IN THE GRIM DARKNESS OF THE FAR FUTURE THERE IS ONLY WAR
For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods and the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium, for whim a thousand souls die every day, for whom blood is drunk and flesh eaten. Human blood ad human flesh - The stuff of which the Imperium is made. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. This is the tale of those times.
It is a universe you can live today - if you dare - for this is a dark and terrible era where you will find little comfort or hope. If you want to take part in the little adventure then prepare yourself now. Forget the power of technology, science and common humanity. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for there is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.
But the universe is a big place and, whatever happens, you will not be missed...
The 13th Black Crusade of Abaddon the Despoiler that began in 999.M41 resulted in the largest mobilization of both Imperial and Chaotic forces seen in the Milky Way Galaxy since the Horus Heresy. During this war, which has come to be known as the Eye of Terror Campaign, brother once more fought brother as traitors and loyalists clashed upon a thousand worlds. Entire chapters of the Adeptus Astartes fell, dozens of planets were out right destroyed and for the first time in thousands of years the Imperium glimpsed the end. The Galaxy shook with the pounding of guns, the marching of troops and the cruel laughter of the chaos gods though empire of humanity pulled away from the brink and fought with a tenacity that struck fear into their traitorous enemies. The Imperium prevailed pushing back Abaddon’s crusade back into the Eye of Terror, though they were never able to shake them from Cadia’s surface and still the war there continues. Cut off from reinforcements, the chaotic forces on Cadia wage a war of martyrdom against the Imperium. Abaddon now waits, though the Imperium claimed victory it was not victory merely continued survival of humanity.
This is where our journey begins, in the wake of Addadon's 13th Black Crusade the Dark Council of the XVII Legion, Word Bearers, met within secret from the rest of the Legion. What was discussed in that assembly is unknown, what is known is that your characters have been handpicked from the Legion to serve in a small team on a very important mission. For one reason or another, your warrior has been seen as exceptional in one or more fields of combat. You are the elite of the XVII Legion and you have answered the call.
1. No being OP, essentially your character cannot dodge every bullet and one shot every baddie. Things stop being special if everyone can do it.
2. No character controlling, unless approved by the other person.
3. Stay true to your character.
4. Posts should be at the very least a paragraph in length.
5. If you plan to be gone or leave let us know prior to the time.
6. I am the GM, but I will allow you guys to vote on how you would like some things to play out.
7. Violence, profanity, torture, and other mature topics are allowed.
8. Have fun, this is the most important rule I want you all to have fun
Link to the OOC
Accepted Character Sheets
-Captain Loron Tahrkinson/Tundrafrog1124
SpoilerName: Loron Tahrkinson
Age: More than 10,000 Terran years
Place of Origin: Formerly the feudal world of Colchis, but after its destruction Loron joined the rest of the Legion in its journey to the demon world of Sicarus.
Appearance: Standing at just above seven feet eight inches and weighing roughly seven hundred and nighty pounds, Loron is large even for an Astartes. Though much of his body is covered having been fused to his armor many eons ago his face still remains free of bondage. It is a rough and brutal face, a heavy brow, strong chin and other angular features where a hint of gigantism can be found. Loron’s skin is the color of dead flesh, an ashen grey stitched across with old wounds and wearing of years. His head, in typical Word Bearer fashion, is bald, where upon scars and other symbols of devotion lay. His eyes are dark pits stare out coldly from under his brow and across an angular nose; many times broken.
Personality: Loron is cold and brutal, more than a hundred centuries of eternal warfare has stripped away anything that could be called human in him. Loron lives and breathes for the dark gods, every step he takes, he takes for them, every life he ends, he ends for them. Loron is a zealot whose only loyalties lay with his himself, his Legion and above all his gods.
Rank: Captain of Tenth Company
Role within the Group: Squad leader
Weapons: Ultima Mark II Pattern Bolter, a trophy from combat against the loyalists’ centuries ago. In that time Loron and the artificers of the Legion have helped upgrade the bolter to the best of its quality. As a side arm Loron carries an Umbra Pattern Bolt Pistol, the bolt pistol is fitted with Hellfire rounds and is either used in conjunction with his sword or to deliver executions. Loron’s final weapon is his most prized; a great obsidian blade that would take a lesser man two hands to wield Loron’s Astartes strength allows him to wield it easily with one hand. Many years ago Loron was tricked by a demon named Sall’karr of the warp, in a stroke of revenge Loron challenged the beast to a duel and bested it. Then using an incantation known only to him condemned the demon to remain trapped within the blade until Loron’s assent to demonhood had been complete. The relationship between the two is strained to put it lightly but the demon knows that if Loron falls then it will be trapped forever.
Armor: Loron’s armor is perhaps one of the few material items he truly cares about. An ancient suit of Mark III ‘Iron’ Power Armor gifted to him when he was promoted to Captain during the Great Crusade thousands of years ago. The suit due to constant warp exposure and the work of the Legion’s artificers has become a macabre work of art. Leering demon faces mar his shoulder pads and greaves alongside heretical scripture. Glowing runes that are painful to look upon shift constantly across his armor in an unsettling migration. A great eight pointed star made of bronze lays emboldened across his breastplate, the center of the star being filled with a human skull. Nailed, studded or otherwise attached across his armor are heretical scriptures written upon ancient parchment or human skin. The most disturbing feature of Loron’s ancient armor is his helmet. The helmet is a ghastly thing, the metal having warped so that the face mask resembles almost an elongated skull made of bronze. The eye slits are narrow and long, an eerie violet glow emanating from the almost sunken features. The exterior vox caster of the helm has widened with its corners ending in small stout tusks. The entire helmet has a dark almost human quality that is terrifying to behold, small ridges of horns dot the top and living cables expand and bulge along the sides.
Misc. Gear: Five extra magazines for his bolter, three extra magazines for his bolt pistol, the book of Logar, scrolls and books pertaining to worship of the dark gods; a pickled Bloodletter tongue, a ritual knife, the toe of a Demonette, a vial of pus from a Plaugebearer and a feather from a Pink Horror.
Background: Loron was born on the feudal world of Colchis; he remembers little of his former life before being recruited for the XVII Legion. He does remember small fragments for his training, the fighting pits, days spent in the mountains; where others shriveled and died Loron pushed on. Joining the Word Bearers Legion, even at the lowest rank Loron had a reputation for his fanaticism. Constant preaching of both Logar’s and the Emperor’s divine right to rule, while this wasn’t uncommon among the Legion, Loron was more of a zealot than many. Loron engaged in thousands of battles and hundreds of campaigns in his past, he raised the ranks quickly and was honored by being promoted to the rank of Sargent at the end of the Ullanor Campaign.
A turning point in Loron’s life was when his Legion was punished by the Emperor himself for their religious zealotry. After Ultramarines led by their Primarch razed the capital city of Khur, the Entire Word Bearers Legion was assembled and rebuked for their faith. Forced to kneel before the Emperor and told that they had failed humanity. Loron felt ashamed and betrayed, like his Primarch he fell into a deep melancholy. His need to believe looking for anything to latch to, and soon it found that very thing. Upon Logar’s return from the 1301st expeditionary fleet a new faith was handed to Loron, one that was worthy of his worship.
Not long after Loron found solace in the Primordial Truth did his gods call for him to act in their name. Loron participated in the drop site massacre of Isstvan V, did battle against the hated Ultramarines on Calth, participated in the invasion of Terra and later followed his chapter into the Eye of Terror. There in the warp the Legions of Chaos grew in size and strength; multiple times did Loron lead the Tenth Company alongside the Warmaster Abaddon the despoiler in his Black Crusades. Loron acted under the leadership of the Dark Apostle Eliphas the Inheritor during the Dark Crusade for the planet Kronus. Every battle, every slaughter only honed his skills in the flames of war, now Loron sets out for the most important mission of his life; leading a strike force handpicked by the Dark Council Loron will hunt the greatest predator of them all. An Inquisitor
-Misstress of Repentence Sari Corax/Misery Company
SpoilerName: Sari Corax
Place of Origin: Hive world in segmentum ultimum
Appearance: 5'8, 178 lbs, black hair, brown eyes, pale complexion, chaos united star tattooed around right eye,
Personality: Keeping a normally calm and calculated seductively playful demeanor, when it comes to combat she loses herself in the bloodbath becoming a maniac in the grisly work
Rank: Corrupted Sister Superior, Mistress of Repentance
Role: Heavy Gunner,
Weapons: Storm Bolter, power sword. 2x frag grenade, 1x krak grenade, neural whip
Armor: Power Armor, painted red and black, warped by the ruinous powers with spikes jutting forth from the plate, and turning her fleur de les into chaos stars, bulging daemonic faces ornament her shoulder plates, the once pristine white cloths replaced with human skin,
Misc Gear: several days food rations, several scrolls from the book of Lorgar, extra ammunition storm bolter box
Background: Sari seemed to have always been a fanatic for the Emperor, leading her sisters Repentia into battle. They were fierce and regardless of their near suicidal assaults she never lost a single one of her sixteen repentia. They fought necrons, daemons, tyranids, even faced a fearsome Ork party.
Then the black crusade began. Sari rallied her sisters telling them that to push back this force would redeem them. They fought on the frontlines, but seemed to be pushed back, and for the first time they saw casualties among their own. They eventually were pushed back to Cadia where they fought against the Death Guard, Tyranids, and Daemons at Belis Corona. They were beaten though, and as they prepared for one final charge against the chaotic forces they were face to face with a dark prophet. Words spilled from the prophet's mouth like honey, and the sisters lapped it up forsaking the emperor and his false promises.
It was then that Sari and her sisters became one with the horde following the Dark Prophet like faithful dogs. They fought against their once comrades slaughtering them in droves. When the battles came to a stalemate the sisters returned with their prophet to the warband all six who were left. Within the space of the ruinous powers they were warped. Sari's body being marked her armor and weapons twisted. Her repentia sisters were twisted much more due to their lack of armor becoming more demonic than human.
Now they are being called forth once more for something important, and Sari is all to happy, but to accept.
-Julius Winter/Magnus the Red
SpoilerName: Julius Winter
Age: 57 - Having had some various things in his life, Julius is as fit as a thirty year old physically.
Place of Origin: Praetoria
Appearance: Pure black hair cut in Caesar style, Julius is white with violet eyes. Standing at 6ft 2inches tall, Julius is lean, but not overtly muscled or under-muscled. With a crooked roman nose and sharp features, Julius also bears his scars, on the right hand side of his brow is a vertical scar around five centimeters in length. He is clean shaven.
With regards to clothing, Julius wears his old Praetorian Guard uniform, only with the scarlet tunic now being dark grey. Underneath it is his flak jacket, under that is his shirt. He wears pure black trousers with highly shined black leather shoes. Finally on his head goes his pith helmet.
Personality: Approachable, Julius is overall very calm, having faced a few terrifying battles, Julius has what he likes to call “a stiff upper lip”.
Role Within the Group: Rifleman
Weapons: Standard Bolt Action Lasgun and bayonet. The Lasgun however has been bound to a daemon giving it more punch as the saying goes. The daemon being willing and so a rather great partnership, with the weapon having never worked so well before.
Armor: Flak Jacket, Pith Helmet and a Dark Grey greatcoat.
Misc. Gear: A backpack with a rolled up blanket on top, inside is:
20 spare cases of Lasgun Ammunition
An extra pair of shoes
Shoe polishing kit
A bar of soap, toothpaste and brush, kept together in a small box.
Two spare shirts
Two spare trousers
Extra food and water
Then on his belt is five extra packs of lasgun ammunition, his bayonet and his binoculars. In his ear is his comm-bead.
Background: Born on Praetoria, raised on Praetoria. Julius joined and entered the Praetorian Guard as soon as he could, at thirteen years of age. He spent fifteen years in the guard fighting against the Tau and Orks. Being passed over for promotion, Julius was approached by another member of his regiment and accepted the offer of joining a small club, just cards and chatting of course.
After a few battles, Julius progressed through the mock hierachy of the club, eventually joining its inner circle, which was led by a chaos cultist. Approached by the cultist, Julius was inducted into a cult ran by the word bearers and when the regiment was posted to Cadia, made his gambit. Jumping ship, Julius and the cultist made it to enemy lines and as a show of loyalty, Julius killed the cultist who had led him to chaos on the orders of a word bearers astartes who happened to be the one they were shown to.
Impressed by discipline and ability to follow orders, the astartes kept Julius as his personal soldier, of sorts. For the next 22 years Julius and the astartes stuck together until at last Julius sort of made a breakthrough and was noticed by a dark apostle and singled out for work more befitting of Julius, one that involved following orders with no questions asked.
For the past six years Julius has been purging various cults on the orders of the Dark Apostle and now finds himself being selected for a select team. Needless to say, if an order is given, Julius will follow it.
-Sagrent Darius Mortz/Arthnaus
SpoilerName: Darius Mortz
Place of Origin: Death World Fenris
Appearance: Standing at 7 feet 5 Inches tall, Darius has long black hair and piercing yellow eyes. He bears large canine teeth
Personality: Due to the effects of Chaos Darius' "Mark of the Wulfen" has come out in full force. This has made Darius very Fierce and Savage. Yet he still retains a sense of pride albeit distorted and twisted by the powers of Chaos. And now Darius Loyally fallows the will of the Dark Gods and those who serve them.
Role Within the Group: Raptor
Weapons: Frost Blade, Bolt Pistol, x3 Stun Granades
Armor: Mark VII Aquila Power Armour painted Crimson and Black and stripped of any Imperial Markings, Valkyris Pattern Jump Pack, Wolf Pelt died with blood on Left Shoulder, World Breakers symbol bolted to right shoulder
Misc. Gear: Wolf Tooth Necklace, x4 Bolt Pistol Clips
Born on the harsh planet of Fenris Darius had to fight to survive even as a small child. Even as a young man Darius had a determination to survive which pushed him to stand out among the young Fenrisian warriors. After being recognized by a watcher Darius started the journey to becoming a Space Wolf. And as he proceeded through the trials and tests it was found that Darius bore "Mark of the Wulfen" but had few signs of true progression. During his final trial Darius slew a Fenrisian Wolf which would ultimately lead to his first steps as a BloodClaw.
Darius was hard headed and eager for battle and wound up finding himself liking the thrills of combat, willing to jump into most any situation head on. This caused a bit of trouble for the pack and Darius was assigned as a Skyclaw becoming his pack's vanguard and filling his lust for battle. And Darius fought with his pack serving the Imperium through countless battles over many years. But that changed during the 13th Black Crusade, While his pack fought on Cadia something overcame them as they were touched by Chaos. Something seemed to change within them and the pack started to question the Imperium. Unsure what to do entire Pack fled battle and became Renegade Space Marines.
Although Darius and some of the other members of the pack descended slower than the others eventually the entire pack succumbed to the Dark Gods and embraced the will of Chaos and fled to the void. Once in the Void the Pack was captured and found itself at the will of the World Breakers Legion. And in what would seem a cruel jest the Pack was pitted against itself in order to prove its loyalty to the Dark Gods of Chaos. Darius was forced to fight and kill his brothers in order to win his place in the Legion, But he still carries them with him their blood soaked into the pelt that adorns his armor and in the Frost Blade that he took from their leader. But now Darius stands as a full fledged member of the Legion ready to fulfill its needs and implement the will of the Chaos Gods.
-Forge Father Constantine Vandire/Kaptain Johnson
SpoilerName: Constantine Vandire
Place of Origin: Lathe World Calixis Prime
Appearance: Around 8.3 feet and weighing around eight hundred and fifty pounds not including the armour. His facial features are a bit...lacking shall we say with his helmet bonded to his face as well as the rest of his armour.
Personality: A mad scientist at heart, he has a love for creating all kinds of diabolical devices, from titans to making a new warp fuelled recaf machine(Its not MY fault that opened a portal into the warp and let a bloodthirster through). Despite him siding with chaos and the terrible state practically everything's in, he can always keep a smile on his face, confident that if it didn't work the first time, and if his foundries never grow silent, its sure to work the second time. And if not there's always take fifty nine. Though confident in himself he'll avoid all dangers possible, and has no regrets in throwing a few of his allies in the way of a shot. He still has reason, a rare trait among renegades, but instead of being insane he is merely extremely eccentric, doing things in his own little imaginative way.
Rank: Forge Father
Role Within the Group: Techy/Face melter(Though he would prefer to let his allies get shot and not be in the firing line)
Weapons: Wielding his own bizarre device, it resembles something of a khai-gun, though smaller in size. Crafted to slide onto his arm and be held in place by magnetic coils, somewhat like an arm cannon. A thick cable connected to the bottom of the contraption, just below his elbow, connects to his armours nuclear power stack. The coils used in plasma weaponry coil around the outside of the gauntlet ending at the barrel, functioning like a plasma gun in use. Though the plasma bolts aren't as powerful as regular weaponry of its kind, it makes up for it by creating stable plasma instead of the volatile substance likely to kill you as much as your foes. Usually on his other arm has a harness connected to three large tentacles, coiling down his forearm from the elbow, the tentacles acting as whips to lay his targets or to hold them in place while he brings his other weaponry to bear or prevents the enemy from bringing theirs. Sprouting from his back is a pair of five mechatendrils, tentacle like arms caped with three claws for fine manipulation. Each also incorporates a laser with approximately the same power as a hell gun, though can be fired at the strength of normal lasguns as overuse of the high amount of power will eventually melt the mechanism down and rend it useless. He also has a few tricks up his sleeve in the form of digital melta weaponry, located as four rings ether worn around his fingers or placing one on his helmet and the rest on his torso.
Armour: Wearing an Astarte's version of the dragonskin power armour worn by the worshipers of the omnissiah, it acts in the same way as power armour but has multiple plates placed like scales, thus its name. The armour is an improvement on the standard set of power armour, providing more protection. Through the ever changing effects of the warp and his own customizations he has managed to increase his strength and manuverability, enhancing the extra strength the armour armour already provides, with opening in the back on the torso piece for his large foldable pinions. He also incorporated small boosters in the front and sides of the torso piece, in case of the unfortunate event that he should ever be thrown into the void, allowing him some degree of control. Though despite this he is eternally entombed in his armour, and shall never leave his crypt. Another side effect of this entombment is that he never requires sustenance, fed on the power of the warp itself, as well as his voice seeming to echo in peoples heads as he speaks his words in the material universe then reverberate in the warp.
Misc. Gear: The only real other thing he carries is a wonderfully ornate pocket chrono.
Background: Hailing from a lathe world, he was born into the ever burning foundries of his home, a world praised by the servants of the omnissiah rather then the light of the emperor of man kind. All he can recall from his previous life was his incredible understanding of tech and how to recreate it, able to create and decontruct most machinary presented to him. He was chosen by the nearby chapter for these reasons, seeing him as a genius in his field and a waste to let him wittle away his life working at the forges of his home. Instead they introduced him to the art of war, learning the ins and outs of the chapters equipment and maintaing their vast armoury. Their was nothing he couldn't repair or recreate, able to copy ancient designs to the exacts, eventually leading to his rank of forge father and building for more then just his own chapter but those inside the inquisition as well called on his services. Though eventually he grew tired of creating and recreating the same designs, and began constructing his own devices in secret. For a time his chapter let this slip, seeing as he came from a lathe world, renowned for creating new devices useful to the ever spining imperium. Though eventually even his brothers saw that he was delving too far from the cult, going as far as to try and use xenos tech in his own designs. But whatever they did, he did not change his ways, and his brothers were left with but one choice; to exile him from the chapter and let him fade into history, for he had become a stain and must be washed away. He went his own way across the stars, precuring himself a one man vessel maned by machines but like the men of iron from legends of the horros in the vault under mars, modifying the ship with various pecular and bizare pieces of xenos tech incorperated by himself, creating his own mix, as devices lay scattered through the cargo holds and always busying himself in his workshop. But fortune would see a different fate bestowed upon the drifting artificer, as a trip through the warp led him to a demon world colonized by the lost and the damned forces of the ruinous powers, where pirates and assorted scum too refuge. He was drawn into the wonderous prospects of the warp, and began adding it to his set of tools, ready to experiment with his new toy. Though surrounded by the taint of chaos with the horrors of the warp constantly tempting him, he never fell for their lies, content in his real and solid work then promises made by demons, their dreams for him null and void compared to the reality of steel and the strength of adamantine. Though he attracted to the gaze the chaos gods mortal followers, eventually draging him into something he'd rather do without for the betterment of his health. Though the reward was too tempting, the chance to finally use the warp in his creations reliably and the knowledge of how to finally make his creations just as he imagined them
- - - Updated - - -
Your character is now aboard the The Diaboli Ungue, a ship that is transporting them to the planet of Gria. A feudal world within the warp, your mission is to elieminate to survivors of an Imperial craft that was destroyed within this sector. A few escape pods and shuttles landed on Gria and you are coming to hunt them down.
The Diaboli Ungue was a shuttle, once used for transport between starships or to a planet's surface. The shuttle has purpose and the craft itself has been warped for a new job. As a raider craft employed by the tenth company to shuttle in elite units in shock and awe tactics. The Diaboli Ungue was always a small ship having only five rooms, a storage room, cockpit, crew quarters, transport room, an engine room and armory. But since the ship's possession and time in the warp all but the cockpit and crew quarters have been left uninhabitable. The former engine room has been changed into a temple to the ship's corrupted machine spirit, slaves are sent there to die in order to keep the ship's blood lust slated.
Few lights push back the darkness of the shuttle and the faint sound of whispering is enough to drive a man mad. Flesh has melded with metal and ichor drips from the ceiling, wires lay uncovered and slaves hide in the shadows. The only window is the large paneled visor within the cockpit, the colors of the warp and glow of stars flow bye as the ship speeds towards and dark planet.