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Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

An ork, a tau, a space marine, and a human...

Please tell me this starts with us walking into a bar.

@Necroes

Sadly, no, as much as I wished it did. 😞

I'll get the first post up tomorrow, and we shall just have to hope that Hank is swift enough to join us.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@BCTheEntity Alright, Brienne!

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

@DepressedSoviet

"If it is not too forward of me, might I know where I could obtain some robes or other clothing? Standing solely in one's Black Carapace can be rather unsettling, if only for modesty's sake. I would also like to reacquire my personal Rosarius."

You must have missed this part...

Every Marine was required to step forth and 'suit up', assisted by the same servitors that had wheeled in their armour racks, the freshly painted armour dry within minutes and ready to be worn. Only the Deathwatch pauldron was not attached to the armour, a duty that could be performed by the wearer of the protective carapace themselves.

So, I can get him some robes, but if he'd prefer his armour then that's alright as well.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@jbeil@Kratesis

Fine, fine posts, we await only @BCTheEntity and then we shall continue on our merry way.

I will say that there are in actuality around twenty-four Sisters present and with you (including you three), although these are NPCs - just thought I'd point that out, if you thought you scraggy lot would be going it alone!

Dooooes anyone have any particular wants in regard to pacing?

Sometimes there are those that feel RPs go a wee bit slow, and sometimes rightly so, so just thought I'd ask; I can get us into the action as soon as possible, or I can give us some character development time, or I can just do a wee bit of both...it's up to my participants, really.

Long story short, I just don't want people feeling bored etc, bearing in mind that people have lives and the like.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

Just for everyone's information (@DracoLunaris@DepressedSoviet@Andreyich@Hank@Dead Cruiser@Wraithblade6@Zelosse) Watch-Fortress Acestes contains pretty much everything that can be found within Watch-Fortress Erioch; there are living quarters, libraries and training grounds, a xenos 'zoo' and the refectory/mess hall , as well as the chapels and chantries and so forth.

Your characters can go, or request to go, pretty much anywhere within reason in between missions or during 'down time' as it were.

Usually Astartes inside the fortress do not don their armour or weapons, as there is no need for it in the confines of the place, but if your character wishes to wander about all tooled up - minus the weapons...they're left in the armoury or chambers - then feel free.

If anyone ever has any questions regarding things they'd like to know, don't know, or are curious about concerning anything like the above then please do ask. I say it a lot, but most people just ignore it and write their posts anyway.

That's all for now, and great posts so far, one and all.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

@Hank

Roa made no expression as the Blackshield removed his helmet, his face an impassive mask of whorled flesh and strong features as his eyes alone moved over the severely disfigured visage and rested for but a moment upon the lower left jaw in particular. It was fortunate for the Captain that he had seen far worse in his time, years in the Deathwatch having caused him to see Brothers die in the most excruciating and agonising ways imaginable – a little bit of scar tissue was not going to cause him to to react like some wet-behind-the-ears aspirant.

“Just so,” answered the Silver Skull in return to Sorrow's barely audible words, his fused flesh and bone clearly constricting his speech, “if it was not so then you would have been cast out into the void of space, but now you are here. Yet...” he was not entirely sure he even needed to say these words, but he would anyway, “you are a Blackshield, and your battle-brothers will look upon you as a dread enigma in their midst, a lone wanderer who has come here because of their sins and shall treat you accordingly. I will not pry, it is not my place to do so, but others may and may press harder than I. For that you must be prepared.”

Looking into those pale eyes now, seeing within them the hurt of loss and betrayal that many Blackshields held inside, Roa could not help but let out a small sigh as he reached up and pressed his palm against one of Sorrow's black pauldrons.

“As Watch-Captain I can only remain outside and observe, for the most part...should you wish for a mentor, I can assign you one.” He did not really know if this was what Sorrow wanted, although he had seemed a little on edge since leaving the hangar, but it was intended as a comradely gesture nevertheless, “think on it if you will; for now we are 'between missions' as it were, yet only for an hour or so, should you wish to prepare your soul or yourself before moving to the armoury.”

---

@DracoLunaris

Berumedes listened to the Son of Medusa in silence, pondering just as Draksal did on the allegiance of his initiate in terms of their creed. Of course, the Sons had been formed from those Hands that followed the teachings of the techno-mystics whose ravings had sent their Chapter into a spiral of near civil war, a war that had been diverted only by direct intervention from the Grand Council. Had they not interposed themselves, well, it could have been the worst to befall them since the end of the Great Heresy!

“It is an honour to guide you, Brother Corbite,” came the first words from the Techmarine, words that came in a sharp burst of robotised speech, flat and void of all emotion that would have emerged from a fleshy and human larynx had he still retained one, “although I am a little unimpressed with your choice of salvaged armour.”

Although it could not be seen beneath his snouted Mark IV armour, the eyes behind the visor swiftly took in all that Berumedes need know about what his initiate wore, not least lingering on those parts salvaged from the Red Corsairs. Oh it was all black now of course, the deep black of the Deathwatch and Iron Hands alike, but he had personally inspected each suit of armour as it had been bought off of the shuttle and not been impressed to find such things on the armour of his gene-brother.

With a long hiss of escaping airs the senior marine answered again, whatever displeasure may have been contained in his voice being nullified by the same augmented vocal organ that caused him to seem permanently deadpan in manner.

“There is no map,” he stated simply, “not for fresh recruits and most importantly because, should this station be taken by enemies of the Imperium, there are things here that are best left hidden until we can reclaim it...any maps we may have are in our minds, learnt through being guided by others or by years of walking the halls. It is one of the reasons I am here, brother.”

The next question caused a short burst of binary from the marine, which could be translated as laughter, “before I came to the Deathwatch I had my voice-box, both of my legs and arms. Now half of my skull is augmented, both of my legs and one of my arms. If you wish to purge yourself of the weak flesh and replace it with blessed iron here, then there are worse places to do it.”

Techno-exorcism...

Yes, the Sons of Medusa were known for exorcising out machine spirits of the enemy Berumedes reminded himself, a queer practice that he had never practised himself...but knew others who did.

“Yes, Brother Corbite, there are others in this fortress that are versed in your Chapters peculiar habits. I have never found using the enemies weapons to be a sound strategy, but should you wish to meet such brethren I can present you to them once our current duty is complete.”

Not even bothering to inform his charge that they were moving, mechadendrites shifting uneasily on his servo-harness as he walked, Berumedes flicked a hand at Draksal and began to lead the way toward the armoury of Fortress Acestes. Such places were true treasure troves for those that served the Omnissiah as well as the Emperor, those such as the pair of them who now moved through the widening and narrowing corridors of the confusingly large headquarters, although everything contained within them was strictly for the eyes and ears of the Deathwatch only; any who tried to copy, imitate or possess things from the armouries would be torn apart for such hubris and perfidy.

“Tell me, brother,” vented the Techmarine as they walked, his stride equal and with purpose, “what do you think of your fellow recruits? Do you see weakness among them?” There was a short pause and he spoke for a moment longer, “they are all weaker than we sons of Ferrus, but you understand.”

Had the Techmarine just made a quip? It was hard to tell, but very probably.

---

@Andreyich@Zelosse

Cylaris let a smile play across his lips as the Scout Sergeant spoke, or more like boasted, his way through his introduction. It was a gesture that sat well on the face of the Tyrannic War veteran, his blonde lock and blue eyes plausibly attractive even to baseline humans, the oversized features of an Astartes not usually considered to be so; all he knew was that between the Ultramarines and any other Chapter, it was usually they who were most likely to be welcomed with open arms, to be praised as heroes and victors by the common citizenry of the Imperium, for to them they were the most 'human'.

It was only when Kurt decided to ask the Harbinger a particular question that his perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed somewhat, a look of mild rebuke coming over him as he answered for Victar.

“Kurt Inri, Scout Sergeant of the Ultramarines,” he admonished gently, his tone even but austere, “this is not something one asks in the Deathwatch, and you should know this. Brother Ironmarch here is a loyal warrior of the Harbingers, and it does you no credit to cast aspersions that they would even hold any secrets.”

Everyone knew of Kurt von Inri within the Ultramarines, a scout who had decided to remain a scout in spite of the ability that would have seen him promoted, but from what Cylaris had observed thus far it was a wonder how he had gotten away without a disciplinary chastisement.

---

@Wraithblade6

“Brother Felbane,” said Rathanael by way of greeting, “loyalty and honour to us all.”

The Angels of Absolution, a Chapter of the Unforgiven who believed that they were forgiven, that the Emperor had seen their actions and now deigned the sins of the past wiped entirely from them. As much as Rathanael and the Consecrators at large disagreed with this viewpoint and belief, he could not help but think that it must be truly liberating to consider oneself and ones comrades free from a deeply buried secret that he and his embodied more than most of his gene-ilk. Indeed, it was one of the Consecrators primary concerns and duties to delve into and uncover the secrets of the past, something that service within the Deathwatch interfered with to say the least.

“So, what news from my Chapter cousins of Absolution?” His voice was deep and rich, yet insistent – as if he were used to being obeyed – each word levelled like a loaded gun at the recipient from within the Corvus-pattern helmet, “I heard of the First Companies actions at the Siege of Vraks, a masterful stroke indeed, but beyond that I know little of our brothers of the Unforgiven...I have been here for more than a time.”

There was no mirth in his voice, if anything there was a bitterness to it, as if he truly wished to be somewhere else...anywhere else but presently where he was. Whether it is because of you or because of the Deathwatch vigil in general you cannot tell, but something lies behind the Consecrators words that he is not saying.

---

@Dead Cruiser

“The honour is all mine, Brother-Priest,” responded the angelic Lartius in his easy way, “although it appears as if our beloved Primarch blessed me with the greater looks, eh?” The chuckle that followed was warm and full of espirit de corps, showing nothing of what lay just beneath the surface and threatened to overwhelm him each day of his existence, but still tinged with the respectful manner that all sons of Sanguinius showed to members of the priesthood – they were the existence of the split Legion after all.

In answered response to the more hushed question, and arguably the most important for members of his gene-stock, Lartius presses his hand against the back of the priests armour and guides him lightly toward the door through which Captain Roa and the Blackshield made there way not too long ago.

For a while they walked in silence, passing others in the corridors dressed in in fatigues and robes, each clearly and proudly marked with the symbol of their parent Chapter. There were others of the Sanguine sins – Angels Vermillion and and Lamenters among them – as well as the tell-tale crests of over a dozen other Chapters assigned to the Deathwatch. A Novamarine here, an augmented Red Talon on his way to the training cages, even a rarely seen warriors of the Subjugators striding past.

It seems only a moment since leaving the hangar that you arrive in a corridor containing one dead end and, along each wall on either side, at least a dozen identical doorways; although no-one else is present at the moment, you being the first of the initiates to ask about their chambers, it is clear once you are lead to a doorway which opens with a hiss of hydraulic clamps that this is one of a multitude of dormitories within the fortress and where you shall be staying when you are not training for combat, eating alongside your brothers in the mess halls, or researching how best to kill the xenos in the fortresses Librarium.

As with all the chambers it is severe and sparse in it's design and functionality, plain and unadorned walls of steel (and more resilient materials) surrounding the interior, an interior containing a metal cot to act as a bed – more than the stone plinths used in Watch Fortress Erioch at least – two racks for ones personal weapons and armour when not in battle, and a storage housing for devotional items and miscellaneous equipment.

This particular cell was different though, as were all those inhabited by Sanguinius' gene-bearers, for it contained within it not a cot as did the rest but a golden sarcophagus shaped in the image of the winged Primarch; here and there tubes emerged from the machines workings, the currently inert device acting as both purifier and resting place for the vampiric Angels.

On one of the racks could be seen his chainsword and combat blade, both of which were personal items, as well as his golden goblet. His narthecium was already attached to his armour, so not present with the rest of his effects.

“Welcome to your new home, brother.” Spoke the Blood Angel at long last, “others will be joining you in these living quarters as time goes on, but none can enter another’s chambers without permission or a correct scan of their genetic make-up. So, whatever happens in here remains in here.”

Further down the corridor another door opened, a black-clad brother moving past with his own initiate – a rather young looking Ultramarine dressed in his fatigues – both disappearing back into the depths of the fortress as swiftly as they came.

“We commonly wear fatigues or robes while within the Acestes, but it is nice to allow the newcomers to feel their armour once more upon them.”

Another quick smile and the Battle-Brother placed his hands together at his waist, “is there anything else I may do for you? We leave for the armoury within the hour, so I may go and return or remain here. As you like.”

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@jbeil And yet not a word about Alexa's abnormal height. For shame, @Jbcool, for shame. But oh well. I'll get a post out... hopefully tomorrow, or at least by the end of the week.

@BCTheEntity

I work in feet and inches...and apparently she's about 8 foot?! Who is she, Brienne of Tarth!

Whelp, guess I'm going to have to talk about that at some point then, that is a tall-ass woman.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

I have placed myself in a great number of rps and I do not think I will be able to commit to this one to a proper degree. Thank you for the work, I hope you guys have a blast! @Jbcool

@Big Dread

Thought as much. :)

No worries, enjoy the others.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

Right, I'll get some replies up on the morrow. G'night all.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

@Kratesis@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity

Taniea Primus was a planet not unlike that of Ancient Terra in geographical composition, a planet made up of several continents, with expansive oceans and varying zones – from temperate areas where the rains fell often, to scorching hot deserts and two poles of frozen ice; the planet also had a population of some five billion souls spread across it, most living in miniature hive-cities, mostly unlike the cavernous and immense bee-hive cities of other planets but still able to house millions of loyal Imperial citizens, just as many choosing to dwell in the wide open spaces of the Taniean Steppes or elsewhere away from the cities.

It was in one of the planets mountain ranges that the Preceptory of the Order had been constructed centuries ago, one side of the mountain hollowed and out and consecrated as hallowed ground by members of the Ecclesiarchy who accompanied the Sisters on their crusade of flame and blade across the sector during its earliest days. Within the range was created the Orders headquarters in the sector, a titanic series of halls and chambers beneath arching ceilings and towering spires – the pointed tips of which brushed roof of the highest caverns – combining monastic and Gothic architecture with a military installation defended by a veritable army of highly trained warrior-women and numerous missile silos and embedded defence batteries.

Inquisitor Kliment was not all that impressed however, having seen far greater edifices to the God-Emperors glory in his hundred-and-thirty years serving His most holy of organisations. Here was a man who had seen things that would turn a mere citizens bladder to water, their hair grey, and likely as not their body inside out; it had been his utmost honour to fight against the vile filth of the witch and heretic, and now he was here on Taniea Primus to begin one more another such errand in His most blessed name.

Brushing gloved a hand through his snow-white hair, his bionic left eye whirring a little as he focused on the woman standing ramrod-straight next to him, Kliment gave a smile that made his acid-burnt face seem as if it were a piece of meat stretched tightly over his skull...which it was.

“Canoness,” he said with a quiet cough, catching the attention of the mature figurehead of the Preceptory and receiving a stern glare, “erm...were they not supposed to be here some hours ago? Surely something has not happened to them.”

Coming into her eighty-seventh year, yet still handsome in the way of a more developed woman, the Canoness-Preceptor was everything that a Sororitas should be and more. Standing at somewhere around six feet and two inches, the same height as many men, her flawless pale skin was covered in the usual power armour of the Order – trimmed with a specifically gold edge, and the vestments beneath of a rich purple to show her rank – with her sharp-cheeked and thin-lipped face framed by a bob of white hair, naturally that colour rather than the sometimes dyed hair of others. On one hip she wore a Sororitas pattern bolt pistol, a power sword sheathed and inert for the moment on her other. In one hand she clutched a string of prayer beads, locking her stormy grey eyes onto Kliment momentarily before deigning to reply; when she did speak her voice was oddly youthful, her tone like that of a fresh-faced innocent, rather than the trained killer she was.

“My dear Inquisitor,” she responded softly, her eyes moving down to take in the shimmering rosette nestled in the centre of his chest for the third time in the last hour, the waistcoat he wore beneath his long-tailed jacket holding it neatly in place, “their Aquila may not be on time, but they shall be here. You have my word.”

Before Kliment could make some quip or other about the tardiness of the Sororitas they were interrupted by a young novitiate, her sparkling eyes peering at him as if he had just stepped from the pages of legend, the girl – for she was no more than a girl, judging by her demeanour and the robes she wore – turning quickly to Aubrie and making the sign of the Aquila.

“The lander has arrived, Canoness-Preceptor, they are being shown through now.”

---

“Follow me, please, and do keep up.”

Sister-Celestian Victorine lead the just arrived group of fellow Sororitas (and one Confessor with extravagant facial hair!) from the confines of the Aquila lander, taking them down off of the landing platform and into the mountains, down a winding staircase of some seventy steps worn smooth by constant usage, and into the main nave of the Preceptory; everywhere one looked there were dedications to the Emperor and the Imperium at large, from statues of saints to busts in alcoves of heroes and heroines of the Imperium, stain glass windows illuminated by some artificial light source (for the entire place was encased within the mountains after all) that gave the entire place a more sanctified feel overall. Here and there went huddled groups of Sisters, or lone wanderers of the halls, many clad in the white habits or training fatigues of the Militant Order, all going about their duties with the utmost dedication and ceremony.

It took half an hour to reach the hall in which the Inquisitor and the Canoness-Preceptor stood, both turning to watch as the group of some two dozen or so assemble in a rough semi-circle before them, Victorine saluting her superior and gesturing to the group.

“The requested assistance, Canoness-Preceptor.”

Victorine Blandine was a women of very few words, often finding that it was true what they said about actions speaking louder, a veteran of a dozen conflicts and with the multitude of scars to prove it; from head-to-toe she had the bearing of a fighter, straight backed and broad-shouldered, around five feet and ten inches in height and with full lips that very rarely were set in anything but a calm slash across her otherwise serene features. Unlike many of her sisters she was of a darker copper skin tone, her hair somewhat longer than that of others and a deep chestnut in colour, eyes of an equally heavy brown looking out from arched brows.

Such was the way it was when one was born and raised on a Feral world.

As with all those assembled she wore the power armour of her Order, yet for some reason she seemed to truly fit it – or it fit her – as if even without it she would still be able to propagate war in the Emperor's name and come out on top.

“You have all been chosen!” Aubrie pronounced with somewhat of a smile, her voice echoing from the arched ceiling, light flooding the wide and otherwise empty chamber, “and and shall be accompanying Inquisitor Kliment in his appointed task.”

Kliment stepped forward and inspected the mass, his eyes resting particularly on the Confessor who stood out from the women around him, the Ecclesiarchy apparently not finding it prudent to send him any more than this. Well, it was more than he had hoped for from those crusty old fools.

“Who is it I have the pleasure of honouring with protecting my life in the heat of battle? Speak up now and let me know you.”