Jb

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

@BCTheEntity That is a rather complex question, but to make it shorter and less boring, psykers are picked especially to become 'ordained' monk-warriors on their home world - even if they don''t really see it as psychic powers, more like...gifts from the Divine Wind, I suppose - the majority of the temple-cities armed forces that are not part of the middle-tier warrior caste being either peasant levies or lay-monks AKA all those monks in the temples that aren't psykers/haven't reached enlightenment (and never actually will or can, at least not in the way that their superiors have).

On their home world it is these monks, gifted with divine powers at birth, that make up the ruling councils and hierarchy. So it follows into the legion, pretty much all of them being native-born sons of Twenty-Three Sixteen and not Terrans.

Out of interest, is there any way/method of conversion by which one can become a psyker in 40K?

I was originally going to have those most 'enlightened' of the XVth able to sort of 'unlock' their latent psychic powers, but as you correctly pointed out this probably isn't even possible/plausible.

@Hank I appreciate that, meus amico! Not really sure what you're talking about, but I take every scrap of praise I can get.

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

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

Drake was halfway up the boarding ramp of the shuttle when, much to his surprise and very real annoyance, he was accosted by numerous members of his 'bridge crew' that he had actually almost forgotten completely about. The incident at Outpost 57, though still seared into his mind and memory for all time, was something he had tried extremely hard to forget...but he could not forget, not with at least several of his crew members being survivors from that doomed port. It vexed him greatly that one of those surviviors had to be Lithalia Blissponis, the last living member of a once-great criminal family, now a constant pain in his arse.

Allowing his Armsmen to board the shuttle ahead of him, the refined gentleman who also happened to be a Rogue Trader turned back to look at the faces. Yes, they were all there! Lithalia Blissponis in all her flabby glory, Artyom Barkov the religious nut-job who was accused of something that Drake didn't entirely disapprove of, and the pious Sister Mycandra Castell (and the waif that made up the second part of that double act). In all honesty, he'd always wondered what it would be like to bed a member of the Sororitas, but he'd never attempted it because he valued his genitals being attached to his body too much.

"Don't worry. It isn't because you both missed the last sermon or to complain about the size of the chapel. It's more just an informal visit to see how you're going."

"Well then, praise the God-Emperor for small mercies, ey?" Chimed Drake with a chuckle, dutifully making the sign of the Aquila across his chest, now if he would only rid me of Blimponis over there he thought to himself, giving her his best 'I hate you but will pretend that I actually enjoy your company' expression.

"Lord Drake, I shall require passage for myself and my page to the surface of this planet to replace the stock of supplies I have lost. I am certain you would be willing to oblige.”

Looking over the heads of those already crowding him, he cast his gaze over the Sister of Battle and flashed her his best smile - not that he thought it would really have an effect on her, except showing her that he was a benevolent sort of leader - giving a curt nod of his head, "you are more than welcome to accompany us, Sister. You and your...companion there." Something about that boy gave him the willies, something just not right about him.

"If you'll all follow me, we shall soon get underway."

Once they were all aboard, the passenger section closed in with a hiss of the rising ramp and a loud thump as it sealed the shuttle, Drake took a moment to compose himself. Making sure that his weapons were within easy reach, his green and black jacket - taken from the stores of a Guard regiment he had never even been a part of, the Ninty-Sixth Sasan Rifles - free of creases and his trousers, a deep blue with a crimson stripe down the centre of the outer leg, held well in place by his belt. Lastly he checked his hair, tied in a top-knot on his head, his lips curving into a smile unseen within the darkness of the shuttle bay, devilish red light being the only thing illuminating the shuddering interior.

It was not long before they landed, setting down a mile or so outside of a settlement known planet wide for its less-than-savoury inhabitants. Some might well have seen the shuttle, some may even be on their way, but Drake was not really concerned about much at all...at least not until he exited the shuttle, his eyes looking toward Nab's Holdout, and had them widen somewhat when an explosion of white light and the sound of firearms exchanging shots could both be heard and seen coming from the settlement.

"Emperor's shrivelled bollocks," came the expletive, one hand already reaching for the chain-axe dangling from his hip, "form a line, loose spread, and keep pace with us," he ordered the Armsmen, "we're going in."

Please read, ya'll

Okie dokie, as with most of my RP's you can preeetty much do what you like from this point; if you wish to race ahead, do so. If you want to hang back, do that. Want to kill a couple of folks, meet with a drunk Navigator? Sure thang. I will be watching.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Alfredo, eldest and last serving member of the de Trantio family (or what there was left of it), sat deep in thought at his small table located in the gatehouse of Guilamuero castle. He still thought of it as a castle, even if it was now little more than a central keep - something so sturdy not falling easily to the ravages of time and disrepair - ruined sections of tumbled-down walls, and a moat that would barely be able to stop a half-capable swimmer let alone an invading army!

Fortunately he and his master had little to worry about on that account, people for miles around referring to him as 'the Cursed Duke' and claiming that the castle was haunted; one villager had even invented a plethora of ghostly apparitions from deaths that had not happened anywhere near Guilamuero castle, the rest of his superstitious friends spreading the same tales like wildfire through a dry forest.

Truth be told, he did not expect anyone to come. Oh yes, he believed that money - and of that the Duke still had plenty secreted away - was a most excellent motivator, but he knew for a fact that mercenaries were a troublesome, quarrelsome and unsavoury assemblage of characters. Some there may be, yes, but even if they did turn up he imagined they would likely take one look at the castle and turn right back around; for days now he had sat hunched-over in his little wooden gatehouse, doing his best to keep the Duke alive, to keep the cobwebs and dust from the main hall in case someone was mad enough to approach and seek employment with a man who had gotten his own sons killed, and he had even stocked up the larder with whatever foodstuffs he could purchase or steal from traveling merchants or villages hereabouts.

"Woe...woe is me..." he began to bemoan once more, his hands coming up to cover his face, his eyes looking down to notice the holes in his hose and how they had gotten much bigger recently, "woe...wo-" wait, was that a sound? No, it couldn't be!

Lifting his head from his hands, and standing up slowly to take a small peek out of the one window of the gatehouse, he almost gave a small squeak of fright when he caught sight of the green-skinned individual standing before the drawbridge, clearly mouthing something to itself in a probably unintelligible tongue. Well, he certainly looked the part of a sellsword, the pointed helmet on his head most becoming if Alfredo said so himself; perhaps this was the beginning of something after all?

"Welcome!" Half-yelled the servant as he emerged from the gatehouse - dressed in the red and orange livery of his master and a pair of mouth-eaten hose, he was really not much to look at. An elderly man with sun-browned skin like toughened old leather, balding on top of his head and with a slightly puckered mouth, his back hunched from decades of scraping and bowing.

"Welcome, friend, to Guilamuero Castle! The seat of my master, the Duke de Trantio," a wide sweep of his arm was given to make sure that Chengizz realised the majesty and grandeur of the pile of stones before him, "please, if you have come seeking employment, then follow me. This way."

Not even waiting for an affirmation that he was a sword-for-hire, Alfredo moved off at a sloping gait that was easy for anyone with fully functioning legs to keep up with. He made his way through the corridors of the keep, a square building four-floors high and made of solid stone from the nearby mountains, with the confidence and knowledge of a man who had spent pretty much his entire life wandering those halls, stopping only when they reached a hall - the feasting hall - illuminated by dozens of candles, although light still came in through numerous arrow-slits in the walls; directly before them, laid out with dedication and precision, was a table capable of seating over twenty-four people that extended to the farthest reaches of the hall, all manner of food and drink presented there - from partridge and wine, to boar and ale, most foods were accounted for.

"Eeer, it occurs to me that I have not even asked your name -" he paused for a brief moment, taking in the Hobgoblin with a quick glance, "um, sir."

For everyone

Right then, looks like the Hobgobbo is the first to arrive! Please make your ways to the castle, you can arrive sooner or later, you can go to the hall, look about the place, or just wait at the bridge. It's pretty much up to you.

@Austronaut@Shorticus@Kingfisher@Culluket@POOHEAD189@HopelesRomantis

Warhammer 40,000 - Chasing Chaos

@Rithy Eh, fair enough...

Well, no need to worry, my Genator is perfect in every way. :)

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

Indeed, it's why I put 'chaplains' in apostrophes; the monk-warriors who lead the Fifteenth are very close to what Chaplains would be, if they existed as an office at this point. That being said, they are certainly a strongly spiritual lot, just more Buddhist/Daoist in their views than...whatever Lorgar and his mental-patients were. Emperorist? Emperites? Emprians? I dunno.

They're based off the Shaolin Monks, Taoist Priests of China, aaaaand the Yamabushi and Sohei of Japan all mushed into one nice package.

I guess you could say that they're far more philosophical and not all that religious really.

Warhammer 40,000 - Chasing Chaos

@Rithy As much as I like your post, aren't Lilith and Natta in a completely separate area (the garage) from the rest of you? How would she be able to just look over at them? Oh...and my character does eat, just more like Data from Star Trek that an actual person.

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

Whelp, the Monk-Warriors are here...please bear in mind that my sheet will be going through heavy editing anyway, at a later date. For now, banzai!

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

Fū Xiá, the Tamer of Storms

Name: Fū Xiá the Tamer of Storms (Pronounced: Foo SHya)

Gender: Male

Homeworld: Twenty-Three Sixteen (Xīn Fēng)

The planet designated Twenty-Three Sixteen by the expanding Imperium - due to the recorded number of the colony fleet dispatched from Terra during the Age of Technology - but known to the local populace as Xīn Fēng is a planet of medium size, containing three separate continents, and of an extremely venerable lineage; known once upon a time as Ilithiala by the long-lived Eldar, it was one of many Maiden Worlds nearing the end of its development when the fleet of Terran vessels appeared in orbit, an almost perfect paradise of towering mountain peaks, lush grasslands and steaming jungles, frozen caps and an ecosystem that did not allow for things such as plague or disease to even exist on the planets surface.

Of course, nothing lasts forever.

What followed was a conflict of terrible savagery and merciless actions, the Terrans of this period not being adverse to intelligent xenos species, but seeing a world so close to their ideal garden of Eden was too tempting and too easy to take for themselves that they had to take it...and take it they did. Over the course of fifty years the human fleet, aided by forces on the ground, pushed the Craftworld and Exodite Eldar already settled there back into the mountains and engaged in vicious guerilla actions. Although the humans numbers were beginning to tell, the Eldar would not surrender or leave their world to these apes, and so something drastic had to be done; taking the most vile and dreadful biological weapons that they could find, the Terrans choked the very life out of the perfidious Eldar and took the planet for themselves, claiming it as their own and renaming it as they went.

Whole swathes of once fertile land had been destroyed forever, turned into nothing more than valleys and plains filled or covered with gases so toxic that they could kill a man in less than a minute, while the use of such weapons had irreversibly altered the once balanced state of the planet, leading to the current state of the planet - a planet of winds capable of tearing buildings from the earth by their very foundations, of storms so violent that little can resist there fury, and of rainfall that annually wipes out villages by the score.

For the current inhabitants these 'seasons' come at set times of the year, those able to read them being safe enough if they take the correct precautions, many retreating to the numerous temple-cities of the plants theocratic rulers - men and women that treat the very wind itself as a divinity, the various aspects as lesser deities - their strongholds acting as fortresses, monasteries and cities all in one, each one a mountain steadfast built into the towering peaks by the former occupants of the planet and now twisted to serve new owners; what technology used by the Eldar is rarely ever seen or touched, mostly because the humans of the modern period have no idea how to use it! Similarly, that plentiful technology bought all the way from Terra - those same filters and such that keep out the toxins and death-causing bacteria from these primitive Hive Cities of stone - are treated with distinct reverence and ritual by the Yaushi or monks of these places charged with making sure that they continue to function.

In short, Xīn Fēng is what could be termed as a Feudal planet (though semi-Civilised might seem more appropriate), advanced technology mingled with primitive beliefs and ideologies referring to the Divine Wind, while whole areas of all three continents are so blasted by the effects of war that they are no longer habitable by any except for the 'drakes' - wingless serpents of great size who seem to use the air currents to glide, as if swimming through the breeze - these beasts are seen as holy creatures by the ruling theocracy, and treated accordingly. Those areas not irradiated or gassed are the homes of those at the lowest to mid-tier of the human populace - farmers and a peasantry that know their place - the upper tiers reserved for the warrior class and the militant clergy that make up the highest tier of all. Their technological level can certainly be classed as 'Feudal', for they have little in the way of agricultural advancement, their most developed weapon is the black powder arquebus, and what higher devices or knowledge they may have is restricted or simply too advanced for even the holy men and women to work. Lastly, it is the synthesis of religious belief systems and ideologies, linked intrinsically with the internecine warfare practised by every each temple-city against the other, that truly makes Twenty-Three Sixteen a place of highly developed culture and religion but also one of savagery and backward thinking brutality.

Appearance: With his appearance, as with many things about him, Fū Xiá is quite an enigma; in his height he is of a rather diminutive stature for a Primarch, being around nine-and-a-half feet tall when out of his armour, and unlike many of his brothers and sisters he is of a much leaner body type - which should not be mistaken for gaunt or undernourished, but is still seen as a sign of weakness by some. Why he is so short, almost the same height as those that he leads in fact, and why he lacks the muscle mass of some of his brethren is unknown to all and any but the Emperor and himself.

On the contrary, his is the body of one who has trained for unending hours to perfect it, a lean but broad-shouldered physique sporting a highly visibly and clear musculature putting to rest any doubts that one might have regarding that. Not for him the bulk of one who shows that they could crush rocks in one hand, nor the arms as thick as the trunks of trees, the fact that he can kill a man with a single blow is not something he feels that he needs to reflect in his body.

It is in the matter of his face though that the largest difference between himself and his more Emperor-blessed siblings can be seen; his own features are angular and sharp, his usually hairless jawline more pointed rather than squared, and his almond-shaped eyes each containing a pool of stormy grey. It has been said that looking into his eyes for too long can make one feel as if they have just entered the eye of a hurricane...or emotions of extreme peace, depending on his mood. As is the custom of one ordained into one of the temple-cities he regularly shaves his head, seeing it both as a sign of vanity and as a devotional ritual. When not in his armour, as with most of the 'higher ups' up the legion, he will don a head-wrap of crisp white material, while his warriors favour a simple headband displaying their clan mon in the centre.

As with almost anyone of import among the XV Legion, his body is rather riddled in tattoos; these commonly take the form of stylistic representations of the element of the wind, perhaps a contorted face of a daemonic deity, or artistic depictions of the Wind Drakes that roam the continents of the planet - these latter creatures possibly descended from the 'drakes' used by Eldar Exodites on the planet before the coming of man. Colours range from those most associated with the air and sky - bright shades of turquoise, greens, blues and the like - all the way to black. In the case of Fū, both of his arms are turned almost a different colour by the swirls, twists and wavy patterns made upon his flesh, even the upper part of his back and shoulders patterned with the scales of a Wind Drake, or Fēng-nar-hebi.

His artificer armour imitates that of the planet upon which he was nurtured, with the certain elements of the Mark II power armour being moulded into something completely different; the face-plate of his helmet for example is forged into the shape of a snarling old man, with the top of the helmet sporting a lifelike head of hair. Meanwhile the chest and back plates, usually adorned with the Aquila and the like, have been shaped into the gaunt torso of a starving monk - a strange form of armour worn by some members of the militant clergy upon his planet - the flesh, through which the ribcage can be seen, perfectly sculpted and usually covered somewhat by loosely worn robes of white and grey when in battle; a theme shared in the armour of the legs and arms. In short, it regularly appears that this particular Primarch is actually wearing the gaunt but far larger body of a starved monk-warrior.

Commonly worn around his neck is a symbol of office on his homeworld, a collection of one-hundred and eight beads known as onenju or 'thought beads'. His own beads also contain a picture of an impression of the Divine Wind, used as an emitter for a conversion shield which defends him both in and out of battle, while also being used to centre his mind and calm his nerves.

Lastly is his favoured weapon, a glaive-like power weapon of twelve feet, topped by a two foot blade of slightly curved steel known as the Wind's Fury; this is supported by the twin set of curved blades worn by all members of the warrior caste on the hip, the daisho set of one longer blade and one shorter in length.

Personality: Fū Xiá was raised as a man of two halves, balanced halves but two differing halves nonetheless, this has affected everything from the way he picks and fights his battles to his interactions with others.

Firstly, as was intended when the Emperor began his creation, Fū is a warrior first and foremost with the culture of his adopted planet only emphasizing this over more academic pursuits; from a young age he was taught the many ways to kill a man while also honouring him, how to look into the eyes of an adversary as his life slipped away into the breeze, and the plethora of armed and unarmed combat systems open to one of his unique abilities for learning - what this has done is nurtured him into a robust individual, fully confident in his own abilities both on and off of the field of battle, a simple figure who has no need to demonstrate their skills or abilities to anyone, and a Primarch who may be not much larger than your average Astartes but is actually so much more. In his life he has worked to develop his own code of honour, as he sees it, one that means those who can gain his trust and friendship - something not all that easy to do - will have a loyal and devoted comrade for life, a code that means he abhors the senseless waste of life among both his own legion, civilian populations and even his enemies if he can help it.

Maybe not the largest part of his personality, but certainly what has made him the way he is and influenced him utterly, is that other half of himself, and that is the 'monk' or scholarly half.

Living most of his adult life high in the mountain peaks - surrounded as he was by wise men, their cohorts, and vast libraries of knowledge - has made Fū Xiá somewhat of an introvert, and altered his perceptions of life and reality, producing a nimble and quick-witted mind but also a Primarch who believes that although the human form may be perfect, it is clear to him that the internal workings of man are far from it. Through the teachings of his mentors and martial trainers, as well as through many days of meditation and self-reflection, he believes that one must always seek to improve and better oneself both internally and externally; in this way he has become a quiet and softly-spoken warrior, his outer expressions concealing his innermost thoughts, and his strongly held belief of mind-over-matter allowing him to endure bodily and mental hardships to an even greater than one may have believed possible in a Primarch.

Finally, one cannot grow up on Twenty-Three Sixteen without being infused with the belief in the Divine Winds, studying the Wind Drakes and learning from the premier military manual on the planet the Fū-neh-isay or 'book of air', which has given Fū Xiá a rather unique outlook on things that many others may consider trivial. For example, there is no true Fū Xiá, the jovial and friendly one that you see may not be the one that you see when he is removing your head from your body, or the still and contained monk-warrior may not be the man you see besieging a city with biological gas weapons at a later date. Like the winds after which he is named he is extremely hard to corner, hard to read and even harder to fully understand.

Skills: The quintessential warrior-scholar, Fū is an intelligent, cultured and quick-witted individual who is able to see ten steps ahead, to adapt swiftly to most situations, when his adversary may see only seven steps in front of them - this could take place in the broad sphere of warfare, or the more compact space of interpersonal conversations, but either way it is extremely rare for this Primarch to ever be taken by surprise. His favoured strategy is one developed from his unarmed combat, known to himself as 'defensive-offense', awaiting the first strike of the enemy, absorbing or 'blocking' their attack, then decimating them utterly; it is for this reason that he rarely, if ever, goes on the attack.

A 'skill' in a similar vein is his ability to read people, to truly see them and their intentions within moments of engaging with them, although he rarely ever shares this fact with others for fear that they might shun him. Through the various forms of observance and training he has had to endure, he has become an unarmed fighter without peer - at least among his enemies - using weapons as an extension of his body and developing himself into a weapon all of its own.

The holy men of his legion, 'chaplains' if you will, have the ability to alter and use air as other psykers have distinct abilities of their own; the flip-side of this is that many are unsure whether this actually is a psychic ability, the meditative exercises of the same monk-warriors allowing one to develop oneself from within, and ultimately to shape and use the element of air as if it were nothing - from bringing in fogs and mists to help with an ambush or obscure an attack, to killing another being by depriving them of oxygen - only those who have reached an almost blank state of being and mindfulness able to perform such things at will.

It is severely odd therefore that Fū himself is actually a psychic 'blank', something that was sensed early on by the elders of the mountain temples but seen as a form of enlightenment!

For, although blanks are commonly looked down upon by others, it is the ultimate goal of the monk-warriors to make themselves 'empty' of all internal strife and worry, to focus oneself utterly, and...in a strange way, and not truly of his own doing, Fū has inadvertently accomplished this. It is probably best for him that this 'skill' or 'latent ability' has not yet turned him into full-blown Pariah, manifesting mostly as a feeling of utter stillness and calm (a feeling that many find nevertheless quite unnerving ) over baseline humans, but in turn shielding him against the assaults of psykers.

This would later be found to be designated as 'Chi' on the assignment chart of the Astra Telepathica.

Biography: They said that nothing could live in the toxic zones of Twenty-Three Sixteen, that it was death to all and everything save the great wingless Drakes, and yet - on the day that the planets isolation and the warp storms encompassing it were to both be shattered - a meteor was said to have fallen from the sky and bought with it the stars and the moonlight. Of course, this is not what happened; for it was the coming of a Primarch to this Feudal world, his gestation pod hitting the chemically decimated earth of a region near the great Temple-City of Mount Huangxia, that would give him both his name and herald the coming of a new age for the people of that world.

Incapable of entering these regions without protective equipment, old suits left from the wreckages of the Terran colony fleet after which the planet was named, it took many months for those that had seen the plummeting pod to even discover what it was - most not even prepared to attempt the trek into the unknown. Most fortunate it was for them then that he who would come to be called Fū Xiá, having grown swiftly into a boy the size of toddler, simply walked out of the area he had been stranded in; there were those that called him a god, others claiming that he was a monster and should be killed immediately, but upon seeing the child - so full of life, his deep eyes gazing up at them, and a spine-tingling sense of calm all but sapping their will to do harm unto him - they joined the others in proclaiming him a marvel and a wonder who should not be touched by hand or cold steel.

The High Abbot of Mount Huangxia, a man of almost one-hundred and seventy years of age and very well preserved, came to the peasant village where the boy was now being clothed and fed. For almost three days he simply sat in the village and looked at the child, his face an unreadable mask, before giving a surprising and curt nod of his head. "This child," he announced in a voice like dried parchment, "is the one we have waited for, see how the storms have given way, see how we can now see the sky once more...truly he is the one we have been promised."

Completely unwilling to allow this child, who it was clear to see was no ordinary infant. He was carried to Mount Huangxia on a stretcher and given the name Fū Xiá which roughly translates as 'wind hero' - once he had entered the broad and thick gates of that mountain monastery, a life of solitary contemplation and martial training ahead of him, his fate and how he would be raised was sealed. For years he remained within those halls of stone, dug deep into the mountain, a place of vast halls and libraries filled with scrolls, manuscripts and the like in a calligraphic language that he could not understand at first, but soon became his first language in terms of both reading, writing and speech.

By the time he had reached maturity, developing into his prime after a decade or so, the fact that a giant - for although he was average for a Primarch, he still towered far above the rather squat population of his homeworld - was being housed and secreted away at Mount Huangxia could no longer remain as such; having kept him hidden for all these years was a minor miracle in itself, and now the other temples were gathering their warriors. If they could not have this gift from the heavens, then they could not allow a rival to possess him either. A loose confederation was soon formed against them, and within a matter of months there were thousands arrayed against them, forming a column that trailed back toward outer regions of the continent and kicked up dust wherever it went. Now, now, was the time for Fū Xiá to show just how superhuman he truly was.

His first motion, supported with some persuasion by the abbots and monks of the soon-to-be-besieged mountain fortress, was to draft men and women from the peasant populations into the warrior caste as the lowest tier of a multifaceted structure. They were given simple armour, weapons, and training enough to fight in large formations and not the usual style of single-combat favoured by their more aristocratic allies and enemies. Soon enough they had developed a force not unlike those that the Primarch would later lead, the blocks of peasantry each supplemented by men from the warrior caste and all under the overall command of a monk-warrior, every one of them ultimately under the tactical guidance of Fū Xiá.

When the greatest battle yet seen was joined, it was not atop the walls of the temple complex, but in the fields and forests surrounding the mountain; some would have called this foolhardy strategy, but Fū knew exactly what he was doing, using every arm of his forces in perfect unison and winning perhaps the greatest victory ever seen on Xīn Fēng before or since.

What happened next is not really known, but it is very apparent that within the space of two to three decades he had subjugated the entire continent and been placed atop an almost godlike pedestal by the people he now ruled. In the coming years he fought off multiple invasions, personally leading his armies to new lands and, as on most planets where the Primarchs landed, dominating them utterly by bending to his will three whole continents of formerly divided fiefdoms and mountain strongholds.

It was at this point, when there was nothing left to conquer, that he once more returned to the toxic area where he had first landed, taken to the exact spot where his pod still lay; here he was left alone, asking that it be so, before turning his head toward the sky and wondering...

Not having long to wait, the Emperor arriving mere days later, an entire galaxy was opened up to him and a legion of sons placed at his disposal. Far from shirking back from this, or really stopping to even question it, he told his people that he would return and that would be bringing strangers with him. This he did, taking his fleet back to Xīn Fēng to observe the planet and its people, the Terran-born sons soon mingling with their 'foreign' comrades-in-arms and slowly but surely becoming shaped into that which Fū Xiá wished them to be. There was some resistance at first, but in the end the Sons of the Storm came to adopt most of the trappings of their Primarch's homeworld, even going so far as to rarely speak Gothic unless they were required to.

Since joining the Grim Crusade, one of the latter legions to be joined by their Primarch, the Fifteenth have been used primarily as a reserve force - mopping up enemies, breaking their adversaries for other legions to strike the fatal blow, and generally doing more reconnaissance and observation than any honourable combat. Whilst Fū Xiá has no problem with this, there have been some grumblings from within his legions upper echelons, and he cannot entirely disagree that putting their more martial talents to use soon would be a morale boost to all.

The Meeting

Toxic gases rose up all around, the lethality of the airborne expulsions obvious to any that ventured near them, quite unsuspecting to see within those wafting veils the larger-than-life form of a silently sitting giant. For days now he had looked both to the sky, and to the small vessel that he was told had bought him to this planet over twenty years past, contemplating in stillness what this could mean for he and his people if those that had sent him here were to come looking. Little did he realise that they had come looking, and that they were already here...so close in fact that when the second figure spoke, a perfect specimen beyond perfection and encased from head to toe in golden armour, it made even the acutely aware Primarch leap to his feet in surprise.

"Wha- who are you?!" Demanded the usually temperate demi-god, one hand rising to his brow while the other descended to the curved blade hanging from a broad sash about his waist, "how...how are you able to be here?"

One taloned fist pointed toward the gestation pod, everything coming together for Fu Xia as if a universal truth had just been revealed, "I think you know the answer to that question," spoke the unmoving giant, towering above him and far broader, his perfect brow furrowing for the slightest of seconds as the Emperor of Mankind realised that there was something different about this one.

"Have you come to kill me then? To return me to a prison, perhaps?"

"Has it not occurred to you how I am able to even understand you, child? Are you not curious about my armour, about this?"

A sword far larger than he had ever seen before was lifted into his line-of-sight, the blade shimmering and at the same time wreathed in flames, and the Primarch knew it was a form of challenge.

"Neither of those things are of any concern to me," retorted the robed monk-warrior, drawing his own blade and lightly placing his feet on the rotting earth, "you come to threaten me? Well, you shall find that I am no easy prey, and my head shall remain upon my shoulders."

The duel that followed was mercifully short, the metal of Fu's blade unable to withstand that of the Emperor, both weapons discarded as the smaller combatant moved in to deliver various strikes against his adversary. Each blow was blocked or turned aside, none causing any considerable damage - although he did dent the Emperor's armour on that day, proud of it forever after - but Fu was not a man to simply give in and dug deep inside himself to continue the fight. It was useless, however, as his opponent seemed faster, stronger and far more prepared than he, and soon enough he was knelt before the being out of sheer exhaustion.

"You have me," he half-whispered, "now finish it and display my skull in a place of honour."

"When did I say that I was here to kill you?" Chuckled the mysterious but awe inspiring being standing above him, "and why would I wish to slay my son?"

"I...do not understand."

"I am the Emperor of Mankind, and no simple human could have ever lasted more than a fraction of a second against me, and you..."

"Fu Xia."

"Yes...you are my son, taken from me and scattered to this world. I have come for you, to take you with me and reunite you with an entire legion of warriors carved from your own image, to follow me as your father and leader and to extend the borders of my Imperium to the farthest reaches of the galaxy."

"To enlighten those that doubt you?"

Once more the Emperor chuckled, extending a hand to the still-kneeling Primarch, "Do you accept my offer?"

He took the offered hand.

Sons of the Storm, the XVth Legion

Legion Name: Sons of the Storm

Legion Number: XV

Legion Strength: The Fifteenth have around 108,000 Astartes within their ranks, as well an innumerable hosts of Imperial Army divisions and supporting formations; each Astartes is assisted in battle by three non-marines, carrying his weapons and caring for his armour while on campaign, so they've got at least 324,000 non-Astartes to begin with.

Armour Appearance:



The suits of armour worn by the Sons are some of their most cherished possessions, each suit customised to the likes of its wearer although still of uniform colour to the rest of the legion; these can range from helmets that flare out at the neck and sides to protect the marines more vulnerable parts, to masks carved into the likeness of Drakes, mythical creatures and even their own Primarch.

Mostly of the Mark II type, but with a spattering of others, as well as various parts of others, the armour of this legion bears a couple of unalterable elements throughout the legion, these being the coloured stripe down the centre of the helmet and the sashimono banner jutting from the top of their packs.

The colour of the stripe and the mon or symbol seen on the banner correspond to the leader of the particular squad and the foremost colour of the robes worn by members of a particular mountain-temple back on Twenty-Three Sixteen. For example, a blue stripe would mean Mount Furoshi, while the insignia on the banner might be a Wind Drake consuming a man which would be the aristocratic house of Hiroshi Techu who would also be the leader of that squad.

Many also choose to wear the loose outer robes of their temple over their armour, these going from the same turquoise and white as their Primarch all the way to a saffron or more orange colour depending on the unit.

Legion Symbol:

The overall symbol of the Sons is a circle, known as an ensō, a nearly-closed circle drawn in a single brush stroke. Some of the legion may also choose to scorch or strap various mantras or sutras to various parts of their armour.

Warcry: The XVth do not yell anything when going into battle, but projectd from within their helmets as they march forth can be heard the repeated phrases of religious mantras, or even deep humming, helping to free the warriors from any doubt or vestiges of fear they may have.

Legion Organisation & Dramatis Personae

Legion Organisation:

Hierarchy:

I. Primarch

II. High Abbot - serve as Chapter leaders, advisors, and trainers, as well as making up the Primarch's war council; both these Astartes and those Abbots below them are capable psykers, collectively making up the Librarius of the legion, and specifically picked to lead.

III. Abbot - mentally and physically strong officers, capable of extraordinary feats on and off the field.

IV. Monk-Warrior - serve as NCOs, mentors and the solid heart of the legion.

V. Warrior Caste Member - act as Sergeants and veteran front line warriors.

VI. Lower Warrior Caste Member - make up the bulk of the average Astartes of the legion.

VII. Common Folk/Peasant 'Levy' - the lowest of the legions Astartes, as well as their Imperial Army allies and support, fall into this bracket; units of the Army that make up this tier are commonly led into battle by Astartes, who supercede the authority even of the regiments commanding officers.

'Temples' AKA Chapters:

Ist Temple:
(8,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Tekuan, High Abbot of Mount Huangxia Temple, and Master of the Wind Drakes.

The first Temple of the XVth Legion are commonly referred to as the 'Wind Drakes' after the almost mythical creatures from their home planet, they are also the only Temple (or Chapter) of the legion made up entirely of recruits exclusively from Twenty-Three Sixteen. Each member of this Temple is taken from the Huangxia Temple, primarily lay-monks with a number of warriors added to their ranks.

One-hundred and eight of their number form the honour guard for their Primarch at all times - these warriors are the best of the best, their power-glaives imitating their Primarch's own and their armour highly stylized, but no less effective for it.

This formation thrives on close-up conflict, whether armed, unarmed or of the armoured variety, each member armed with a close-quarter weapon, a sidearm and more often than not equipped with a jump-pack.

Most of the hand-to-hand weapons are blades forged in their own Temple (each Temple of the legion containing at least a handful of blade-smiths capable of crafting or repairing them), blades of such strength and beauty that they can cut through near enough any fleshy surface, and against armour are not entirely ineffective either.

Their mon is an artistic depiction of a gliding blue Drake on field of white, while their helmet stripe and insignia are blue.

IInd Temple:
(11,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Iosa Tamenura, High Abbot of Futamsu Temple, Master of the Eight-Point Fighting Style.

Futamsu Temple is known as a place of mystery and deep knowledge, their signature unarmed style being the Eight-Point system, a system based around the eight points of the compass and the eight directions of the winds. This forms the basis of this Temples mode of operations, the largest number of bikes and armoured transports being given over to the Second, their raids and strikes at the enemies weak points requiring both speed and the strength to back it up. It is also the Temple from which the greatest number of the legions foremost strategists emerge, the vast libraries of the temple having been recorded before leaving their home-world and even now used to teach the next generation of initiates to the Temple.

Their mon is an eight-spoked dharmachakra or wheel, representing the many paths to follow, their helmet stripe is a deep blue to represent the void in oneself which must be filled by knowledge.

IIIrd Temple:
(11,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Gwa Yingfai, High Abbot of Ye Hong Temple, Master of Back Fist Power System.

The particular unarmed combat style of the Third Temple is made dangerous by power generated using the back, a school of very strong 'internal' energy, and this shows in the way that they fight. Indeed, the Third are the legion's largest grouping of heavy-weapon and support units, nearly all ten-thousand warriors armed and trained in the use of long-range armaments capable of punching through armour, vehicles and buildings. Combining together on the field of battle, they often form an iron fist with which to smash a hole through the enemy.

Their mon is of an amulet commonly worn on their home world, and their helmet stripe is orange.

IVth Temple:
(11,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Dú Zhǔ, High Abbot of the Mount Shǎnhǔ Temple, Master of the Poison Breeze Style.

Although known as a great healer on his home planet, his entire mountain-temple dedicated to the healing of others - as well as martial training for self defense and protection - he has turned his considerable talent to the production and testing of biological weapons upon the enemies of the Imperium. Along with their leader, the marines of this Temple are well known for their specializations in using and fighting through chemical weapons-fire and warfare, as well as highly polluted environments, this portion of the legion also actually being the Temple to which the greatest number of Terran recruits have been assigned. Most of the legion's apothecaries originate here as well, a testament to their duel nature as both healers and bringers of death.

Their mon is an image of the god of the winds, while their helmet stripe is green.

Vth Temple:
(10,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Tetsu Ishi, High Abbot of Kami no sutoraiki Temple, Grandmaster of the Iron Fist School.

On Twenty-Three Sixteen the Iron Fist School is well known and respected as a brutal but efficient martial lineage, each initiate of the school spending the first few years externally hardening their bodies through various means, learning to channel the pain into energy, able to strike another dead with one well placed blow to a weak point; it is only right then that they should be the Temple of the Fifteenth who clad themselves in the legions terminator-pattern suits of armour, striking hard and with all the power of a hammer blow against glass at any that would stand in their way. Lightning claws are a favoured weapon, as are thunder hammers and power fists.

Their mon is a clenched fist sheathed in iron, and their helmet stripe is silver.

VIth, VIIth, and VIIIth Temple(s):
(40,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Jinso Ha, High Abbot of Mount Sen'ai Yara Temple, Head of the School of Divine Emptiness.

These three Temples are what could be considered the bulk of the XVth Legion, three whole Chapters that make up the middling strata of the legions internal hierarchy. It is within these Temples that many of the Astartes will begin to truly understand the traditions, customs and ways of war of their legion, a vast number of Abbots and lower Monk-Warriors from innumerable temples forming a network of leadership, guidance and training that provide these tactically flexible formations with everything they require to take on the larger galaxy and overcome it all. Although Jinso Ha, a warrior of many decades and a diehard loyalist of his Primarch, is in command of the largest portion of the legions he is constantly monitored and checked by others.

Their overall mon is a circle, as is the legions symbol, but each squad - sometimes even each warrior - also has an insignia of their own so as to be identified in battle. Every Temple of this division sports a white helmet stripe.

IXth Temple:
(4,000 Astartes)

Lead by: Oto Jimanza, High Abbot of the Yuwan Chung Temple, Master of the Shadow's Grasp Style.

Like the very style of combat expounded by their High Abbot, the Ninth Temple is one of deception, stealth and clandestine warfare; striking often from the shadows and from numerous directions, this part of the legion is the most insular, but possibly the most profound in their beliefs and battle stratagems as well. It is said that a marine of the Ninth should never be trusted, that they are the covert kidnappers, torturers and spies of the legion, and the fact that so little is known about Jimanza does seem to give them an air of mystery not easily dissipated. What is known for sure is they they colour their armour entirely black, bearing no insignia, no mon of their own, religiously study and practice with dishonourable methods and weapons, and answer only to the Primarch himself.

No symbol, stripe or insignia.

Xth Temple:
(13,000 Astartes)

Lead by: No overall leader, 'base' temple or style of fighting.

The Tenth Temple of the legion is not really a formation at all, but more of a reserve/filter part of the XVth that is used as an entry point for those initiates that have joined the legion most recently; it is within this formation, members of it only called up to fill the ranks of other formations or in times of desperate need, that the new recruits will be taught the philosophical concepts of the Sons, as well as becoming trained in the Way or Dō of the numerous weapons and unarmed fighting styles used by the legion. Technically they have no leader, their leadership consisting of dozens of Abbots, Monk-Warriors and members of the warrior caste, however it is true that Fū Xiá himself enjoys observing their progress and training with the 'youngest' Astartes, claiming that if one does not know and remember the basics, then there is nowhere to go but onto a funeral pyre.

The mon of the Tenth is a gate under which all must walk in order to join the legion. They are the only Temple of the legion without a helmet stripe.

Legion Fleet: +Data Incoming+

Favoured Tactics/Battlefield Role: The XV Legion are about as adaptable as they come, competent in most areas of warfare and more than happy to engage from any distance - as happy to cleave the enemy in two as to blow them apart with an orbital strike...or at least so they say, the people of Xīn Fēng being both natural hand-to-hand combatants and traditionally head hunters as well. That being said, they do favour airborne assaults, chemical/gas attacks and fast attack strategies developed on the home planet of their leader; sometimes they can be like the gentle breeze, battering the enemies walls before marching calmly toward them, while at other times they can be like the furious typhoon as they hurl themselves into the fray, often times dispersing in the face of the enemy to draw them in before crashing down on them. In terms of vehicular support, their primary vehicles are APCs of differing stripes, supported by outriders on bikes and land-speeders, very rarely do they use - or even have access to - anything 'heavy', and so they are not all that well suited to prolonged sieges.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: The matter of the Fifteenth legions ideology and characteristics is a complex one at best, but at the most basic level they are each of them a 'monk-warrior' complete with all that such a moniker entails; they are trained in both the martial abilities of the legion - seeing their weapons as an extension of their bodies rather than a mere tool, trained thoroughly in the many training halls spread throughout the fleet - as well as their Primarchs belief that one can attain ultimate perfection (or enlightenment) through suffering and exceptional skill upon the battlefield. When not bringing the Imperial Truth, a creed that they wholly subscribe to, to the enemies of the Emperor they are often found meditating, conversing or training in the particular robes of their home 'temple'...outside of that they do very little. Like their Primarch, and actually on his orders, they seek to preserve life when they can and fully extinguish it when they cannot, the heads of their enemies removed from their bodies and bought to be shown to their officers or Primarch.

It is in internal organisation that the Fifteenth differ outwardly from most of their comrades; each cohort formed into a 'temple', each temple bearing the insignia of their leader - almost always one of the holy men or Daidoshi recruited from the ascetic mountain-warriors of Twenty-Three Sixteen - and then each temple split into 'domains' or 'clans' which are in turn under the command of the warrior nobility. The Terran recruits have found this feudal structure somewhat difficult to adapt to, but have done well in doing so without much complaint. Each temple is a self-contained formation, capable of being fielded independently from the legion, with their own division of vehicles and specialists given to them and for which they are responsible.

Overall, the legion is much as their predominant culture - various 'fiefdoms' within the legion vying for honour, the most heads taken and the great foes destroyed, and a code of personal conduct and honour pervading their lives. These are superhuman warriors who may have some superstitious beliefs, such as their souls being taken by the wind and their bodies ritually consumed by their comrades, but due to their exoteric and esoteric doctrines, their constant martial training, and their belief in their Primarch and his word, they are truly ferocious combatants and gods among mere men.

Hated Enemy (optional): None, as of yet.

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

I believe that in the case of Luther et al, they were altered as far as they could be for adult humans but not actually shifted into full-blown Astartes I.E. Not given all the organs or abilities, but able to wear suits of power armour and be stronger than your average bloke and so forth.

The Grim Crusade [Warhammer 30,000 RP]

Let's all agree that Rowboat Girlyman is a complete and utter tosser...especially since Matt Ward them used him to mess up my beloved Blood Angels. Stupid arsehat.