Jamesyco

Tales From the Realm of Laelilon

I don't know why, but Pebbles reminds me of Butters.

Raven Squad: Second Storm (Military/Spy-Fi RP) (COMPLETED)

Tiny Nord

Camp Hunnula - Common Room

"Surprisingly enough, this is only my second time in a Scandinavian country," Tiny said as he entered the room not wearing his exosuit, it stood sentinel over in a corner of the room, as there was a wire to the wall plug connected to it. For the most part, it looked as if it was shot to shit, but the armor did it job. But moving without battery was almost impossible, but doing anything else with it was.

Tiny looked around, and shrugged as he started to find a place, pulling food from the little bag around his waist and shoulder. Beginning to munch on pretzels, "So anyone know what's for lunch or am I cooking again?" he asked looking around with a smile, seeing that he possibly entered an awkward situation by the look on Sam's face. Instead he went back to eating pretzils, and sitting there on what could be considered a comfy spot.

It was comfy for the most part, not too warm, probably too cold, but it was similar to home, at least it was similar to home, he thought. Not as much insulation compared to home, but they knew what they were doing here in the white north of Finland. He also wondered, why Finland. Well it was a small population, in the middle of nowhere, cold enough for no one to want to go to, and yea Finland was a nice place. It's like North Dakota, no body ever goes there unlike South Dakota which has Mount Rushmore.

Meanwhile, outside the man's head, he looked like he was in deep thought, or constipated; the two looks go hand in hand usually. Staring off in the distance like a Saint Bernard, no, not a Saint Bernard, those are useful. A pug, he was staring straight at Samantha, yet he did not know it at that moment. She was one of the last things he was staring at, and the dumbfounded look upon his face could be taken in many ways.

Back inside his head, he was thinking now about Canada and how cold it is, but lunch. Poutine, he hadn't had that in a long time, but where could he get maple syrup out here or french fries? Or hot chicken or good gooey cheese. His mind was wandering from the place they were located to the food that was not there, unless it was there.

"Who said poutine?" he asked, looking around those in the room, not really sure of what was happening at that moment. His stomach growled, and his snack pack seemed to be drained once again, and he remembered why he entered this room. Food, and also company, but food.

The Guardians of Dara

Steel Crusader

Name: Stein Schuss

Race Human

Character Appearance : A sizeable burly man standing six foot seven and weighing almost three hundred pounds, and seems at the age of almost forty or fifty. He is often found in well-made working clothes or tailored clothes for those of a wealthy family or a lower noble family. His skin is pale, and often, most of his skin is not showing except for the skin around his eyes. Hats, and full cloth covers are common attire for him.

He is highly scarred, most of his scarring is upon his arms, and legs, and there are many markings where chains, metal bindings, and brands were placed upon his body and torso. His face has many deep gouges, as well as places where he was tortured for several years are shown upon his face. There are indistinguishable brands upon both of his cheeks. He does have gray and dirty blond hair and often has a kept beard to hide much of his facial and neck scarring.

Character Personality : A jolly man in all cases, he seems to be like a Santa figure to most in public, always enjoying those around him. Yet, often, they are somewhat afraid or remorseful towards the large man. He looks well and seems well, but he hides his trauma well. He has been trained to hide his trauma. Smiling is almost an automation for him, and his voice doesn't crack, but behind the door he seems to be an empty shell. He seems to be frightened and broken oftentimes. But if he is in the presence of someone, he seems to be the happiest man in the world to all who overlook the details.

Legend: (in song form)
"The Steel Crusader"
A tall as a mountain stood a statue one day,
No one would expect it come alive in the sun rays,
For in times of need, the steel statue came,
No one could tell, if it was a man or statue that stayed.

*Chorus*
The Steel Crusader as firm as a mountain,
The Steel Crusader as strong as a bear,
The Steel Crusader is here to decree.
That all will be will, as long as you stand behind him.
He will be back to defend you, you'll see.

Death came upon many,
Death came upon soon,
Death swept up the valley,
and over the dunes.

*Chorus*
The Steel Crusader as firm as a mountain,
The Steel Crusader as strong as a bear,
The Steel Crusader is here to decree.
That all will be will, as long as you stand behind him.
He will be back to defend you, you'll see.

Crusading in just against Fowl,
Breaking the cruel,
In the night he was the mighty owl,
And on a barstool.

*Chorus*
The Steel Crusader as firm as a mountain,
The Steel Crusader as strong as a bear,
The Steel Crusader seems more drunk as usual,
He seems more delusional,
His mind seems unusable,
Let us hope and see.

A noble at heart,
a murder in sight,
he slaughtered too many in part,
Just to do right.

*Chorus*
The Steel Crusader was as firm as a mountain,
The Steel Crusader was as confused as could be.
The man couldn't fight,
His head isn't a delight,
Maybe he needs prayer,
Or to get help as could we.

But many watched,
as the statue depart,
Many saw him dart,
and finally part.

*more sorrowful chorus*
The Steel Crusader is broken and in shambles,
His mind has fled,
His eyes are always blood red,
Now he just rambles.
The steel crusader, seems to be dead.

---

There is a story of a young noble; in his youth, he was young, intelligent, and spirited to go out into the world and do anything he wished. His friend, who trained, soon became his companion on the road adventuring. They were successful and, in their heyday, were decently known through areas full of violence, banditry, and war. Being the youngest of his name, he worked harder than all of his siblings, for he would get nothing from inheritance if nothing happened to his brothers.

After several groups of holy men entered the camp, his band eventually became known as the Steel Crusaders. While he and his friends did not convert, instead they converted the holy men into that of protectors for those they came across. Doing work for each place they lived, they were proactive in finding those who wished to despoil the lands, bringing themselves to those areas, and striking against those whom they saw as wrong.

Eventually, there was the war that broke out, and while his men were better than the levies of Dara. They were one of the first to fall, and almost in it's entirety. Defeat after defeat saw them diminished and almost destroyed but for their commander. The man fell wounded, but was drug far away in his armor and hidden. He was hidden for so long, his family fled the city but for the heads of the family, and the second and third sons. But the armor, the armor of this warrior was seen many times as a sign of resistance.

It was worn when the Guardians finally took back the city. But the young man was not the one wearing it, for he was broken and still healing.

---

In the final moments, a man clad in chains burst through the walls of a prison. Like the sun, a son of the city had risen once again to break the binds of tyranny and he lead an assortment of warriors through the halls to kill the king.

Stein the Brave, the steel crusader, had a steel resolve till the end.

Or was Stein the one wearing the armor, regardless, there was a man of honor and glory finding his way to kill the king.

Character description: Stein Schuss was born the eighth son and last of fourteen; being the youngest male, he was the one who would have to earn his keep. But, he did receive a good education, and an education by many. Five years before the war, he set off with a group of his friends and became an adventurer. For the most part, they took defensive jobs or restoring the land. Sometimes they would help brewers and taverns out on the road for income to their next location. They eventually found themselves with a group of warrior priests; they all converted, and many became priests. He did not want to give up his titles or name, but he continued to be the leader of the band of warriors. Eventually, they did become successful, and when raids before the war became more prevalent, they did well in numbers to just over a hundred. But when the war came, they were not ready for the army that befell them. Almost all of them were killed in the initial fight over a border village. Those who escaped barely did so. They fought town after town, trying to warn as many as possible, but each time, they died or fled.

Those that remained tied put a counter-offensive in the backlines of their foes, and it was somewhat successful. He ran a rather genocidal rampage or crusade through the northern lands until they were cornered and almost killed by a man. He managed to escape this as well.
Eventually, it was just him, and only because several people hid him underneath the rubble and when he was moved far away from the war, others donned his armor, many of which fell, but one did survive and would until he became a guardian. Meanwhile, Stein was broken, physically and mentally, from losing his friends. He was found by many in his family who were on the run, but they did not take him, for he would be a burden upon them. Then, he was captured, placed in prison, and forgotten about after being tortured for several years.

When the king fell, he broke out and fought alongside other heroes, but by that time, only records could tell who the man was. His armor was in the hands of another man, but out of respect for his service, it was given to the city and memorialized. The guardians had reclaimed the city, and his armor was now a statue out in front of his family home. While his family did live within it, most of the wealth went with those who fled, and few came back after the death of the King.

However, Stein was almost nothing. He was unrecognizable from his younger days in the war. He was overgrown with hair, his bones showed through his skin, and his mind was mostly broken. While this did improve over time, at least in his physical health, not much could assist his mental state. He had what most believed a final hurrah, and due to his mental instability, he did not become a guardian, instead the man who wore his armor did. However, He got to know some of the other heroes before they parted ways.

He becomes homeless, a street rat, and a beggar. But, one day, he was brought back into his home once someone recognized him. His brothers, who stayed or came back, took care of him. They did their best to heal the man's body and mind, and he did become the mountain of a man he once was. Standing around six foot seven and weighing almost three hundred pounds, he was a beast at working manual labor. But his mind kept him to certain things; brewing was one of them, and his brothers bought him a brewery and fields for grapes and grain to make wines and beers. It was one of the few things he remembered from his time adventuring, his early adventuring when they were just starting out. It was a functional aid in his recovery, and he did it well. He could supply trade and much of the city with his drinks, and the rest traded throughout the lands.

Another reason for this recovery was to find someone to marry him off to; originally, it was for money, but his brothers soon realized that he was too gone, so they had to find another way to make money out of him. They did, but now that he seems healed and that his name is back out there. They wish to push Stein further into the public light; as his armor stands proudly and newly shined, they push him to be a hero of the old city, and now it seems that the time may be here for them to push him to act.

A once pirate now Sherrif

Name: Elias Gothic Paul

Race Human

Character Appearance : A man somewhere in his mid-to-late thirties with tan skin, dark blonde/light brown curly hair, and a clean-shaven face. He is often seen in greens, yellows, and other natural colors, as well as those of the city he resides in. He is about five foot eight and weighs around a hundred and ninety pounds.

Character Personality : A stoic man, often not showing emotion or any cause to those around him. He is almost cold and calculated but fair. Until you get to know him, then he is almost the entire thesaurus for the word silly and any word that could describe a dad joke. He is genuinely happy and seems fulfilled in all ways. While at work, he does keep himself faithful to his work, fulfilling justice honestly and honorably, but when he is not, he is often seen trying to make others smile. Until recently, that is, since his wife was torn apart mysteriously.

He often jokes that he was once a famed pirate on the river.

Legend:

The River is the blood of the city, and many knew this, but few took to its shores like the huntsman Elias. Few knew who slew the king, but few believe Elias' arrow pierced his heart. He was known to be able to get any weapon on target from a range and pierce the hearts of any, even through the gaps of armor. That day, his aim was true, for if it was not for his bow, many would have likely died to the terrible king's hand.

---

The sheriff, did you know that he was a pirate once sailing the river?

---

One day, the mud of the river spawned a killer the day the old king captured the city. For the river protects, and sends its prized jewel heroes in time, there was one that cut down his foes like the river cuts down buildings in a flood.

Character description: A young fisher son when the war broke out, he was maybe fifteen or sixteen, the young man decided to head north with a bow and his father's sword. Along the way, he found he was a natural with the bow, and agile. When he knew he couldn't brute force his way through an opponent, he used his whit and tact to whittle away until his opponents were dead and gone. Eventually, he found himself with a group of adventurers on the same path as him.

They would eventually win; after that, the king died, and the guardians took over. He became the sheriff of the local area outside of town. His wit and knowledge made him a good peacekeeper when settling in the city. He became a good investigator and often helped the town guard with his investigative abilities and sense of honest justice. He is known as a fair man and one who volunteers for those in need. He is also often seen in the river in small skiffs and boats, primarily for leisure or for fishing.

He eventually married a guardian, and they lived well for a decade before her death; due to his closeness with one of the victims, he was pulled away from the investigation. He has since been in a melancholy.

Tales From the Realm of Laelilon

Torsten

Rain, it always rained in this place, each time he had come in the past, it was raining. He spotted something unusual for this place, an elf. He watched, analyzed the woman as she walked, and where she walked. He figured quickly they would be going to the same place, and he sauntered across the street letting water splash to his footsteps. Each one dragging him behind the woman until she entered a den of laughter and jubilee. The man let beads hand from his hands as he opened the door soon after the woman entered another room.

Dorian was there, a man similar to himself but still different. He stared at him, and approached as he began his journey back to his place at the table. He didn't make it there as a brute stood before him with prayer beads and a coin. A tall bearded man covered in pelts, metal, and cloth soaked in water.

"I assume that is the correct place," Torsten said as he nodded towards the door, eyeing it with the corner of his eye.

"It is," Dorian said quietly.

"Other?" Torsten asked

"Yes," Dorian replied, opening the door for the man to walk through.

"Then I will wait," he said, leaning down and entering the room; looking around, he assumed correctly that the elf was there. He listened to the door behind him close. There would be more coming, good people meant support, now only if they worked well together."

His hand raised empty as he bowed his head, "Lady elf, it is good to meet you..." the man almost grumbled in a friendly way, "We are the first, it seems."

Torsten looked around the room and found himself a place on the other couch, turning it towards the woman, and letting his packs fall to his sides before he sat in what looked to be a chair to him. He looked as if it was a chair, and he fits into it like a glove; it was Torsten-sized. Quietly he pulled his hand through his beard, and let his back relax into the seat.

"I am Torsten."

The Guardians of Dara

Looks sorta cool.

The Five Senses - Second Arc (Accepting New Players!)

Peytr

"If we go right, travel ninety-seven paces, with two turns, we will be at the experimentation lounge. If we continue, one of the rooms down there, the one with the metal clasping device, there should be a way out that can be easily broken through. All I know is I heard birds from that room. Birds."

The man sounded robotic, he shook his head, looking between each of them, and growled slightly, looking at the body behind him, then those in front of him. His face was sunken, and his eyes glared in hatred as Peytr's head turned to the right, and he slowly crouched as they seemed to be in a lull for a moment. Each moment he stood still, frozen, or moving with tremors so fast that it looked like he was a moving statue. He was moving, shaking like a leaf. The noises he was used to, he knew it meant others were alive. But he didn't hear them at that moment, only footsteps, not real ones likely, but those he heard from before.

"Left... left sounds good, never heard footsteps to the left, the middle is where the big one goes. I would like my hands on his throat; I would like to rip him away to read him. But, no... no, no, we should go left, left sound right." the creature's hands touched the ground, and he slowly slid his fingers around on the ground. "No... no... right sound..."

He broke out of his moment, his fingers twitching as he stared back at the body for a moment longer. Each digit shifted back and forth rapidly as if it were cold and sporadic. He disliked that motion; he didn't like the motions of those around them, so still. He felt that one on the ground and hated each moment of his once-learned experiences. Fingers, all he could think about is fingers. "Lead.... my judgment is flawed... I may have lived here longer than most, but... lead, the way you came, or to my captors, I do not care which. Lead... lead, please, go forward... Maybe fingers."

Then he heard the cries, "That way... that way we should go, others... the others, we need... to get to the others." and at that moment, when he looked at them, he looked worse than before, his body shivering and hating, and he looked as if his life was nothing but a ragged dog in the rain. Broken, and hopeless, he hated each moment he listened.

"Others... before they turn out like him, or like me."

Tales From the Realm of Laelilon

Torsten

Torsten Valherren

---

---

Basic Info

---

Age: 28

Race: Human

Class: Paladin/Fighter

Weapons:
Bow
&
Bastard Sword

Detailed Appearance:
6'7
220 lbs
Brown hair
Blue Eyes
Average controlled muscle growth, more natural muscle, but just size and bulk entirely. He is more similar to a traditional muscle man than a bodybuilder in his build, like a lumberjack. Typically is seen sprouting a thick beard, a long hair; it is typically kept well in order. More monastic long than scraggly, straightened typically, or weaved.

Bio History:

At a young age, the noble family Valherren had several sons, but in all reality, had use for one and a fallback in case the eldest died. Sadly, he was the youngest son. His elder cousin, a priest in the eastern parts of the plains, took him in. For the most part, the order he was a part of was monastic and healthy, a station between the forest and the capital city; he could experience and learn a lot from those who traveled the lands.

Growing up in the monastic lifestyle, but with his noble heritage, he did well with donations funding a more fanciful lifestyle there in the monastery. Able to treat both themselves and those who came. He grew into a lifestyle of general luxury and necessity to do something with his time. He found himself being chastised and forced to do manual labor away from the roles he typically enjoyed, and when he continued his work, was when a group of holy warriors passed through around the age of nineteen or so. Within, he found his mentor, a holy knight named Kal, who took the sizeable young man as his squire and underling.

Torsten and his mentor Kal would continue to travel the western fringes of the forest, and the eastern plains, keeping local wildlife populations in check, how to become a master at arms, and most importantly, how to heal and earn his favor to use abilities to heal. But he continued his active lifestyle: traveling, socializing, fighting, healing, and praying. He was not one to settle much for long and was thankful that the warriors he was with did not stay in any place too long. But with time, he became quite the squire and quite the huntsman, finding a bond with faith and nature, bringing the two together.

But over time, the group of warriors was drawn apart, and slowly the group he was with grew smaller and smaller; Kal and Toresten were with six other Holy knights when a small riot broke out, and they were separated. He likely would have been killed if he had not fallen into a quickly moving river.

When he came to, a lot from the village had washed down river to the embankment. He took a sword he found that likely was from one of the warrior bands, a thick stringed bow and quiver, and whatever else he could take before heading out once again in hopes of finding his mentor and traveling by temples, churches, and monasteries, and doing small odd jobs such as repair, cooking, or basic labor depending on their needs.

Likes:

• A general fondness for nature
• Alcoholic beverages, primarily beers and whiskies.
• A high-quality lifestyle, comfortable arrangements, and higher-quality foods.
• Hunting
• Runic inscriptions (not that he can read most of them)

Dislikes:

• Monotony
• Solitude
• Being frugal
• Going without alcohol and meats
• Things he cannot read well that doesn't look 'exciting.'

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

• Master at Arms - Regardless of what kind of weapon he holds, he has basic knowledge of how to use it effectively. Suppose it is a martial weapon, such as a spear, sword, bow, or any form of militant weapon. He typically knows how to use it decently.
• Healing Hand - His body regenerates quickly, and because of this, he can take the wounds of others onto his body several times past what most people would call fatal, but due to his size, and sound constitution, he can heal others from even the brink of death.
• Faith's Weapon - The weapon or ammunition (in terms of bow/crossbow/flintlock/ranged) can be imbued with the divine sentencing of god. It burns those who have been judged against.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Master at Arms - He does not see much point in using things that are not weapons and thus doesn't know much about brawling with his hands or using general items/staff as weapons. If anything, they are defensive measures until an actual weapon can be found.
• Healing Hand - While it heals others, it gives pain to him. It is an extreme case or triage situation where this should be used, for when it is done; he will need to rest for a long while. He will be hurt, in pain, and likely near death in extreme cases, and will be out of any fight for up to several days until his body's natural and unnatural healing can take effect to bring him to a functional state.
• Faith's Weapon - Honestly, this one is hard; it's more or less a catch-22; this is just a good ability because it helps in many ways. It is a helping hand, but it's limited in its uses; you can't chuck a bunch of holy objects in hopes of smiting someone, it has to be thoughtful in its use and used only when needed, or else it may just be lost ever.

Skills:

• Medicine - being a man of faith and charity, his gift to those in the world is the tender hands of health. Being able to heal, medicate, and treat those needing medical assistance.
• Athletics - Being a stout man, he is typically able to do most things out of sheer brute force. Cutting trees, carrying supplies, and in tandem with his skills as a basic carpenter and mason, he could do repair work on most forms of buildings. It also has been used in recreational sports, such as dwarf tossing and arm wrestling.
• Survival - he knows how to cook, he knows how to clean an animal, he knows how to build shelters. He has a plethora of knowledge regarding survival, from patching up wounds to foraging. Living off the land is his life skill, even when on the move.

Theme

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muwAyNgqDiE&list=PL7dqoyDEFCSplm9WmmESNOostfpbIEWrU&index=4

Tales From the Realm of Laelilon

Torsten

Torsten Valherren

---

---

Basic Info

---

Age: 28

Race: Human

Class: Paladin/Fighter

Weapons:
Bow
&
Bastard Sword

Detailed Appearance:
6'7
220 lbs
Brown hair
Blue Eyes
Average controlled muscle growth, more natural muscle, but just size and bulk entirely. He is more similar to a traditional muscle man than a bodybuilder in his build, like a lumberjack. Typically is seen sprouting a thick beard, a long hair; it is typically kept well in order. More monastic long than scraggly, straightened typically, or weaved.

Bio History:

At a young age, the noble family Valherren had several sons, but in all reality, had use for one and a fallback in case the eldest died. Sadly, he was the youngest son. His elder cousin, a priest in the eastern parts of the plains, took him in. For the most part, the order he was a part of was monastic and healthy, a station between the forest and the capital city; he could experience and learn a lot from those who traveled the lands.

Growing up in the monastic lifestyle, but with his noble heritage, he did well with donations funding a more fanciful lifestyle there in the monastery. Able to treat both themselves and those who came. He grew into a lifestyle of general luxury and necessity to do something with his time. He found himself being chastised and forced to do manual labor away from the roles he typically enjoyed, and when he continued his work, was when a group of holy warriors passed through around the age of nineteen or so. Within, he found his mentor, a holy knight named Kal, who took the sizeable young man as his squire and underling.

Torsten and his mentor Kal would continue to travel the western fringes of the forest, and the eastern plains, keeping local wildlife populations in check, how to become a master at arms, and most importantly, how to heal and earn his favor to use abilities to heal. But he continued his active lifestyle: traveling, socializing, fighting, healing, and praying. He was not one to settle much for long and was thankful that the warriors he was with did not stay in any place too long. But with time, he became quite the squire and quite the huntsman, finding a bond with faith and nature, bringing the two together.

But over time, the group of warriors was drawn apart, and slowly the group he was with grew smaller and smaller; Kal and Toresten were with six other Holy knights when a small riot broke out, and they were separated. He likely would have been killed if he had not fallen into a quickly moving river.

When he came to, a lot from the village had washed down river to the embankment. He took a sword he found that likely was from one of the warrior bands, a thick stringed bow and quiver, and whatever else he could take before heading out once again in hopes of finding his mentor and traveling by temples, churches, and monasteries, and doing small odd jobs such as repair, cooking, or basic labor depending on their needs.

Likes:

• A general fondness for nature
• Alcoholic beverages, primarily beers and whiskies.
• A high-quality lifestyle, comfortable arrangements, and higher-quality foods.
• Hunting
• Runic inscriptions (not that he can read most of them)

Dislikes:

• Monotony
• Solitude
• Being frugal
• Going without alcohol and meats
• Things he cannot read well that doesn't look 'exciting.'

Skills and Abilities:

Abilities:

• Master at Arms - Regardless of what kind of weapon he holds, he has basic knowledge of how to use it effectively. Suppose it is a martial weapon, such as a spear, sword, bow, or any form of militant weapon. He typically knows how to use it decently.
• Healing Hand - His body regenerates quickly, and because of this, he can take the wounds of others onto his body several times past what most people would call fatal, but due to his size, and sound constitution, he can heal others from even the brink of death.
• Faith's Weapon - The weapon or ammunition (in terms of bow/crossbow/flintlock/ranged) can be imbued with the divine sentencing of god. It burns those who have been judged against.

What are the drawbacks of those abilities?

• Master at Arms - He does not see much point in using things that are not weapons and thus doesn't know much about brawling with his hands or using general items/staff as weapons. If anything, they are defensive measures until an actual weapon can be found.
• Healing Hand - While it heals others, it gives pain to him. It is an extreme case or triage situation where this should be used, for when it is done; he will need to rest for a long while. He will be hurt, in pain, and likely near death in extreme cases, and will be out of any fight for up to several days until his body's natural and unnatural healing can take effect to bring him to a functional state.
• Faith's Weapon - Honestly, this one is hard; it's more or less a catch-22; this is just a good ability because it helps in many ways. It is a helping hand, but it's limited in its uses; you can't chuck a bunch of holy objects in hopes of smiting someone, it has to be thoughtful in its use and used only when needed, or else it may just be lost ever.

Skills:

• Medicine - being a man of faith and charity, his gift to those in the world is the tender hands of health. Being able to heal, medicate, and treat those needing medical assistance.
• Athletics - Being a stout man, he is typically able to do most things out of sheer brute force. Cutting trees, carrying supplies, and in tandem with his skills as a basic carpenter and mason, he could do repair work on most forms of buildings. It also has been used in recreational sports, such as dwarf tossing and arm wrestling.
• Survival - he knows how to cook, he knows how to clean an animal, he knows how to build shelters. He has a plethora of knowledge regarding survival, from patching up wounds to foraging. Living off the land is his life skill, even when on the move.

Theme

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muwAyNgqDiE&list=PL7dqoyDEFCSplm9WmmESNOostfpbIEWrU&index=4

Welcome to Vradia

Honestly I would say a reboot would be best, and maybe a discord just for better communication.

Just doesn't feel right with a completely new group like this.

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

The 18th Legion

Staging Point Throat - Southern Ursh

"Commander Red should be back soon hold your sword Grunbah." The Astartes said as he stared up at the towering brute, then immediately receiving a backhand that tossed the young Astartes aside like a ragdoll.

"I am your elder welp, you may be Sergent but I am your superior." Captain Grunbah growled before kicking the Astartes, staring at the rest of the new squad that had entered the camp just the day prior, "He said he would be back four days ago, and that I should be arriving reinforcements, a new batch of warriors, instead I get stunted runts with no will to fight."

There seemed to be a stand off, twenty thunder warriors against seven astartes. Both sides knew who would win, but the younger warriors did drag their sergeant back into their ranks. As both lines began to set up, swords, axes, and mauls all in hand and raising. At that moment, another stepped between the lines, "Grunbah, call your wolves back, for we need not shed blood outside of a sparring pit or the battlefield. An I would not think Theadon or the Emperor would wish to see these young soldiers destroyed before their first battle." Bombda stared at them and held out several canisters of explosives that wrapped around his chest, it was a crude deterrent, but it was one that worked; there was no fun in dying in an exploding.

With that, the group of thunder warriors turned and grumbled back into their barracks and tents, Bombda turned back towards the men behind him, "You will be under me... he is anxious for bloodshed, so tread lightly around him. Lock your barracks, and have explosives nearby he sees them as weak yet charges head first into artillery barrages."

"Thank you Lieutenant, he does realize that we are not thunder warriors but Astartes right?" the younger warrior asked, "No... The commander has tried to explain to him, but he is... idiotic and wild, he is also unhinged, and becoming worse. The more he thinks the worse he gets, and blood lust takes him."

---

"He is gone." a thunder warrior muttered out after closing the cover of a tent.

Theadon Red stood behind the man sighing, "He took his bike, and sword, not even his armor. He is headed to the North East from the tracks, but why?"

"I don't know... what is to the North East, snow?" asked the Warrior, turning back towards his commander, "And at this hour as well, doesn't he know he's more likely to freeze than find anything out there?"

"Check the maps and see, we can see if we can sideline the route to find him before we continue to our first objective." Theadon said before remembering something, "There is a village there, Seargent Lathurani and his men scouted it on their way here... I think... Do we continue without our objectives without him is the question. We let him rampage through the countryside alone, or we take him with us. The man can probably draw anything away from us alone with his bloodlust."

"Commander, do you think it wise to let him go, his men might follow suit?" The warrior asked, a bit of worry on his face.

"That might be for the best; we send his fifty men with a few trucks and their bikes to chase him... knowing them, it will spread more chaos through the countryside. They are all full of bloodlust, let them get it out. While... I would like to have their bodies in the end; I would rather not kill them like... the last three that have fallen to bloodlust. Send a scouting party behind them by a few days, maybe the Astartes... they may be at odds, but the young blood still have honor in their hearts and can collect those who have fallen. Bombda can lead them while I lead the rest of the eighteenth north."

He thought this out, it was their job to cause fear and terror in the realms out of the imperiums light, through darkness there is a light that comes from the fires of ruins, and rebuilding from the smoldering ashes. He thought about his on his way to see Bombda, but he also though of his conversation with his friend when he received the new warriors of the Imperium, he figured they would be replaced eventually with old age, if they died of old age, but at that moment he sighed as he took a deep breath, looking up at the sky trying to see a moon, but it was not there. The legions symbol was that of the moon cracked by blades of the imperium, he was a night terror, and tonight was a full moon. Blood flowed thick through their bloods as they all desired war once again, sitting in these stations resupplying is something most hate. He enjoyed it, it kept his mind off fighting. He knew he could do many things, but numbers did help. But he felt himself letting loose once again, he felt his body aching for destruction, it was almost apart of his nature, of the legions nature to desire destruction.

"Let them run free... we will not be able to contain them should they find out, so let them know. Find their commander and to continue to stage two of the objectives."

---

Central Ursh - 3 weeks later

---

"Lieutenant Mehnan, artillery fire at designated zone six. Six shots full salvo followed up by two shots of smoke." Rex said into a small vox caster unit as he held his pistol and sword in both hands, he was hidden behind a mound of stone, it hid him and six others. "If Grunbah made it this far, we have two hundred yards, and four buildings until we get to the outpost."

A minute or so later, shells landed in front of him; the human contingent of his force did better without the most bloodthirsty of his legion screaming at them and trying to flay them at night. But with that he stood and listened to two more pops down towards the grouping of buildings. He raised his pistol up and started to fire at a hole in building two. He saw a muzzle flash a moment before, and since then saw nothing. Twenty yards he had not realized he had gone so fast, but he was twenty yards from the breach in the wall as he jumped in to fight some form of the beast that came from behind him. He looked at the breach, and there was nowhere for this thing to hide. He slashed in through and let its body bisect itself after several moments before firing more shots into what he assumed was its head.

He jumped backed several feet after receiving a blow to his side, and he lowered his blade to see that this thing was reforming in front of him, dark ooze coming from it as he charged once again, and his blade fell several times against this monster he fought, and finally he cleaved it in two once again, and kept going until it was a pile at the floor.

He turned back, and continued down the hall, "By the emperor, what abominations live in this place?" In front of him, a door burst down with a large and bloody figure full of madness; he knew that madness and had seen it before it was Grunbah. Covered in blood, and sheets of skin the hulking figure stood with a sword and an axe in both hands.

"You caught up to me old man." Grumbled Grunbah, "I've fought many things and learned many things... I've sent you back the bodies of those you sent for me, and now... I get to kill a welp who should have fallen at my heels long ago."

Grunbah turned towards his superior and let out a roar as his arms went wide, with his arms before the charge. Blood and skins flapping against the speed of this monster. Commander Red lifted his pistol and shot the man several times in the face, watching the man drop to the floor feet from him. Surprised, with a bit of dew on his face, he slowly placed his sword to the back of Grunbah's neck and pressed down upon the spine, cutting it. It was a loss, but, a needed one, both in the reminder of this is how all of his warriors would end up, but also how he would end up one day.

The other, is that this became a butcher, instead of a warrior of honor, he sowed destruction of many kinds upon the lands far beyond that of which he would have taken. He saw the scars in the land left by this lone warrior, the scars in his own soldiers left hanging mutilated in effigies on the country side almost as if they were warnings from the enemy, but it came from within. He knew it to be from within but told all others differently.

Grunbah was brutal and sadistic, and in his last moments it showed, he had become almost an animal, but one of sport. One which desired only to become a sport, or allow its prey to. Death was only a final desire, and here it was given, likely not in the manner desired, but it was given and given swiftly. How long had he been moving, how long since he rested, not in some time. The building he was in shook, as the floor came down in front of him, and he climbed through the breech reloading his autopistol. He was thankful it brought Grunbah down, and surprised it did as well.

"Commander are you alright, the back half of your building came down?" someone asked through the vox channel.

"I am fine, this building is clear, finish your building and then let us proceed to the communications center. We don't have much time before the jamming is lifted."

Grunbah looked at the building, it looked like the one he was in, but with metal poles and dishes sticking from it, he saw a few using them as climbing aids in scaling the side to get to the roof, but he decided the door or one of the shell holes would be a better entry way for himself.

"Seargent, are your astartes ready?" Commander Red asked, "through the lower quarters with Bombda, take both of your squads, and meet me in the central room. Weizer and Wenttiv follow me. Yuidilon Standard to the roof, give the backlines a sight, and let honor be bound to our names."

To that several responses came through the vox network, all confirming their orders. He saw brutes charge to catch up behind him, but they were slow and he made it through the first breech as he came upon a group of three men, none of which stood a chance as his sword cleaved two in half, and his autopistols hilt caved the thirds skull in. He put a shot into the thirds head to put him out of his suffering before he kicked a door off it's hinges. Firing into any warm body in the room, he stepped on the door with a crack as the individual below the door started to break, he shot through the door to finish this poor soul as well. Two more shots, his magazine was empty, and he dropped with his thumb before letting his other hand release the sword impaling another and letting his fists pulp the last man into the wall.

Reloading once again, he retrieved his sword moments later smashing a panel in the room, and staring at the carnage that maybe took twelve seconds in total, if he was younger, he could have done it in eight. This, was slaughter, it was butchery, it was not terror, in terror you leave several alive, but so far all he came across was death. The astartes he heard below him, and he saw his own warriors follow past the room he was in. He saw them as butchers in that moment, not as the warriors he knew. He saw what other legions were, butchers, they had an artistic view, a morbid one, but it was methodical. It was logical, and full of terror. He sighed, Bombda and the Astartes he felt would be the last of those who could complete their goals, their ways. Their old ways, like in Gyptus, or when starting this crusade across the world. Slow, steady, methodical. Leaving the enemy pissing in their pants and surrendering rather than killing them wholesale. Instead of having bodies to work in workshops, or constructing roads and logistics, there was only bodies cut apart with viciousness and hate. He knew there was hate, he saw hate in himself too, he saw some the abominations within this place. This outpost, a chapel of some kind, some form of prayer, they butchered as well, but in a different way. He felt it, something was wrong, both with this place, but he felt like with some of those around him. He felt Grunbah was different as well.

He knew that something was wrong, "All units, set explosives for five hours, leave the central spire in tact, and leave our calling cards, but blow up the other buildings. Let nothing but this last building stand, then let us head out, we have three days to make it to where we need to be. So let us be quick, gather our dead, and let us go."

Theadon Red stared, and opened up a smaller communications channel, "Bombda, in my building, Grunbah is there, get his body and his things. We need it... to figure out the problems that are starting to arise. Make sure no one see him but those you trust to keep quiet... And please, be quick about it. He is in the lower level I only checked that spot, but search the rest, see if there are any survivors and keep them hidden away as well. I want to know what they faced before we arrived, this was far too easy of a fight."