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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.
3 likes
7 yrs ago
Gone fishing for a week, will return soon.
7 yrs ago
Happy New Year!
4 likes
7 yrs ago
Merry Yuletide, one and all! Gods bless.
1 like

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.

Most Recent Posts



The Survivors of Athega Tertius they were dubbed, only by those too ignorant or too proud and only by those that hadn't actually been there.

Those that had been there were given time to rest and recover, sent back to their regular duties, whether that be tending the wounded and sick, safeguarding the Imperium by force of arms or – as was the case of Horacio and his fine facial hair – safeguarding it with rousing speeches and fiery oration.

It would be several months before anything noteworthy drew them back together, a calm falling over the sector of Taniea, reports of the shadowy cleansing of any further dissident elements on Athega Tertius reaching the Preceptory from time-to-time but little else happening to worry anyone.

It was all going well, some might say too well.






Sister-Celestian Victorine Blandine checked over her weapon one more time, the bolter in her grip as fine a specimen of Imperial craftsmanship as could be found anywhere in the Imperium, cleaned and maintained to the highest degree by its wielder and a weapon that had served her well since she had joined the Order of Our Thrice-Pierced Martyr; the chainsword that leant against the wall of her small cell, well, that was a different matter entirely.

“Sister,” came a soft voice from behind her, causing her to twist about, a smile playing over her scarred copper features, “the Canoness-Preceptor would like to see you.”

“Thank you, Josseline.”

Finally, she thought to herself as a calming, soothing, emotion overtook her, peace has broken.






As with every meeting Canoness-Preceptor Aubrie was curt and to-the-point, explaining in no uncertain terms that the so-called 'Survivors' were to be drawn together into their own formation – each Sister having already been informed by various means – and Horacio having been given the option to remain on Taniea Primus as a Confessor to her people (as a permanent position) or to leave once more for the larger holdings of the Ecclesiarchy.

She paced her own more spacious chamber for several heartbeats before speaking again, informing Victorine that she would be leading the squad and that, as the Celestian has predicted, something had occurred that would interrupt any peace they believed may have existed during these last few months.

“It began on Cekrov,” she explained, “an agri-world not known for its extreme religious faith, which is why the change that came over the inhabitants was so sudden and marked in its manifestation.”

The people of Cekrov, as far as she knew, had been whipped up into a religious frenzy by an event that had taken place in one of their hamlets – what had happened exactly was somewhat unclear, some saying that the God-Emperor had come himself to bless one of their number, others claiming to have seen a member of their hamlet rise from the dead. Each report varied, and got more and more audacious as time went on.

“You wish for us to investigate?”

“Yes Sister, it bears a resemblance to Athega, does it not?”

Victorine could not see a direct link, but what had happened there had been an explosive upheaval of faith, and those Kliment had tortured had made assertions that someone had come to them and made promises in the name of the God-Emperor himself.

“Rising from the dead,” she replied in a hushed tone, her eyes meeting those of the Canoness-Preceptor in the process of her thoughts, “could this be...”

“A plague of unbelief?” Finished the older woman, taking a seat upon the surface of her desk and opening her arms in a placating gesture, “the planet is alive, and there have been no further reports of undeath, so I would keep such suspicions in ones own mind until confirmed or not.”

She knew her duties, and knew that those members of her squad – her squad? It continued to feel odd to be in command of anything, let alone her peers – that had been summoned back to the Preceptory would be arriving soon.

As before they would join together in the same hall from which they had set off last time, a fitting circle of renewal that would begin their next journey into the wider galaxy.

[Start of Act II]
@Jarl Coolgruuf@Dogematix@Poi@AdvancedJ3lly@Andreyich@CaptainBritton@Superboy

Right, get kitted up and engage the enemy!

I leave the killing up to you, there's about a dozen-to-two dozen milling about outside the armoury, mostly poorly armed and armoured, with a couple of Stormtroopers and all that that entails.

Once we've all had a taste of blood, then I'll post again.

Any questions, just ask.
@Jarl Coolgruuf@Dogematix@Poi@AdvancedJ3lly@Andreyich@CaptainBritton@Superboy

“I believe she was going to shoot you, Major,” spoke Sergeant Latentius in a half-whisper, turning his back on the group as they got themselves organised, “I still think she may.”

Bonham peered at the Cadian whom the other had just addressed, and this 'Steiner' was not wrong, the fragile-looking Guardswoman appeared to be practically on the edge of collapse. Clearly her loyalties had been scrambled by his appearance and that of the body he had dragged in, a feeling he knew much more than she could ever guess.

“Sergeant Latentius will take up the rear as we form a single-filed column, I shall take point,” he announced after a moments thought, “keep your weapons prepared and your senses sharp. We are heading to the ships armoury to get you something better to wear than your undergarments.”

After a quick glimpse into the corridor beyond the chamber he strode out and gestured with his pistol, placing himself at the head of the group – his trusted Sergeant bringing up the rear for obvious reasons – blueprints that only he seemed to recall allowing he and the squad to move through the hallways and corridors like phantasms; here and there they came upon bodies, either clad in black like himself, sometimes crimson and black, and sometimes figures more atypical of Chaos cultists clad in rags and with rusted pipes and aged autopistols in their twisted grip

From all around them the echoes of battle came, familiar to everyone present, sometimes sounding nearer than they were and sometimes further, yet somehow they managed to avoid any direct confrontations and came upon the thrice-blessed and sealed doorway of the armoury in good order. From the bullet-shredded carcasses spread before the chamber, cultists for the most part, it was obvious that they had made at least one attempt to breach the room and failed miserably – even those that had taken cover behind the crates strewn about or bulkheads they thought safe had been annihilated.

Soon they found out why...

The hulking form of a Charron Pattern battle servitor loomed large from the shadows, the multiple barrels of its assault cannon whirring as it prepared to shred them all into a bloody mess, the dead and ivory white features of what had once been a man making no expression as it primed itself for murder.

“Cease.”

Turning to 'look' at the Major, a thin beam of red light made its way over the officers body, the cannon (a flamer replacing the other arm) slowing to inactivity and the servitor withdrawing.

“Identi-tags in the armour,” he said by way of explanation, giving a pearly-toothed smile to the others over his shoulder, “now for the pay-off.”

He waited a moment, holding his altered version of a rosette up to the doorway, counting from ten to one and giving another smile as the mechanisms of the door began to move. One after another the door opened, three layers of adamantium between them and the interior, each peeling away to reveal the armoury and allow them entry.

“Inside everyone, now if you please.”

Once inside he thumbed a number of buttons and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind them, turning about to face the group and waving a hand at the racks and shelves of well-kept equipment.

“Get kitted up, we will have to fight our way out of here, I assure you.”

Black was the shade of the day it seemed, every piece of flak and carapace armour (all standard Cadian-pattern) and every lasgun the same. For ease of use the armoury had been split into various sections, one containing 'standard issue' equipment – flak armour, lasguns, bayonets and the like – while another was categorised as 'heavy support', rocket launchers, flamethrowers and human-sized plasma weapons (as opposed to those wielded by the Astartes) studding the walls. Lastly was 'close quarters', chainswords, daggers and even the odd flensing knife visible.






Outside of the armoury the forces of Chaos were already gathering, a large splinter of the main force having detected the Major and his followers, and now – several Stormtroopers at their head – a swarm of mutants and shrieking cultists swept through the corridor to take their places, forming a crescent pointing toward the triple-locked doorway of the room.

They had not counted on the Battle Servitor, the construct lumbering out of the gloom once more, flamer spurting liquid promethium and cannon thrumming as it gunned down fanatics and traitors in righteous but programmed fury.

Many were those cleansed by fire or torn apart by bolts, but even the servitor eventually succumbed to damage, the traitors blowing apart its legs to hobble it and, finally, putting charged Hellgun shots into the half-machines cranium until it ceased to move. The damage had been done though, the warband-sized group whittled down to a dozen or so individuals wielding autorifles, a couple of lasguns, and at least two Hellguns in the hands of enemy Stormtroopers.

Still slightly shaken, although their fanatical faith held them firm, the group turned as the doors began to open...
Grett looked down at the body of the Chaos infected Inquisitor with a sneer of disgust.


It's an Inquisitorial Stormtrooper, not an Inqisitior, but I'll let you off.
Nergüi had simply done what was ingrained into his very genetics to do - that was to kill and kill again - standing a head or two taller than pretty much every member of the Inquisitorial party he had simply aimed his bolter into the mass of frothing green foes and pulled the trigger, nice short and controlled bursts, accurately blowing off limbs and exploding heads even without the efficient targetting provided by his helmets HUD.

The screaming Stormboy provided no distraction to him as he casually slapped another magazine into the oversized weapon (or undersized rocket launcher), allowing the spent one to drop to the floor with a clang; once more he squinted, squeezed the trigger, and Orks continued to die...such was the life of a Space Marine.

Once all seemed clear, or quiet for the moment at least, he held the weapon at the ready in his hands and followed Aviza as the rest of the squad did – all had done their part and it had been an impressive display, although he did not think it had been 'too damn easy', considering their had been fewer Orks than anticipated, and he hadn't even gotten to draw his tulwar.

"Adrianne, see if you can get into contact with whoever is inside of the Titan. Vala, move to this control panel and keep an eye on the Titans systems. Tell me if you see any changes while Adrianne is contacting them, do not open the blast doors to the forge for any reason."

"Herold and Angsar, keep an eye on all ways in and out of the forge with the security systems, let us know if you see any movement or anything out of the ordinary."

"You and I are going to go see who is inside of the Titan, let's move out."

They were going to enter one of the Emperor's gods of war? It should have been a blessed moment, one that sent a thrill through him, but for some unmentionable reason the skin of his input-port dotted spine crawled; there was someone or something already in there, and he did not feel well about it.

“As you wish, Sister. Please, lead on.”
Well...given that ringing endorsement...


Not one of my best, and I probably sounded a bit off, so I apologise for that.
Hey...you guys open for new people?


Let me put it this way.

The four people already in this, each one of them, has remained with this RP through the long and the short and the thick and the thin. They have devouted time and effort and writing skills to this RP, and for that I am ever thankful.

If you can match (or even outdo) them, then you are more than welcome to send me a character sheet and we'll see how it goes. If, however, you intend to disappear at the first sign of stagnation, or simply to disappear at all...then I would advise against joining.

So, in short, the choice is yours; I'm happy for you to send me a sheet if you're happy to give your time and writing craft to all here.
Ignore this.
Okay, due to a sudden swerve in personal things, I'll be posting on Monday; apologies for the wait, and thank you for your patience.
Okay, due to a sudden swerve in personal things, I'll be posting on Monday; apologies for the wait, and thank you for your patience.
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