Supermaxx

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP

Just a heads up: I'll be on vacation for the next week or so. Won't be able to reply until I'm back; apologies for the inconvenience.

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Nothing. Is. Moving.

Make a wish, corrupt a wish.

Granted, you’re now gorgeous, but the only one who notices you changed or cares is you.

I wish for a puppy.

Make a wish, corrupt a wish.

Granted, but you experience sleep paralysis every moment you're asleep.

I wish to die.

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP

Lucius Marco was a card shark, plain and simple.

He made his devil's money conning gamblers out of their hard-earned Thrones at any table he could squeeze in on. He robbed them all blind and then made a quick getaway before anyone figured out Marco was a dirty, stinking cheater.

It wasn't a profitable business, Lucius had to admit. He'd make thrice as much if he put down the cards and used that mind of his for more legitimate work.

Card sharking was incredibly dangerous work too. More than one cartel in Novem Mundos wanted Marco's head delivered to them on a platter for stealing from them. Lucius had gotten into more fistfights, shootouts and chases than he could count- an impressive thing, considering how good Marco'd gotten at counting in his years.

Yet for all of it's faults, Lucius would never, ever do anything else. There was no feeling in the world like the rush he got sticking someone else's Thrones in his pocket. Nothing could compare to that exhilaration that came with robbing criminals, barons and drunkards with nothing more than some sleight of hand.

He felt that same rush now as he slapped his hand of cards down on the butcher's cart in front of him. Lucius grinned his terrible grin, showing off his shark's fangs to the other eight men seated around the cart. A chorus of curses sounded, followed by several other hands slamming down on the rickety wagon in disgust.

"Thanks for playing, lads." Marco chuckled, reaching into the cooking pot to take his hard-earned Throne Gelts. He stuffed them into the pockets of his dust-covered flight jacket, his gaze slipping over his victims as they began to disperse. Only, not all of them were leaving.

Two men sat side-by-side remained, whispering to one another. Though Lucius couldn't tell what either man was saying, he could see the malice dripping from their faces. 'Uh oh.' The Shark thought, his grin growing ever wider as he started to step away from the cart.

"Fare thee well!" He waved, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he backpedaled away. He hoped he could get a fair distance away before those two finished their conversation. Before he could get too far, he heard both of the men's chairs screech against the ground as they rose up to their feet. 'Throne be damned.' The Gambler groaned, spinning around as he quickened his pace. Maybe he could disappear into the Square's crowds and lose those two.

"Oi!" One of the men barked, prancing around the cart with surprising grace given his size. "Get back 'ere!" His partner in crime was shorter, but even fast, quickly gaining on Lucius.

Any chance of escaping this without a busted lip and emptied pockets dropped away when Marco broke into a sprint in one last bid to escape. His pursuers gave quick chase, throwing themselves after Lucius. The Shark pushed and shoved his way through the square, weaving through volunteer soldier and mercenary alike.

The chase was brought to a quick end when Lucius took a wrong turn and found himself stopped by a solid wall. "Shit!" He shouted, spinning around just in time to see the two other men breaking from the crowd.

"You fookin' cheated!" The bigger, more outspoken of the pair spat, an accusatory finger thrown toward Lucius as he began to walk forward. The Gambler retreated, his back smacking up against the wall behind him as he searched for some way to talk himself out of this mess.

"Hey, man, just- just calm down." Lucius held his hands up in front of him, trying to dissuade the giant farmer with a neck twice the size of Lucius's from beating him into a pulp. "I didn't cheat, I swear. I swear by the Emperor."

That didn't seem to convince the fellow as he got right up in front of Marco, his big, meaty hands shoving him back against the wall. Pain shot up the man's back as he let out a near-silent groan. "Come on, we're on the same side! Soldiers of the Imperium! We shouldn't be fighting each oth-"

Before he could get the words out, a fist filled his mouth.

The card shark went down, his hands hitting the grass as blood poured down from his lip onto his scruff-covered chin. "We're doing this, then. Nice." Marco grumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve as his other hand reached down into his pants. For a brief moment, he considered going for the auto-pistol tucked into his pants. But after deciding against it he chose to slide his hand over until he felt the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of his long knife.

It came screaming out of the sheathe like a bat out of hell, Lucius swinging it wildly toward the farmer's belly. He caught his shirt, tearing it and leaving behind a thin line of blood as the big guy lurched backward to avoid being gutted. "You little shit!" He roared, sending his boot forward to crash against the downed gambler's ribs.

Marco slashed the extended leg, forcing it backward so he could scramble up to his feet. By this time, the second unhappy customer was moving forward with his own fists raised. "Two against one, lads? I'm touched you care so much." Bringing his own fists up, the lanky man started bouncing between his feet to keep himself on his toes.

'Alright, Emperor, now's about the time you send one'a those guardian angels of yours to keep me from getting my ass beat.'

Superboy's Shitty Characters

Lucius Marco was a card shark, plain and simple.

He made his devil's money conning gamblers out of their hard-earned Thrones at any table he could squeeze in on. He robbed them all blind and then made a quick getaway before anyone figured out Marco was a dirty, stinking cheater.

It wasn't a profitable business, Lucius had to admit. He'd make thrice as much if he put down the cards and used that mind of his for more legitimate work.

Card sharking was incredibly dangerous work too. More than one cartel in Novem Mundos wanted Marco's head delivered to them on a platter for stealing from them. Lucius had gotten into more fistfights, shootouts and chases than he could count- an impressive thing, considering how good Marco'd gotten at counting in his years.

Yet for all of it's faults, Lucius would never, ever do anything else. There was no feeling in the world like the rush he got sticking someone else's Thrones in his pocket. Nothing could compare to that exhilaration that came with robbing criminals, barons and drunkards with nothing more than some sleight of hand.

He felt that same rush now as he slapped his hand of cards down on the butcher's cart in front of him. Lucius grinned his terrible grin, showing off his shark's fangs to the other eight men seated around the cart. A chorus of curses sounded, followed by several other hands slamming down on the rickety wagon in disgust.

"Thanks for playing, lads." Marco chuckled, reaching into the cooking pot to take his hard-earned Throne Gelts. He stuffed them into the pockets of his dust-covered flight jacket, his gaze slipping over his victims as they began to disperse. Only, not all of them were leaving.

Two men sat side-by-side remained, whispering to one another. Though Lucius couldn't tell what either man was saying, he could see the malice dripping from their faces. 'Uh oh.' The Shark thought, his grin growing ever wider as he started to step away from the cart.

"Fare thee well!" He waved, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he backpedaled away. He hoped he could get a fair distance away before those two finished their conversation. Before he could get too far, he heard both of the men's chairs screech against the ground as they rose up to their feet. 'Throne be damned.' The Gambler groaned, spinning around as he quickened his pace. Maybe he could disappear into the Square's crowds and lose those two.

"Oi!" One of the men barked, prancing around the cart with surprising grace given his size. "Get back 'ere!" His partner in crime was shorter, but even fast, quickly gaining on Lucius.

Any chance of escaping this without a busted lip and emptied pockets dropped away when Marco broke into a sprint in one last bid to escape. His pursuers gave quick chase, throwing themselves after Lucius. The Shark pushed and shoved his way through the square, weaving through volunteer soldier and mercenary alike.

The chase was brought to a quick end when Lucius took a wrong turn and found himself stopped by a solid wall. "Shit!" He shouted, spinning around just in time to see the two other men breaking from the crowd.

"You fookin' cheated!" The bigger, more outspoken of the pair spat, an accusatory finger thrown toward Lucius as he began to walk forward. The Gambler retreated, his back smacking up against the wall behind him as he searched for some way to talk himself out of this mess.

"Hey, man, just- just calm down." Lucius held his hands up in front of him, trying to dissuade the giant farmer with a neck twice the size of Lucius's from beating him into a pulp. "I didn't cheat, I swear. I swear by the Emperor."

That didn't seem to convince the fellow as he got right up in front of Marco, his big, meaty hands shoving him back against the wall. Pain shot up the man's back as he let out a near-silent groan. "Come on, we're on the same side! Soldiers of the Imperium! We shouldn't be fighting each oth-"

Before he could get the words out, a fist filled his mouth.

The card shark went down, his hands hitting the grass as blood poured down from his lip onto his scruff-covered chin. "We're doing this, then. Nice." Marco grumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve as his other hand reached down into his pants. For a brief moment, he considered going for the auto-pistol tucked into his pants. But after deciding against it he chose to slide his hand over until he felt the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of his long knife.

It came screaming out of the sheathe like a bat out of hell, Lucius swinging it wildly toward the farmer's belly. He caught his shirt, tearing it and leaving behind a thin line of blood as the big guy lurched backward to avoid being gutted. "You little shit!" He roared, sending his boot forward to crash against the downed gambler's ribs.

Marco slashed the extended leg, forcing it backward so he could scramble up to his feet. By this time, the second unhappy customer was moving forward with his own fists raised. "Two against one, lads? I'm touched you care so much." Bringing his own fists up, the lanky man started bouncing between his feet to keep himself on his toes.

'Alright, Emperor, now's about the time you send one'a those guardian angels of yours to keep me from getting my ass beat.'

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP

Ohh. I like the concept of learning about the character through OC posts rather than through a character sheet. Very neat stuff.

I can’t wait to die in the name of the glorious God Emperor.

Warhammer 40k: Answering the Call - An Only War/Guard RP [Seeking cannon fodder]

@BangoSkank Since the 40kverse is so big, it's not uncommon for remote human settlements (like the ones featured in this RP) to be so far removed from everything that it's citizens know little to nothing about the greater universe. There are several wikis you can read if you'd like to know more about the lore, but you certainly wouldn't need to be an expert to participate.

Pariah Online | Season One

I wanted to shoot for twenty eight before going on. Odd numbers are just the worst.

Pariah Online | Season One

G R A V E S

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• Tʜᴇ Dᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ •

---

The party rallied, tearing the initiative away from their attackers as they pressed forward for the first time since the battle begin. They had a plan of attack now; no longer were they simply reacting to the encroaching mob. Graves led the frontline forward, sweeping his halberd through the teeming mass of frozen gelatin. It's flaming ax-head made quick work of individual slimes. Yet for each one the tank cut down, it seemed like two more rose up to take it's place.

Graves felt like his muscles were on fire. He threw his strength behind every harrowing swing, his mind occupied only by the unflinching desire to get the hell out of that death trap. He knew what was at stake- they all did. Death here was no longer a simple inconvenience, but the end of everything. He could give no less than his all.

Even still, he could feel himself slowing. He made less progress with every step. His polearm swung with less and less force each time the digital warrior swept it forward. Muscles cramped and fatigue's deadly venom began to creep ever so slowly into his veins.

Luckily for the brutish tank, he was not alone in this fight.

Assistance came in a call of his name from the fiddle-wielding necrobard. Tiferet's magical music changed it's tune from the precise, elegant and swift Kronos to something...stranger. A swing band of all things began to echo from that damnable device of hers. Quick, powerful, yet utterly chaotic.

The buff hit Graves full-force like a baseball to the forehead.

Every inch of his body was shot full of a pulsating, electric energy. The strength that filled his taut muscles would've been appreciated, if not for the buckets upon buckets of itching powder he felt slipping in every pore, crack and crevice. "I do NOT like this song!" The giant howled.

He poured his irritation into every swing of his weapon that followed.

Energized hands spun the polearm about with surprising dexterity for a man of his size. He spun in his advance, dragging the ax along the sea of gushing slimes from side to side. Great, sweeping brushes preceded each forward step from the titan. Graves set the pace for the other frontliners to follow in the stead of his violent march.

All about him, the rest of the party worked to clear the path toward their chosen exit. Landon and Redsky's combined arms attack washed the enemy in searing malice, burning away a mass of gathered monsters on the ceiling as well as directly in front of them. That burning swath of dead made for an easy push for Graves, Ochre and Rael- they merely had to make sure the rest of the slimes didn't fill in the way in place of their dozens of dead.

"Move! Move!" Landon and Sky's opening wouldn't last long. They had done little to stem the overwhelming tide of creatures still filling the chamber, even with the stream of fallen they trod over; it would not be long before the frost slimes managed to overwhelm them if they did not escape in short order.

Graves reached the other end of the room, his shoulder slamming hard against the gate as he came to a sliding halt. The floor was horrifically slick from squashed slime corpses spilling their innards across the frosty stone. "Through the door, now! Fucking hurry!" From where he stood, the bloodied tank could see the ooze creatures massing at the back of the party. They were flooding forward like a singular, conjoined wave. It was a slow, sticky wave, mind you; but it wasn't something Graves would want to be caught under.

He remained outside the gate, half to keep the monsters back and half to catch anyone that might (understandably) fall thanks the messy ground.

Once the last person was through, Graves slipped in behind them, planting his feet on the stone. "Get this shit shut before they get through!" He barked, his halberd clattering to the floor as he lifted both of his palms up to the gate. Graves pushed with all of his might, forcing the creaking mass to move for likely the first time since it's creation. It took no small amount of effort, but the ooze slipping in between the two great doors was all the motivation the tank needed to continue.

Like a clap of thunder the doors were forced together, and the threshold closed off. A batch of slime attempting to wiggle through was cut in twain by the shutting of the gate, and silence fell over the creeping halls of the crypt once more.

Graves stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall as he slid down onto his rear with a loosed sigh. When he leaned back, the telltale shlick of something cool and sticky drew his eyes to the little beast still clinging unknowingly to his shoulder. "Fuckin' hate these things." He snarled, tearing it off and throwing it away. If it weren't for the stacking cold resistances thrown on him by his supporting allies, that creature might've taken an arm off if the bounty hunter's luck had continued the usual downward trend.

"Anybody dead yet?"