Jb

The Grim Crusade

@agentmanatee That's deep, man(atee), real deep philisophical shit right there.

The Grim Crusade

I'll be honest - finding any sort of 'original' concept E.G. one not already associated with one of GW's 20 Primarchs, is going to be quite hard methinks; each one of them represents an emotion, a combat doctrine, and so on, and coming up with something unlike them might be somewhat of a challenge. Of course I'd not just copy & paste a Horus wannabe, but if I tried...say...an Ice Worlder who focused on sneak attacks and envelopment, it'd be like some sort of icy Alpharius.

Yes, I'm probably thinking way too much into this, but that's how I see it!

Will it stop me creating my own superhuman superhuman? Of course not. I'm here to crush enemies and spread the Imperial Truth...as are we all. *Shifty eyes*

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

@agentmanatee No worries, none of us post at the speed of light here.

@Bright_Ops Perfectly fine, good sir, all is well...or as well as one might expect with daemons talking to you.

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

@Kingfisher Then you already know the answer...fatty.

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

"You are certain that this is the correct location?"

The hustle and bustle of the 7th Arbites Fortress-Precinct was muffled, almost blocked out entirely, within the walls of the ornately decorated office-cum-study of Magistrate Arnaud Pellius; he was a gruff and grizzled veteran with over a thousand executions beneath his belt, a bull of a man with a shaven head of greying hair, his green eyes as sharp as the blade of a force-weapon and his mental faculties far beyond the intelligence that most would believe of a senior Arbitor.

Standing on the other side of his desk was none other than the ragged, but nevertheless menacing, figure of Father Wilbur.

"It is correct," replied the self-proclaimed clergyman, though what deity or pantheon of deities he truly served was something that the Magistrate had often wondered of this seemingly faithless snitch, "I was visited only recently by two individuals seeking something."

Arnaud gave a grim smile, leaning forward and propping his elbows up on the desk, gesturing for Wilbur to continue while he rummaged through a stack of holo-slates. What he was searching for was a mystery to the Father, who gave a quick shrug and went on.

"As I said, I directed two more of them to the Boutique - I imagine that should be enough for you to do as you wished?"

"Oh yes," chuckled the Magistrate, "more than enough."

For months now the Arbites had been working with local Enforcers on this level, seeking out and terminating all manner of heretical corruption - whether cults, sadistic orgies of bloodshed and sacrifice, or singular targets for kidnapping and interrogation - but only with the help of Father Wilbur and his less than savoury methods were they now able to put a large, shotgun round sized, nail in the largest coffin to be found in nearly the entire Hive. The Gentleman's Boutique had been a thorn in the side of the ambitious Magistrate for long enough, now it was time to put an end to the entire charade.

Applying pressure to a small button on his desk, a brief fizz and then a click to confirm that his voice was being received, Arnaud spoke into the vox-mic that opened a channel to his second-in-command.

"We have them. You know what to do."

No, they would not escape this time.

---

Blue eyes...blue eyes, speckled with gold.

"We should talk about how we can be useful to each other... Maybe ask mister Marko here to share his story."

"I believe Mister Marko is otherwise engaged," half-coughed the member of the third gender, rising as gracefully as she could to her feet, having been thrown pretty much to the floor as that oaf of an Astartes had spirited away that poor, gullible, young man, "but I do not doubt that you can help me?" It was a question, although she already knew the answer, her voice coming quietly from beneath the now lopsided veil. She carefully adjusted it without taking her eyes off of 'Ersus', the fact that he had caused her mind to grow fuzzy with words alone now causing her to remain on her guard - this man was not what he seemed, but then again she had known that too.

"Tell me..." she half-commanded, regaining her graceful poise and stalking the few steps back to Salvius with an exaggerated sway of her hips until she stood an arms length away, her eyes locking onto his even as her lips kept moving, knowing that a game of two manipulators had only just begun, "...in what way can you help me, Mister - I'm sorry, I never did catch your name, did I?"

---

Another enemy, and this one was seemingly not as keen on 'fair play' as the Ogryn was...

Urg had dispatched his fair share of Spikey Boyz in the past, although they all looked the same to him - any chance of telling that this frothing madman was a World Eater being pretty much non-existant - but even he could see that this one was not right in the head. Having seen his fair share of Weirdboyz, it seemed that Vinicius was also in the throes of some maddening spasm, the look in his eyes immediately telling the Greenskin that if he wished to survive then he would have to fight for it.

"Oi, ugly!" Came a shout from the same doorway through which he had entered, a group of squishy humans lifting an axe (or more correctly a choppa) the size of the largest of them, tossing it carelessly onto the sands of the fighting pit a few feet away from its actual owner, the thick door of metal then slamming shut once more.

Loud snorts of air came from the Orkoid warrior, his tusks gnashing together as he looked from the insane Spikey Boy to his beloved weapon, instinct winning out over caution as Urg threw himself in the direction of the weapon; landing heavily, he rolled into a ball as the reinforced wood of the choppas shaft slapped into the thickened skin of his palm, the Ork roaring as he came back to his feet an equal distance from both Ogryn and Berzerker.

It was an Eldar Stand-Off, 'cept they didn't have no Eldar.

@Keepvogel@BCTheEntity@Lord Coake@The Whacko@agentmanatee@Hank

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

@Kingfisher Yeees, but would have been better if you'd but it in your Character Sheet...

If you want to be aboard, and barge your way onto the shuttle, please do be my guest; the same goes for anyone else who is on the Golden Aquila but hasn't told me.

The Grim Crusade

@BCTheEntity It's cool...I look forward to dethroning you in the name of some dark and blasphemous deity(s).

The Grim Crusade

@BCTheEntity I mean the act of coming into another's thread(s) and essentially advertising without a by-your-leave; I don't mind! In fact I'm quite happy to have another RP where I'm not the GM, but, please, ask next time buddy.

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

Lord-Captain Horatio Drake - maligned and recently ostracised scion of House Drake - squatted like some grotesque upon his command-throne, his pale and aristocratic features fixed in an expression of extreme pensiveness, while his mind roamed hither and thither; even now he could still recall, all those months ago, the joyous moment when his father had announced that he would become the recipient of his very own Warrant of Trade. That moment had swiftly passed as soon as he had departed holy Terra, given a single vessel from his families miniature armada of ships, enough wealth to show that he was not completely destitute, and once drifting through the empty black of space he had only then fully understood why he been given the Warrant...and how final his exile was. It was true, he had never believed that his hedonistic ways and lack of interest in family matters would amount to anything, but as the twelfth son he soon discovered that he had been termed 'expendable' by his progenitor and selected to spread the honour of his House or die in the attempt - for the House of Drake it was a situation in which they could not lose!

Even the chariot which would allow him to make his way through the cosmos was of the lowest quality, at least in terms of what his father may have been able to gift him. It was a Cobra-class Destroyer, one of the most common ships in the Imperium, one that could accurately be termed as 'mass produced' by shipyards galaxy-wide, five-point-seven megatons of Terran craftsmanship and equipped with a crew of some fifteen-thousand. For ease of use, and to lessen expense, at least ten-thousand of those crew were servitors - blank minded fusions of man and machine, thoughtless slaves to his every whim - the remainder being living beings who made up up his closest advisors, a cadre of Armsmen who bore his family crest on their uniforms, and many he could truthfully not care less about. Perhaps the only advantage of the ship, that he had named the Golden Aquila, was the speed with which it could travel and manoeuvre, and the torpedo tubes that he had removed to make room for larger cargo holds.

Eyes half closed, he listened intently to the soft humming of the ships engine, the vibrations moving from the deafening epicentre of origin and up to his ears; he enjoyed listening to them, for they soothed his constantly frayed nerves and eased his troubled mind. This was because, deep down in his heart and soul, he knew that he was no explorer...no Rogue Trader...he was just some shaving from the block of wood that was his family, whittled away with a knife and thrown onto the fire that was his current state.

"My lord," spoke a voice, seemingly far away but actually right before him, the gruff First Mate of the ship causing him to tumble back into the world of blinking lights and shifting figures, of sights, sounds and Astropath choirs.

"Mister Briggs," acknowledged the slender man in his clipped Terran accent, one slender hand adjusting his deep green uniform while his other brushed the jet-black hair back against his skull, "what is it, that you must disturb me in the middle of my musings?"

First Mate Briggs sighed inwardly, looking at the figure that was his master and sighing again, "forgive me lord, but we have come into orbit of Escalon Seven; I thought you might like to know." Briggs had the air of a former Naval officer, straight-backed and straight-talking, and never yet had he failed House Drake or its offspring.

"Quite right," agreed the attentive noble, "please, let me see it."

Buttons were pressed, and the command-throne whirred about to look directly out of the viewing window, Drake narrowing his eyes into no more than slits as he rested an elbow on a knee. For moments that seemed to last forever he observed the slowly turning planet, a mass of colour that formed into all manner of continents of varying size, a civilised planet of the Emperor's Imperium that was both without law and prime hunting-grounds for the more...unscrupulous inhabitants of the galaxies fringes. Briefly he pondered, would the Imperium ever try to reclaim this planet from the clutches of corruption and vice? Why, it was only a few light-years from Port Wander, and he had seen first hand the efficiency of the Imperial Navy.

"Lord?"

He had known this moment would come, the moment when he was required to leave his ship and descend to the planets largest landmass, but it was not as easy as he had imagined it would be to remove himself from the relative safety of his floating fortress and the protectors aboard; he knew he must go though, for he did not know the Koronus Expanse - into which he intended to travel - and knew full well that most of his bridge crew, as handy as they were with a ship, would not be able to assist him with those duties he could not do himself. Finances for example, one of the greatest joys for many Rogue Traders, was something completely alien to him - Horatio Drake spent currency, he did not study it! Then there was protection from raiders and pirates, networks of contacts to form across the Expanse, as well as issues of not entirely legal nature, and so forth. All these things could go smoother, faster and with greater efficiency if he could find personages more capable than he to work for him; in order to do this he had been directed to Escalon Seven, for he was told that in all the sector there was no more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

"Have my shuttle prepared, Mr Briggs, and tell Missionary Barkov and to meet me in the hangar."

"Aye lord, as you wish."

It took half an hour for Drake to fully prepare himself, giving his resident religious fanatic time to ready his things and head toward the hangar bay, a small shuttle - able to carry Drake, Barkov and a dozen Armsmen - would be waiting there, bedecked in his House crest and their colours of black and white. Now, bedecked in his deep green uniform, trimmed with black at the epaulettes and lacing - one in the style of a Colonel of the Imperial Guard no less - and his fine trousers with there broad central stripe of crimson, he took long strides through the corridors of his ship; beneath this uniform he wore carapace armour, an auto-stubber on one hip, his family chain-axe, an heirloom handed down from the times before the Horus Heresy, on his other.

Upon entering the hangar, a vast expanse the size of a cathedral, he noticed not for the first time just how small he and the multitude of servitors seemed in comparison. "Indeed," he quipped to himself as he moved, "the Emperor does like to make us feel small..." in the distance he could pick out the shuttle and at least a dozen figures around the open ramp at the rear, one that would be his three-eyed passenger, his steps echoing loudly as his boots clanged against the metal grating of the floor, noise blocked out by the sheer amount of activity taking place around them; here some servitors were lifting and moving empty storage crates, others making snap repairs on otherwise functioning pieces of venerable technology, and above all the all-pervading thrum of the engine.

Picking out the Missionary as he made his presence felt - the Armsmen moving aside to flank their superior, salutes thrown up by every man of them, each then forming the sign of the Aquila - Horatio greeted the former Drill-Abbot with a smile, one hand gesturing to the shuttle, the other resting on the butt of his stubber.

"Tell me Artyom, are we ready to go? Are you ready to go?"

OOC for everyone!

Right, here we are. The Golden Aquila has just arrived in orbit around Escalon Seven – A civilised world similar to what the Wild West would be if it were an entire planet - and Horatio is about to begin his search for you wonderful folk!

Only the central continent is really inhabited, as far as anyone knows or cares, and the Trader et al will be heading to a particular settlement by the name of Nab's Holdout, named after a local and famous outlaw; technology is the Imperial standard, there is also gambling, whoring and drinking aplenty. He architecture, however, is as you'd expect in the Old West I.E. Ramshackle, mostly wood, and so on.

While Bright and I get our act together and get to the settlement, please feel free to post some introductions of your own. You could be lazing in a dive, praying to the God-Emperor, dealing narcotics...whatever tickles your fancy, really. You could also know, or not know, about the arrival of a new Rogue Trader to the township - perhaps even know a couple of details about him or his ship? I'll leave that up to you.

@Sarpedon@Durandal@Culluket@BCTheEntity@Kingfisher@Bright_Ops

The Grim Crusade

I see...head-hunting in my own threads?

Don't ever do that again, @BCTheEntity, I'm asking you.

I will join this thread, however, and probably just rek everyone else at some point.