Recent Statuses

4 mos ago
Going to do the rounds on Monday, sorry to all my players for the delay!
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6 mos ago
Happy new year, one and all, the Emperor protects!
6 mos ago
Merry Christmas and happy Sanguinalia to all! Remember fabulous hawk-boy!
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8 mos ago
I'll be away for 3 days (back on Monday), see y'all then!
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9 mos ago
I am not dead, I will get my RPs posted on, no I have not abandoned this site. That is all.
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I am Jbcool (known as McScottish on the Total War Centre); Scotsman by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a reciever 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

Freebootin' Across the Universe!

This RP is now accepting new characters


- Inspired by this earlier RP, though not the same.

- A jaunt of daring and do within the Warhammer 40,000 universe and setting; expect swashbuckling, lootin', and space shanties.

- Characters can come in most shapes and sizes, their age, experience and so forth pretty much up to the participant; that being said, I will immediately reject any God-like beings or over the top characters.

- Violence and so forth are expected and accepted (we're Orks), let's just keep it to a 'adult' level without it getting X-rated!

- Our tale takes place in the most up-to-date period of 40K timeline, the 42nd Millennium and splitting of the galaxy.

- This is for Greenskins only - that said, all 'levels' of the Orkoid food chain are open for application.

- No-one is to begin any higher than a Nob in rank, there's a point to this.

- Character sheets will be accepted based on merit alone, not 'first come first serve'; the more odd/powerful your character, the more exceptional your character sheet will need to be.

- I fully expect, and intend, for characters to evolve over time during this RP. An example might be that someone loses a limb and seeks a bionic replacement, whether they get one will be both up to me as GM and the participants as a whole; character sheets will then be edited to show any changes, as with a TT role-playing game, and just remember that every action will likely have some form of reaction.

- Please read these threads on Freebooterz/also Freebooterz, and Orks if you're not sure where to start or need a refresher on Ork-kind.

In Character Info:

The Orks, also called Greenskins, are a savage, warlike, green-skinned race of humanoids who are spread all across the Milky Way Galaxy. They share many features with Warhammer Fantasy Orcs (and were initially called "Space Orcs" to distinguish them). They are seen by their enemies (pretty much everyone else in the universe) as savage, warlike, and crude, but they are the most successful species in the whole galaxy, outnumbering possibly every other intelligent race, even Mankind (with the very plausible exception of the Tyranids).

A Freebooter (pl. Freebooterz) is a piratical Ork who exists on the fringe of Ork Kultur. Freebooterz are bandits and sell-swords belonging to no specific tribe or klan but who will work with any tribe as well as stand against any other if the price is right. Freebooterz are Ork warbands that are composed of an amalgam of Ork mobs from several different warbands or Orks who have separated themselves from their former klan by choice or through exile. These roving bands are composed of renegades, bandits, pirates and other outcasts.

Some of these Orks are fugitives, eccentrics and the remnants of shattered Greenskin tribes and klanz, so it is hardly surprising that many Freebooterz have very treacherous and unpleasant characters indeed -- even by Ork standards. Following the ravages of war or some other disastrous disruption of their lives, some Orks abandon what is left of their tribe and join one of these roving bands. Most Freebooter Mobz hire themselves out as mercenaries, or else they can be persuaded to join in a battle with promises of loot. Among the Freebooterz are a handful of unstable individuals who are particularly dangerous and aggressive (again, even by Ork standards). These Orks wander off and tend to form their own small, roving band of pirates and corsairs. Naturally, they are eager for adventure, combat and booty and are quite happy to tag along with other Ork tribes and WAAAGH!s as mercenaries.

This is where you come in.

As part of a Freebooterz crew you are more than simply another Ork threat, because what is worse than normal Greenskins? Pirate Greenskins! Whether it's raiding convoys of other races, of other Orks, selling their services to another race, or simply freebootin' across the universe in search of war and teef.

Out of character info:

Welcome, one and all, to the grim darkness of the future, where their is only war!

You have the honour of being accepted, or press-ganged into, the crew of Kaptin Gubbitz Da Skolar - a most refined Ork of much learning and knowledge - aboard his Kill Kroozer, the FSV (Freebooter Space Vessel) Bluddy Bukkaneer. Whatever life you knew before this, whatever position you may have held within your own klan or tribe, it no longer matters! The pirate life has chosen you, and you have answered! So drink up that fungus-grog, put on your best killin' clothes, and prepare for swashbuckling and adventure upon the high space-lanes of the Milky Way.

To begin with, as stated above, we will have a short 'gathering of the krew' - basically getting everyone together - from there we shall go ahead with a narrative I have prepared and see where it takes us. Let it be noted, however, that this is more like a sandbox RP - if anyone has a flash of inspiration, or an idea, then please PM it to be for discussion. I am the GM, but I am not the only player or mind here.

I expect everyone will have some knowledge of Warhammer 40K, but for those that might lack a little, I have always found… to be one of the best places to look. Just make certain that the information has a source, otherwise it is very likely fan made and therefore not canon.

If in any doubt, just think of 18th century pirates...but Orks. Feel free to create positions aboard the Kroozer that refer to more nautical leanings - Kookie, Ship's Runtherder, Kwartermaster and so forth.


- Sort your squabbles out in private. If you persistently disagree with another player or they're grieving you, involve me. If necessary, I will get the moderators involved.

- No godmodding (controlling someone else's character).

- Try to post at least once a week, let me know if you can't post soon, and please try for at least three paragraphs.

- One character per player.

- My decisions are final.

Character Sheet

Please submit your character sheets by posting them to me in a PM (also recommend listening to sea shanties as you write it).

Name: Wot's iz name, ye stupid Grot!

Species: Ork, Grot, Snotling?

'Rank'/Type: Where do they fit in on the Ork hierarchy? Nob, Boyz, Shoota or Slugga? Kook, Furst Mate, etc? (Taking a look HERE is strongly advised.)

Age: Ow long as 'e been fightin' for?

Klan: What klan or tribe are they from? Note this for the personality.

Appearance: A written description of your character's appearance. No pictures. Tell uz about is shooty and choppy parts as well, an any spikey bitz 'e might have for 'protection'. (Remember, these are pirates, and therefore I expect suitably flamboyant modes of dress! Patches, bandannas, squig-parrots, that sort of shenanigans.)

Personality: All orkz is different, under that green skin, init?

History: Whatz 'e been doin' an killin' before 'e joined the crew?

Skills: Kunnin' and brutal? Brutal and kunnin'? Good wiv' da bombz an stuff, is he a little bit weirdy? You know the drill.

Equipment: What do they bring with them/carry on their person? Be sensible when deciding, as weight and wealth are both an issue.

Miscellaneous: Anything you want to mention but haven't been able to cover yet.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.


Assault Ram Sigma-2 was quite literally spat from the Warspite in a blaze of flame, black and white livery gleaming as it shot through the space between the two duelling vessels, adrift in dark nothingness before slamming into the side of the Emperor's Folly almost as abruptly; time seemed to slow within the Chaplain's helmet, even as his breathing matched his twin heartbeats and recycled air filled his mighty lungs, one gauntlet closing tightly about the haft of his crozius while his enhanced hearing listened intently to the Magna-Meltas puncturing the thick metal skin of the Lunar-class cruiser.

"Prepare yourselves," he voxed to the half-dozen Templars making up his personal squad, Klaus' deviation from the assigned mantra not going unnoticed if he believed it was, "five...four..." the internal helm-chronometer ticked down until it hit 'zero' and the ramp that made up the front section of the ram lurched open and slammed into the interior of a corridor some three sections down from the bridge of the vessel.

With an approximate compliment of ninety-five thousand crew of assorted type and designation aboard the standard Lunar-class, it came as a bit of a shock to the Chaplain - the first out of the ram and into the breach - to find that the corridor seemed deserted.

It appeared to lead off in two directions, both as dark and uninviting as the next...

"Brother Obryn," he voxed to the red-armoured giant he assumed would be moving into formation behind him, the sound of his servitors unmistakable, "please asses our situation - I need to know the swiftest route you can suggest to the bridge, we must cut the head from the snake."
The Apothecary may not have been able to see the entity clinging to him in the same way as the psyker, he was not warp-touched (thank the Emperor!) but he couldn't shake the feeling that something very close was very wrong; keeping his eyes directed outward and into the dark depths of the tunnel ahead, he nevertheless listened to the back-and-forth of his comrades - were they his comrades now? - as if he were standing right next to them.

He paid little interest to the chit-chatter until Adrienne announced a previously hidden piece of information, pulling two grenades from her hip and showing them to the group. Hallucinogenic grenades were, as with most other forms of bio-weapon in the Imperium, some of the rarest equipment and even he had only ever seen them used once before.

"You are full of surprises, Celestian," boomed the words from his beaked helmet, his visor glinting in the dim tunnel, "but...should it work...the plan is sound."

Only now, the heat of combat-stimms beginning to cool within his body, did the Astartes finally turn to the rest of the group, "is anyone in need of healing? Step forward now."
If you want to wait, I can get a post up today. If not, feel free to post before I do.

As for the Doom Guy comparison, I'll take it!
Hey, I've gone back to being a follower, at least until there's more things to kill.

The Sister-Celestian watched as her squad advanced into the fray without so much as a second glance, pride and passionate faith rising together in her chest at the sight, the sound of battle and the intermingling of prayer like music to her ears in ways that other sounds just were not.

Wounds were being received on both sides before Victorine at last drew her blade, her thumb pressing the button at the bottom and turning the standard – if extremely well crafted – blade into a humming weapon of destruction, capable of tearing through armour and flesh as if they were both the same.

“Glory be to the God-Emperor,” she intoned as she took the first few steps forward, curling her fingers around the hand-and-a-half hilt of her weapon, preparing her mind and body for combat, “and to the Primarchs His sons and to the Ecclesiarchy His tool...” A tentacled mutant lashed out at her then, an abomination of all that was holy and divine, her hilt connecting with a wet shlock against its face that sent it reeling back, “as it was in the beginning is now,” she stepped forward and bought her blade straight down upon the deformed creature, black blood hissing as she withdrew the blade and kicked the bisected corpse away, “and ever shall be, Imperium without end. Ave Imperator.”

Something tried to cut her down from behind, the crude instrument it wielded doing no more than impacting on her sweeping pauldron – taking her slightly off balance – before a backhanded swing clove its horned head from its neck.

Pushing through the press of bodies with her own considerable bulk she eventually espied the Crusader up ahead, pressing their foes in from one end of the corridor just as Squad Victorine did from the other; his spear-work was truly something to behold, clearly the Ecclesiarchy teaching their holy warriors well the martial arts, and a smile spread beneath her helmet as she headbutted a snouted renegade hard enough to break its elongated jaw.

Nearly as soon as it had began it was over, their adversaries laying broken – whether that meant dead or simply wounded – across the corridor. Some shuffled and groaned as Victorine stepped over to meet Marcus, keeping an ear out for any comm-traffic from Shelek on the bridge.

“Twenty five...twenty six...this can't be all of them.”

“Sister Victorine to Captain Shelek, what is your situation?

It took a moment before her helmet comm crackled into life, but when it did she knew it was not going well for their host and his crew. Sounds of gunfire abounded, but his almost monotone voice did rise above it to answer her nevertheless.

“Sister, it would appear that some of them...I'd wager, nine...made it to the Genetorium; I know this because I am here defending it with a number of my armsmen and ratings.” There was a short pause followed by a bellow, “this wouldn't be a problem, but it would appear that they decided to bring a heavy-class stubber, and at least one of them is wearing some variant of power armour! We could use some help, and fast. Shelek out.

No time to waste then.

“If you can walk and fight, fall in on me, it appears our Captain and indeed the Gellar field protecting this vessel are both in peril. Finish off any wounded here, leave no prisoners. We go to his aid.”

It was as the Captain had described, the sliding doors to the Genetorium having malfunctioned and left a gap straight down the middle, two muscular mutants discharging streams of heavy stubber fire through the gap, a gaggle of lesser combatants letting loose with small-arms of their own, and two figures that certainly surprised the Celestian.

In among the enemy were a pair of distinct figures, one wearing shredded robes that had once belonged to a loyal servant of the Mechanicus – the broad frame likely made up of as much machinery as the mechadendrites whipping back and forth, some tipped with las weapons and at least a pair with wicked looking blades – and the other, well, the other clad in similar Ignatus-pattern armour as Kliment had been, although [b]this[/i] one was painted in a deep purple and no stunning gold or silver.

Once the armoured figure saw the Sororitas arrive from one of the side-corridors it gave an anguished howl and fled in the opposite direction, the robotic tech-priest apparently ignorant of such developments, or too focused on the organics before it.

“Sisters, let us finished this. No mercy.”

Sibrand waited for as long as he could before he gestured the assembled group over to the holo-projector, his eyes leaving those of the recently returned Apothecary – clearly still acclimatising to life back among his own brethren – and looking back over a picture slowly assembling itself across the luminous green surface of the machine; it was a sprawling and scrawled image, a map dragged from the deep cogitators of the Warspite and thrown into a static picture before his gaze.

“This is the Sub-Sector Besepholus,” announced the warrior-priest in his rumbling voice, his eyes now picking out each of those that stood gathered – the Apothecary, his squads Techmarine, and a spattering of Sword Brethren and Initiates, the highest and mightiest of the Company left - “or so our esteemed Navigator tells me.”

A flick of his gauntleted hand bought the image rising from the flat projector, the entire Sub-Sector rising from where it lay and beginning to rotate slowly, “one needs only look at the chronometer mark here,” pointed out the Chaplain, “to know that we are not only out of space...but also out of time. A considerable amount of time in fact.”

For a moment he simply let the image spin, taking a deep breath and halting its rotation after a few minutes, once more meeting the gaze of his battle-brothers.

“Our mission has not changed,” came the proclamation eventually, “we shall continue to where we were to meet our crusading fleet and, should they not be there, then we shall decide what to do...” again he paused and took another breath, his eyes flickering with barely contained fanaticism, “...however, for the moment I would ask of opinions from my closest advisors, you gathered here. We shall continue the God-Emperors work, that needs not be said, yet I would know the condition of our vessel and the readiness of my brothers.”

The map held itself there, mocking them in its own way, even as planets and known warp-routes began to appear.

"Well Midshipman Lal, what do you make of this?" Growled a robotic voice from a throat that had once been flesh-and-blood, the words interspersed with blurts of static and binary gibberish, "it would appear that we have found ourselves a little fishy out here." The lips of the pale-skinned speaker peeled themselves back to reveal sharpened metal teeth within the otherwise motionless mouth.

Midshipman Lal, it appeared, was a broad-shouldered brute who - had he not been warped by the Immaterium to look much older - would have been a young officer-in-training, now dressed in the tattered rags of what had once been a pristine naval uniform. As it was, the once-blue garb was plastered with eight-pointed symbols and the skin beneath with self-scarring from head-to-toe.

"I would be wary, Captain," hissed the Midshipman through a deliberately forked tongue, "I served aboard the Alekto - though it seems centuries ago now... - and I recognise those markings; that is an Astartes vessel, sir."

Captain Madhukar Estrella of the Lunar-class Cruiser Emperor's Mistake reclined back in his chair and eyed the smaller vessel for a moment, taking in the details of the numerous crosses and crusading marks with genuine interest, his fingers tapping lightly on the arms of his command-throne.

"Tell me, what does this one call itself?"

"Warspite, lord," ventured an eyeless helmsman, his sight linked directly into the sensors and cogitators of the ship through wires, "a Black Templars cruiser."

Black Templars...yes, he had heard of those fanatics! They were one of the few Astartes Chapters that considered the Corpse-Emperor to be a deity. Well, best send them to meet him sooner than later.

"Bring us about for a broadside, prepare torpedoes, and charge up our lance batteries; I want that ship crippled in space."

"Captain!" Blurted Lal from beside the command dais, a hint of fear evident in his eyes, "surely we should annihilate them where they sit?"

"No, my dear Lal, we want them for sacrifice - an Astartes pleases the gods most of all."

Lal retained his reservations, feeling a chill up his spine that he had not felt for decades, not when facing the Imperial Navy, Orks or even Tyranid organisms.

Nothing good can come from this.

The first broadside of macrobattery fire should have been enough to take the Warspite out of action, and would have been had it not already been moving away from the larger ship; picked up by the Vanguard Cruiser the moment it had come within range of the highly refined sensors of the ship, Sibrand had commanded it to be shown on the viewing screen.


One of the mortals clad in a human-sized Templar tabard had twisted about, needing no further instruction from his transhuman overlord, "it is a Lunar-class ship, lord, original designation "Irae Terra", since changed to "Emperor's Folly. They appear to be alone, and the markings on the hull indicate allegiance to the Ruinous Powers." All this was spoken in a very matter-of-fact tone, for the bondsman who had spoken was a failed Neophyte himself and had seen his fair share of engagements - this was nothing new.

"Get us moving," commanded Sibrand, slipping his skull-faced helmet back over his head, "avoid contact with their weapons as far as possible...and bring us within boarding range."

Turning to his battle-brothers, they may have guessed that he was smiling as widely as the skull over his face, "to the launch bay, brothers, the Assault Ram awaits us there! We shall take the fight to the enemy!"

Several Caestus Assault Rams jettisoned from the Vanguard Cruiser some minutes later, the armoured and shielded prows aimed directly where the Templars knew the weak spots of the enemy ship would be; the Genetorium, the bridge, and so forth. The latter would be where Sibrand and his fellows would be directing themselves, although they would need to fight their way there as the bridge itself was too heavily shielded even for the Assault Ram.

Weapons fire had now began to criss-cross the space between the two ships - the smaller moving the faster, but the larger with clearly more firepower, a duel of speed over strength.

Inside the Ram of Squad Sibrand the titular Chaplain began to intone a prayer, even as their metal box began to shake...

"Suffer not the unclean to live;

Lead us from death to victory,
from falsehood to truth.

Lead us from despair to hope,
from faith to slaughter.

Lead us to His strength,
and an eternity of war.

Let His wrath fill our hearts.

Death, war and blood;
in vengeance serve the Emperor,
in the name of Dorn!"

I'll likely make the next post on Monday - at the latest - if anyone wants to get a post in before then, do so with haste.
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