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Thats because they are record keepers
Talk to @Andreyich he is currebtly writing up a lexmechanic character but i o ow he is looking for an excuse to change
If your loking for players you might want to give some more information. Such as, what the players are actually gpong to be doing. What is the plot. Etc, etc.
Oberon raised his bolt pistol in time to meet the airborne charge of a howling mutant. It was an insane thing, with skin like poorly aged leather, no eyes and far too many mouths. It gibbered inanely as it bounded over the heads of its equally depraved fellows with speed that belied its spindly frame. Only to be blown out of the air as a bolt shell barked and took it full in the chest. It struggled to rise with this new and vast bloody crater taking up most of its torso but eventually collapse again, reduced to a slow death as it bled from its considerable wound.

Oberon didn’t spare another shell to put it out of its misery. Content to let it die, mewling and pitiful. Better for it to suffer for its shameful existence than to waste holy munitions to expedite the inevitable. His fellows were not as precise in the expenditure of their energies. Shouting warcries and litanies, were these proper foes, which is to say traitor astartes or similarly high profile threats he could well understand. But these were mere chattle, mutants and hate-spawn that needed little of of the grandstanding these brotheren were indulging in.

He stood behind his brothers, But in front of the valuable servitors. The battle servitors were unable to open fire with the roar of their integrated heavy bolters. The IFF signals of the battle brothers standing in the way halted their marksman sub-routines unless Oberon overrode them manually. Though tempted to do just that if it meant bringing this pointless conflict to speedy conclusion, he kept their guns silent. This skirmish was just that, nothing more than a waste of time on the path to his goal, hardly the kind of battle that legends were carved from.
Dam right, I stand by my beliefs.
@Dead Cruiser@Valor@Ollumhammersong@Wadesauce@POOHEAD189@Banzai Tracers

Rightie oh, I'm going to need Character Sheets in the next couple of days, or I'm probably going to have to go exterminatus on this RP or, if people are still willing, I'll forgo the sheets and just get to the story.

Honestly I don't think skipping the sheets is a bad thing. We are all the same age, we are all wearing the exact same gear save one weapon choice. And we all have gone through the exact same experiences to get to where we are. It's not like we have had centuries of life experience to shape who we are. As scout marines we are all basically little more than clones at this point.
@CaptainBritton@Dead Cruiser…

The GM has already been at work with that. Head on over and check it out
@POOHEAD189 I remember you were super into this idea back when I tried to make it work. Figured I would let you know that this is thing again.
The assault ram possessed a lesser, but no less violatile machine spirit when compared to the vessel which is was subservient too. Not as ancient as the warspite but It was certainly more aggressive more energetic and youthful. It relished carving its way through the hull of the enemy vessel as a young warrior relishes the opportunity to charge into the ranks of the enemy. Heedless of the danger to itself and concerned onoy with the glory of the charge.

In contrast there was the hate of the enemy cruiser. And hate was the simplest way to describe it. Pure, unrepentant hatred towards those blessed souls come to scour its blighted hallways clean. He had no respect for this vessel's spirit, as potent and vast as it was. Only cold pity. It was a literal cancer plying between the stars, a tumour fit only to be cut apart or bombarded from afar.

Stepping forth into its stinking emptiness, the rust armoured brother surveyed the sorroundings. The various icons and graffiti painted along the walls in blood.... or worse. But he heard the chaplain's request and stopped to analyze. It was still a cruiser of a hallowed imperial design, though if that should make him feel better or worse in regards to its profanity he did not know. And navigating it should be a simple enough matter. 'Should be' being the operative choice of wording. It all depended on where exactly it was they boarded. It was hard to tell for certain but....

“That way.” Hefting his power axe towards the right hand direction. He paused as if re-considering his analysis. Calculations whirling in his head in a rather difficult attempt to take in the variables of their transport. “...yes, that way. And up, at least three decks above us.”

Behind him four servitors lurched out of the assault ram with their ungainly mechanized gait. Two of them sported heavy bolters instead of arms, these massive guns and their associated mechanizisms made up nearly half of their torsos. And their other arms ending in vicious industrial pincers that could shear through steel pipe and copper wire as if it were soft flesh, augmented by mechanical muscle. They clunked heavily ahead of the two more mundane servitors, themselves a mess of wiring and connection cables and little else of use. They stood idle, their faces which were already half destroyed by their machine parts blank and stupid as the automotons awaited orders to continue, or to do anything for that matter.
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