Lady Selune

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

Schwing

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Operation: Ground the Harpy

So it was, that after the unpleasantness had subsided, that the original plan could proceed. The small band of foreign agents would troupe through the woods, dark, imposing, and utterly alien to German patrols. The group would trudge through mud and over roots, until at last they found a disused and partially destroyed barnyard just as the sun began to poke its way up across the countryside. With the abandoned farmlands illuminated by rosy-fingered dawn, the group could settle down and catch some rest. Food had been left by the resisistance fighters- basic yet hearty fair, although the acorn-made black bread was definitely an acquired taste.

A day later, with the sun rising anew so as to avoid Germans prowling about looking for those out and about past curfew, and the party would set out again, towards Liliane's promised Orléans restaurant. The medicine would be left at a dead-drop location, and then the pair would proceed, into town. Certainly odd looks were sent their way- healthy, burly men like Taras were a rarity nowadays, but they would be unmolested as they arrived in Orléans' most fancy resistance cafe- la Route de Miel.

A mention of a 'Monsieur Lavande' would earn the group a magnificent seat and complimentary coffee, piping hot. The bakeries had just opened and so bread- fresh, wheat, bread, was avaliable; a truly wonderful spread considering the time. Despite it still being early in the morning, a pair of performers would emerge onto the stage, a tall, slender man with a pair of dark sunglasses, and next to him a beautiful looking blonde woman wearing an airy dress designed for show, more than practicality.

The man would start up a jaunty tune on the piano, the woman would dance, and for a moment the horrors of what they had experienced shortly after landing faded away.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

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---

The cafeteria was easy to find- there were multiple signs pointing there, and the subjects would find themselves directed like tributaries rushing into a river towards it. There was the heavy smell of disinfectent, artificial and welcoming, but the sight within the cafeteria was anything but. Yes, there was food- varied breakfasts left out, but there were others as well, and they were not all alive.

Five figures in total existed within the room, but only one looked likely to have blood still running through his veins. The man, for indeed that was what the alive figure was, a man, sat with his back and side to a wall, a large bowl filled with milk and cornflakes sat in front of him. He would look up as people entered the room, take up his mug of coffee and let out a loud slurp, wincing as he did so.

Then, he turned back to his cornflakes, eating them messily and splashing the otherwise clean white table with damp crumbs and dribbles of alabaster. Really though, under the circumstances, such a messy eater was hardly even ranked as among the most offputting aspects to eating a meal within the cafeteria.

Four bodies were spread out along the south-west and western wall of the cafeteria. Three wore totally black clothing- black helmets, black gas masks with black-tinted visors, black gloves over black sleeves of black shirts concealing black kevlar, with black trousers tucked in over black boots. All of them had their visors shattered and destroyed- red blood splattered across the destroyed glass. Eyes, cheeks, lips, noses... Holes had been torn through their faces, clean on one side, rough and torn on the others. Viscera- bone and pink brain matter, had misted over the walls.

The last body was a little more visceral though. Whoever, or, indeed, whatever, had killed them had done so brutally and likely fairly quickly. The man had been gutted like a fish- rough, triple marks that could not have been made with a machined blade ran from his neck to his sternum, his ribcage, collarbone and hipbone torn open. The figure's clothing- a white rubber lab coat, was now matted and sticky with blood, whilst in his hand was a small blue plastic card. The smell of death, and of the last man's bowel contents was thankfully covered by the heavy stench of the disinfectant, but the grisly show was unmistakeably real even with one sense dulled.

RAINBOW SIX: Reckoning

Tack, tack.
Tack tack tack.
Tack tack.
Tack.
Tack tack tack tack.

Every squeeze of her finger was responsible for a complex mechanical and chemical reaction that mankind had harnessed centuries ago. Her finger's squeeze ordered a small metal hammer to strike down onto a plate with enough force to ignite the low explosives contained within- nitrocellulose, cordite, she wasn't perfectly sure. Then, that explosion would send a metal slug out the front of the gun wuith several hundred meters per seconds worth of force behind it, the gasses and noises vented and contained through a specially constructed metal frame that absorbed as much of the supersonic noise as it could.

At the end of it all, this slug- this object capable of snuffing out a human life in but a second, would ping off a thick metal bar attached to an aiming machine, which would swing back and forth to register the many hits she was putting downrange. When she had finished with her current series of shots, she would unload the marksman rifle she was using and place it back on its rack, sighing.

She was... Bored was not the right word, but perhaps it was the one she would use for now. She had little to do, her duties in electronics were taken care of, she had caught up on her shows, and, in a sense, she was itchy. Itchy for action, itchy for work. She hadn't earned her pay in too long by her books, she could do with something to occupy her time.

---

---

Pretty nice digs here, thought Jackson. He had never been to uni, but this was what he imagined it would be like if you were studying there. Nothing like the army barracks he was used to, and it was warm enough that he he could strip out of his CADAPT as quickly as possible, leaving himself in just a pair of boxers. Not like anyone else would be walking around here to see him half-naked anyway. His body was toned and muscled, but also ringed with scars. There were three, near-identical circle-shaped scars near his left side, and his fingers played across them. You could feel them all tough from the scar tissue, but one of them still had the bullet there. It had gone deep, and there was no reason to subject him to surgery just to pull it out and potentially risk a hell of a lot of complications, or so the docs had said.

Knife scar across his stomach. That had been a lucky break. The mass of scar tissue where he had had a clump of ice been kicked off a roof and tear up his shoulder. Worst of all his scars, and it didn't even have a good story behind it. The burn marks along his knuckles, where a fucker at his dumping ground for unwanted kids, orphanage had put a smoke flat against his skin and lit it whilst holding him down. A dozen and a half more across his body that he didn't want to dwell on much longer.

He walked into the bathroom and kicked off even his boxers, slamming the shower door to and turning it on full blast. The amount of sweat that had built up over the course of wearing that bloody uniform... Ugh, he didn't want to think about it. Soap, shampoo, get himself clean, if nothing else, and then he would blast himself with a liberal amount of antiperspirant. Normally he would do this in the morning, but he just wanted to get clean right now, truth be told.

Without much circumstance, he dug himself out another pair of boxers and crashed down onto the bed, drifting off fast. Long flights would really take that out of you.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Siobahn sat down next to her suitcase, holding a can of AriZona ice tea in her hand. She had zoned out a little bit, lost in her own world of herself (and herself a-,) still thinking about the mirror, the barrier, the way she had popped it with a scream, and how afterwards she had felt like someone had punched her in the gut. It was only when she went to take another sip from the pink-and-green aluminium in her hand and found it empty that she would slowly tune herself back into the situation.

And to an urgent need to go to he bathroom. She held the can loosely and wheeled her suitcase with her, following the signs for the bathroom. A strange man hanging around outside... But she supposed she'd have to get used to strange men and women since, realistically, she was and always had been one of them. It was difficult to remember that most people didn't have a childhood that took them through eighty different countries before they were ten.

As she exited, having taken care of business, she couldn't hel but overhear a discussion going on from a stall. Cruddy days. "Don't mean to be that lady, but if we're talking about bad experiences I guess I could throw my own into the ring." She would chuckle, running a still-damp hand through her hair as she did so. "Nah, I won't do so. It's uh..." She would sigh. "It's nice to meet you ladies. I suppose it's a good idea to get to know some folks around these parts, huh?"

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Primarch Sheet

Name: Iniephor The Scholar

Gender: Male

Homeworld: The world of Knosson was perhaps one of the most ideal areas for Iniephor to find himself on. A vast world that had been colonised and recolonised no less than four times, it was perhaps not quite a death world but certainly desired to be one. The surface of the planet was fragmented and riddled with asteroid impacts, the tectonic plates wild and crashing, and all manner of strange creatures inhabited and had inhabited the planet's surface. Despite this however, the people that lived on the planet thrived, in large part due to the huge protective domes that were built around major cities.

Knosson surface however was just the beginning. Although brutal warp storms besieged the solar system and made travel in and out of the system impossible, the planets within the system had all seen some measure of human activity. Knosson's twin moons of Minos and Phaistos showed now-destroyed settlements, and across the entire solar system there was the indelible ink of intelligent activities.

Appearance: Iniephor's appearance is as malleable as clay is to a sculptor, but all his forms have one thing in common; a pair of curling horns that start just above his temples and end in line with his jaws. Because of this, Iniephor rarely shows his hair, his head normally covered with a wide hood that conceals the one part of his inhumanity. Despite the malleability of his form however, Iniephor normally chooses a fairly reasonable shape, at least for a primarch. Iniephor's standard appearance measures around twelve-foot-tall in total, with burnished bronze-brown skin and a shaggy mane of brown hair, the ends lightening to a pleasant blond.

In terms of dress, Iniephor is loath to don his proper armour. Instead, he much prefers his academic's wear, garb similar to that of what scholars and philosophers have traditionally worn on Knosson for generations. Besides the vast hood he also wears a loose- fitting sleeveless chiton for warmer climates or a sleeved tunic for cooler ones, tight-fitting yet tough wearing trousers and, in very cold climates, a heavy cloak.

Personality: Iniephor is a strange sort of individual. Studious, yet rarely found in a library, adventurous yet spending most of his time studying he is simultaneously one of the greatest scholars possible and the worse student. Apart from these contradictions, Iniephor shares much with his father. Relentlessly proud of his psychic potential, he revels in opportunities to use it and to explore the limits of his power.

In addition, he has a fascination with human nature and evolution. Firmly believing that humanity must become psychic or perish (something he unknowingly shares with his father, although his outlook is more extreme) his moral compass can oftentimes dip into some severely questionable areas, something he has few qualms about.

Skills: Iniephor's excessive psychic power renders him with no small variety of interesting and unique skills. Besides the ability to reshape large aspects of his physique, he is a master in almost all of the recognised Imperial disciplines, the exception being divination, a field which requires him to take significantly more steps before he can truly see things that have not occurred yet.

Outside of his psychic power, Iniephor is also superlatively intelligent, hence his moniker of 'the scholar.' An accomplished academic and writer, his books on the nature of the vast sea and its pelagic currents are the seminal works on these subjects- literature which no librarius could do without. Besides warp studies, he is also accomplished in natural and unnatural sciences, languages (having studied Eldar and Orkish, as well as another, more ancient language that he does not know the origin of) and far, far more.

Assignment Grade: Alpha-Plus. Iniephor's active psychic power is second only to that of the Emperor himself, and he has the mental fortitude to bear witness to this. Iniephor's feats when his mind was still developing surpassed that of the few 'magicians' that lived in Knosson, and his fully grown and well-curated mind surpasses those of his brothers with an almost contemptuous ease

Biography: Iniephor would arrive on Knossos in some of the worst conditions the planet had ever experience. His cradle fell into the ocean, swept along by roaring storms and beating waves. Thrust out of the sea, he was found by an astonished fisherman and quickly taken back to land, where he was cared for by his wife for a number of days. His extraordinary growth and the horns that rapidly started jutting from his head would draw the attention of Knosson's 'magicians' and it took very little psychic knowledge to recognise the prodigious power contained within his mind.

Taken to the palace at age three (now fully grown) Iniephor would astonish the ruling family with his still fairly nascent psychic powers. Taken in as an advisor and good luck symbol, he would study under the court's finest psychic powers, only to surpass and exceed them in every way within the year. None on Knosson could match his keen mind, and so it was that by age five he was already considered to be the greatest mind Knosson had ever seen.

Leading digs and research missions across the planet, he would quickly find out that his people were not the first, nor were they the only ones. Digs on Minos showed evidence of great battles, and when he set foot on Phaistos, he encountered xenos for the first time. As he and his men established a research camp, they were approached by mysterious, slender humanoids who had monitored the tomb world that the primarch had unwittingly landed upon.

The farseer of the eldar- for, indeed, that was what they were, sensed the psychic power radiating from Iniephor. Unsure of exactly what he was witnessing, but realising the impact the young man would have on the galaxy at large, the eldar would only give a warning before melting back into the shadows, leaving the young man confused, yet intrigued.

By the time that the Emperor made planetfall, Iniephor had long since been crowned Scholar-Emperor of Knosson and the newly reclaimed Minos. Although not understanding the true significance of what lay beneath Phaistos, he had heeded the words of the strange figures he had spoken to so long ago and had left it alone, instead focusing on turning Knosson and Minos into a relative paradise. Great domes and walls held the unnatural weather at bay, whilst psychic tuning relays soothed the minds of newly born psykers, who would be taken to great universities to train and educate in the ways of the Vast Sea.

The Meeting

Iniephor awoke in a cold sweat.

Someone was in his dreams.

He had feared this. Of course, he had feared this. In his scrying into the Vast Sea that lay beside their own universe, he had felt uncountable evils crawl their way across his skin, drilling at his flesh and pricking at his mind. He had read of those before him, the shoulders that he had used to climb to the heights he was now, men driven insane and ravening, tearing at their own eyes or going berserk, frail scholars tearing men apart limb from limb. He had thought his own iron will to be strong enough to surpass these beings, but now there was a shape in his mind. His eyes would stare up at the ceiling of the room he was in, blankly looking at it without absorbing anything, and then he would stand up and walk across to his vast desk.

One of the greatest trees had been felled to construct this desk, and so it was that when he rummaged through it for a pen and a sheaf of paper, it would take him a little while to physically extract them from it. Setting the paper down, he would write out everything he remembered from the dreams. Most men now, in his shoes, would frantically rush for the stimulants, attempting to steel themselves to stay awake as long as possible, but not him. Not in the slightest. Instead, he would run his finger across the keratin of one of his horns, wipe the sweat from his forehead and settle back into his bed, feeling his otherworldly energy course through his veins.

As soon as his eyes closed, the person appeared again. It said four words. "We will meet soon." Then, it disappeared. When Iniephor awoke again, he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember the appearance of the individual. It... He... He couldn't. He just couldn't. Every time he felt like he had seized upon what they looked like it would slip from his mind, the scholar reluctantly noting it down before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.

---

The next day, he would emerge from his bedroom and stagger to the open-air scrying pool. He gazed down at the liquid inside, black as night, and at first, he would see his own reflection. A longer gaze, a deeper gaze, and then he would begin to see behind him, shapes appearing in the sky. Ships, craft far larger and more imposing than the ones that he used to move about the worlds they inhabited. He stared deeper, at every element of the craft. When would they arrive? Was the figure last night in them? He continued staring, until a scream brought him back to reality. Looking towards the source of the noise, he saw a woman clutching one hand over her mouth and pointing to the sky with the other.

Turning around, his eyes widened. He flicked between the scrying pool and the sky, realising now that he had not been seeing the future, like he was so accustomed to, but instead the reflection of the sky. Dashing inside as quickly as he could, he would don his scholarly robes and begin his sprint, magics welling at his command. From above the sky shapes would begin to plummet, and by the time he had reached the centre of Knosson's capital, he would see strange figures emerging from them. Aliens? No, no, they looked nothing like those strange sarcophagi, nor like the humanoids he had encountered once, with their high cheeks and knife-like ears. These were blocky, rough and heavily armed. They would scan the crowds that assembled around them, and for the briefest of moments, Iniephor felt a strange kinship between him and these bizarre newcomers. They too, he realised, had abilities much like him. He could sense the power throbbing beneath their veins, but then...

A power far greater was descending. His eyes would turn skywards, towards where a vehicle descended like a celestial from upon the heavens. Its blocky shape would roar, thrusters activating as the huge shape slowed its descent... Although not enough for a perfectly smooth landing. With a crack that spoke of the road beneath splintering and shattering it would come to a stop, the sense of overwhelming power pressing in on Iniephor's mind. Slowly, the doors of the craft would open themselves and there would stand the figure that Iniephor had seen in his dreams. Almost immediately the scholar would launch out his mind, invisible magics
whirling through the Vast Ocean towards this figure, this god among men, whose power threatened to drag even the superhuman in front of him to his knees. With a gesture that could have been a man swatting the fly the figure would dismiss the magic, chuckling as they did so.

Then they stepped into the light. Golden. Shining. Imperious. His eyes were a vortex, one that Iniephor's gaze was pulled into almost instantly. The figure would step forward and reach for the primarch, his hand coming to the vast hood that concealed his face. It would push the cloth back, brush past his horns, and then the man would let out another deep booming chuckle. "You really are one of my creations then."

Legion Sheet

Legion Name: The Lantern Bearers (Formerly Aeon Scribes)

Legion Number: I

Legion Strength: Around eighty-five thousand astartes. This makes the Lantern Bearers a small legion, but the psychic potential of an unusually large proportion of its recruits more than makes up for this flaw.

Armour Appearance:

The Lantern Bearer's chapter symbol is a holdover from before Iniephor's time, to when they were named the Aeon Scribes. It displays a feathered quill alongside a sword, and many have noticed that it bears no small semblance to an eagle's wing and claw grasping a sword, drawing comparisons to the Aquila. Why the original design is the way it is is unknown, even to Iniephor.

Warcry:

• THROUGH KNOWLEDGE, POWER!
• FACITA MEMORIA! (High Gothic, lit 'Become A Memory')
• STRIKE THEM INTO THE RECORDS!
• FOR INIEPHOR!

Dramatis Personae:
Diomedes Meldetires: One of Iniephor's close friends from his time as Emperor of Knosson. His Malcador, a man who was made a space marine almost too late, and serves as advisor and librarian, although not as a combatant.

Megistias Elloren: Chief Librarian of the Lantern Bearers. Flighty, capricious, but a highly capable divinator, intensely passionate researcher and one of the only people to ever be able to ask Iniephor a question he had to mull over.

Ajax Demtrion: Known as the "Butcher of Bulmeros." A freakishly strong, even for an astartes, individual, he is the Lord Executioner of the Lantern Bearers. His psychic powers are very much power over finesse- he can squash a man like a bug with his mind, but gently placing something down would be difficult for him. One of the few people in the entire legion Iniephor does not like but still holds a significant role.

Favoured Tactics/Battlefield Role: The Lantern Bearers are a force that is easy to underestimate. Rarely coming together in great numbers, they instead tend to act as Iniephor's personal expedition assistants most of the time. It is only when Iniephor's ire is roused enough to fully commit to an assault does their full power become clear.

Most individual members of the Lantern Bearers share in some level of psychic potential (and Iniephor's gene seed is noted to awaken psychic potential in those that might otherwise never realise it.) Through careful training, the legion has learned to pool together their psychic might, creating a gestalt field of energy that can be tapped into by those among them powerful enough to manipulate it outwards. This is particularly obvious when the first chapter takes to the field.

Even when not utilising storms of psychic power offensively, they can still cut a bloody swath through their foes. Precogniscents and biomancers dodge and weather fire superlatively, allowing for marines to march through a tornado of steel and take very few losses. When they emerge at the other end, an overwhelming deluge of returning fire coming from storm bolters, witchfire and promethium, annihilating enemy positions rapidly and efficiently, the ends of their foes meticulously noted down in the annals of the chapter's history.

Even in melee combat, the lantern bearers are no slouches. Force weapons are a common sight amongst the legion, Lantern Bearers generally choosing hammers and staves which smash through armour and bone as if they consisted of Styrofoam.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: The Lantern Bearers are, first and foremost, researchers and archaeologists, much like Iniephor himself. They meticulously and studiously study all manner of subjects, from mundane pottery to the depths of the human mind, uncovering the past of humanity to hopefully plot the future. Because of this, almost every Lantern Bearer march into battle searching for more to curate and add to their history- the chapter also has a truly prodigious amount of remembrancers amidst their numbers, all of whom are respected just as much as the chapter serfs are.

When it comes to planetfall, the Lantern Bearers tend to set up rather organised societies. Planets touched by the Lantern Bearers are fairly easy to recognise, as the legion has the tendency to organise things similarly to their homeworld of Knossos, with administrative functions centred in 'castles' which the rest of the cities are centred around.

Relationships: The Lantern Bearers are perhaps the most interesting when it comes to their interactions outside of the legion. Despite showing none of the typical traits which would endear the mechanicus to them, they have nonetheless earned the respect of the Cult of Mars through Iniephor's constant tendencies to unearth all manner of tech and STCs through his incessant rummaging across the galaxy. Because of this (and aforementioned rummaging) they boast a somewhat more varied arsenal than might be expected of them, with a not-insignificant amount of artificer armour counted in their ranks.

When it comes to warp denizens, the Lantern Bearers have already been noticed. Of course, they would- Iniephor's mind shines almost as bright as the Emperor's, and when they pool their psychic power they create a beacon so powerful that it could blind an unprepared daemon. Many of the legion have unwittingly wrestled with these foes, although it is the Lords of Change who have taken particular interest in meddling with the First Legion. If this will materialise into something more sinister remains to be seen.

The Lantern Bearers, as the name suggests, often operate on the uncharted edges of the Imperium. Even for the Great Crusade they tend to roam farther and delve deeper into worlds. Because of this, they are oftentimes the first interactions once-cut off worlds have with the Imperium at large. Their ordered nature, psychic powers and highly stylised armour means that they're often mistaken as akin to gods, something which they rectify as quickly as possible. The Lantern Bearers do not leave behind feral worlds.

Lastly, the legion's relation with their father- not Iniephor, but the Emperor itself, is built on shaky foundations. The Emperor's desire to control psychic humanity and antithetical attitude to religion puts him at odds with the often-spiritualistic Lantern Bearers, who view their gifts as something to be cherished and shared, not fiercely denied. Although Iniephor would be rightfully horrified at the touch of chaos, going renegade would not be out of the question.

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

@Nate1008 That is four powers and I'm veoting anything regarding inflicting mental trauma on others through powers because that is ripe for explotiation and abuse.

RAINBOW SIX: Reckoning

Darnit I forgot you actually know French.

RAINBOW SIX: Reckoning

@Gunther

Nice to see you about Gunther! I expect interesting interactions between my two and yours

CONTAINMENT: Welcome to Facility B

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There was a shuddering, screeching noise from somewhere above the heads of the slowly awakening subjects. Then, all at once, the lights would go out totally. There was a moment of total, complete darkness and silence. Then another. Then another. Then, from somewhere within the facility, a noise would slowly build back up. It was somewhere between a thrum, chug and a roar, a steady noise that grew and grew until it finally settled down. As it did so, the lights would flick back on, but rather than the bright white, they were now a more muted yellow, tinging everything with a grimy sort of look.

An automated message would judder out. "Attention" it said, some half-destroyed processor somewhere causing it to echo an 'att' sound. "The facility is now on backup power. Do not be alarmed, the site can function on backup power for five days. Staff will be working to fix the problem. Thank you for your cooperation." The voice would repeat the message, echoes and all, one more time, before cutting off. The lifegiving sounds of the ventilation system coming back online would whirr out throughout the halls.

For a moment, that seemed to be all the disembodied, likely automated voice had to say about things, but then it would return. "Attention." It said again, the same echo following it. "Breakfast is now being served. Please make your way in a calm and orderly fashion to the canteen." It repeated the message again, much like the previous time, before shutting off for good.

Breakfast still being served? It seemed perhaps incongruent with the utter lack of anyone else around to do the serving, but perhaps this was all some sort of great misunderstanding, and the staff would, indeed, be around, like they had always been. Or, perhaps, the automated message was a vestige of a time when there had been a breakfast to be served... But that was a little more of a depressing thought.