Andreyich

Eden(Small-scale Space NRP)

@Sigma So I'm thinking for my dudes they came upon a system in which initially each world was decent for human life having been Terraformed extensively by a previous species present. But unable to communicate the two got to war with my settlers eventually winning but as a final retribution the native xenos scoured their worlds with doomsday devices. The remaining worlds remained survivable but still terrible places to be leading to the people having to go into considerable cybernetics and genetic engineering to adapt to their new conditions, and thus the demographics would be 100% "transhuman" for it. Sound cool?

Eden(Small-scale Space NRP)

Moderately interested, what sort of timeframe to start are we looking at? I was thinking of a corporatocracy of some sort or living out some epic national power fantasy

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

I will wait for a GM post before going on myself

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

The Confessor didn't turn to look back, but he was fairly satisfied that after his rallying cry he heard the movement of feet followed by munitions flying over either shoulder to show that it worked. As he reached the enemy, he was pleased to find the first few men he planned to give a taste of the old maul had already died in the counter-charge of the loyalists. But there were still more than enough to go around and with a low pitched growl he swung his weapon hitting a too late to dodge heretic right in the stomach. That part of the man affected was flattened, before hitting the ground making the poor fellow bisected. The next one seemed a little more clever, ducking under the first swing of the Confessor, then the second and jumping over the third. As his feet hit the ground the villain extended a cleaver bearing hand to get Horacio by the armpit where his carapace wouldn't protect him. It hurt oh how it hurt, but the Cleric squeezed pressed his arm to his torso so the man couldn't retract his blade back and in his surprise got a kick in the fork. Craning over in sudden pain the warrior didn't have long to suffer as his head vapourized thanks to a swing from the maul.

The Confessor was bleeding, and already the mere two kills had gotten his aged body some tiredness. But a rage at the sight of everything before him filled his veins and he couldn't even wait to end the next foe in melee combat. His shotgun was unslung and the rack of the slide was the only thing that would precede things going dark for a heretic. A hearty laugh emanated from the geezer as he almost perfectly imitated the two kills with his maul by first splitting a crying man in two, before having his blast liquefy another man's head. He forced it down as it seemed combat was dying down, and the frog-like laugh from the belly wouldn't be appreciated (especially if casualties were taken). Horacio scoured the battlefield, looking among the dead heretics for those who might still be alive. A quick thump with the maul would make sure they were dead very fast. It wasn't a mercy killing, oh no these men deserved to die. But he knew that as one's last energy escaped them it often left altogether giving some men a chance to give a final pull of the trigger.

A slight whistle was under his lips to take his mind off of the blood coming from his armpit, he had more urgent things to do. He took out his Rosarius and reached for some incense, using the power-field of his power maul to ignite it and let off some smoke. Waving his Rosarius in one hand and swinging the smoke-belching maul in another Horacio walked around the battlefield muttering a simple prayer under his breath. After several minutes of this he finished his words, and went to a clump of the Cekrov Guards. "Oi, you lot." He said, motioning to them with his power maul. "Gather the bodies of the foe, and their weapons. Pile it up so I can burn it. No nicking any of their shit or you'll end up just like them... come on, get to it!" he bellowed, giving a few authoritative waves of his maul to them. Watching them to go on following his not exactly orders because a Priest can't order a soldier but he can do much much worse he picked up a dropped tabac stick of one of the men, and with a single heavy pull finished the entirety of the thing's length.

He followed the troopers, leaning on his maul with his hands on the handle to make a rest for his chin. Noticing the dripping of blood again he reached for a handkerchief he brought with him, rolling the thing up and then squeezing it between torso and arm just as the cleaver not too long ago. With that done he went back to watching the soldiers in their duty, pointing out if they missed an ear or a magazine or knife on the ground, even telling one of the men to get a rag and soak up a puddle of blood in it after he noticed the man's grumbling. When the Guards were finally done he told them to sod off, before going to the foul smelling pile. Horacio removed a tank of promethium from one of the flamers and poured out its remaining contents across what was about to become a pyre leaving a few droplets to make a trail for ignition. He dropped his bloody rag on it, before striking down with his maul again to have the powerful set it all ablaze.

"Dies Irae Dies Illa...." The Confessor sang, letting incense smoke join the foul haze made by all the dead burning. This was a job that had to be done right away. Many worlds thought they dealt with their corruption when they simply killed the heretics and buried them somewhere far off or even dumped their corpses in a forest. But be it plucky children digging in cursed graves or animals consuming flesh of the damned, if improperly disposed of the presence of heresy would always resurface almost cyclically until eventually a loyal world would fall. Finally, with this duty done he put away all his tools of trade and approached his group. He didn't really say anything, he didn't have much energy left in him but he had enough to listen to wherever it was deemed they would go next.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

Mildly concussed but invigorated by all that had so recently transpired, Daniel stepped off to follow the Paladin in clearing the building as ordered. Yet, as he went after the man he found his trigger discipline very poor and the crosshairs of his M14 trained upon the neck of the Paladin. Back on the vertibird, he had without a moment of thought changed his rifle’s ammunition to armour piercing.

At some point after a room or two was checked to be free of foes and the pair was out of speaking-volume earshot of the squad, Daniel couldn’t hold it in anymore. “You had no right to do what you did.” He said, contempt dripping off of his voice.

Slow and groaning, Paladin Moss turned toward the young knight. “You really want to poke that bear, kid? It’s not too late. We both took some hits back there,” Moss offered before, scanning the large open space. An old mess hall, likely. “Maybe I misheard you. Because if I didn’t, well, I might need to rethink your field promotion.”

"Do you even-" started the reply of Daniel, the accusatory words rehearsed several times in his head. Only as his sentence stopped did he come to realize what the Paladin had said. A whole speech was prepared in the green warrior's head about how Moss by his actions spat on his holy book, about how the Brotherhood of Steel was known as a Brotherhood for a reason and that as Paladin he was to be the most gallant and chivalrous of them all. But in five sentences all those words were swallowed and forgotten. "A-a promotion?" he stuttered. Really, climbing the ladder to eventually become Paladin was one of the few things in life Daniel wanted.

He stopped in his tracks, his attitude to the Paladin changing in moments as he was played like a fiddle. But… Something in the Knight's head rebelled. Something that told him to heed the meaning of his rank, to remember who he was and why. That something fought hard and eventually it did manage to push through after compromise with the rest of his mind. Daniel clutched his head as a pang of suffering came from what was his concussion, but felt like his guilt and consciousness. It settled down though, and through heavy breathing the Knight asked the Paladin a question. "Alright, alright… just, please, Sir. Be honest with me. If you were in a similar situation where us coming to get you was a great risk for the whole squad, would you understand if we left you behind the same way to save ourselves? Does… Does God forgive us for what we did?"

The question hung in the air. Moss glanced over his shoulder at the unexplored halls and corridors of the facility, which while unknown seemed almost certainly empty. It was a small compound. Perhaps an outpost to stage civilian rescues or some other purpose far removed from combat. No distractions. No escape from the question.

“With my heart I believe and am justified,” the paladin recounted, his voice little more than a sigh. “I walk the path of the Lord, which shall never be put to shame.”

Placing a hand on the young knight’s shoulder, Moss sighed, “A leader must act. There is no room for doubt. Remorse is an intoxicant we cannot afford.” He stepped back and gestured to the entrance. “This place will do for tonight. Rally the squad. We’ll make camp here. Get our bearings and regroup. Once everyone is collected I’ll announce your new role as knight-sergeant. Before you go,” the paladin paused. “Initiate Grimshaw seems surprisingly capable. A skilled sharpshooter. Not the worst role for a female knight, I think. You think she’s ready?”

The Knight's breathing got heavier with every syllable of the Paladin, a hope his words would bring some sort of resolution to all the thoughts going through Daniel's head. He was about to give a salute, before the Paladin asked him a question.

"Well, Sir," he began thoughtfully. "she is a great shot sir, yes. Quick thinking too. I wouldn't have suggested it unprompted but I have no reason not to, now that you mention it. Your judgement, I suppose. Ad Victoriam." he gave the planned salute, before turning on his heels to call the rest of the squad inside.

“Ad Victoriam,” Moss replied before beginning preparations inside.

Fallout: Rust and Steel

Daniel lay where he was after being hit in the warehouse, largely ignorant to anything save the ringing louder than a point blank minigun report in either ear. It died down eventually, and with that came the realization of other things. The dizziness and blurriness assaulting his vision were a two pronged attack that made orienting himself nigh impossible. But he was just about able to make out the Paladin stepping out of the building. Hoping to follow him Daniel got upright, before falling down. Several such false starts recurred before at last he was on his feet. Now then, what was he up to? Oh, yes, following the Paladin. He didn’t notice the arrived horde of ghouls, nor the dust-raising Deathclaws. Getting to the Paladin and the Vertibird, yes that was the mission. It was weird what part of the soldier’s consciousness were working well and which ones weren’t, because the ones to notice this very fact were good as new, not to mention the ones hoping others wouldn’t see the almost drunken way he got to the chopper.

Only getting aboard was more of his mind liberated from his injury and he was becoming slowly aware that Gregory was being left behind from the rest of the squad. All the worse for poor McDowell’s fate, Daniel for now couldn’t process all this. “W...wait….” he managed weakly, the words stifled by a hysterical laugh. It would likely last longer than anybody hearing it through his helmet and the air would find comfortable, but eventually it ended with the young Knight asleep.

---

The lad opened his eyes, instantly noticing several changes in his environment. He was sans helmet, everything outside of the Vertibird was jetblack and he was alone in it. Except… there was that unknown lightsource making everything bright. “No… no. No-no-no-no-no-no!” he cried clutching his head as once more those he believed to be his ancestors materialized around him. His vision though was filled with the images of Gregory now being abandoned to an inevitable death. They were so sharp, the image of the man alone before mutated beasts as though right before him.

“Were we wrong?” a figure in T45 power armour demanded. “Were we wrong?” The phrase echoed through the hundred spectres going well past the confines of the vertibird. “Papa, why did you fail Gregory?” demanded a child by his feet. “Is it the same reason you will fail me?” the girl continued, the movement by words making it apparent a laser scorched her dead just above the cheek. The whole display made Daniel recoil with a high-pitched cry but his attempts to distance himself were in vain. The same man in ancient plate held him by one shoulder and his grandfather by the other. “You dishonour your blood.” The historical Knight said. “You bring shame upon your Brotherhood, upon the family name. You had all those books, all those lessons, all that training; shouldn’t you know better than to be a coward?”

Daniel was squirming in their grips, they were somehow painful through the power armour he himself was wearing. “Please I-” the young Knight started in his defence, but a chorus resounded: “Silence!”

“You disgusting creature.” This was Maria Livesey, another one of Daniel’s grandparents. “We died for the Brotherhood we died for our comrades and what do you do? You run! You cannot live with your failures, you wasted ever more time outside of the ranges on stupid trifles and to what end? You couldn’t hit a damn raider.”

“But-” the young man tried again, only to be cut off by who was apparently a Friar with a rock lodged in his throat. “McDowell, he was a hero. He put himself under the attention and weight of fire of all those heathens but you? You didn’t even attempt to return this act.”

A gob of spit came into the victimized Knight’s eyes, which when cleared revealed a bearded man donning a morion helm leaning upon a pike. “It should have been you, Daniel. It shames me to say it, and I would never have thought anyone else in history could think so. But I wish you my boy, my flesh, my progeny, I wish you would have died instead of the honourable Knight-Sergeant.” Tears were running down his face as if from a faucet, and through gasps for air Esteves just about managed to say “I’m sorry.”

”YOU’RE SORRY?” Daniel’s face was splattered in blood as a decapitated figure in familiarly massive T60 power armour raised him before thrusting him against the wall. He was face to face with a throat squirting more and more blood, but all the ancestors came closer to stare upon him so he could see every long dead pore.

“Is that really all you can say?” a voice hissed in his ear, one he couldn’t turn to reply to. “I don’t think he needs to. He was given everything, but he is worth nothing. Perhaps it better he doesn’t wake up, perhaps it better he no longer burdens his squad and squanders that which he bears?”

“Join us, boy. We would hate your company of course but do it nonetheless.” A voice said. “Oh don’t worry about it my boy, it is damnation for his ilk!” chimed in another. “It would be better than to go on defiling our memory.” His grandparents said as one. “An end to thy guilt, thy misery.” Boomed the plated warrior. Daniel looked down to see that - without any prompt - his recharger pistol had materialized in his hand. His hand was trembling, but through his partial (but present) consent it slowly rose reaching height of his breast. But this ever dramatic moment was interrupted a momentary shake bringing Daniel to consciousness.

---

He was in the Vertibird, but for real this time (or so he hoped). Daniel looked about, seeing they were landing somewhere and in anticipation of exploring unknown grounds the Knight loaded a fresh magazine into his M14, flicking the safety off. The man then disembarked from the vessel, giving a half-hearted “Yes-Sir.” at the orders he was given. He could still feel the effects of his self-diagnosed but likely accurate concussion, but for the most part he was physically much better for the sleep he had. “Lead the way Sir.” He said, tapping his headlamp alight only to remember it was broken and that same spot hurt alot. He cursed under his breath, sprinting for a second to catch up to the Paladin. “On to glory, Ad Victoriam.”

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

@Lady Selune from your character's description it didn't seem they're the combat sort so you shouldn't be really worried about competing with immortals?

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

Alright folks, status update. My PC graphics card and laptop motherboard decided to team up and die at the same time. I'm still posting but I will be slower writing up new ones

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

I think the CS explained it. Psykers aren't allowed in commorragh but it's a place where rules to be broken. There's a key kaballite what wears the psychic skin of a farseer and gets away with it because he was rich and powerful

[Storms and Shadows] - A Black Crusade inspired 40k Chaos RP.

hexcuse me I'm an alpha legionnaire inconspicuous is my name