Hank

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

"Oh, that reminds me. Lady Niernen, you might be pleased to know that your fighting companion from Windhelm also survived; the Khajiit, Do'Karth. In fact, he came with us to these islands! I believe he went with our quartermaster into the Dwemer ruins below."

Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, Niernen turned to face Madura. "D-Do'Karth?" she stammered and wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. "You're sure?"

Smiling, the Dunmer journalist nodded. "Absolutely. Fear not, lady. He is in good company. I'm going down there now, I'll be sure to tell him that you're alive. I'm sure they're fi--"

Before he could finish his sentence, Niernen hobbled over to Madura and clutched him by the folds of his tunic. "Brown, striped Khajiit in a robe? Carries a quarterstaff?" she asked, breathless, her face inches from Madura's. Niernen's large, copper eyes, so devoid of life merely an hour ago, were now full of emotion -- disbelief, hope, desperation. Taken aback, Madura's iron helmet slipped over his face and he raised a hand to lift it before he answered. "Yes, yes, that's the one."

Niernen swayed on the spot. "Great gods of nowhere," she whispered. "I dreamed of him every night. Truly, Azura guides my path." She paused and closed her eyes for a few seconds, mouthing a prayer to the Daedric Prince. "Madura," she continued as she opened her eyes, her voice suddenly forceful. "I have to see him. Take me to him. Please."

It was clear that 'no' was not an answer. Madura nodded and motioned for her to follow him. Without another word to anyone, not even Valen, Niernen set off after Madura, renewed strength flooding her limbs, her heart racing in her chest. What she'd said was true -- every night since her escape from Windhelm, the kind-hearted and agile Khajiit had featured in her frazzled and disconnected dreams, a reminder of all that was good in the world as her situation continued to deteriorate, culminating in her capture by the Armigers and enslavement on the Kamal frigate. Do'Karth had been the only one that had ever showed any compassion for and understanding of her internal struggles after the campaign in Blackmarsh. Not her father, who had only been concerned for her physical well-being and and relieved when she returned alive, nor her brother, Narzul, who had been proud of her achievements and guilty of putting her in harm's way. But nobody had understood that Niernen's worst injury had been her own guilt.

To be fair, Niernen thought while chasing after Madura towards the entrance to Bthamz, Do'Karth hadn't fully understood her motivations for going to war either. He'd assumed that Niernen had done it for her family. The truth was that Niernen had done it to prove to everyone that her education had been useful for something and that she was just as competent as Narzul, just in different ways. It had been a selfish endeavor, reckless and stupid, that resulted in the horrifying deaths of dozens of Argonians and had almost gotten her killed too. What made Do'Karth special is that he had tried. She remembered how he'd placed a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes with a look of pride and mournful compassion during their talk in Windhelm and she blinked away fresh tears, followed by a strangled chortle. When did she become so sentimental?

During their descent using the Dwemer elevator, Madura shared some of his provisions with Niernen -- fresh water, dried meats and a small swig of something alcoholic. The food and drink reinvigorated Niernen and she thanked the journalist with a small smile. She fidgeted with the frayed ends of her pale grey cloak and tapped her uninjured, leather-clad foot impatiently on the Dwemer stones as the platform descended. She'd been inside one of their ruins before during her training. The war-wizard Vulthan had thought that testing out her skills on a few Dwemer automatons would make for fitting exercise. That had been... less than pleasant.

When the elevator finally reached the bottom, Niernen saw two people standing guard -- another Dunmer woman, though one that looked older and that she did not recognize, and a Nord male with a rather vicious injury to his face that looked familiar. A brief exchange between Madura and the pair confirmed that Edith and the rest of the expedition had carried on and Niernen followed Madura deeper into the ruins, limiting her interaction with the injured pair to a polite nod in their direction.

Niernen carefully sidestepped a few ruined automatons and noticed the splatters of fresh blood on the ground here and there. They had obviously fought the Dwemer creations here. Niernen hoped that none of the blood belonged to Do'Karth. Sounds of combat drifted towards them through the dimly lit and stuffy corridors and her breath caught in her throat. Madura looked back at her, a look of concern on his face, and they slowly crept forward, peeking around a corner in the corridor.

A scuffle of some size was happening ahead. Niernen immediately recognized several people that had been part of the company in Windhelm taking down and disarming several opponents and there, at the far end of the corridor, his quarterstaff pressed against the chest of a Dunmer in a queer, orange robe, was Do'Karth. She saw the glittering edge of a dagger near Do'Karth's abdomen and gasped. Like a hobbling cork out of a bottle, Niernen rounded the corner and shook off Madura's grasping hands. The journalist cursed and chased after her. "She's with me!" he hollered at Edith and anyone willing to listen. Ignoring the sharp stabs of pain in her leg as she ran as fast as she could, the Dunmeri sorceress raised her hands, fire forming in the basin of her palms and curling around her fingers. Heedless of any danger, she made her way past Roze, Sagax and Sadri. "She's with me!" Madura repeated, urging the group not to turn their weapons on Niernen.

"Don't you dare hurt my friend, you s'wit!" Niernen yelled at the Hlaalu man, her voice hoarse and trembling as tears ran down her face.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

@Flagg No, that's an excellent insight into his character. Accepted. Feel free to post your CS in the Characters tab.

I'll read the other completed character sheets later today.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

@Keepvogel's sheet looks about ready. @Flagg, love the approach you took but it'd be swell if you could expand Love's personality section. It's not even one paragraph. Tad short.

@Sophrus, keep doing what you're doing. All you have to do is wrap it up and you're golden, I like everything I've read so far. Same goes for @GreivousKhan.

The other sheets are too barebones for me to have anything useful to say right now.

It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP [Reboot/Continuation] [MATURE]

Apologies, @Jbcool.

I'm going to be frank for a second and admit that I've had some difficulty finding my groove for this roleplay. I was expecting a different atmosphere when it comes to the Imperial Guard. Contrary to my expectations, we ended up with a collection of oddities and miscreants and... yeah. I don't know. I'm not really feeling it, if that makes any sense.

It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP [Reboot/Continuation] [MATURE]

@Dannyrulx

The Commissar chuckled at Angelika's comments on the remaining men of her regiment. "Yes, such is the way of these animals, isn't it? Always been that way, don't think it'll ever change. Fortunately you seem like the type of girl that can take care of herself," Castor said and patted her on the shoulder. "As for the regicide; absolutely, I'd love to play with you. Seek me out when we have some downtime. Now then, I really must be going. See you in a few hours, soldier." Castor nodded at Angel and left, his long strides carrying him to the tent of the new Company Commander.

@mackielars@agentmanatee

He came upon Ninke and Persephone on the way there and observed with some amusement as the newly-promoted sergeant leaned on the lithe and androgynous Persephone. "It's only a little further," he said and winked as he caught up to them. "You'll feel much better in the morning, sergeant," Castor added and smiled encouragingly. "Let's get a move on."

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

Yes, both of you are certainly welcome at a later time.

Weekends are generally a busy time for me so I'll take a look at all the character sheets we have so far tomorrow and provide feedback as necessary.

Toellner and Bela and Hank active in spam?

<Snipped quote by Hank>

Pretty good. I'm a staff member there, one of the leaders of the security department. Lots of roleplaying going on. It's good times.

I see you're a mod here now. How the fuck did that happen?

@Jorick

Poacher turned gamekeeper.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

Finally got around to posting my own character. Use it as an example for your own sheets -- this is about the level of detail that I like to see. Anything more than that is excessive... and I can't reasonably expect you all to write more than I do.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

NAME: Zohair Sarrazin.

HOMEWORLD: Sarrazin hails from a desert world known as Al-Eshikram. It is populated by various low-tech nomadic tribes that specialize in herding huge desert-striders, an exotic and xenos species of cattle, but most of its inhabitants are housed in large cities of limestone and glass with a decent level of technological prowess. Food is grown inside greenhouses that stretch for miles and the people get their water from deep underground and the occasional heavy rainfall. The endless sand dunes of Al-Eshikram contain various rare minerals and heavy elements -- only a few particles per square mile, but still worth pursuing. The Mechanicus has huge harvesting machines that roam the deserts and sift through the sand, filtering out the useful specks. Al-Eshikram hosts a sizable PDF garrison to defend against occasional Greenskin incursions, though the hunting antics of a native species of massive snake, colloquially known as the Emperor's Cobra, keeps them busy in peacetime. Multiple regiments of the Imperial Guard have been founded there, known as the Desert Striders (named after the animal). The planet's Schola Progenium is located in the planet's capital, a towering construct called Elohymn that was built around the planet's biggest oasis in ancient times.

AGE: 62.

GENDER: Male.

APPEARANCE: In sharp contrast with the native population of Aphrodus Primaris, Sarrazin's skin is the same color as gold -- just not as shiny. His eyes are slightly slanted, almond-shaped and a startling shade of green, sporting remarkably small pupils even in dim lightning conditions. They glitter much like emeralds do. His face is thin and angular, featuring high cheekbones and tapering off into a sharp chin and to make the resemblance to a snake even stronger, like all people from Al-Eshikram, his incisors are unreasonably long and show at even the slightest smile. And last but not least, before we move on from his head, is Sarrazin's hair. It is the colour of dark copper and trimmed short in a Roman-esque style.

As is tradition on Al-Eshikram, much of Sarrazin's body (including his arms, torso and thighs) is covered in intricate tattoos that are made entirely out of curved lines. The tattoos resemble the scales of a reptile and weave around Sarrazin's limbs in a hypnotizing pattern. As for his physique, Sarrazin stands just under six feet and is even built like a snake, lean and supple, with corded muscles and smooth, mostly hairless skin. Juvenat treatments -- paid for by the Adeptus Terra, of course -- have kept him youthful and vital.

ROLE: Arbitrator-Sergeant.

UNIFORM: As befits his experience, Sarrazin's suit of carapace armor is scarred and weathered and currently in need of a new paint job (again). Blotches of the ceramite's natural gunmetal gray colour are showing through the black paint in various places, mostly on the chestplate, the shoulderpads and the boots. After decades of use the leather elements of his uniform formed to fit his body so well that Sarrazin barely makes a sound when he moves. As for decoration, Sarrazin has personalized the suit with the heraldry of his homeworld's Imperial Guard regiments (in honor of his late father), the Desert Striders, applied with white and green paint on the right shoulderpad. It resembles a pale Emperor's Cobra, rearing up and ready to strike, with emerald eyes. Other than that little touch his uniform is standard issue. Sarrazin's rank as Arbitrator-Sergeant is represented on his left shoulderpad with a single white chevron beneath an Imperial skull. Several purity seals are attached to the armor with wax seals stamped with the sigil of the Adeptus Arbites.

EXPERTISE: During Sarrazin's long tenure with the Arbites he has never shown any interest in, nor aptitude for, any of the Specialist skills. What he's good at is simple: asserting authority and laying down the law. Sarrazin's combat skills are widely respected throughout Precinct S-12 and his low tolerance for bullshit makes him an effective squad leader and discipline enforcer.

- Steady Shooter: Sarrazin has trained with and used autoguns his whole life and is highly proficient in putting stable, accurate rounds downrange, both in semi- and fully-automatic firing modes. In fact, his specific style of engaging the enemy (using the Suppression Shield as a stable firing platform and mobile cover, firing two or three rounds before moving, putting down the shield again, firing, rinse and repeat) is known as the Sarrazin Special.

- Close-quarters Cobra: The people of Al-Eshikram have a natural aptitude for quickness and agility that lends itself well for melee combat. There are few Arbitrators in the Precinct that are as fast with a power maul as Sarrazin and his sudden, sweeping strikes and quick uppercuts have knocked out (or straight-up destroyed) many a felon before they could react over the years.

- Absolute Authoritarian: Sarrazin tolerates absolutely zero backtalk from his troops and won't hesitate to reinforce his authority with corporal punishment, if necessary. This makes him a highly effective and merciless taskmaster in the field and he can inspire Arbitrators to hold the line in even the most intimidating situations -- if there's something scary in the front, put something scarier in the back. Several riots have been shut down and firefights with hordes of hive-gangers won because Sarrazin refused to allow even the slightest hint of disobedience and cowardice.

- Respectable Regicidist: Last and, also, decidedly least, is Sarrazin's favorite pastime: regicide. Essentially the Imperium's version of chess, Sarrazin enjoys testing his wits and intelligence against the other capable regicide players of the Precinct. Sarrazin is certainly not the best as he's not particularly inventive with his strategies, preferring to stick with what he knows, but he's decent enough.

EQUIPMENT: As a hardline, dyed-in-the-wool Arbitrator, Sarrazin has a pretty standard loadout for this position. He sticks to what he knows best.

- Primary weapon: Armageddon-Pattern Autogun. A medium length, stocky rifle in a matte black paint job with a custom comfort grip and ergonomic hand guard, improved combat sights, laser pointer and flash suppressor. It can fire on semi-automatic, 5-round bursts, or on full-auto and holds 30 rounds in a double-stacked magazine. Sarrazin chambers it with caseless AP-rounds to improve the weapon's versatility against various types of targets and relies on his decades of experience and accuracy to put the rounds where they count against soft targets. A stylized Emperor's Cobra slithering towards its prey has been painted on the left side of the autogun's stock.

- Secondary weapon: Arbites-issue Bolt-pistol. Sarrazin doesn't unholster this weapon and actually put it to use very often, but its symbolic (and fire-) power has made it useful as a tool of intimidation and discipline enforcement in the past.

- Melee weapon: The ubiquitous power maul. What else? When it comes to law enforcement, accept no substitutes. Sarrazin lets opponents tire themselves out against the Suppression Shield in melee engagements before suddenly striking and aiming to incapacitate them with a single blow.

- Tertiary equipment: As an Arbitrator as opposed to a Specialist, Sarrazin carries the signature Suppression Shield into the field. It is normally slung around his back when not in use, the two lengths of fiber-strength strap coming together over his chest in a pressure-sensitive clasp. All Sarrazin has to do is beat his chest and the shield drops free, after which a pirouette movement practiced by all Arbitrators brings the shield to the fore on the Arbitrator's left arm.

- Mementos: An old black-and-white picture of Sarrazin and his father. The proud dad is garbed in full Desert Striders uniform. The picture was taken right before he was shipped off to war and Sarrazin never saw him again.

BIOGRAPHY: Decorated veteran Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin of Strike Team Omicron was once, like all humans, a baby. Sarrazin was born on the desert world of Al-Eshikram to loving parents. His father was initially a laborer who worked in the enormous greenhouses of Elohymn, the planet's capital, and his mother was a stay-at-home wife. Young Zohair had two older brothers and later a younger sister as well. They were not rich by any means but Al-Eshikram was, despite the harsh sunlight and high temperatures, a decent place to live and they did not want for anything. Even now, five decades later, Sarrazin longs for those days.

His father was conscripted by the Astra Militarum when a new Regiment of Desert Striders, the 13th, was founded. Sarrazin's father was a firm but temperate and fair man and it was not long until he was inducted into the officer cadre of the 13th. Back home, Sarrazin's mother cared for her children as best she could with the credits that Corporal Sarrazin sent home every month but it was obvious that the sudden lack of a parental figure made her job difficult. Zohair's older brothers were less affected but the boy was in his most formative years, not even eight years old, when his father left.

Two days before young Zohair's fourteenth birthday, word came back from some Emperor-forsaken corner of the galaxy that his father had honorably died in combat. Furious and sick with grief, Sarrazin spiraled out of control, skipping his lessons at the local Schola Laborium to roam the streets with other teens and rarely came home anymore. Not even his older brothers, already adults, could reach him now.

His mother committed suicide. Within hours, the clerics of the Schola Progenium were at their doorstep and swept Sarrazin and his younger sister away to be raised and trained to become the next generation's elite of the Imperium. The status of Sarrazin's father, who was posthumously promoted to Major, ensured the boy's place at the Schola Progenium. He and his sister were swiftly separated and he never saw her again after that either, though he learned later in life that she became an Adeptus Sororitas.

Sarrazin's tutors and mentors focused on harnessing the boy's anger and turning it into rigorous and unbreakable discipline and purpose. He resisted and they were cruel. Corporal punishment became a regular element of Sarrazin's life and it was not until two years after he was sent to the Schola that the boy, then sixteen years old, finally relented and allowed himself to be broken. It was then that the rebuilding could begin.

Building on the sense of fairness and justice that Sarrazin's father had instilled in him, the boy was groomed for the Adeptus Arbites training program. With nothing left to lose, Sarrazin devoted himself willingly and entirely to the regimen and excelled in all physical and martial metrics. He was not particularly creative or perceptive when it came to developing leads or handling persecution, nor was he any good with technology, so it was decided he would become an ordinary Arbitrator. That suited him just fine.

With the God-Emperor as his spiritual father and witness, Sarrazin finished his training at 21 years old and was immediately -- to his surprise and horror -- shipped off to a foul, polluted planet almost entirely devoid of sunlight: Aphrodus Primaris, Precinct S-12. This was the world he would police until his dying day. In his opinion, it could not have been a worse place. While too disciplined and devoted to his duty at that point to refuse or rebel, Sarrazin has never really come to terms with his deployment and internally resents the entire existence of Aphrodus Primaris to an unhealthy degree. This is partially responsible for his uncompromising and sometimes cruel enforcement of discipline and unwillingness to break. He will not give this planet the satisfaction.

Sarrazin was initially attached to a patrol squad of four other Arbitrators that would ride up and down the streets and highways of the middle levels of Rancunhive in a Suppressor Rhino, just to prove to its citizens that the Emperor was watching. One might argue that it was a mercifully safe and uneventful assignment but Sarrazin found it unbelievably dull and felt like he was slowly going mad, cooped up in that damn Rhino every day. He wanted to take out his frustrations on something or someone. He got his wish during the so-called Grain Riots, where huge swaths of the mining laborers took to the streets after a warp storm prevented shipments of bread and the like from a nearby agri-world. Sarrazin and his squad happened to be out on the streets when the riots began, on the Square of Saint Augistine, and were surrounded by the angry mob -- an unfortunate mistake of them. Sarrazin jumped out of the Rhino with his squadmates and laid into the crowd with his shield and power maul with relentless fury, inspiring the rest of his squad to similar acts of heroic brutality. Scores of unconscious and quite possibly dead citizens were left in Sarrazin's wake and the riot in their quadrant was broken up and dispersed within half an hour. The whole squad received a commendation and Sarrazin's commander made sure he received a special citation. When the young Arbitrator applied for a transfer to an Underhive patrol squad, nobody resisted. It was clear he had the guts and the tenacity for it.

Since then, Sarrazin has been a steadfast and unmistakable entity in the Precinct's raids into the Underhive to prevent the gang wars from spiraling out of control. What little enjoyment he experiences on this wretched planet is either derived from making love behind the walls of the Precinct-Fortress (he's not a bad looking man at all and it's a mixed gender detachment) or beating down thugs in the lawless depths of the Underhive. His total indifference to their suffering, his skills and his ability to project authority meant that he was elevated to the rank of Arbitrator-Sergeant roughly two decades ago. Sarrazin is a foundation you can build on, if that foundation was capable of putting a caseless round in your enemy's heart at two hundred paces. His selection for Strike Team Omicron was therefore obvious.

PERSONALITY: Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin is a tough and unforgiving man with the temperament of a viper. His total dissatisfaction with the sheer existence of Aphrodus Primaris and the wretched flesh-bags that call themselves citizens has soured and embittered him over the decades and he has lost almost every sense of sentimentality and compassion. Despite all that, he does try to remain at least somewhat fair to the Arbitrators he serves with and is not a man that can be rightfully accused of unwarranted cruelty. Unless it's against the miner-gangs or whatever -- he doesn't give a shit about them. Sarrazin understands the importance of the planet for the Imperial machine and has accepted that his place is to make sure it keeps running, but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it.

He still longs for the days of his early youth in the sunbathed planet of Al-Eshikram and, deep down, resents everything that happened to him since his father's death. Sarrazin never aspired to be a warrior or a peacekeeper and has extremely vivid dreams at night of working in the greenhouses, just like his father did, or similar desires. He does his job and he does it well because the Emperor expects it of him and, yes, it is a little satisfying to shoot a fucking piece of shit right in the fucking neck, but that's all.

MISCELLANEOUS: Prefers women of his own race, who are in decidedly short supply on Aphrodus Primaris.