbling metropolis, and playing on all the themes and tropes that make Batman so intriguing, but without 'batman' himself or any of the usual cast of characters.

Collaborative world building/story telling is a big one here, lets design a memorable setting. For inspiration, think Tim Burton's Gotham meets True Detective, with the lovecraft dial turned up a notch or two. I have a vague idea for a central plot involving a new drug flooding the city, Atlas, that we can pursue or ignore as we like. Atlas is a small purple liquid that comes in glass vials you break in your mouth. It causes ecstatic states, and (of course) the occasional horrifying, mind-breaking trip.

Characters could be pretty much whatever you want- including our as yet unnamed vigilante(s). We can figure out just how 'low' we want the low fantasy to be together.

Advanced writing please. I'm sticking this in 1x1 but am open to a number of players.

Any takers?

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

Inquisitor Love

Museum of Imperial History, Divayth City
Alma Secundus, Calixis Sector

"My lord," said the Curator, "we are nearly finished. The Fyr Tablets are in the final crates- my servitors are bringing them aboard your craft now."

He was a frail man, in a suit of purple velvet with an ascot slightly stained. Watery eyes set deep in his bony face peered from behind a pince-nez at the Inquisitor. Fearful but curious.

"Good," said the Inquisitor. He had a rich voice, the slightly dismissive baritone of an aristo used to being obeyed, "You have been most efficient."

The loading bay was filling with the roar of the gun-cutter's engines as it powered up to leave. Heavy utility-servitors, thrice the size of a man, were clumping up and down the ship's open cargo bay, ferrying wooden boxes marked 'FRAGILE- IMPERIAL RELIC' in their industrial claws.

"A pity they should be taken from you, these treasures," offered the Inquisitor, turning to face the Curator, who took a half-step back. The Inquisitor's face- if he had one- was hidden behind a silver, expressionless mask, decorated by elegant tracery. The Curator was fluent in five tongues, including High Gothic, and familiar with dozens more, but he did not recognize the provenance of those weirdly sinuous runes.

"Well, I am of course sad to lose them from the collection," said the Curator, then hastened to add, "But anything for the Ordos, of course."

"If you only knew, my dear man," replied the Inquisitor. He was a tall man, clad in a black, hooded cassock, his robes edged with shimmering embroidery. One gauntlet-covered hand, silver like the mask, rested on the railing of the platform on which they stood overlooking the loading bay. The other clutched a black metal stave.

Inquisitor Love had about him all the menace and mystery the Curator associated with the dreaded Holy Ordos. His men, however, seemed of the rougher sort. Clad in unpainted metal armor-some of it rusted and stained- they milled impatiently and without apparent discipline about the loading bay, barking orders at the museum servitors and staff in a harsh tongue the Curator had never before heard. Almost all wore rebreathers, their eyes hidden behind glowing red optics.

The Curator's portable vox-unit blared to life- it was the voice of his assistant. She sounded frantic.

"Sir, sir, the Inquisition is here."

Inquisitor Love's cowled head tilted at that. Several of his men turned and looked up at the Curator. Annoyed to be interrupted and unnerved by the staring red optics, the Curator snatched up his vox-unit and snapped back, "Of course woman! I'm with him now in the loadin-"

"No," she replied, cutting him off, "A different Inquisitor is here, Kolens, he says not to let the other-"

Love almost casually plucked the vox-unit from the Curator's hand and crushed it in his mailed fist.

"You'd better run for it, my friend," he said, his voice as calm as though he were commenting on the weather, "My esteemed colleagues will not reward you for cooperating with me."

"I don't understand..." said the Curator. But the Inquisitor wasn't listening- he'd spun on his heel and was striding down the platform to the loading bay floor, black robes billowing out behind him as he issued orders in the harsh, foreign tongue of his minions.

For their part, the minions were suddenly more organized- taking up positions behind crates and spent fuel canisters, weapons unslung.

"By Terra," gasped the Curator, looking around for a place to flee. He found none, for the entryway to the loading bay was now crowded with planetary guardsmen.

The shooting started immediately, from both sides. The Curator cowered behind a lifter-control console as las-bolts and bullets filled the air around him. Curiosity conquered fear on one front, however, for he did not close his eyes. What he saw terrified him. Two figures in power armor, one marked with the sigil of the Inquisition, the other too large and horrible to be anything other than one of the Astartes barreled through the cluster of guardsmen pinned down by the entrance-way, unflinching as small-arms fire pinged off their armor.

"LOVE," this second Inquisitor was bellowing, "IT'S OVER, LOVE."

The Astartes said nothing, just blazed away at Love's men, who melted before his onslaught. Suddenly, both his weapon and that of his companion clicked uselessly as they tried to fire. Both paused, confounded for a moment at their jammed weapons.

It was then that the utility-servitors barreled into them, their heavy claws swinging, lines of corrupted-code blurting from their shriveled mouths. The second Inquisitor was knocked off his feet, but the Astartes took his assailant apart easily, using only his armored hands.

The Curator risked a glance around the corner of his hiding spot at Love's gun-cutter. He caught a glimpse of the black-robed figure with arms and stave extended, before the cargo bay clicked shut and the vessel launched itself from the loading bay in a deafening roar, disappearing quickly into the cloudless sky.

The second inquisitor was now on his feet, having killed the servitor attacking him rather clinically with a humming power-sword.

"SCRAMBLE THE FIGHTERS, I WANTED AIR COVER!" he was bellowing, as guardsmen surged past him to fill the bay.

The Curator felt a shadow fall over him, and looked up to see the vast bulk of the Astartes glowering down at him.

"What," said the Space Marine, "did they take?"

Character Sheet

Name: Incurvatus Love, Ordo Xenos

Denomination: Undivided? Possibly Love still considers himself a Xanthite, but suspected by most of his Imperial peers to be a Phaenonite. Love has been declared excommunicate traitoris by Inquisitor Kolans of the Ordo Hereticus. This declaration was neither repudiated nor endorsed by Love's superior in the Ordo Xenos, Inquisitor Lord Gavel von Kesselbrood. To the chaos factions of the Vortex, Love is a known mercenary and his inquisitorial status (which he does not advertise, but is rumored among the chaos forces) is treated generally with indifference, mild curiosity or contempt.

Appearance:

A blend of machine and man, covered in a dark & hooded cassock. His face is an expressionless silver mask. He boasts a pair of clawed mechadendrites, each armed with close range cutting/welding lasers. These ae usually hidden in his robes.

Love's Attire

Love's Mask

Personality: Calm, cold, calculating, with a fairly business-first, mercenary attitude and a wry sense of humor. He is not particularly religious and affects disinterest in both the chaos gods and the Imperial faith. It is clear he sees the warp and its denizens as a potential source of power (and risk), not as something to be worshiped- which often offends the more zealous worshipers of the Dark Gods who often make use of his services. He is known to be a keen collector of xenos, mechanicus, and chaos tech-relics.

Biography: As an interrogator and young inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, Love was always of a Radical disposition, but his true fall came through reading Heretek philosophical works, from which he became obsessed with self-augmentation. While his status as an Inquisitor is murky (he has contacts among his former colleagues of the radical persuasion), he now pursues his own agenda in Chaos territory, usually working as a mercenary and 'fixer' for warlords and power-brokers. He has developed a reputation as a formidable figure among the warlords of the Vortex, with the ability to operate clandestinely in Imperial space.

Skills: Love is an adept of heretek magic, and a fairly potent (probably low to mid Delta-level) psyker, though he does not make use of the more exotic magics of Chaos, being cautious about the risks of madness and mutation. In addition, his heavily augmented and modified body leaves him formidable in hand to hand combat when facing human foes, though in a brawl he could not hold his own against those heavily altered by the Warp, and would stand no chance facing an Astartes.

Familiars
Friendly, a combat servitor.



Weapons/Equipment

Force Rod
Flechette Blaster
Dark Eldar Wychknife (hypersharp short blade)
Inquisitorial Rosette

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

Inquisitor Love

Museum of Imperial History, Divayth City
Alma Secundus, Calixis Sector

"My lord," said the Curator, "we are nearly finished. The Fyr Tablets are in the final crates- my servitors are bringing them aboard your craft now."

He was a frail man, in a suit of purple velvet with an ascot slightly stained. Watery eyes set deep in his bony face peered from behind a pince-nez at the Inquisitor. Fearful but curious.

"Good," said the Inquisitor. He had a rich voice, the slightly dismissive baritone of an aristo used to being obeyed, "You have been most efficient."

The loading bay was filling with the roar of the gun-cutter's engines as it powered up to leave. Heavy utility-servitors, thrice the size of a man, were clumping up and down the ship's open cargo bay, ferrying wooden boxes marked 'FRAGILE- IMPERIAL RELIC' in their industrial claws.

"A pity they should be taken from you, these treasures," offered the Inquisitor, turning to face the Curator, who took a half-step back. The Inquisitor's face- if he had one- was hidden behind a silver, expressionless mask, decorated by elegant tracery. The Curator was fluent in five tongues, including High Gothic, and familiar with dozens more, but he did not recognize the provenance of those weirdly sinuous runes.

"Well, I am of course sad to lose them from the collection," said the Curator, then hastened to add, "But anything for the Ordos, of course."

"If you only knew, my dear man," replied the Inquisitor. He was a tall man, clad in a black, hooded cassock, his robes edged with shimmering embroidery. One gauntlet-covered hand, silver like the mask, rested on the railing of the platform on which they stood overlooking the loading bay. The other clutched a black metal stave.

Inquisitor Love had about him all the menace and mystery the Curator associated with the dreaded Holy Ordos. His men, however, seemed of the rougher sort. Clad in unpainted metal armor-some of it rusted and stained- they milled impatiently and without apparent discipline about the loading bay, barking orders at the museum servitors and staff in a harsh tongue the Curator had never before heard. Almost all wore rebreathers, their eyes hidden behind glowing red optics.

The Curator's portable vox-unit blared to life- it was the voice of his assistant. She sounded frantic.

"Sir, sir, the Inquisition is here."

Inquisitor Love's cowled head tilted at that. Several of his men turned and looked up at the Curator. Annoyed to be interrupted and unnerved by the staring red optics, the Curator snatched up his vox-unit and snapped back, "Of course woman! I'm with him now in the loadin-"

"No," she replied, cutting him off, "A different Inquisitor is here, Kolens, he says not to let the other-"

Love almost casually plucked the vox-unit from the Curator's hand and crushed it in his mailed fist.

"You'd better run for it, my friend," he said, his voice as calm as though he were commenting on the weather, "My esteemed colleagues will not reward you for cooperating with me."

"I don't understand..." said the Curator. But the Inquisitor wasn't listening- he'd spun on his heel and was striding down the platform to the loading bay floor, black robes billowing out behind him as he issued orders in the harsh, foreign tongue of his minions.

For their part, the minions were suddenly more organized- taking up positions behind crates and spent fuel canisters, weapons unslung.

"By Terra," gasped the Curator, looking around for a place to flee. He found none, for the entryway to the loading bay was now crowded with planetary guardsmen.

The shooting started immediately, from both sides. The Curator cowered behind a lifter-control console as las-bolts and bullets filled the air around him. Curiosity conquered fear on one front, however, for he did not close his eyes. What he saw terrified him. Two figures in power armor, one marked with the sigil of the Inquisition, the other too large and horrible to be anything other than one of the Astartes barreled through the cluster of guardsmen pinned down by the entrance-way, unflinching as small-arms fire pinged off their armor.

"LOVE," this second Inquisitor was bellowing, "IT'S OVER, LOVE."

The Astartes said nothing, just blazed away at Love's men, who melted before his onslaught. Suddenly, both his weapon and that of his companion clicked uselessly as they tried to fire. Both paused, confounded for a moment at their jammed weapons.

It was then that the utility-servitors barreled into them, their heavy claws swinging, lines of corrupted-code blurting from their shriveled mouths. The second Inquisitor was knocked off his feet, but the Astartes took his assailant apart easily, using only his armored hands.

The Curator risked a glance around the corner of his hiding spot at Love's gun-cutter. He caught a glimpse of the black-robed figure with arms and stave extended, before the cargo bay clicked shut and the vessel launched itself from the loading bay in a deafening roar, disappearing quickly into the cloudless sky.

The second inquisitor was now on his feet, having killed the servitor attacking him rather clinically with a humming power-sword.

"SCRAMBLE THE FIGHTERS, I WANTED AIR COVER!" he was bellowing, as guardsmen surged past him to fill the bay.

The Curator felt a shadow fall over him, and looked up to see the vast bulk of the Astartes glowering down at him.

"What," said the Space Marine, "did they take?"

Character Sheet

Name: Incurvatus Love, Ordo Xenos

Denomination: Undivided? Possibly Love still considers himself a Xanthite, but suspected by most of his Imperial peers to be a Phaenonite. Love has been declared excommunicate traitoris by Inquisitor Kolans of the Ordo Hereticus. This declaration was neither repudiated nor endorsed by Love's superior in the Ordo Xenos, Inquisitor Lord Gavel von Kesselbrood. To the chaos factions of the Vortex, Love is a known mercenary and his inquisitorial status (which he does not advertise, but is rumored among the chaos forces) is treated generally with indifference, mild curiosity or contempt.

Appearance:

A blend of machine and man, covered in a dark & hooded cassock. His face is an expressionless silver mask. He boasts a pair of clawed mechadendrites, each armed with close range cutting/welding lasers. These ae usually hidden in his robes.

Love's Attire

Love's Mask

Personality: Calm, cold, calculating, with a fairly business-first, mercenary attitude and a wry sense of humor. He is not particularly religious and affects disinterest in both the chaos gods and the Imperial faith. It is clear he sees the warp and its denizens as a potential source of power (and risk), not as something to be worshiped- which often offends the more zealous worshipers of the Dark Gods who often make use of his services. He is known to be a keen collector of xenos, mechanicus, and chaos tech-relics.

Biography: As an interrogator and young inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, Love was always of a Radical disposition, but his true fall came through reading Heretek philosophical works, from which he became obsessed with self-augmentation. While his status as an Inquisitor is murky (he has contacts among his former colleagues of the radical persuasion), he now pursues his own agenda in Chaos territory, usually working as a mercenary and 'fixer' for warlords and power-brokers. He has developed a reputation as a formidable figure among the warlords of the Vortex, with the ability to operate clandestinely in Imperial space.

Skills: Love is an adept of heretek magic, and a fairly potent (probably low to mid Delta-level) psyker, though he does not make use of the more exotic magics of Chaos, being cautious about the risks of madness and mutation. In addition, his heavily augmented and modified body leaves him formidable in hand to hand combat when facing human foes, though in a brawl he could not hold his own against those heavily altered by the Warp, and would stand no chance facing an Astartes.

Familiars
Friendly, a combat servitor.



Weapons/Equipment

Force Rod
Flechette Blaster
Dark Eldar Wychknife (hypersharp short blade)
Inquisitorial Rosette

cc @Bloodrose

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

@bloodrose thoughts?

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

In the spirit of sharing and coordinating, putting this very WIP CS up for folks to see the kind of char I have in mind. Will be updating- and happy to coordinate with anyone on backstory. I wrote this rly fast just to give a sense of what I'm thinking.

WIP

Name: Incurvatus Love

Denomination: Undivided, formerly of the Ordo Hereticus

Appearance:

A blend of machine and man, covered in a dark & hooded cassock. His face is an expressionless silver mask.

WIP

Personality: Calm, cold, calculating, with a fairly business-first, mercenary attitude. Which is fitting, given his profession: a mercenary. He is not particularly religious, as chaos fanatics go, and the sees the warp and its denizens as a potential source of power (and risk), not as something to be worshiped. Nor is he particularly interested in the downfall of mankind or the spread of chaos, though he is not above working for those who are. He is, however, a keen collector of xenos, mechanicus, and chaos tech-relics.

Biography: (WIP) Formerly an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, Love fell to chaos through reading Heretek philosophical works, from which he became obsessed with self-augmentation. While his status as an inquisitor is murky (he has contacts among his former colleagues of the radical persuasion), he now pursues his own agenda in Chaos territory, usually working as a mercenary and 'fixer' for warlords and power-brokers. He has developed a reputation as a formidable figure among the warlords of the Vortex.

Other: (WIP) Love's main skillset will be a blend of heretech-magic and fairly straightforward, if potent, psyker skills.

cc @Bloodrose

Kingston: A Myth Retold (Reimagining Batman)

She swallowed badly, whiskey burning on the way down. She coughed and lit a cigarette.

It was close to closing, only five or so regulars left, the die hard drinkers. Sinatra crooned about time wasted and love turning sour on the bar's tinny speakers. The Copperhead was hot and dank, the ancient AC doing nothing but make noise. Don was wiping down the bar, the dim light gleaming on his pate. Sergeant Bask was talking at him while slurping down his ninth beer.

"... old stations, the ones they closed after the flooding, kids down there like you wouldn't believe, tons of 'em, all strung out on this new shit," he said.

"Yeah, you said," said Don.

"Atlas," said Bask, "It's the whole department these days, all we deal with. Like wildfire, three months ago- nothin', now it's every-fucking-where. Rich kids, ghetto rats, everyone."

"Must be good stuff," said Don, sliding another beer across the bar.

Bask turned from Don and gave her a bleary, appraising look, "What do your people have to say about all this?"

"My people?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and rapping the bar for Don to refill her glass.

"Don't be cute," Bask said, "Oswald, what's he doing about this new shit? I know he ain't selling it. Ain't comin' from him."

"I don't come here to talk work, hon," she said, "and anyway, I work for a casino, not a drug dealer."

"Yeah okay," said Bask, "and my daughter's still a virgin. Peter Oswald runs half the fuckin' city, and you're his what?"

She smiled, "Executive assistant."

"Uh huh," said Bask, "the secretary- 'scuse me, assistant- of the fucking king of the under world knows nothing about this Atlas craziness. Why do you drink in this shit hole, anyway?"

"Shit hole?" said Don, a scowl creasing his impressive jowls.

"The mind is its own place," she said, smiling and snuffing out her smoke, "put the drinks on my tab, Donny boy, see ya soon."

Welcome to Kingston, a city of several millions in the American heartland, bordering Great Lake Oriab.

This RP will be a noirish, urban low-fantasy RP. Emphasis on low fantasy- no elves or vampire covens. We'll be exploring- and building- the creepy, crumbling, neo-gothic/art deco, crime-infested city of Kingston, with a view of building our own version of the Batman mythos. The idea here is of a masked vigilante trying to bring order to a crumbling metropolis, and playing on all the themes and tropes that make Batman so intriguing, but without 'batman' himself or any of the usual cast of characters.

Collaborative world building is a big one here, lets design a memorable setting. For inspiration, think Tim Burton's Gotham meets True Detective, with the lovecraft dial turned up a notch or two. There will be a central plot involving a new drug flooding the city, Atlas, that players can participate in or ignore as they like. It is a small purple pill that causes ecstatic states, and (of course) the occasional horrifying, mind-breaking trip.

Characters can be pretty much whatever anyone wants- including our as yet unnamed vigilante(s). We can figure out just how 'low' we want the low fantasy to be based on what folks would like to see. As the story progresses, I'll start adding setting details here in the OP based on what everyone comes up with.

To begin with, each player may submit one character sheet. Once they have ‘proven’ themselves (by engaging in roleplay, being active OOCly etc) they may apply for a second character. You may play up to three characters.

Any takers?

CS Template

Name/Nicknames:

Age:

Appearance: (Short, physical description of your character required, pic optional)

Personality: (An IC scene here giving us a glimpse of your character would be best)

Bio: (A brief synopsis of what got your character to this point, and where they fit in to San Judas. Optional if you can work the gist of that into your IC scene.)

Other:(Any other notes, pieces of information, etc that you wish to include)

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

Interested