agentmanatee

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

New friends, old friends and new foes

Had the ork not knocked the black armored marine who had leveled a bolt gun at Azazel the Apothecary may very well have killed the badly mauled marine. But, the ork had knocked out the marine... and now he found a replacement for his pupils missing arm... and a new test subject. He largely ignored the Orks words, seeing as he knew enough about Ork Physiology that it would be up and about in less than an hour without any intervention from him. Before he could get to his new subject however, eye lenses glenting with excitement the other... marine though without any of his equipment placed a hand on his shoulder... and threatened him?

The Dark Apothecary growled and stood, almost shaking with rage as he stared down the armor-less marine, chain-sword in one hand still revving quietly, "What?! You are threatening me?! Injured, without armor or weaponry and alone?! I should tear off your skin and watch as you bleed to death! I'll rip our your tendons one by one and make sure you're awake for every second! Who are you to threaten me?! I could do whatever I wanted to this Emperor following bastard! I'm surprised those zealots outside even opened fire on him!
I can do whatever I want to with this helpess bastard! You-", he was cut off by the... Emperor's Children? He didn't look like one of them... wait...

The Red Corsair bent down to look at the Black Armored marine, finding the symbol of the Dark angels. He began to laugh. Only laughing harder as the same marine asked for the current year. He drew up and looked him dead in the eyes, "The Year is 998 M.41,
its been ten thousand years since you fossils were in real space hasn't it?! Incredible... I bet you're all legionnaires! Rich, traitors too by the looks of it. Emperors children... Dark Angel... whatever you are. Incredible. Do you even know how the Heresy ended?", he laughed, but it quickly stopped as the lights were turned on. He went deathly silent. He walked about, his pupil Bravis began following him closely, seeming lost as he looked about. Azazel inspected the myriad Apothecarium equipment... enthralled that he may once more have a laboratory...

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

Post incoming tomorrow as I'm finally free

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

I apologize for my delays but work and exams and some rather painful dental issues have kept me from posting.

I likely won't post today, but expect one in the next couple

If people want me ejected from the rp for continued breach of trust i understand

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

I'm posting tomorrow even if it kills me

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

I'm sorry I'm gonna post tomorrow dun worry 'ze doktor ees een'

In the Emperor's name we shall not falter! (A warhammer 40k roleplay. Featuring space marines!)

A Chaplains work

Varrin Krowe had been working non-stop since being appointed Reclusiarch of the Celestial falcons. Starting with ensuring what few relics had been bequeathed to the Falcons were stored safely within the Battle Barge's Reliquary. Securing the relics in containment chambers, ensuring all proper rights were carried out several times a day, and teaching those Chaplains in training all the rights required. Krowe saw to the marines of the burgeoning chapter even more closely. From day one he held sermons and services, open to any Battle Brother seeking counsel or Spiritual guidance. for many of the young and excited marines it was a way to pray for victories to come or seek sage advice from Veterans. Many older marines, set in their ways like the old chaplain sought closure and guidance regarding the departure from the Raven Guards ways that the chapter would be taking. He offered guidance and advice to them all for this was a time of great and rapid change and no marine was without his doubts.

None held more such doubts perhaps than the Reclusiarch himself. Each day when there were no more brothers seeking help the Old Veteran would spend hours and hours in meditation, fasting and refusing rest of any kind. His mind was in turmoil as much as anyones, for the Lord commander of his new chapter sought to depart from every lesson the Sons of Corax had ever learned. To abandon the concealing shadows and step into the light for all to see... although he knew no Fear he was far from certain about this new direction. Indeed, the Lord Commanders reason for the change did not help the skeptical Chaplains view. A Vision from the Emperor himself? Such a thing was unheard of among the Sons of Corax, and Varrin had never put much stock in 'prophecy' of any kind. He found it foolhardy to believe in such frivolous and ungrounded motivations... but what was a Chaplains duty but to guide his chapter?

He would simply have to change the Lord Commanders ways. Even if it took another century he would turn him back to the ways of the Primarch. This was his mission, to turn the chapter back into the fold of shadows. And this first campaign would be where it began.

Along with the rest of Chapter Leadership Varrin Krowe stood at Rapt attention during the briefing. These xenos would be a fine first test of this new chapter. As the Lord Commander addressed him the Reclusiarch answered with confidence and gusto.

"Lord Commander the Chapter stands ready at your command. Our Spirits are stealed against the machinations of the foul xeno.
The brothers are ready, and as am I."

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@BCTheEntity

*threatens fully armed, lightly injured Marine with a chainsword and the only one who can treat the marines injuries, who has 2 squadmates*

SOMEONE has a set of Administratum standard issue adamantine BALLS.

We'll have to see what the good doctor has in response after the ball game I'm at ends

In the Emperor's name we shall not falter! (A warhammer 40k roleplay. Featuring space marines!)

Varrin Krowe

Name: Varrin Krowe

Age: 382 Standard Terran years

Appearance: Varrin is an old veteran, having served in the Raven Guard for well over three centuries now and it shows. His face is a webbing of scars and marks, three honor studs dot his brow and surprisingly he has no cybernetics. His hair is black, but with many streaks of gray from age. kept slicked back and close against his skull but not cropped or shaved like many other marines. His body is similarly scarred, burns and old gashes long since scarred over. His armor is an old suit of Heresy pattern Power Armor, an honor gained by his actions during the siege of Hive Velix where the Chaplain Preached the teachings of Corx whilst leading a strikeforce to break the decades long siege. Its helm painted a skull like all chaplains, his shoulder recently repainted to show his new chapters sigil.

Desired position: Reclusiarch

Equipment: Mark V Power armor (full set), Crozius Arcanum, Frag and Krak grenades, 'The Ravens Fury' - A relic Plasma pistol given as a badge of office from the Raven Guards Reclusiam to mark his new position within the Celestial Falcons. The Plasma pistol does not draw from power cells like most standard versions, instead it is designed to connect to a larger, more powerful battery attached to a Marines power pack and fueled by a combination of its nuclear battery and excess heat. designed during the Heresy specifically to exploit the over heating issue common among Mark V armors. Connected to the battery through a system of tubes through which the deadly, white hot plasma is transported. While more powerful and with a larger clip size than a regular plasma pistol, it is far more volatile and heats up far quicker.

Abilities, Psychic or otherwise: Varrin is a powerful Close quarters combatant and Orator, like all Chaplains, he is also a staunch traditionalist. He beleives that the ways of their Primarch Corvus Corax are best, training heavily in the stealth and subterfuge used heavily within the Raven Guard. As a heavy Proponent and well traveled veteran Krowe is more than talented in the ways of the Raven Guard, a powerful skulker and stealthy warrior to a fault.

Personal History: Varrin Krowe is a distinguished warrior. He has served with the Reclusiam of the Raven Guard for nearly his entire career, an ever faithful and stalwart Chaplain he cut his teeth fighting the forces of Chaos, Night Lords. His oration, zealous demeanor and superior skills led the Raven Guard to victory and earned him his first scars. Since then he has stood sentinel at many of the Raven Guards most desperate theaters of war. Infiltrating planets held by chaos and ending their occupation, fighting on worlds in the center of charging Ork WAAAAAGHS!!! and hunting down their leadership. More recently he has taken part in hunting Tyranid Leadership, having recently returned from a successful raid against a Splinter fleet, having personally led team into one of the great Tyranid flesh ships to strike at its very heart. He is well known for daring and risky missions, some claiming the Chaplain has a fatalistic personality.

Regardless, upon his return it was decided he would take the role of Reclusiarch for the Newly formed Celestial Falcons, as out of the Reclusiam it was beleived he could best fit the new chapter. At first Varrin was ecstatic, until he met the new 'Lord Commander'. A traditionalist, he did not agree with the direction the Marine wished to take the Celestial Falcons in. Regardless, as a sign of good faith and a devotion to duty, he accepted the position still. He hopes to sway the Lord Commander away from his radical ideals and back to the ways of Corax

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Necroes@Sophrus@Klomster@Wraithblade6@BCTheEntity

The doctor is in!

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

Singing Blood, Seeking Clarity

"BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD! SCREEEEAM SWEET AGONY FOR ME! A THOUSAND DROPS A THOUSAND SONGS!"

He laughed and screamed maniacally at the top of his lungs, bringing the butt of his bolt-gun into one of the Sororitas' temples, a sickening crunch announcing the pulping of her brain meats. The sound was glorious, screaming turned to song as he swung again, one of the Sisters wielding an Eviscerator, Repentia, charged Azazel. The two dueled for some time, enveloped in the dance of death so much as to nearly miss the other marines in the room. Colors blurred but one thing was true, the Dark Apothecary's HUD made it clear their injuries. Their implants had been picked up by the advanced helmets systems almost as soon as he had entered the room and the blaring warning signs and klaxons detailing very serious injuries. Pulped organs, heavy bleeding, damaged implants, the works. But... they were not his pupils... there were not team designations or anything else but the damages... yet the klaxons intrigued him. Subjects? Old instincts? Couldn't tell... to much screaming.

All this time he and the Repentia screamed at one another, one oaths to the emperor and the other a combination of gibberish, shouting for blood and screams and snarls. Eventually, the dance ended. He smashed his armored boot down on the woman's foot crushing it into blood paste. She screamed and left herself open, being impaled through the chest by Azazel's Chainsword. Blood sprayed across the deep crimson and black armor before hw wrenched it free of her ruined chest cavity, limp body falling to the ground with a sucking chest wound. He turned to try and scan the room, but was interrupted as a burst of bolt shells smashed against his pauldron, ceramite and adamantium cracking and the force threatening to spin him around. He growled and turned to the offender, the Sister of battle was smashing a fres clip into her boler. Azazel had yet to reload his own... perhaps this was the en-

His moment of clarity was interrupted by the Soroitas being tackled by a screaming genestealer who proceeded to shred her to bits. Now, Azazel in a moment of clarity born from another, scanned the field.

'Surrounded, lost. The field is bloody with ork blood and my squad is compromised. We will die here... wait! An escape!
A weakness in their line! We must make it there! For G-', the memory came to a shuddering halt as Azazel was returned to reality, watching one of the unkown marines slide into the closing exit door... the memory made it clear his next action. He turned and snagged the gorget of his nearest pupil, screaming into the vox channel.

"PUPILS! MAKE FOR THE DOOR! WE MUST NOT BECOME TRAPPED HERE!", and took off at a high speed sprint with whoever's Gorget grasped firmly. At some point whoever he was dragging stopped resisting, instead he could feel their fottsteps line up with his, yet he held still to the gorget as if life depended upon it. The two marines smashed the ogry out of the way, stumbling into the room with a clatter of power armor weapons. The servo motors in Azazel's armor whined as he forced himself to stay upright, snarling as he collided with a wall, somewhat denting the paneling. Once stopped, he wheeled about to observe his fellow occupants.

Apparently he had been dragging Bravis, who now breathed heavily next to his teacherm vision slits scanning the many occupants they were now joined by. Of his pupils only he and seemingly Elraz had made it into the door, the other two dead or still in the room... and Elraz was missing an arm. Azazel grumbled and dropped down next to his pupil who sat on the ground, his half arm hanging limply at his side. Using his narthecium he began to rapidly repair damage to his flesh, but had not an extra arm... he'd have to get a new one. His head shot up to observe the other marines now with him... what strange colors.

He did not recognize the taloned claw of the mairne in the flamboyant, purple armor and he could not see the sigil of the marine in black. His own armor, spattered with gore showed clear his heraldry. A Black, taloned fist on a field of blood red. The ancient legionaries would find it most like that of the Imperial fists, but strangely different. Azazel spoke first once more, his voice now calm, but shaking as if it took effort to keep from screaming.

"Wh-at are your allegiances?! Do you serve the corpse God like those fools?!", he addressed the marines.