Penny

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Ducksworth Excellent, go ahead and move to the character tab

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The pair of Emmaline’s who guard clashed the hafts of their halberds on the ground and suddenly the dungeon was gone. They were standing instead in an Ecclesiarchy court, flanked on three sides by imposing stained glass windows that stretched fifty feet into the air. One of the windows showed an Emmaline dressed in the Adeptus Sororitas battle armor that had been my (our?) disguise the previous year, bolter raised heroiically. Another showed a naked Emmaline emerging from the ocean off Agesilea, in the style of some ancient painting I had once glimpsed. The central window held a depiction of the Emperor in the style of the Great Crusade though the details around his face flickered as though the artist were leafing through several rough sketches.

A central dias held a stone judges throne, on which sat Emmaline-who-judges, a rather overly sexualized Ecclesiarchy robe wrapped around her body as she gazed on the rest of the scene with ill disguised contempt. The prisoner sat in a witness box his eyes wide and staring, his mind under considerable psychic strain. Behind a stone balustrade carved with straining gargoyles and cherubs scores of Emmalines sat, forming a jury or a simply witnessing proceedings.

“Did you learn this from the tome… the…” Hadrian began.

“Splitting into different aspects? Emmaline-who-explains-things finished, then shook her head.

“Emmaline-who-over-analyzes thinks it is due to leading a life of deception prior to coming into your service, a habitual donning of masks and fake personas.”

“Orr it could be a result of childhood trauma, or a way to defend myself against early psychic awakenings or…” Emmaline-who-explains things waved her hand to quiet a rather overwhelmed looking Emmaline who was making a diagram on the wall with various notations connected by pieces of crimson twine.

“So who is the Emmaline I see in the real world?” Hadrian asked. Every single one of the hundred or so visible Emmalines turned towards him and in perfect unison replied: “I am.” Hadrian shook his head but was spared from comment by another crack of halberd butts on stone.

“Begin,” Emmaline-who-judges declared, adjusting her mitre on her head and shooting a disgusted look at the prisoner.

Emmaline-who-disciplines stalked onto the floor and began reading out a list of charges against the mercenary. They ranged in severity from betraying the Emperor of Mankind to getting blood on her favorite dress.

“What happens now,” Hadrian asked, his eyes flicking sideways to where an Emmaline in a psykers robe was flipping steadily through a large leather bound book. It had been hung with purity seals and inquisitorial interdicts, the ink on its pages flickering and twisting wiildly.

“Hadrian Drakos, Emmaline-with-false-modesty come forward, Throne of Terra I can’t believe he picked you,” Emmaline-who-judges said disgustedly. The two of them moved forward to stand before the prisoner. A great stone seal had been wrought into the floor, a combination of an Imperial Aquilla, an Inquisitorial Electoo, and the letters H and E intertwined. There was a soft murmur from the assembled Emmaline, as though each one of them was whispering a chant under their breath.
“Ask your questions, the accused will answer them,” Emmaline-who-judges declared.
“I’m not going to say a damned thing to any of you crazy blondes!” the merc screamed, a moment later a gag appeared over his mouth forcing his jaw shut.

“Very well…” Hadrian began “What is your name? The merc screamed into his gag and tried to turn his eyes away from the Inquisitor but try as he might he couldn’t quite break eyecontact. There was a stomach churning lurch and we tumbled into his eyes as though we were plunging into a deep pool of water.

“...Demik Veb,” the mercenary replied, reaching out to shake Hadrian’s hand. The air around us was thick with moisture and the caws of tropical birds was all around us. We were on a trail surrounded by lush jungle. Though recognisable as the prisoner Demik looked younger, less hard bitten, the way the mind liked to picture itself. He reached out and took my hand.

“Wow , I bet your clan got a hell of a bloodprice for you,” he said to me. I shook his hand and smiled.

“Oh you know, it wasn’t that much,” I replied demurely. Something, maybe a big cat screamed off in the distance and Demick tensed. He was dressed in green and brown camo cloth and carried a las rifle with a bulky underslung grenade launcher. I was dressed in my conservative suit, it wasn’t too fancy but I guess it looked ok, despite being completely inadequate for the jungle conditions that surrounded us. Giant trees with no lower limbs rose up trailing beards of wrist thick vines with colorful sucker like flowers that seemed to slowly reach and grasp for each other. Spikey looking fungus projected up from the ground like tank traps, bristling with thorn like projections.

“We better make the compound before nightfall, or the flesh rippers will take us for sure,” Demick said, moving on down the trail as though lead scout for our little band
“What is happening, he dosen’t recognise us?” Hadrian asked in a quiet voice.
“This is before we met him,” I explained, “We will be able to see pivotal moments, and he should interpret us as friends or comrades. We can ask questions, it might make him jump to those memories though, at least that is what Emmaline-who…. Well that is what I understand,” I concluded, following Hadrian as he set off after Demick.

“He mentioned fleshrippers, are we in any danger here?” Hadrian asked. I put my hands on my hips.

“You picked the wrong Emmaline if you wanted explanations, though of course I will do what ever I can to help, no matter how small.”

Tyrants of Illiac Bay

Delphine settled into the chair with a sigh. She felt the elation of victory, and was even enjoying the unusual sensation of not being screwed out of her pay but the taste of ash and blood on the air was an unpleasant companion. Reaching down she took the bottle of Cyrodilic brandy and slugged from the neck. Doubtless this was an offense against excellent liquor but Delphine had always taken her booze where she could get it. With the Empire in chaos and the rise of pirates, slavers, and bandits the stuff was much more expensive than the apple brandy the Bretons made. She took a long drink and felt the burn of it in her throat, it was smooth and rich with the subtle taste of the apricots it was distilled from. The vapor coming off it made her eyes water pleasantly. The bottle was pleasant to look at, a soft brown glass with a cast seal of some distillery in some place called Bravil.

“We play truth or dare here,” she told Amal, “but I suppose we can drink in stead of dare.” She held up a finger and took another belt of brandy, gasping and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It did seem to be helping with the taste.

“Why did you come to High Rock?” she asked bluntly.

“It is a nice enough place all things considered,” she said, making a gesture that mentally encompassed the destruction wrought by the pirates.

“But people that come here from afar go to Daggerfall, or to Wayrest, must be a story as to how you ended up here.”

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

A half dozen of the guests were already down, some were screaming in pain others were dead. I saw an ecclesiarch sprint across the dancefloor at full tilt, robes hitched up. An autogun round snatched off his mitre but he dived into one of the corridors that led back to the food preparation area none the worse for wear. Apparently the Emperor did protect. One of the guests, a handsome man in false middle age lifted a hand and obliterated one of the gunmen with a greenish blast from some kind of digital laser before two rounds punched him in the chest and dropped him into the shallow waters. I levered myself up from behind the planter and aimed the las carbine. I tried for a moment to remember the Litany of Accuracy but gave up and just squeezed the trigger. Brilliant energy lashed out, far too high, I hit several paper lantern and sent them drifting to the floor in flames. Cursing I adjusted my aim, then ducked back into cover as autogun fire blasted cracks into the heavy marble.

There were perhaps a score of attackers, all similarly kitted and equipped, and they were rapidly spreading out to catch us in crossfire. They would have us in a matter of moments, would have already done so if Hadrian had not spotted them the moment they emerged from the water. A grenade bounced over my planter to clatter to the ground beside me. I shoved it with my mind, sending it spinning into the water a moment before it exploded in a huge geyser of spume. The nearest barge began to cant to the side and sink, spilling hundreds of goblets of champagne that had been arranged in a pyramid in an avalanche of glass and expensive liquor.

The doors flew open and a dozen men in the red and white uniforms of valets stormed in. Given the riot guns they carried, parking was a serious business here abouts. A blizzard of well aimed fire tore from the phalanx of men. For a moment I thought our assailant’s body armor would save them, but Hadrian had briefed his men well. The riot guns fired saboted solids that smashed our attackers from their feet, crippling more often than killing as the flak plates crushed ribs and organs. Within a handful of seconds it was over, though the high pitched screaming of the wounded continued.

“ Clear Admiral,” the leader of the valiant valets called. Up close he had a hard bitten look and I recognized him as a genuine Arbite. Most of his men were probably local law enforcement, but he was the real deal.

“The rest of my men are securing the site, we aren’t sure how they…”

“Sir!” one of the valets called and we all turned to see two of the prisoners were convulsing, greenish white froth spattering from the corner of their mouths. I whirled to our own prisoner and was horrified to see the same twitching death theros. It was some kind of fail safe to prevent capture, a poison secreted in a tooth or otherwise implanted on a soldier. When the mission looked like a failure it had been triggered and all of our mysterious attackers were dying.

“Move!” I shouted, infusing the command with enough of my will that the valet between me and the nearest prisoner leaped out of my way, dropping his riot gun as he did so. THe weapon barked and blew a bunch of apline flowers to colorful confetti. I dropped to my knees and ripped open the jacket covering his armor. It took me a second to find what I was looking for. Reaching down I took hold of a silver amulet around the dying man’s neck and ripped it off. The silver was very cold to my touch and burned me as though the metal was ice cold. I tossed it aside and slapped the man hard. Black lines were spreading along his blood vessels and his skin was very grey.

“Look at me! LOOK AT ME.” Every eye in the room involuntarily jerked towards me, save Hadrian who was already looking at me voluntarily. I opened my mind and sketched a symbol on his forehead, then two fingers to certain points on the design. The dying man screamed and thrashed, trying desperately to break eye contact but writhe as he might his eyes remained locked to mine. The lights guttered and plants wilted. A timepiece in the pocket of a dead man began to chime and chime and chime before finally breaking with an audible crack. I yanked my hand away and the dying man’s eyes went slack, then blank.

“Holy Terra,” one of the valet/sanctioners muttered and spread his hands in the sign of the aquila. The dead man’s head now bore a shallow but exact imprint of my finger tips, down to the whorls of my prints. Hadrian’s eyes flicked from me to the other men.

“That will be all, spread out and see if anyone is left alive, help the civilians,” Hadrian directed. The knot of men dispersed to their tasks with the efficiency their profession bred.

“What was that?” Hadrian asked with an arched eyebrow.

“I think I might have something we can use… but not here, we need to go back to the hotel room.”

An hour later we were back in our luxurious quarters. I had refused to elaborate too much during the drive back, but had told Hadrian that I needed time to prepare my mind. That was sort of true but not in the way he probably imagined. I bathed in clear cold water and cleansed myself of both sweat and perfume. I washed my hair and brushed it, carefully delivering 600 strokes of an ivory comb. Finally I put on a simple translucent shift and joined Hadrian in our sitting room.

“Sit with me and I’ll show you what I learned,” I told him, and sat down cross legged on the floor. I reached out and touched his face. Our eyes met and there was a sudden flash.

The air was dank with wet stone. We were standing in front of a dungeon cell, its iron bars mortared into the stone Hadrian stood beside me, his clothing flickering oddly, now battle armor, now a tuxedo, now his swimming trunks. I was wearing a flowing white toga in a neoclassical style, with a laurel wreath around my head and a golden torch in my hand. Well I say ‘I’. Emmaline-who-explains-things was dressed that way. Two more Emmalines, their hair up in identical buns canted left and right stood before the cell, long pikes slanting in exactly opposite directions.

“Who goes there?” demanded Emmaline-who-guards-things.

“Who else?” I responded to myself. Hadrian was looking around, justifiably wondering what in the Emperor’s name was going on.

“Are we in your mind?” he asked. The attention of both Emmaline’s focused on him when he spoke. Half a dozen other Emmaline’s in various garb flickered in and out of existence around us.
“Sort of…” Emmaline-who-explains-things, I for the moment, responded.

“Help! Help me! I should be dead! Let me die! Let me die!” a terrified voice called. A man in sackcloth appeared at the bars, his features those of the mercenary I had touched, though in his own self image he was a little less battered and a little more handsome than his real life counterpart.

“You have his mind in your head?” Hadrian demanded.

“It wasn’t that hard,” replied Emmaline-with-false-modesty, suddenly standing beside Hadrian, her clothing in a conservative style but cut to show off every curve.

“That isn’t the point,” Emmaline-who-worries-about-things replied, running her hands nervously through her hair.

“Let me out you crazy bitches!” the prisoner screamed, throwing himself against the bars with absolutely no effect.

“No,” said a half dozen Emmaline’s simultaneously.

“Yes, I was able to take his mind before the poison claimed him,” said Emmaline-who-explains-things.

“We can interrogate him here but…” Emmaline-who-explains-things waved her hand at the various incarnations of me as they flickered in and out of existence.

“I think it might be easier if we went into his mind together… it won't be as clear but it won't be as distracting for everyone.”

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Vertigo Yes applications are still open :)

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Ducksworth No problem!

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

@Naril@Fetzen@POOHEAD189

We are off! You can decide how the bombing affects your characters, though if you wish I can provide you with some possible prompts.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

Factions

Wizards - The wizards of Corvus Bay are not united, though several are grouped together from long association basing their power around Corax University and it's campus.

Vampires - All vamprires in the city Duke Vitorio Cassalaro who runs them like a criminal cartel.

Dramatis Persona

Vampires:
Duke Vitorio Cassalaro - Leader of the Vampires
Mateo Cassalaro - Son of the Duke - Deceased (redeceased?)

Wizards:
Edmund Tattersol - The Old Monster
Sophia Tattersol - Daughter of Edmund Tattersol (deceased)

Winter Fae

Kelly Ashler - The Winter Knight

Her hair was incredibly thick, blonde with a tinge of forest green that beglamored the senses. Her eyes were molten bronze, and she was a statuesque woman, taller than most men. Her fashionable cargo pants tucked into her black combat boots, she wore a crimson croptop with suspenders. He'd heard a human familiar describe her as 'a fit worth a thousand ships.... a retro style as deadly as her claymore

Werewolves

Jack O'kane

The leader of the pack, a massively built man with a wild beard and a truly alarming hawaiian shirt

The Presinct
Corrupt mortal cops who are clued in to the supernatural and are set to squeeze it as hard as they can.

A Hard Rain - Urban Fantasy RP

Summer lay on the city of Corvus Bay like a wet towel. A heat haze hung across the city, mingling with the smell of hot asphalt, and the emissions of thousands of cars. Only intermittently did relief arrive in the form of the clammy breath of the Atlantic Ocean, telling tales of the far away polar wastes in the barest whisper. This did nothing to stop the frenetic activity of the city: cargo arrived in the port in a ceaseless stream, vanishing onto rail cars or semi trailers or into a hundred other capillaries of commerce. Nor did it stop the relentless grind of the citizens of the City of Crows, lives measured in hourly rates, rent payments, car repairs and, if they were lucky, the occasional moments of joy. And of course nothing stopped the masters of the city, mortal and mundane alike, from enjoying their place at the top of the pyramid.

The Tem Gala was the high point of this order. The bright and beautiful of the mortal and supernatural communities alike. Of course, only the beautiful and photogenic of the supernatural community were invited, only those that could wear a pleasing form were invited, but that did include wizards, fae, vampires, even a few of the more well to do demons. It was a pageant for the haves that the have nots could only watch in flickering LCD.

“And the word is we have a wedding to look forward to!” a reporter in an expensive suit with more expensive cosmetic surgeries gushed. The TV screen showed a red carpet with gold plated posts and red ropes where celebrities were stopped and asked the essential question of ‘who are you wearing’ followed by rather more proforma inquiry of which charities, the ostensible purpose of the night, they were supporting. The woman being asked about her matrimonial plans was declared: “Sophia Tattersol, Philanthropist” by the tape below the interview. She was beautiful in the way that many wealthy people were, though there was a brightness and intelligence to her eyes that animated and elevated her looks. Her dark hair was cut with simplicity that all but screamed money. To the mortals of the city she was merely one of the social elite, to the aware crowd she was sorceress royalty, the daughter and presumptive heir of Edmund Tattersol, the Old Monster himself whose grip on city politics and arcane lore were equally ironclad.

“We are hoping for a fall wedding, here in the city of course,” Sophia gushed to the evident delight of the reporter. A handsome man in an expensive tux stepped into the shot and the camera lit with the frenzy of flash photography as husband and wife-to-be were immortalized in film. Well wife was immortalized, the husband being Mateo Cassalaro, the eldest son of Duke Vitorio Cassalaro, the eldest and most powerful vampire in the city, and thus having already passed beyond the bounds of simple mortality. A union between the two most powerful blocs in the city was a coup that seemed almost impossible after decades of hot and cold conflict in the streets and in the boardroom.

“Well, many happy returns and…” the feed went dead, flickering to static for a second and then to a sterile ‘signal lost’. A few seconds later the shockwave arrived. The top of the Tem tower mushroomed out in a red and orange streaked fireball that rained shattered glass over three city blocks. Car alarms across half the city began to wail and power outages rippled outwards in irregular patterns. Dogs howled and sirens screamed. Not long after that, the phones began to ring…

Synopsis

A bombing at a local gala kills the heir apparents to the most powerful wizard in the city and the leader of the cities vampires. Dozens of other major supernatural figures are also presumed dead, as are a hundred or so mortals. A move like this is likely to put all factions at each others throats as recriminations, revenge killings, and simple power grabs take place.

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Why me Sel cursed as she trudged over the broken glass that the blast had flung into the kitchens. Already rinds of ice were forming over everything and it was going to be a bastard of a job to keep pickets out here now that the void shield was down and the full fury of the storm was gusting in. The troopers had fallen back into the adjoining rooms but they couldn’t stay there, not and watch the approaches to the house. Idly she wondered if it might be possible to get some work out of the household troops. That was a laugh. Sel pushed into the pantry where second squad was busily pillaging everything before it got freezer burned by this ridiculous planet, she saw sausages, fruits, even a whole chicken disappearing into packs.

“Spade, Ruskins, Mills, Tandor, and….” Sel’s eyes wandered over the assembled troopers, all of whom had frozen in mid pilferage.

“Kolcek,” she declared with malicious pleasure, “Gear and outfront in thirty seconds!” Kolcek stuffed a ham into his rucksack and glared.

“Why me?” he asked, unconsciously echoing Sel’s thoughts of a few moments before. Sel grinned, it was not a friendly or reassuring expression.

“Given that you shot me, it might save time if you just assume you will be on any crappy job I can find for the foreseeable forever,” she told the dejected trooper. Kolcek cursed but was already grabbing his gear.

The hike up to the generator took nearly a quarter of an hour. It was easier going than it might have been, the snow having not yet had time to settle as it surely would in another hour or so. The half squad of troopers spread out in an extended line with ten meters between each of them, the best they could do with visibility. They made their way over the manicured garden and up the shallow side of the rift valley, picking there way over increasingly slippery terrain. The lights of the main house were still visible below them, though wavering and distant now.

“Couldn’t we at least have brought a chimera?” Kolcek bitched, breathing on his hands and rubbing them together. Sel privately though his continual griping boded well for his future in the guard, assuming someone didn’t empty his head with a las bolt in the immediate future.

“Chimera’s are valuable Kolcek,” Sel replied tiredly as she swept her carbine left to right.

“Unlike us?” the private objected.

“Well, unlike you,” Sel partially agreed, getting a chuckle from the rest of the troopers, “now shut up, we are close.”

The shield node was the size of a two story hab, a large blocky structure topped by an oddly foreshortened concave disc. Sel’s keen eye deduced that the reason for the malfunction was the fact that the dish had been blown off and slid fifty meters down the valley wall. They approached in line, one element leapfrogging the other until they reached the dish, then they melted around it to clear the building, doing a credible job of it that Sel steadfastly refused to credit to Sargent Crispin’s obsessive drilling on the void ship. They found no enemies, and as soon as the place was reasonably secured, Sel set Spade to look over the damage. It took the woman perhaps a quarter hour before she jogged back to the base building, inside of which they had managed to get a small fire going.

“Amateur hour Corporal,” Spade reported, thrusting her hand over the barrel in which the ruins of several pieces of furniture cheerfully blazed.

“What do you mean?” Sel asked, waving the troops around so that the news didn’t have to be repeated.

“Looks to me like someone just wedged a krack grenade in the works and waited for it to pivot. Probably lucky they didn’t take their hand off doing it, once it went off the weight of the dish basically ripped itself free.”

“And that is amateur because….?” Sel pressed. Spade shrugged.

“Only luck it worked, might just have easily of gone bang and the blast was wasted, you really need a melta charge to be sure of taking down something like this. You think it was rebels?”
“How would they have gotten through the shield to begin with, and if they did why wait to hit us?”

“They might be coming down the main drag now, saboteurs on the inside?” Spade suggested.

“If you are going to get someone inside, why not get them a melta charge?” Sel speculated.

“Im going to call it in,” Sel replied and Spade fiddled with the vox set till they got a strong link.

“Brave Six this is bravo…uhhh whatever my number is,” Sel began, “Kaiden, it looks like this was some kind of low tech sabotage with basic equipment.” She hesitated for a second.

“Whoever did it might be long gone or back in the mansion for all we know. Seldon out.”