agentmanatee

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

@Sophrus

Ab-so-lute-ly

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

@Necroes laughing god lets them see into the future I'm pretty sure.

Coming from a non space elf player tho so ya know

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

@BCTheEntity I would like to see it edited as that quite confused me as they are are indeed 2 full fledged marines haha didn't speak up before as others already had bit yea I think an edit is in order. I will edit my previous post accordingly and then write another post once you've edited yours

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

@Wraithblade6 Its up

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

Patients and Oaths

The droning of the ogryn was tuned out by Azazel, he no longer cared about anything the occupants were saying to actually listen. It had been... years since he had a proper laboratory and med bay, and now he was in one. Sure it'd need a few changes... personal touches... but he could finally get to work again... the blades sang to him even now. His Narthecium arm shook in anticipation as he examined the state of the heresy era medical bay and its attendant equipment. The Apothecary seemed lost as his students ghosted behind him similarly lost, old memories all coming back of their times using far steadier blades. Back when they were free off the battlefield to experiment... test... the Apothecaries helm turned swiftly back to the still un-moving Dark Angel. He let his HUD detail to him just how the marine was dying, where every wound was and its severity, the likelihood of survival without medical attention and, most importantly, where improvements could be made.

He looked at the less damaged unarmored marine who had so brasly challenged Azael, "Time is of the essence my friend. I assure you the Dark Angel is dying. He will die if I do not intervene, and with all this...", he gestured about, able to think clearly with his blood lust subdued by his wish to utilize this new laboratory, "equipment I assure you I can save him. You see, currently he is actually liable to bleed out. Laraman's Organ was either damaged in our previous engagement, or is simply overtaxed by the sheer number of serious wounds. His blood is not clotting and scar tissue is not forming fast enough. At the current rate he will be beyond saving in approximately five terran minutes due to loss of blood.
Normally simply pathcing his wounds could save him but serious nerve damage may have ovvured, not to mention the sever levels of trauma his body is currently fighting. He has taken enough damage to send a marine into shock. That alone is impressive. Shrapnel wracks his body and if I don't seal his wounds, repair or un-obstruct his Laramans organ and remove as much shrapnel as I can he is going to die..."

He chuckled lightly and walked over to Xepherial, hoisting the marine over his shoulder with a loud grunt. He looked at Thron and his contempt was potent beneath his eye lenses, "Stop me now and he will die. And then you will die. Now if you'll excuse me I have... work to do...", he let out a shaking breath of excitement as he placed Xepherial on the nearest operating table. What followed was nothing but vox clicks between the red marines, all clustered over Xepherials body.

The three fallen apothecaries first discussed what they would need to stop him form dying, a 10 second conversation. Next came 130 seconds of contemplation of what 'enhancements' were best. Then another 20 seconds of the three ensuring all nearbye supplies were in working and sterile order. All in all, there was just over 60 seconds left before the marine reached a point of no return. Only then, did the apothecary begin to work. There was no need yet for anestesia, the subject was unable to move. Azazel's fingers seemed to move like precise lightning strikes, cutting away armor and flesh, coagulant and needle's flying across xepherials skin and inside his ruined chest cavity. The Marines helm was removed by his pupil with two arms while the other removed Xepherials chestplate.

Vitality monitors were already hooked into the marine and were already starting to stabilize within seconds. But Azazel never slowed down. Needle, scalpel and narthecium moved in unison, never staying still. Vox clicks announced when the surgeons would speak, sometimes leading to passed tools and other times simple nods or shakes of the head. Their eyes never lifted from Xepherial's body. About two minutes in, Xeph would start to come to, but before he could react a needle slipped into his neck. It was a large needle from a small leather pouch on Azazel's hip. He couldn't move a muscle, going totally limp and unable to move any part of him... and suddenly there would be pain. He could feel every stich, every cut and every prod like fire under his skin it was so intense. blood flow had long slowed to manageable but still it covered his chirugeons hands as they clicked like excited crows, particularly Azaze'ls Corvus pattern helm clicked and nodded like the clever birds. Suddenly several leather bags and pouches were deposited onto the table by the pupils. Strange metallic objects were drawn from them, along with more common but... crude implements. Bone saws and sutures, hideously spike forceps and clamps. Suddenly the clicking was constant as the implements were utilized or attached. Bones pulled away to attatch strange cybernetic implements to organs or muscles and bone, each one being put in place with excruciating agony. Yet Xeph could neither close his eyes nor pass out, the drug flowing thtough his system ensuring he was completely awake and helpless, his nerve centers tortured with every passing second.

The red gauntlets of the marines were stained darker as they worked for what felt like an eternity. finally the clicking birds seemed satisified and started to sow the marine back up.

Another needle jammed into Xeph's neck and suddenly it was all dark again. Senses dulled, unable to see his pain was a distant pang, felt but not fully experienced. And suddenly it all seemd to shake, like an earth quake in his own mind.

Azazel had moved up to his skull, using saw and forceps and clamps he split open the marines head and suddenly the three were completely quiet. They seemed to have some kind of... lazer like focus on Xepherial, and Azazel's work on his skull. This lasted twenty minutes, the rest had lasted less than seven. Azazel breathed heavily as he cut and sowed and attached, careful and precise with every movement as he rooted around in the marines skull. Then... he just stopped and started closing him up. Silently his aides reattached Xepherials damaged armor as azael cleaned up blood and messy stitching. Finally, he let out an aubible, content sigh. He looked up at the room, and finally removed his helmet. His face was in a rictus grin, teeth flashed gratuitously, "The work is done... he will live... much, much longer he will live."

The back of Xepherials skull was covered in strange machinery, mainly around the base of his skull. Runes and clear vials were displayed prominently as wires ran into the back of his scalp in thick cabling. Another successful surgery.

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

If I don't post tonight I'll quit for the sake of the r. Everyone I sit down to write some kind 9f bullshut seems to happen

Blackshields: The Horus Heresy [Warhammer 30K]

@HeySeuss sooooo is Kraegar back in or...?

Blackshields: The Horus Heresy [Warhammer 30K]

@HeySeuss kraegar shall remain alone. His squad died when their thunderhawk went down and they were traitors after all. Likely wouldn't have had a moment of clarity if his squad had lived anyways

Blackshields: The Horus Heresy [Warhammer 30K]

Character Sheet

(Template Here)

Name: Kraeger Antal
Age: 187
Legion: Iron Warriors
Planet of Origin: Olympia
Physical Description:

Kraeger is in every way an Iron Warrior. He has a stern and dollorous countenance. His eyes are a dark accusing grey and he has no hair. His face is thick and menacing with a long sacr running from his chin to his left temple. His left ear is mostly gone, having been lost to a particularly nasty ork and his bald head has several long scars. Wether these were self inflicted or battle wounds is unknown. His Eyebrows are thin and raven black, and he sports no facial hair. Normally he carries a doure expression, free of happiness or hope, only scorn and paranoia. Bags have developed under his eyes after going without sleep for far too long, even for an Astartes Legionaire. His armour, Crusade pattern, still carries his veteran hazard stripes and even the symbol of his legion... though the metallic skull has long since been purposefully defaced, ruined by its owner.

In addition his armour has begun to show sign of hasty and ad-hoc repairs. Magnetic studded plates cover his right pauldron and chest plate and scorch and poc marks have been similarly covered here and there about the armour. In addition, a few more markings on his armour seem to have been defaced in a similar vein to his Legions insignia, though it is unclear what they may have once been. He stands average for a Legionnaire, seven feet and several inches. His right arm is cybernetic, currently it is sheathed in his armour however.

Skillset:

Kraeger was a Veteran, a son of Olympia and survivor of many of the Iron Warriors most vicious sieges. He was there during the decimation declared by Perturabo, helping to beat his brothers to death on the orders of a god; and he endured. He was there when walls were cracked and his brothers fell in droves;he endured. He squatted in trenches and fox holes, dirt and muck and shrapnel sprayed over him as well as blood from Legionnaires in the hole with him; and he endured. His skills are those of Endurance and siege, how to stand and fight longer and harder than anyone else. He and his bolter have stood in trenches and in the breaches of fortresses for over a century, and he has endured. He is most talented with his bolter at medium to close range combat common in a siege as well as trench fighting, fortification building, and the assault of strongholds.

History:

'When first I became an Iron Warrior, when first I saw Great Perturabo he gave us an order... an order of decimation. My friend Alris drew his straw and I helped beat him to death with my own hands. When we were ordered to dig a trench or foxhole, and sit for months without moving we did it. When it came time to burst from our fortifications and charge a gunline I did it without hesitation or a second thought. When a siege broke and we were ordered to slaughter everyone within I was the one to carry it out, the murderer who's hand held the axe. When Great Olympia rebelled and I was ordered to do the same to my home I did not question, I simply did. After I earned my stripes and was told to enter a lodge of equals, to discuss amongst brothers I did so. I never questioned an order, not once did I hesitate or refuse.

... Until Istvaan. I knew my orders, after the bombs I was to join in the obliteration of the stragglers. I agreed, never one to question and down our transport went. It never landed. In the atmosphere we were hit and went down. Only I survived. We had landed in... i-it was a pile of my brothers. I don't know how many, I couldn't count them all. For the first time I disobeyed an order without question. I found those survivors and joined them against my own legio- against my Primarchs orders. I struck the skull from my shoulder, I struck the totems and symbols of the lodge... but could not strike my stripes for they at least were my own. As they descended on us I hopped on the first transport away that I could find... I could never go back now... perhaps that was good.

Eventually, I do not know how long now, I came upon a rouge trader. Someone who said he could help me... I still don't believe him but its something. Maybe I can follow the right orders for once... I don't know anymore. I don't trust anymore... oh well, I suppose woe is me and all that. At least here my 'brothers' and good 'father' aren't here to hunt me... yet at least.

Psychological Profile:

Kraeger is a bit strange for an Iron Warrior, possessed of a dark sourt of humour. Although he is stern and dollorous as they come, he has a strange wit when it comes to dark or black humour, using his and others misery as a source of comedy. Wether he simply enjoys this or its a coping mechanism is uncertain. What is certain is his wish for justice, justice and vengeance. Unfourtanetly, for his part in the slaughter at Istvaan he understands justice may mean his death... and wouldn't that be great for a laugh?

Equipment:

• Umbra pattern bolter: He has a leather strap he uses to hold it most often when not in use, preffering it to mag locking the bolter to him.
• Plasma Pistol, Stolen: Taken from an old 'friend' of his, he keeps it in a thermally cooled holster when not in use or on cooldown. The custom weapon is larger than most other plasma pistols and more powerful, but heats up much faster. He has taken to calling it the Biting Remark
• Mk.2 Crusade Pattern armour(modified): His armour is slowly becoming modified over time due to the need for repairs and maintenance, though it has not yet become what will one day be known as 'Heresy' pattern armour.
• Entrenching tool: Equivalent to the combat knives of other legions.

Blackshields: The Horus Heresy [Warhammer 30K]

@HeySeuss I was in the original of this and would like to join again.

Posting my same character for approval