@Klomster Sounds interesting...
I'm fine with that, to be honest, and we do need a tech-geezer for fixing stuff and stuff.
I'm fine with that, to be honest, and we do need a tech-geezer for fixing stuff and stuff.
Jb Member
Because we're here lad
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4 yrs ago
"STOP. QUOTING. ME." Jb, 2019, quoted in 2022." Roland, 2022, quoted in 2022.
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7 yrs ago
STOP. QUOTING. ME.
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7 yrs ago
Gone fishing for a week, will return soon.
7 yrs ago
Happy New Year!
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8 yrs ago
Merry Yuletide, one and all! Gods bless.
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Bio
Greetings,
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
Most Recent Posts
Hmmm, i thought about something.
How bad an idea is it to start off aboard the hulk itself? Locked off from the majority of it until the other players arrive and punch some holes?
Considering I've not heard what idea for a character you have - I've no idea what a 'dread magi' is - I'll need to think about it; that being said, I've no real problem with you beginning aboard the Hulk if you've got a reason.
In
Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
@DracoLunaris@DepressedSoviet@Andreyich@Hank@Dead Cruiser@FinDragon@Wraithblade6@Zelosse
Yea, yea, yea! Some of the worst posts I've ever posted, so sue me, I'm unwell.
Basically, everyone's next posts should see their character's at the armoury, then we'll get to purging some shite and more 'Deathwatchy' things like that. What all Astartes are made for, essentially.
Yea, yea, yea! Some of the worst posts I've ever posted, so sue me, I'm unwell.
Basically, everyone's next posts should see their character's at the armoury, then we'll get to purging some shite and more 'Deathwatchy' things like that. What all Astartes are made for, essentially.
In
Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Dead Cruiser
Lartius watched the Priest examine the casket with a professional eye, although a Flesh Tearer he was nonetheless a member of the Sanguinary Priests brotherhood and represented their caste of Chaplain-Apothecaries across the successors of the Legion. As the retainer of a sarcophagus himself, he knew that it would work, but humoured the Tearer as a good mentor should.
When asked to regale Sirren with exploits he was momentarily stumped, thinking through a dozen and more actions of the past before he finally settled on a select few, remaining where he stood nearby the door and running a gauntleted hand over his marble-like chin.
“You may run your tests, Brother-Priest,” he boomed, his voice larger in the confined walls of the chamber than they had been within the hangar, “but we have others of your ilk that have done so already.”
Looking up to the ceiling for a moment, thoughts swimming behind his perfectly blue eyes, he then looked back at Sirren with something similar to a smile on his lips.
“I have nearly a century with the Deathwatch, a long vigil by any standards, and thus far I have seen things that I never even believed existed...” his mouth tightened as he remembered things still fresh in his mind, as all thoughts would be, “I have fought against things made more of mist than of flesh, slain creatures – parasites is a better word – that burrow into the mind and can take control even of an Astartes, having to slay my own brothers.” The expression on his face relaxed a little again, his inner turmoil churning within him, “most of the new recruits will believe they have fought the worst that the galaxy has to offer, that there cannot be anything to stand before the might of the Emperor's Angels, and that they are warriors without a match even beyond the edges of our galaxy; this is all a lie, and they shall find this out before the end of their own vigil.”
The Blood Angel lapped into silence, gazing out into the corridor and watching shadowy forms of initiates and their mentors moving here and there, speaking again without looking back at the Sanguinary Priest.
“Once we reach the armoury, you will have only days before you see what I mean,” replacing his helmet upon his head with a small hiss he took one last look at Sirren, “I shall be back within the hour to take you there, until then I suggest you purify yourself after your long journey.”
@Wraithblade6
The Consecrator said nothing as events were explained to him, barely even moving until Aldaric ceased talking, before asking that the Angel of Absolution walk with him toward the armoury; talk of Planet Killers, Black Crusades and Abaddon the Heretic drove the Astartes internally into a rage.
“What would you wish to know, Brother?” Came the half-whispered voice from the black-armoured Marine, “there is much to tell...” For a moment he said nothing more, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings of the labyrinth of corridors, “steel yourself,” he said after an instant, “against the foul xenos there can be no better defence than to keep oneself hardened to all else, allow yourself to hate them with every fibre of your being, and you shall do the Emperor's work.”
He had slain the xenos for nearly two-hundred years, had worn the black both before and after joining the Deathwatch, and was generally silent on issues of the Deathwatch in general. Asked the right questions though, knowing he was now a mentor to this younger Marine, the Consecrator would answer.
@DracoLunaris
Brother Berumedes listened intently to his gene-brother, nodding at the correct time and giving his own quick sallies when necessary, and would have smiled – had he even been able to any more – at the opinions of the Son of Medusa on his comrades-in-arms.
“You allude to their weaknesses as a true son of Ferrus,” came the robotic tone once more, “for we both know that there is only the strength of metal, the flesh is weak.”
Pausing to regard his next words, the Techmarine pointed toward the hangar doors and gently guided Draksal by his shoulder toward it.
“I know you wish to see the armoury, and your appreciation of the items within shall do you great honour, just recall that these things are to go unrecorded and unknown outside of the Deathwatch.”
Lartius watched the Priest examine the casket with a professional eye, although a Flesh Tearer he was nonetheless a member of the Sanguinary Priests brotherhood and represented their caste of Chaplain-Apothecaries across the successors of the Legion. As the retainer of a sarcophagus himself, he knew that it would work, but humoured the Tearer as a good mentor should.
When asked to regale Sirren with exploits he was momentarily stumped, thinking through a dozen and more actions of the past before he finally settled on a select few, remaining where he stood nearby the door and running a gauntleted hand over his marble-like chin.
“You may run your tests, Brother-Priest,” he boomed, his voice larger in the confined walls of the chamber than they had been within the hangar, “but we have others of your ilk that have done so already.”
Looking up to the ceiling for a moment, thoughts swimming behind his perfectly blue eyes, he then looked back at Sirren with something similar to a smile on his lips.
“I have nearly a century with the Deathwatch, a long vigil by any standards, and thus far I have seen things that I never even believed existed...” his mouth tightened as he remembered things still fresh in his mind, as all thoughts would be, “I have fought against things made more of mist than of flesh, slain creatures – parasites is a better word – that burrow into the mind and can take control even of an Astartes, having to slay my own brothers.” The expression on his face relaxed a little again, his inner turmoil churning within him, “most of the new recruits will believe they have fought the worst that the galaxy has to offer, that there cannot be anything to stand before the might of the Emperor's Angels, and that they are warriors without a match even beyond the edges of our galaxy; this is all a lie, and they shall find this out before the end of their own vigil.”
The Blood Angel lapped into silence, gazing out into the corridor and watching shadowy forms of initiates and their mentors moving here and there, speaking again without looking back at the Sanguinary Priest.
“Once we reach the armoury, you will have only days before you see what I mean,” replacing his helmet upon his head with a small hiss he took one last look at Sirren, “I shall be back within the hour to take you there, until then I suggest you purify yourself after your long journey.”
@Wraithblade6
The Consecrator said nothing as events were explained to him, barely even moving until Aldaric ceased talking, before asking that the Angel of Absolution walk with him toward the armoury; talk of Planet Killers, Black Crusades and Abaddon the Heretic drove the Astartes internally into a rage.
“What would you wish to know, Brother?” Came the half-whispered voice from the black-armoured Marine, “there is much to tell...” For a moment he said nothing more, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings of the labyrinth of corridors, “steel yourself,” he said after an instant, “against the foul xenos there can be no better defence than to keep oneself hardened to all else, allow yourself to hate them with every fibre of your being, and you shall do the Emperor's work.”
He had slain the xenos for nearly two-hundred years, had worn the black both before and after joining the Deathwatch, and was generally silent on issues of the Deathwatch in general. Asked the right questions though, knowing he was now a mentor to this younger Marine, the Consecrator would answer.
@DracoLunaris
Brother Berumedes listened intently to his gene-brother, nodding at the correct time and giving his own quick sallies when necessary, and would have smiled – had he even been able to any more – at the opinions of the Son of Medusa on his comrades-in-arms.
“You allude to their weaknesses as a true son of Ferrus,” came the robotic tone once more, “for we both know that there is only the strength of metal, the flesh is weak.”
Pausing to regard his next words, the Techmarine pointed toward the hangar doors and gently guided Draksal by his shoulder toward it.
“I know you wish to see the armoury, and your appreciation of the items within shall do you great honour, just recall that these things are to go unrecorded and unknown outside of the Deathwatch.”
@Wraithblade6 Go nuts.
@Hank@Bright_Ops
You're characters are wherever/engaged in whatever you would like, and I highly doubt they would have met yet.
You don't even need to go to the Hulk immediatly if you don't want to...in short, I'm leaving this pretty open; as long as ya'll get to that Hulk eventually, whether by the lure of money, untold riches or whatever else, that's fine. If you need to me to give you a push, I shall.
You're characters are wherever/engaged in whatever you would like, and I highly doubt they would have met yet.
You don't even need to go to the Hulk immediatly if you don't want to...in short, I'm leaving this pretty open; as long as ya'll get to that Hulk eventually, whether by the lure of money, untold riches or whatever else, that's fine. If you need to me to give you a push, I shall.
Liaison-officer Gratius McNespey of Outpost 3-12/19 rushed through the corridors of the Imperial station with all haste, faster in fact than he had ever moved in his entire life, for he was overweight and his body strained to break free from his cream-coloured uniform even as he barged past a more slender worker to reach his goal; red-faced and sweating, stains visible in his armpits and crotch areas, he got to the personal chambers of Station-Commodore Perry Harker and rapped against the metal of the door with one of his hammy fists.
“My Lord, please, there is an urgent matter I must appraise you of!”
Perry Harker was not one to be roused lightly, not only because he was a notorious drunk and severely hard to bestir anyway, but mostly because he was a short-sighted man in his eighties – he had once commanded Battlegroups from one side of the Imperium to the other, now he was a dusty old relic, a fossil in the Naval hierarchy, who had been given command of this outpost in the Segmentum Ultima for the very reason that he wouldn't get up to any mischief there. Now some fool was knocking on his door, and he knew it was that fat oaf McNespey.
“Coming,” he groaned from his pillow, already dressed in his full dress uniform – including a row of clinking medals and his red striped trousers - “give me a moment, Throne take your eyes!”
With deliberate slowness he made his way to the door, pushing on the entry pad and letting out a heavy breath into the face of the Liaison-officer full of alcoholic fumes.
“What do you want, fatty? Can't you see I'm busy.”
Oh how he wanted to smack that old fart right in his stupid wrinkly face, just one blow would probably snap his neck in two...he could make it look like an accident.
“Of course, my Lord,” replied Gratius in his most slippery tone, “I am sincerely sorry to disturb you, but a ship has entered our region of space and I thought you ought to know about it before any actions were taken.”
“A ship?” Answered the Commodore in mock surprise, “a ship! In this area of space? My God-Emperor, whatever shall we do?!”
Just one strike, one hammering blow that would end his life...
“Yes, Lord, it is a ship of some antiquity. A Hulk in fact.”
This did rouse the interest of Perry Harker – Space Hulks were rare, as was what they may contain, but often times they also bought with them the most unwanted things; Genestealers...Orks...and Chaotic forces. - now he sobered up surprisingly quickly and eyed the piggy with more seriousness than before.
“Well don't just stand there, McNespey, tell me what we know.”
“Sir, it transmitted into realspace not several hours ago, and as far as our limited scans can tell it is composed of parts of over a dozen ships of varying classes and manufactures. The largest sections are without a doubt composed of two Astartes vessels from before the Great Heresy, one showing the markings of the Word Bearers and the other of the Emperor's Children.”
“Astartes...interesting.”
“Not only that, sir, but our Astropaths tell us that it is emitting some form of message through surrounding warp space. Ripples in the Immaterium, so they say.”
Now the Station-Commodore was on 'high alert', his mind – which remained as sharp as it had always been, in spite of his outward appearance – racing with possibilities.
“Get on the vox with the Ultima Strategic Reserve and request they send ships and men to aid us, as we are going to take a look at that wreck ourselves.” He announced proudly, “what is the closest Astartes world to our position?”
“Preyspire, sir. Homeworld of the Hawk Lords Chapter, although much of their strength has gone into the defeat of the most recent Black Crusade.”
The Commodore gave a slight nod of his head, “send a message anyway, tell them we would request aid but do not demand it. Make sure it sounds as if we are grovelling, the Astartes like that sort of thing.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Stop standing there then and get on with it!”
Events were in motion, but would they ultimately help or hinder the eventual fate of the Hulk and the Outpost both?
Merciless Aquila had served within the fleets of the Third Legion for centuries on end, a battle-barge carrying multiple companies and bringing death to the Emperor's foes everywhere it went...now nothing more than a twisted wreckage, it's innards entwined with vessels of Ork, Eldar and Imperial origin. Yet there was another vessel, one of even older age and vintage, from which a signal...something...now emitted a call to others; it was The Dawn of Truth, a Desolater-class Battleship used by the Word Bearer Legion since their re-naming from the Imperial Heralds, now no more than scrap metal and the secrets it held within itself.
As far away as the next Segmentum over the signal could be heard, or felt, by those that knew how; something...or someone...was aboard the Dawn and was seeking to draw others to it, but who or what would answer could not be know. What would the prize be if they did? Would there be anything to salvage?
That was for Fate and the Gods to decide.
In
Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!
→
9 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Hmmmmmmm throw down with Cylaris or keep my trap shut...
Throw down with him, I dare ya...I double dare ya!
No, seriously though, whatever you like brah - he'll throw the Codex Astartes at you.
<Snipped quote by Necroes>
Slaves I'm assuming.
Yea, may have to get the slaves first though...
@Necroes@Hank@DepressedSoviet@BCTheEntity@Bright_Ops
Aweeeesome, first post will be up by tomorrow at the latest; prepare thyselves for adventure and piratical heresy aplenty.
Aweeeesome, first post will be up by tomorrow at the latest; prepare thyselves for adventure and piratical heresy aplenty.
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