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An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

@Sarpedon Either, I'm not too fussed; he can already be there within the Slaaneshi congregation, or can make his way inside, oooor...whatever really. Not certain when the post will be up, exactly, but I will get one up.

Warhammer 40,000 - Chasing Chaos

@Monochromatic Rainbow@Eisenhorn@rivaan@Skyrte

In the time it had taken the synapses within Stukov's mind to even send the electrical impulse from his brain, to his lips and limbs, and caused the words to tumble forth, Lartius had already made a complete and comprehensive sweep of the entire garage and the group of individuals present within. From behind his goggles he allowed his eyes to wander, never completely ignoring the bleeding female, but more than confident in his own abilities to heal her; mag-locking his maul and netter to his hips, concealed quite handily by his flowing robes of crimson, he focused first on the only one that had spoken directly to him.

Cog boy?

Cog, noun; one of the tooth-like parts around the edge of a wheel in a machine that fits between those of a similar wheel, causing both wheels to move.

Boy, noun; A male child or youth. Also: a son, irrespective of age (chiefly as referred to by members of the immediate family).

Assumed Conclusion: An attempt at rough humour by reference to present appearance, and station as a servant of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Possibly a common moniker of sorts. Stored for later analysis.

Looking the Armsman up and down, he decided that this Stukov was indeed an interesting machine, his internal cogitator gulping in vast amounts of raw knowledge and making sure that every inch of this man was recorded for possible use at a later date.

Name: Unknown

Age: Forty-four

Occupation: Unknown, analysis of speech patterns and slang terms indicate a background in the Imperial Navy, light armour and favour of the Mk Twenty-Two Cee would seem to support this.

Background: Unknown

And so it went on, taking in his entire body structure, possible blood type, ethnicity, colour of hair and eyes and in the main anything that might be useful now or in the future.

Completely ignoring his fellow inductee of the Ad-Mech, he half-walked and half seemed to glide into the garage and past the trio of still-standing combatants, coming to a stop as he loomed over the bleeding and damaged machine that they called 'Cath' like some sort of vampiric spider.

Initial prognosis shows multiple lacerations, multiple fractures – agitated by rough movement and handling – as well as significant blood-loss.

It was now that the wonders of the Mechanicus made themselves known, a medicae mechadendrite – a two-metre long limb of durable metals and plasteel for flexibility, tipped with what amounted to an advanced medical kit – emerged from beneath the robes covering his broad shoulders to hover over Cath. Meanwhile, multiple smaller Mechadendrites (those not the size of an entire limb), slithered forth, each tipped with various blades, lasers and strange liquids contained within injector tubes.

“Do not fear,” came a surprisingly soothing voice from within the triangular mask covering his mouth, “I shall take your pain away, and I shall fix you.”

Without any sort of hesitation, he slid needle of one of the injector tubes into a prominent vein – the small prick of the needle likely barely registering with the over-drugged soldier – and let the greenish liquid of the vial insert itself into her system; it would slowly ease her into a more relaxed state, one where she would feel little pain but also cause her body temperature to rise as she was forced to sweat out the inferior painkillers already within her.

Simultaneously his larger mechadendrite swung down, a luminous bulb, which was much more than a mere light, sweeping over her in a matter of seconds.

“This might hurt.”

This statement was less sincere, but altogether more serious than his last, two mechadendrites tipped with small clamps moving up to grip her arm – one at the wrist, the other nearer the shoulder – Lartius bending forward in imitation of a human sawbones, though he had no need to, and taking a look at the fractured limb; it was a clean break, or breaks, so that was good, what was not good was that she seemed to have other breaks such as a rib or three and possible damage to her spine. There was internal damage, hence the bleeding from her mouth, but he could administer further medicines that would help re-knit flesh and cease the pain once she was moved.

“Do not move.”

The largest mechadendrite - having finished closing her most grievous gashes and lacerations with a simple but effective flesh-stapler, which would at least stop the most serious bleeding – now hovered over her arm, smaller limbs flailing about as they worked to clear the areas around the fractures of material and dirt.

With precision born of meticulous training, as well as real-life application, he forced a mechadendrite deep into her skin; in it went, burrowing through the flesh to get to the areas where the bones were broken and, upon locating them, to force them together. Once together, a minuscule contraption emerged from within the centre of the mechadendrites tubing, between the tiny clamp holding the bones in place, a form of greyish liquid known only as osteoclay binding the larger bones together and setting as soon as it reacted with the heat of the body and the blood flowing through it – in short, it would act just like bone without having to wait for the bones to heal themselves, a lengthy and useless process in the opinion of the Genetor.

Having noticed that Stukov was going about making a form of crude stretcher, and judging that Cath should now be at least stable enough to move, he withdrew his mechadendrites back into the folds of his robes and gave a curt nod to the Armsman.

“My work would be more precise with a better environment; we must move her carefully to a more acceptable location.”

This meant anywhere with a suitable table, or at least surface where she could be laid down in more comfort than she currently was in.

The Fate of the Cursed (WH40K Renegade Space Marine RP: ALWAYS OPEN)

@Roosan The answer to your question is NO, I've just been busy at work, but I'll get a post up today where I meet the Inquisitor and all that jazz.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Righto ya'll, got an IC post up, feel free to post your own 'intros' to characters - as you may have noticed, I will be using Jan after all...just because.

@Shorticus@Lexicon@agentmanatee@Lord Coake if ya'll still want in, Im gonna need a CS, if not, then tell me, ye fools.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Duardo de Palanza de Fallucci de Trantio was to be considered on most accounts, although still one of the wealthiest men in Tilea, as a pretty broken sort of man; his fortunes had failed him in the last few years, he had become a reclusive shell of the man he had once been - locking up and hiding himself away from the world in his stronghold of stone - and now he was beginning to hear voices in the night and warnings of untimely deaths before they came to pass. Many said he was mad, and more sympathetic figures would sagely nod their heads and claim that he had a right to be after all that he had suffered, to which the opposite would sneer and go on about their business as usual.

Once upon a time he had been a jovial man, a rotund figure with three sons and a beautiful wife to call his own, his family home - the castle of Guilamuero, a central keep surrounded by a curtain wall and a deep moat, the serfs of his vineyards and estates living in settlements outside the walls - passed down to him on the death of his enterprising father, along with the old mans considerable fortune; it was a fortune he had used to fund the ill-fated expedition to Albion, the hiring of a mercenary army and the passage across the waves that would end in the deaths of all his sons, the decimation and desertion of his army, and the taking of his wife by another man into his bed. Oh, she claimed to have thought him dead...but he knew better.

Gaining passage back to his native Tilea from an Imperial skipper, with the very last of his coin, the now gaunt and ragged nobleman returned to an estate in ruins and a castle where only his faithful family servant Alfredo awaited him - yet Alfredo was old even when his father lived, and could not be expected to do much in the way of upkeep. He heard from this trusted man how his wife had spent all the money she could, never knowing about that which he had secreted away from all but himself, before taking the serfs and herself to a rivals estate somewhere to the south in the Republic of Remas.

All was lost, and the only artefact he had gained from Albion was a small golden talisman, a roughly hewn thing carved into the likeness of a Lizardman's skull, which over time he had began to think was driving him mad - even when he tried to rid himself of it, throwing it into the moat, it returned not moments later to lay neatly on his dusty desk, form where he liked to look out across his hilly and empty domain of a sunlit day.

Eventually, with anger and revenge burning a hole in his chest, he sent Alfredo and the swiftest mount that his wife had not taken to every inn, brothel and crossroad across the Principality of Trantio which read;

"Duardo de Trantio, Lord of Guilmuero and man of expansive wealth, seeks daring adventurers and sell-swords in need of employment to attend him at his castle in the foothills of the Apuccini mountains east of the city of Trantio; for those that attend there shall be food and a payment of coin extended to them simply for their presence.

The afeared of death and weak-hearted need not apply.

Make yourself known at the drawbridge, where a servant shall be waiting."

This was Tilea after all, so all one need do was wait and they would come...or would they?

Guilmuero had a black reputation since his return, many saying that it was cursed by the spirits of his slain sons, mercenaries of his former expeditionary force claiming that Duardo himself had partaken of eating human flesh when they had become trapped in a bog land near some odd structures, before being ambushed by a Druchii raiding party that is.

Yes, only the foolish or the desperate would find their way to that place, so they claimed.

************

Sometimes fate is known to tap you on the shoulder, offering you a helping or not-so-helping hand or direction, and other times...other times it simply slaps you across the face!

It was in the latter way that Jan was awoken from a rather pleasant sleep, if you discount the leering Goblin faces and the blood-curdling screams of his family being butchered, when a scrap of paper fluttered by, driven by the soft breeze coming down from the Apuccini Mountain range to try and smother him in his sleep - the impact was so sudden that he almost rolled off of the lightning-split tree trunk on which he was sleeping, straight into the dying embers of the fire he had lit the night before and allowed to turn to ashes.

"By all the Gods," he muttered, wrenching the paper away and glaring at the scrawled writing, unconciously plucking the long-stemmed pipe of clay from his pocket and clenching it between his teeth, "money...adventure..." food! His hand now scrabbled for some pipe weed and, satisfied it was enough for his morning smoke, pressed it into the bowl of the pipe and looked for something to act as some tinder, that was until his eyes fell once more to the paper before him.

Memorising the name of the castle, the location, and the name and title of this Tilean potente, he tore the blasted paper apart and sprinkled it liberally with his weed, using the last and largest piece to dip into the embers and alight his pipe.

"Aaaah!"

He could feel every worry draining away with the first inhilation, his toes curling and then relaxing, his mind becoming both clearer and more focused, and there was only one thing now on his mind...breakfast.

Sitting now as he was at a crossroads in the Apuccini foothills, the coarse and rugged yet rather beautiful terrain so far from his Mootland home as to make him weep, it was a good thing he had stocked up in Remus when he had the chance! His pack bulged with all manner of ingredients, the all-important cooking pot and frying pan hanging from the pack that was almost as large as himself, and it was as he recalled how he had got them that he cackled into the open air.

"Aye, they all be wanting a taste of the Halflin' sausage."

Oh how he wish others could have seen the look on the face of the Butcher when he discovered his wife and the stunted Mootlander, one atop the other and seemingly rather happy, the poor lady resembling a sausage herself - all tight in her flesh, as if her innards strained against it, eager to escape - and probably having had no attention from her husband for many years before Jan arrived; how he laughed to himself as he set about preparing his earliest morning meal, plucking fat sausages, thick bacon and even an unbroken egg from the depths of his pack.

It was known by all races that Halflings were considered able to make something from nigh on nothing, and Jan, as broken and deranged as he was, possessed that innate knowledge as much as any other.

"Well, Jan me lad," he yawned after having devoured his fried meal, feeling only half full but a little more tired than he had some time before, "time for yer second nap says I..."

Listing off the important details of the contract he had smoked away, he lay back down on the log, his bedroll beneath his head to act as a pillow, and was soon asleep once more, safe in the knowledge that no one would slit the throat of a sleeping Halfling. After all, what would be the point? They were much more useful alive, anyway.

@POOHEAD189@Austronaut@HopelesRomantis@Culluket@Kingfisher

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Righto peeps, gonna get a post up today.

@Hank You've not missed much, we've not moved much...

Everyone else, we're gonna get everyone together and then - after possible character interaction...or 'interaction' - then we'll carry on, my wayward sons.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

I am here, as always, but I'm off to work in about...45 minutes; I'll give my yes/no to the profiles when I get back - in about 8 hours, sorry Manatee - and then I'll see about another post. I do want to keep this alive, so do remember to spread the love heresy if you know anyone, aaaaaand that's about it for now.

See you all on the flip-flop side.

Warhammer 40,000 - Chasing Chaos

Aye, I'll get a post up soon, just doing night-shifts atm so I'm a wee bit burnt out; never fear though, Cath will be patched up before she bleeds out...I hope.

It's A Wonderful Life! - An Imperial Guard (40K) RP [Looking for Guardsmen]

I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry!

Been pulling night-shifts all this week, and my energy - bodily and creative - is pretty darned low; I'll get a post up by this week-end, I'll wrap everything up with a neat little bow and we'll get onto something else.

Again, apologies all....or all three of you, anyway.

Beyond Civilisation's Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP [Seeking Desperate Souls for Adventure!]

@Kingfisher Sure thang, her and @Durandal can already be aboard, as you were on 57 before it blew. So we'll just assume you two clambered aboard before it went all imploding an shizz.