Andreyich

alpine republic

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

nobody cares

@USSR

u did to reply :]

alpine republic

@yam i am Сволочь. но. ты мой Сволочь.
так что ссср не обиделась.

@USSR

It would more correctly be моя сволочь

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

Horacio lay where he was, knife in bleeding hand as he saw an apparition appear before him. Momentarily he reacted with fear, for he knew very well that it was the way of the daemon to hide their evil in appearance that a faithful Imperial would mistake for piety. But his fears were gradually dissuaded with the words the woman provided, and eventually he was convinced that it was indeed a blessed occurrence indeed.

As he pushed himself upright with a grunt, he brushed himself off. Who had visited him? Perhaps Saint Arabelle? Or perhaps Sabat herself? It was a matter of much contention within his mind, and indeed it may just as easily been a mirage brought on by the injury of his head. After all, the bleeding from the head-butt may not have been all that severe, even if the internal injury may have been mighty enough to create hallucinations. Nevertheless, even if it was a falsehood of injury, it was right in that he had been neglecting his duty to his Sisters through laziness, fear of his incompetence, and now he had to go to them once more. Picking up the weapons of the traitors upon slings, he jogged through the hallway to move at speed but simultaneously conserve energy and not create too much noise.

The man found himself turning at intersections and walking up and down flights of stairs, guided along even with his eyes closed by his very instinct — a euphemism for the providence for the Emperor in any sane society. As he got closer to what that same instinct told him was his destination, he found ever more dead men. Fortunately, a good many seemed to be traitors for which no mercy could be afforded.

At last, the edge of his vision bore doors behind which there was a good deal of noise. By now Horacio was shouldering quite a good many weapons on slings and holsters, from las and autorifles to recovered chainswords strewn about the place.

He only arrived in time to hear the last few syllables of the dark manipulator, but it was enough to knew this was spawn of darkness, a being which could only beckon one response: its demise.

"Watch out!" the Confessor bellow, pulling the pin from a single grenade upon a bandolier of them that he then swung like an ancient sling, the length of synthetic leather flying in a neat arc over-head of the Sisters towards the bugger.

Warhammer 40k: Sons of Titan - A Grey Knights RP

As Olympio walked through the scene, he did so with some consternation. His mind looped back to his flourishes, the skill with which he fought in battle. It was necessary for him to be a master of the sword and his storm-bolter of course, for he could not leverage his mind to the same destructive potency that many of his Brothers could. But this was the realm of She-Who-Thirsts as the damnable xenos called the God of Chaos. Here, it as excess that reigned, and he knew that it was a mistake of many an initiate to assume this only applied to more base things from lust to gluttony. Many a man fell into the lures of Slaanesh with promises of being the greatest of swordmasters, and though he was confident in his unyielding purity Olympio was nevertheless concerned that by his very actions he had been strengthening the beast.

So deep was he in his musings that he lagged the incantation of the Justicar by a few milliseconds when he echoed it.

As daemonettes and mortal abominations alike descended upon the Space Marines, Olympio made sure to take the conclusions he came to in his musings into account. No longer were there the skillful, artistic sweeps, slices, and parries.e Now he made use of all the brutality that the strength of his power armour and genetic enhancements allowed him. He turned his sword over, grabbing it by the blade in the grip of a murder-stroke, the gilded crossguard of the weapon now the ends of a piercing bludgeon that was soon coated in gore. As ever more enemies pressed in, he felt his weapon ever more a burden given there was less and less space to truly swing it. He transitioned to using his fists, feet and even his very head as blunt weapons, the appendages flailing with the speed and force to crush just as a hammer or hatchet would. But even that was enough. Though individually he was stronger than many dozens of these abominations, the fact was that there were so many he could hardly move. Although likewise it meant that they too had little room to maneuver, it was still more than he and eventually they would get a lucky dagger or claw into the soft spot of a joint in his armour.

It is said Space Marines know no fear. While true in the abstract, the self-preservation instincts of the Grey Knight nevertheless kicked in and overpowered his previous vows to conserve his psychic fortitude for greater foes. With a roar, witch-lightning coarse through the entire surface of the warrior. It arced between the aberrations covering him, turning the mortals into crisps and the daemons into puffs of smoke. Not ceasing his battle-cry, he used his shoulder still crackling with psychic electricity as a ram with which he tried to charge through the mass of evil and clear a path for his comrades.

TES: The Second Great War

Handing over the coin purse, Dallio gave the man somewhat of a sheepish look and a salute. Though as an auxiliary he was not quite a Legionary, the young Sergeant thought that some sign of respect would be appreciated. Turning to the Breton woman he drew another coin purse, withdrawing a few pieces from it. "As a mage you're entitled to seven hundred and fifty after subtracting from expenses, pension and the likes." The officer smiled to everyone, but the one he gave to the wizard was a lot brighter; it was far easier to keep up his pleasantries to someone that was likewise pleasant.

"Will that be all?" he said, looking to what remained of the squad after already three of it departed.

---

As Ingjald went into the streets of Solitude, he did not turn his head to make sure that the duo he had selected had followed him. “Do you have any… ideas as to what you were selected for?” His tone was indecipherable. Did he expect them to already have figured it out? Or perhaps this was the start of questioning by the socratic method.

"Some sort of diplomatic purpose, sir? The only thing common between the two of us aside our soldiery, as far as I'm aware, is that we both know how to behave ourselves in a formal setting. A Squire and a noble." Tylmaesa said, shrugging their broad, muscular shoulders. Inwardly, they knew - or at least thought they knew - why Ingjald had demanded their presence, though they weren't about to call him out for using them as a token of the Legion's diversity. Unlike the vast majority of the soldiers, though they wore distinctly red-gold Imperial uniform, they lacked anything resembling armour, instead opting for modest, insulating cloth to protect them against Skyrim's cold. Their clawblade sat securely in a pouch at their hip, Dunmeri hooksword in an intricately engraved bonemold scabbard on the opposite side. It depicted a scene of Saint Vehk himself, Mu'atra pointed downward, piercing the chitinous exoskeleton of the Ruddy Man.

Edward’s eyes were glued to the floor as they marched along. Ever since his name had been called by the Legate, he had been quietly searching the ground for his organs, feeling as if they’d fallen through his stomach and out his feet. Even the King of Daggerfall was a less intimidating man than the Nord- at least from a distance- and Ingjald’s tone had given nothing away. “I’m not sure, Sir.” He replied to the Legate, ignoring the Dunmer’s suggestion so as not to get his hopes up.

Back in High Rock, a request like this hardly ever turned out to be a good thing. Often it was latrine duty or cleaning the stables, or worse, Dragonic lessons. Who knows what it was here, in this strange foreign land, within an army that was so alien to everything he had known. Regardless, it didn’t matter what the Legate wanted or even what they were doing. Edward just knew he had to be ready. “Whatever it is my Lord, I’m up for the task.”

A short rasp of contemplation came from Ingjald as he heard these answer, the slightest motion of his mask betraying that he was moving his tongue through his mouth in a physical motion along with his metaphorical digestion of what was said. “Close. Close.” he replied to the former, while keeping quiet to the latter. A finger was raised and pointed towards the blue palace. “[b]Before everyone goes to die or record those of us that go to die, an event will be held there. The most important people in Skyrim and many of the greater figures of the Empire t large will be there. Of those that were close enough they couldn’t scuttle off to find their amusements for the day, you were the best selections. Maybe the Altmer, but he does not speak many a word, nor does he bear himself like the silk clad creatures tonight will expect. Your names….” the man paused, cycling through a long mental list.

“Edward, Tylmaesa. You Breton, will be my bodyguard for the night. I do not need one but you will be such nonetheless. When not draining expensive wines and and other such shite you will tell dashing stories of my, your, our joint exploits before this war began around Falkreath. You, Dunmer, will say you are an advisor to me. When not trying to find the bastards trying to quietly glut themselves on moonsugar, you will feed stories of the complex choices we have discussed together for prosecution of the war, and of our deep discussions of the Imperial state, philosophy, and such things. You are both to tell people what they wish to and what they wish to think; if it is a matter of dispute between two or more parties, you will speak in a manner to please all, or not speak at all.”

Taking a rather large coin purse from his belt and removing some to put into a pocket, he turned his head somewhat to face them. “If you understand, this coin is yours to buy foppish cloth at Radiant Raiments, perfumes at Angeline’s Aromatics, the likes. You are to stand by the guards at the Blue Palace entrance an hour before the festivities begin
turned in entirety to face them as he waited for a response.

Ah, Tylmaesa thought to themself. Suddenly, they felt themself being launched back to their time among the Hlaalu nobility, of being coached on behaviour by their parents, dressed up in pretty clothing and slathered in makeup and perfumes, and eventually suits and cologne, sometimes a cocktail of the above. They remembered being forced to converse peaceably with arrogant Telvanni wizards, appeasing Redoran Siblings with tales of martial prowess...

This, they thought, is my element. "I understand perfectly, sir. I'll use my experience in these fields to my advantage - I'll be able to manage well." they said. Truthfully, they did not particularly enjoy Imperial clothing, but... Perhaps they could find something interesting to wear?

Bodyguard Edward mouthed silently as he looked towards the Blue Palace. His eyes widening in awe as he studied the grand piece of architecture, built teetering on the edge of a cliff. Elsewhere, his heart constricted with fear. “Stories.” He thought. “Gotta think up something good for the Legate. Maybe I’ll alter the one with the Ogre and hopefully the people attending haven’t heard too many tales from Daggerfall.” Stroking the few hairs on his chin, the teen turned back to his commanding officer. “As you wish, Sir. It would be my honour.” He replied, adding a polite bow.

Taking the coin from the Legate, the Squire hurried away. The raiments Edward had been given by his Lord back in the Order would more than suffice for the evening. That, and the boy doubted he would find much of use in the local shops. Assumedly they’d cater mostly to Nords, with their clothing being well oversized for the boy. Instead, he would use the coin to purchase perfumes, a place to wash and prepare himself at the inn and a small meal to line his stomach for the wine. Money well spent.

“Good, good.” The Legate muttered at the departing Edward, moving his face a little to gesture that Tylmaesa ought follow him. “Tell the Altmet that truns the place you are from the Legate, it may… help.” He called out.

TES: The Second Great War

As Dallio addressed the squad, its members pushed closer to hear the man over the chaos that unfolded as everyone scattered to where their fancies took them. There was the Hastatus Sejanus Tyrsson, a Cyrodiil born Nord that was all too eager to show off that he was still a true son of Skyrim despite being born outside of it and speaking the tongue with a Bruman accent. The remaining Hastatus went simply by Telleno, an Altmer apparently apparently related to the dissidents from the Aldmeri dominion that had been slaughtered by the Thalmor and was simply looking for some measure of revenge. Caius Ganelon was a Ballistarius that despite a clearly Imperial name never really touched on his heritage, simply claiming to be a man of the world; a rather quiet soul, he would remark that he had killed once before the war and became a crossbowman simply to avoid seeing death so close again when serving. Jean-Anselm Portexe was a Breton Ballistarius that had apparently joined when he had naught to repay gambling debts with and decided the Legion would be a way to both escape men with clubs going to collect his cash, but also to honourably repay them when at last he came home to High Rock. The Redguard brothers Hakim and Rashid of Fireglen both hunters that felt it was simply their duty to the glorious Emperor to join up.

There was Ryjko, the aged Nordic mage of restoration and healing that had fallen under the Imperial amnesty for Stormcloak members some years ago and now simply wanted to repay the deeds the Dragonborn's lineage had done for his homeland. Last of note was the Bard Mukbolg, the Orc that was rather diminutive for his kind and unsurprisingly an outcast for not being able to wield a smith's hammer or warriors blade; could play a damn good tune on his trumpet, though.

It was young Sejanus who chuckled out "Hah! Always thinking about your own money like the rest of your cunt-kind, fucking typical." The Sergeant threw the Nordic youth a dirty look, but didn't speak on the matter instead choosing to address the question of Drelas as he opened his mouth. Words didn't come out as a shadow loomed over him, and he turned to face the polished mask of Ingjald. Dropping a purse of coin as a hand struck his forelock with a thuck noise upon salute. A finger of ebony stretched over him, pointing first to Edward Gonard. "You." It addressed, the words whispered in a baritone that somehow seemed louder than the speech of the Sergeant. "And you." the voice continued, the digit now hovering over Tylmaesa. "Come with me. Now." The tone suggested that there was in fact a choice here, but only one good one. He turned, his long grey cape trailing behind himself as he walked into the city.

Dallio turned back to his squad, swallowing some air before addressing his squad again. "Right, your pay, you weren't aware?" He motioned for Drelas to come a little closer. "Its eight hundred Septims a month after deducting expenses for you."

TES: The Second Great War

Hider

Player Name: Joseph or joe

Character name: Lucas Flavius

Race: Imperial

Age: 19

Sex: Male

Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.



Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.

Position: Hastati

Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.

Core: Lucas spent all of his early life in the dilapidated city of Bravil were he had to deal with living in squalor and his drunken father’s abuse. His father claimed to be an ex imperial officer who left the Legion with a lot of honours, but the older Lucas got the more he heard rumours of his father's desertion. At first Lucas defended his father but the older he got, the more it made sense. Living in a shack and having to scrounge for food made him start to realise. A few times though he did overhear his father crying to himself when he was a drunken state muttering about mages burning his men alive. Lucas always wanted to know what his father had witnessed but was always too scared to ask. Ever since he could remember though, he knew his father hated mages and magic believing it was evil. Lucas’s mother would always try and protect her son from her husband’s wrath but just in case she was ever not there she taught him some alteration in secret to protect himself.

When Lucas was around thirteen years old his mother passed away leaving him with just his father and quite a bitter out look on life. As soon as he turned of age, he left his father without saying good bye and enlisted in the army. Lucas spent the next few years in training because all the training he had was from fighting with sticks with his friends in the streets of Bravil. He also arrived very malnourished and skinny from years of not eating properly so he needed to bulk up and get a bit of muscle to deal with the heavy armour and weapons he had to carry. When he was in the boot camp he started to learn how to read and write knowing if he wanted to advance in the legion, he had to have those skills. He had no problem with being able to charm his commanders, but that could only take him so far. All he knew though was that he didn’t want to go back to his old life of basically living in the sewers and being a second-class citizen.

Let me know if you want me to change or expand anything.

@josephb

I'll take it, move to CS tab

TES: The Second Great War

Hider

Player Name: Joseph or joe

Character name: Real name is Lucas Flavius but is known as Adrian Jannus

Race: Imperial

Age: 22

Sex: Male

Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.



Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions or his family are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.

Position: Hastati

Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.

Core: Being the son of a famous general within the empire, people always seemed to expect big things from Lucas. However, no one expected more from him than his own father who constantly compared him to his older brother. Lucas’s brother died during an ambush when Lucas was just eight. This led Lucas to constantly try and his earn his fathers’ affections when he was younger, but the older he got the more he started to resent his father. They lived in a house in Skingrad in a wealthy district and Lucas never left the city for all of his childhood. Lucas went to school where he was one of the brighter students and when he was home, he practised fighting with a wooden sword and shield. When his father was away with the army, Lucas’s mother would show him spells which Lucas loved but wasn’t allowed to do any when his father was home. His Father wanted to raise a warrior or a general not a magician, this stopped Lucas from ever being a powerful mage.

When Lucas started to get into his late teens, he started to become quite distant and cold towards people he didn’t know or people who believed were below him, mainly stemming from his father’s prejudices. He didn’t like living with his father but still wanted his affection and love. His father always went on about how he came from nothing and built himself up so one day Lucas left the comforts of Skingrad and enlisted in the Legion. He used a fake name so people didn’t know who his father was.

Misc: The father son relationship is pretty inspired by Tywin and Tyrion.

Let me know if you want me to change or expand anything.

@josephb

So a few thoughts/questions/concerns whatever. Who exactly is this general that refused his son an education in magic in entirety? The Empire does not have that many (about one per province/conflict zone), this would be quite a famed man, which begs the follow up question. Why didn't this general use his connections to push his son right into some NCO type position or at least get him stationed in a cushy front where he could rise the ranks? Or, at the very least, remain in his proximity and hence under his watch? As I said in the OP I don't really like walls of text and prefer show don't tell, but I feel I don't really have a good enough grasp of the feller as is, even if I can appreciate the direction you're taking.

TES: The Second Great War

@Yam I Am

Equipment

As a Legionnaire demonstrating her prowess with two handed weapons Kiara would be provided a suit of Imperial plate. For her arms, as a Nord she would be given the opportunity to select from a battle axe or greatsword, as well as a sidearm of arming sword or hand axe and either plumbata or throwing axes.

TES: The Second Great War

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Yeah, I intended it to be more a case of the former in terms of tactics. I had intended it to be based more off of the role of the Landsknecht in Late Medieval Switzerland and some of the German states of the time, in that the greatsword users of the time often fought in tandem with arquebus and pike formations, specifically in that the user of the greatsword were intended to counter the use of other pike formations. My question more was intended to see if this would fit more in with the Legionary role of Hastati or it would be more fitting to list Kara's role as that of Auxilia.

@Yam I Am

Now I understand. Ultimately both are viable. An auxilia has arguably more operational and tactical freedoms, although harsher reprimands should those freedoms be broken; a hastati would have another lane of progression in promotion where for an auxiliary institutional progression is mostly just a little more pay, with the potential of being eventually turned to an advisory role (though this is likely out of scope for the RP).

Tl;dr it depends on your preference: go with auxilia if you want to highlight her Nordic brutishness or be a hastatii if you want her to have more come to terms with the Empire and a stable life.