"STOP. QUOTING. ME." Jb, 2019, quoted in 2022." Roland, 2022, quoted in 2022.
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7 yrs ago
STOP. QUOTING. ME.
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7 yrs ago
Gone fishing for a week, will return soon.
8 yrs ago
Happy New Year!
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8 yrs ago
Merry Yuletide, one and all! Gods bless.
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Bio
Greetings,
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
@mattmanganonTerminator or Devastator, please choose one, and not a blending of both - I'd look up Terminator Honours and Devastators, they're quite different; apart from that, I'll allow it. Interesting background.
@Lone WandererLooking forward to this...gotta love those lions.
@agentmanatee Horatio Drake, the noble son of a noble son, had no need to hear the sigh that would had signalled both the Navigators dislike for him, and his obvious frustration at the situation he now found himself in; this Rogue Trader may be self-absorbed, indulgent, quick to mock others and generally lazy, but to one born into a life within the class of the Terran nobility he or she need only look upon the other person to strip away everything and reveal their true selves.
Indeed, the entirety of the Terran aristocracy played such a game from the moment they were old enough to fool another person. The peacock fashions and clothing, the clipped accents and use of High Gothic in every day conversation, the almost emotionless way in which they held themselves - all were merely tools in a full box of tricks designed to allow the user to live one more day in such a grouping.
For all this he was still a very superstitious man, and whatever Gravius might have to say about the Emperor's Tarot was surely something that he would want to hear.
Moments passed, seconds ticking away, before he gave a nod of curt acquiescence, “I would hear it,” he yelled into his comm-bead, “what does the tarot say?”
All the while they drew closer to Outpost Fifty-Seven, and it would not be long now before both Drake and Gravius would get what they wanted; one to surround himself with the extraordinary and the unusual, and the other to get off the shuttle and away from him.
The Bloodied Fist Hab-Slums/Gang Crossroads/The Trade Market/Broken Exhaust
@Pripovednik@Hank@Kingfisher@Lone Wanderer@PeikDagmar probably considered himself quite smart after his little stunt, pulling one gang into a fire-fight with another in order to save his own life, probably pretty smug...what he seemed not to understand, but what he should have, was that the ecosystem of Outpost Fifty-Seven was like any other when it was disturbed, and he had just riled up a hornets nest.
The Bloodied Fist owned these slums, their boss Almano Jigandi was feared across the station for his ruthlessness and his willingness to kill anyone and everyone. Gangsters, drug-dealers, pimps and owners of seemingly harmless establishments had all suffered when they had signed a deal with this particular Devil. Now the Dagger had bought death to an entire crew of this gang, this boss, and news spread like a conflagration from one end of the Outpost to the other.
All across the station comms and radios crackled to life, otherwise unoccupied persons suddenly picking up weapons – either hidden or at least nearby – finding them loaded and awaiting the signal of Mr Jigandi to execute his will on not only the persecutor of this heinous assault, but also the gang that was now known to have assisted him.
In the Trade Market stalls were suddenly closing, only outsiders and the stupid keeping their livelihoods open, previously unseen groups of dispersed lowlifes – ex Guard, criminals, hired guns and others – gathering together to form the lowest tier of the Fists army on the ground.
From the better quarters, such as where the Broken Exhaust was situated, came the men that would lead these hoodlums and toughs into the fray; former officers of the Navy and Guard, experienced scrappers and knife fighters, and aristocrats without a throne to their name.
Others were mobilising, of course, for Outpost Fifty-Seven was a much divided patch of floating metal. Several families were tied to Jigandi by various machinations, their own bruisers and throat-slitters slithering off to find the nearest allied group, while over a dozen others simply holed up in their own headquarters and prepared to wait it out.
The gang to which Ego had belonged before his death, the Blue Virus lorded over by a former raider and pirate known as Black John, gathered all their forces to the crossroads. Now that Agmar and his cronies were out of the way, they had come to take over his hab-slums and fight to keep them if it came to it; several dozen blue-haired fighters, tooled up with anything they could find or carry, made their presence known at the crossroads where Dagmar was now more-or-less alone.
There would soon be an explosion of violence, and the fuse to the keg was already lit; would those lost individuals band together? Would they head for the port and hope to find a way off the station before it imploded on itself? Would they call in contacts of their own? Who could know?
Their lives, their choices, and hopefully they would make the right one.
So, yea.
All across the station I.E. Wherever your character is, they will see signs of preparation for gang warfare. Whether from members of the Bloodied Fist or others is up to you to decide, as is what your character is going to do now that soon people are going to start dying in the streets.
Of course, there is no way that Dagmar could have known what his actions would do, and yet it had now happened.
Will you team up, fight back, call on others to rally to your cause? Will you try to escape by any means possible? Whatever you do, it is up to you.
The gangs are not yet fully organised, so it will take a couple of hours or more for full-scale violence to break out – though there may be a couple of skirmishes between gangs living pretty close to one another.
@mattmanganonEeehhh, I'd rather not have homebrew, but if you can give me the particulars of that Chapter and such - so I know exactly what I'm dealing with as GM - then I may well consider it.
@agentmanatee"I can speak only for myself Lord captain. I am prepared to go... but I must ask, for what reason do you insist that I accompany you to the cesspool of Outpost 57? Would I not be more useful to you here Lord captain?"
A deliberate sneer stretched the thin lips of the Rogue Trader, twisting the corners into an expression that could be considered slightly manic, his eyes boring holes into those of the Navigator as his Armsmen filed into the shuttle and the pilots prepared the craft for launch.
“My dear Gravius, I honestly do not trust you, nor do I think it would be wise to leave you aboard; I know you are running from something, and I believe that bringing you with me would be the best course of action to take.” His expression changed to one of mock thoughtfulness, a thin hand gently stroking his hairless chin, “while it is true that, should you die, I would need to find another Navigator, it is a risk I am willing to take.”
With another flash of a smile, this one more genuine than the last, he swanned up the boarding ramp and made his way toward the front of the vehicle. Though he would sit in the passenger compartment, he sat in front of all others as it should be.
Soon enough the simple craft was in motion, rising from the deck and bursting out into the open nothingness of space, Drake's thoughts resting on the reason why Gravius Pemelton was there in the first place. Exactly what his crime may have been he did not know, but he had heard tell from over talkative deck-hands (those that were not brain-dead thralls) that the self-satisfied servant of House Pemelton was – much like himself – in exile from his true home; some said that he had murdered another Navigator in cold blood, others that he had gotten too close to the warp he studied, and others that he had partaken of human flesh.
No doubt the last was a ridiculous claim, but the others...
“Pilot,” barked Drake through an internal comm-bead, “how far to the stations port?”
“Not far, lord,” came the clipped reply, the pilot far too busy to prattle with his superior, “about half-an-hour.”
Oh God-Emperor, he was to be stuck in this flying coffin - accompanied by soldiers carrying munitions, weapons, and that three-eyed witch – for half of a Terran hour?! Well, may as well get some answers.
“Navigator Gravius,” he half-shouted above the noise of the shuttles engines, knowing that the Navigator had his own comm-bead which he rarely took off when outside of his quarters, “tell me, for I can not be certain of the reasoning, but how came you to be in my service? I realise that I hired you, of course, but it was Mr Briggs who came to know your particulars. I would be equally interested to know.”
Whether the mutant even replied meant little to Drake, but conversation distracted him from his worries and, since Mr Briggs had hired him, he may as well find out more about him. They would be spending much time together, after all.
@PripovednikNo one in the Bloodied Fist really liked the man many hereabouts knew as 'the Dagger', a suitable moniker for one who walked about like a one-man armoury, blades festooning him from torso to toe – blades that, on this day, he had had the misfortune of leaving in his room.
For some time now he had been renting a chamber from Agmar D'Etant, a snivelling weasel of a man, all rat-faced and bucktoothed, but a slum-lord who also happened to be a loyal servant of the head ganger of the Bloodied Fist. For weeks now he had kept tabs on Dagmar, covertly as it happens, reporting his findings to his boss whenever the opportunity arose and just waiting for the day when that angst-ridden fool would pay for the death of their agents at a certain celebratory meal.
It was an event that some might have forgotten, but the Bloodied Fist never forgets a grudge, and Dagmar, by protecting Mathias, had dropped himself right in it.
Now they waited for him outside the hab-slum, a seven-storey building housing over a dozen extended families in squalor and filth, at least eleven toughs of varying degrees of skill – each armed with a sidearm, from stubbers to ex-Guard laspistols, and preparing to end the life of this interfering fool once and for all.
How will Dagmar respond to this?
The area he has been renting is overcrowded, full of wretches and the most destitute on Outpost 57, one of the poorer parts of the station but with numerous alleyways and roads leading to more affluent sections.
In the immediate area are more hab-slums of varying heights, some with their own security provided by other gangs, some where a man could disappear...
As stated, there are eleven men (excluding Agmar – although he is there with them, but unarmed) each with some form of sidearm and a close-quarter weapon (mostly bats, knives etc) blocking the main entrance to Dagmars building; there is a back entrance, as well as a sewer entrance that comes up in the main lobby of the place, but there could well be more thugs there as well.
What you do is ultimately up to you, but remember that every action has a consequence.
@KingfisherThere it was, the Broken Exhaust – some would say the finest place in this part of town – and sitting inside that particular building was none other than fat Nisvillia Blissponis and her two favoured goons.
Ralph the Shark, named such on account of his rows of sharpened teeth, could not quite believe his luck as he observed them from the comparative darkness and shadow of a nearby street corner; dressed in his favourite flak-vest and torn trousers, his feet as bare as the day he was born, he had not expected to find Nisvillia this quickly! True, it has been several days, but his employer was an impatient man...should he be able to complete his assignment, well, his employer would be very happy.
Ever since her families fall she had been hunted, hunted by sharks like himself, and her very presence made her enemies of the larger gangs of the station. Emperor bear witness, his was not the only one willing to pay good thrones to see her life extinguished.
Slowly, softly, he slid the muffled las-pistol from its holster – it was a custom model, made specially for a nice untroubled kill, the elongated muzzle ensuring as little sound escaped as possible when fired – taking a knee where he stood and resting the muzzle of the weapon on an upheld forearm.
“One...two...”
On the count of three he exhaled and squeezed the trigger of his weapon, a searing beam of laser speeding toward the window of the joint, the heat able to be felt by Nisvillia as the projectile missed her face by a mere inch; whatever chance the Shark might have had was now gone, whores letting up screams and drug-dealers scattering to the four winds, the corpse of a waitress draped almost elegantly across the table where Blissponis and her hired muscle had seated themselves.
It was a botched job, and Ralph now knew his own life was forfeit, but if anyone thought this would be the last attempt on the life of this spoilt toad they were gravely mistaken.
Greetings,
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Greetings,<br><br>I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.<br><br>As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)<br><br>So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.</div>
Candy Cane Elf
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