Andronicus23

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Deep Below the Lower Halls of Karak Eight Peaks....

Fizquik Blacktail stood brooding within his laboratory, tucked within a deep crevice below the maze of ramshackle buildings and scaffolding which was the Pillar City. A surprisingly well constructed pulley system winched skaven in and out of his loathsome abode, which was brimming wall to rocky wall with all manner of hastily constructed mechanical equipment. The lines between magic and technology blurred utterly in the mad Warlock Engineer's lair. Luminescent jars filled with all manner of strange deadly chemical concoctions shared shelf space with rows and rows of half-finished inventions. Warp-lighting produced by spinning turbines arc'd around the lab between various electrical nodes and made the fur of many a rat-kin stand on end.

Amongst this display of insane science, a great number of wretched skaven slaves worked tirelessly to fulfill their masters wishes in as speedy a manner as possible, lest they become the next unwilling test subject for the Warlock’s latest and greatest weapon. They cranked levers, excavated large amounts of rock, spun turbines, or ran like mad rats atop strange devices to power some part of the lab. Fizquik’s engineer apprentices acted like vicious task masters, extolling the slaves to greater feats of physical labor under threats of horrific violence should they halt for even a moment. Their own blinding fear of the mad Warlock being the only thing that kept their envious hearts from turning against him.

While the din around him was chaos, Fizquik himself was unperturbed, keeping his snout glued to the schematics he’d created for his latest invention. They were nearly ready, it was time for a little test run.

With a triumphant squeek, Fizquik rolled the ratskin parchment up and lifted it upwards, extolling his own genius,

“I am mighty-great Warlock! Greatest of all Skryre engineers! Moskittar is sure to reward Fizquik with many more warptokens for this invention. We must test it now yes-yes, show fruits of my labors. YOU! Slave-thing!”

Fizquik pointed a claw at one of the wretched passing slaves. The poor skaven stopped immediately in his tracks and nearly emptied his glands with fear. No-one ever wanted to catch the Warlock’s attention.

“Go now! Scurry-hurry quick and pull lever over there!” He pointed to a particularly heavy looking rusted lever which was sitting preciously amongst arcing warp energy next to a large turbine generator.

The slave didn’t move for the briefest of moments, frozen with fear and was just about to beg for the Warlock’s mercy when Fizquik pulled out his warplock pistol and fired, blasting the slave back and leaving a bloodied mass where the warp bullet had tore through fur and skin.

“Too late!” Fizquik chittered manically, “Slave-thing too slow. Never make a Warlock Engineer of mighty Clan Skryre wait. You! Other slave-thing!” He pointed to another one of the passing slaves, “Pull lever now!”

Without hesitation the next slave immediately moved to obey the Warlock’s command. Judging, wisely, that it was better to take his chances with whatever mad device Fizquik was intending to test than to face certain death if he did not. The slave ran up to the lever and threw his entire body against it, wedging it back and initializing the process. The slave spilled to the floor and was getting back up on his paws, when a bolt of warp energy erupted next to his him and nearly seared his fur off entirely. The slave gave a loud squeek of utter terror before bolting away.

Fizquik stared up in crazed glee as he traced the energy flow released by the lever from turbine to turbine, electrode to electrode until it ended at a massive contraption at the center of his lab. A strange half-formed device that was a mass of pistons and spinning gears, kick started to life by the jolt of warp current. Fizquik’s goggles reflected the great green glow the device was giving off as he grinned in surefire astonishment of his brilliance,

“Yes-yes! More power! Pull all levers! Flip all switches! More! More!”

A crazed laugh escaped him which caused slaves and apprentices alike to wince with fear. His celebrations were cut short however, when the device began to sputter.

Fizquik lowered his gaze and his snout dropped in fear. The mass of Skaven within his lab ran for cover as the device shook violently. The Warlock ducked down behind a heavy boulder and plugged his ears just in time for a great explosion to rip through the lab. Warpfire blazed a bright iridescent green all around, engulfing every skaven unfortunate enough to be too close to it, and singeing the fur of many others far enough away to escape the immediate blast.

When it was finally over, Fizquik peeked out over the rock to see part of his lab in cinders, and the charred and mutilated corpses of many slaves all around. An unfortunate slave ran past him completely engulfed in warpfire before falling to the rocky earth unable to continue his flight.

“Hmm. Too much energy. Must fix-correct for next time. Bigger capacitors! Yes! That is the answer!”

Fizquik withdrew a tattered and hastily bound journal from his satchel and cracked it open, jotted a few notes down and returned it swiftly before turning his attention to his remaining workers cowering in the corners,

“Clean up this mess Slave-things! Quickly! Before I kill-slay each of you!” As if to prove he meant business, he fired another shot from his warplock pistol at a nearby slave, missing the poor rat by only a hair. He’d actually meant to hit him, but Fizquik would let them believe that was just a warning shot.

“How am I supposed to keep creating great inventions for Clan Skryre with such incompetent fools at my disposal?” He wondered aloud, “Slave filth. Must ask Clan Moulder for better slave stock...”

Fizquik was about to return to his work when a voice from behind him dared to call his name,

“Is this the lab of Warlock Fizquik?”

Fizquik spun around, and came face to face with a rather proud looking clan-rat. Clearly not one of his rabble given the armor he wore and the sword at his side...and lack of burnt fur,

“Who asks?” He snarled back, “Speak-say quick!”

With a smug expression, the visitor pulled forth a medallion and displayed it to the Warlock. It was jet-black with twelve scratches around its circumference. At the center, was the symbol of the Great Horned Rat. Fizquik eyed it suspiciously. It immediately dawned on him what this was, and the sight of a large heavily-armored Albino Stormvermin coming up behind the visitor like a bodyguard confirmed it. Fizquik couldn’t help but release a little fear musk.

“An emissary of the Council...” The visitor said proudly, “Council says its time for Skaven to take-conquer all of mountain for glory of Horned Rat...we have work to do.”

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Alrighty, I'll have an opening post up for sure by this weekend. Ya'll can start thinking about what you'd like to do for your first characters post.

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Fizquik Blacktail

Race: Skaven

Clan/Faction/Country: Clan Skryre

Class Descriptor: Warlock Engineer

Physical Description: A scrawny piebald rat pockmarked with scars and permanently singed hair due to experiments that have gone awry. He’s called “Blacktail” due to having, on one particular occasion, having burnt his tail while testing a new warpflame device , leaving it scarred and blackened.

Weapons/Armor and Gear: In battle, he wears his Warlock Engineer armor with an attached breathing apparatus designed to give him at least a modicum of protection from the warp lighting and warpfire he can unleash with his various devices. His weapon of choice is a warp-infused glaive that is able to channel warp lighting conjured from a small scale warp turbine attached like a backpack to Fizquiks suit. A small, highly unstable, rocket is attached to the glaive that he can ignite and launch out and above fray to rain warp-hell down on unsuspecting combatants. Aside from the glaive, he also carries a pair of repeater warplock pistols of his own design, inspiration from which came from observing the human version of the weapon and then improving it with brilliant Skaven engineering. Of course, Fizquik would never admit that he took an idea from anywhere other than his own brilliant self.

Background: Born into Clan Skryre, Fizquik was quickly destined to become a warlock engineer, having shown the necessary aptitude for tinkering and invention, and a general disregard for his own safety, that is so prized by the mad rat scientists of the Under-Empire. With a great number of successful (at least on his end) inventions under his belt, he was promoted to Warlock Engineer after his previous Warlock mentor had a rather ‘unfortunate’ accident tinkering with a Far-Squeaker. How was poor Fizquik to know that his master was still holding the Squeaker when he sent the Warp-current through it? Now that he’s officially taken his late master’s place, Fizquik has come to the Pillar City to build and test his inventions in the aide of Clan Mors' battle with the orcs and humans. So many new weapons to build, so little time.

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Since we've got a decent amount of characters at this point, do you guys want to start with the IC thread and we'll see who else we pick up? I just hate to make people wait to start writing.

War Never Changes

To whoever was the random idiot who vandalized the map: screw you we had a backup for exactly this reason.

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Are Nipponsese characters OK?

@Lady Selune

Sure, as long as the backstory etc. seems reasonable lore-wise for how they ended up in Eight Peaks.

War Never Changes

Thomas Milburn - El Dorado Substation

“You crazy bastard…a teleporter? If I had even begun to hypothesize molecular travel, I would not have shrouded it in this ancient facility. But I suppose that it is fortuitous that your quick journey has brought you -directly- to New Vegas.”

“Yes...I apologize for the secrecy Robert but, well, you know me...I like to keep things close to the chest...” Thomas looked around stoically at several of the dead individuals who had fell victim to the unfortunate energy discharge, most of whom were charred where they stood, “I’m sorry about your lost workers as well. Hopefully it would be no trouble to replace them. Dealing with energy of this magnitude can be dangerous.”

“It has been so very long, Thomas…centuries, now, since I have seen your face. I hope that you are not disappointed in return; you and I have found different means to weather these many years.”

Thomas gave an understanding nod, “That much seemed obvious. I’m quite curious to know what sort of technology you’ve employed to grant you your longevity, but I suppose that can wait. I’ve heard of a number of different ways others have survived, none of them very pleasant. Perhaps I should begrudgingly thank Vault Tec…”

“I hope, then, that you will accept an invitation into my home. Once you have had your fill of the giant cascade of lights, there is much at work underneath them. We have made it this far because we have visions…meticulous ones…I suspect that they are not terribly different from one another. Enjoy yourself, and pay me a visit in the Lucky 38 when you are ready, my old friend.”

“Vegas it is,” Thomas grinned, “It’ll be fascinating to visit it again. I suppose you finally got your wish, you run the place like a King now. To be honest Robert...I never really understood your fascination with the place before the war. But I suppose I’ll have to see how the post-war version stacks up. I just hope it won’t be like the last time I visited….as I recall the entire engineering department ended up drunk as skunks and I distinctly remember waking up underneath a roulette table clutching some poor ladies footwear…..we didn’t get a travel expense budget anymore after that...”

“Buncha uptight nerds hitting the town. I woulda paid good money to see that…” Cait quipped as she stifled a laugh, “I’m sure everyone was shakin’ when you lot rolled up.”

“You’d be surprised what trouble a group of underpaid, overworked, and perpetually undersexed graduate students can get into in Sin City. We used to joke about that weekend for years after…” Thomas’s train of thought suddenly trailed off, and a forlorn expression crossed his face. Memories of a time and a place that was lost forever to him suddenly flooded back. The reality of the two-hundred year gap between his old life and his new, consistently found a way to worm its way into his thoughts. Even now.

“It's good to see you again Robert, truly,” Thomas said with a slight smile, “I’ll look forward to our reminiscence. In the meantime however…..perhaps you could provide us with some appropriate clothes? I wager we’d stick out like a sore thumb walking down the strip like this.”

Cait’s face lowered, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, even accusingly, at Thomas,

“I’ll tell you right now...I’m not going to be wearing some frilly little dress…”

---

The Vegas Strip

“I can’t believe I have to wear this stupid dress…”

The New Vegas strip was alive with the color of innumerable neon lights and a bombardment of sound. Music wafting in from the casinos mixed with the rowdy noises of teeming crowds of patrons, vendors, and performers. Whatever his reasons for doing so, it couldn’t be denied that House had managed to perfectly capture the spirit of old world Vegas.

Dressed, as House had described, ‘rich NCR patrons’, Thomas, Cait, and the two Coursers made their down the street. Thomas had taken quite a fancy to the well tailored gambler suit he’d been provided in lieu of his lab coat, but the same could not be said of Cait and her own attire, as she pulled at her skirt uncomfortably and seemed unsteady walking in her heels.

“How in the hell do these prissy gambler girls walk around like this? I think that House guy just might be bullshitting me.”

Thomas grinned and shrugged, “It's the fashion trend for NCR tourists supposedly. Besides, like Robert said, if you walked around in combat boots and leather on the strip, you might start drawing the wrong kind of attention…”

“And just what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Anyone so much as looks at me like that I’ll blast their fuc…”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Thomas interrupted, “We’re not here to cause a scene. We’re here to blend in. We’re just a rich couple from the NCR here to visit the New Vegas strip and all it has to offer, and we’ve brought a couple of personal bodyguards along to keep us safe.” He pointed to the two well-dressed Coursers, now looking like a pair of Triggerman thugs, “Just put on an act and no-one will be the wiser. Oh and, I didn’t want to bring this up, but you may want to lose the accent. I doubt there’s too many Boston Irish girls in California…”

“Lose the…” Cait fumed for a second or two and finally gave a heavy sigh, “Fine. I’ll try.”

She paused in the street for a few seconds and closed her eyes, as if dramatically mustering up some sort of long-latent power, and finally opened them with an over the top smile and the best impression she could muster,

“Golly the Vegas strip is sooooo amazing. Look at all the lights and people! Oh it’s all a girl could ever want and more,” She then slid up to Thomas’s side and grabbed onto his arm, “Darling won’t you show me around? Maybe I can try a cocktail at one of the bars...ooo but maybe that would be too crazy. I don't wish to become inebriated!”

“That’s genuinely terrifying.” Thomas replied with a raised eyebrow, “You know that, right?”

“You asked for it,” She muttered under her breath.

“You there!” A voice suddenly called out from the sidewalk, “Yes you! You look like you enjoy the high life am I right? Could I interest you in some fine jewelry? Maybe a watch or a necklace for the lovely young lady? All high quality and 100% pre-war authentic merchandise. Scavenged from the Boneyard!”

“Oh yes! That would be lovely, wouldn’t it dear?” Cait’s mischievous smile was enough to realize he’d made a massive mistake.

“Ah yes, of course…..” Thomas replied as he walked over to the vendor. The man then opened the briefcase he was carrying and displayed the wares he was offering, all of them neatly folded and tucked into various pockets and folds of the case.

“You said this is all pre-war authentic merchandise?”

“Of course!” The vendor quipped, “100% guaranteed. Real honest-to-god pre-war jewelry. Would have been very high quality stuff back in the day too! Its pricey...but I’m sure you can afford it.”

“Except it isn’t…” Thomas grabbed one of the necklaces and held it up, “The engravings are L&M co.. They were a movie prop and costume company before the war. Lesser known maybe so its understandable...but I know them because I collected replicas of the props they made for a couple of my favorite horror films. Pretty convincing..but they’re completely fake. Where did you say you got them?”

The Vendor appeared crestfallen, as if Thomas had just hit him with a ton of bricks, “The Boneyard, a merchant there told me I could make back three times what I paid for them…”

“Boneyard?” Thomas looked around to one of the Coursers with a confused expression.

“I believe that would be referring to the ruins of Los Angeles.” The Courser replied, tapping into the databank of information SRB had provided them.

“Ah well there you go. Easy explanation then,” Thomas shrugged, “If it's any consolation. The merchant probably wasn’t aware of what they were either.”

“Fuck you buddy. Smart rich assholes...,” The vendor replied and snapped the briefcase closed. He then stalked off mumbling to himself weaving in and out of the tourists.

“Geez….that stupid sod….I mean..” Cait caught herself and paused, “Oh that poor, poor gentlemen…”

Thomas rolled his eyes and pointed down the strip, “Robert recommended we visit The Tops, especially if we wished to revisit old haunts. Can’t say I recall much about the place before the war….”

“Ooo it looks just like a little round spinner!” Cait gleamed, “How delightfu...ah fuck!” The impersonation suddenly dropped as Cait looked down at the puddle of vomit she’d unfortunately just wandered into, “Jesus fu….what the...oh for fucks sake.”

“That lasted about as long as I expected,” Thomas chuckled, “Come on. Let’s see if we can grab a table. Something tells me we aren’t going to have any problems though…”

He then grabbed Cait’s hand and led her away as she continued cursing and rubbing her heel on the pavement. All the while the sounds of Sinatra played out up and over the strip. For a brief time, Thomas felt as if he truly was back home...to the life he’d left forever behind, no longer a man out of time.

Maybe Robert wasn’t so crazy after all to save Vegas….and maybe Thomas could now fully understand why he’d chosen to do so. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, Mr. Robert House was a far more sentimental person than he ever appeared to be….before or after the war. That was an oddly comforting thought.

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

Yeah the idea is for everyone to hopefully not get too attached to their characters. I'm not saying characters have to die, but part of the concept behind this RP that the GMs were thinking of is that your characters should experience consequences if they get themselves into a tight spot. Whatever those might be. Not just skip by on plot armor.

Plus it'll make it fun to try out multiple characters/factions throughout the RP.

Glad interest in this is growing a bit. No rush on the character sheets.

Silver and Blood: A Warhammer Roleplay

@Lady Selune Are you still interested in this RP? Its taking awhile to get in sheets but we're slowly getting there.

War Never Changes

Lancer-Sergeant Robert Kyle - Siege of Indianapolis

Robert quickly strapped on his flight suit and helmet, heart pounding in his chest as he did so. He’d just received word from the flight commander that he’d be needed to fill the spot of a wounded pilot that had been taken out of action by a anti-air round. His eagerness to finally get back up in the air and be behind the controls of a Brotherhood aircraft was tempered only by his sympathy for the man whose place he was taking. This was war however, and he couldn’t dwell on those sorts of things too much. The Brotherhood needed every bird in the air to evacuate wounded soldiers that were already streaming in from the front lines. His other hope, of course, was that this action would finally prove his worth to the Midwestern high command: finally he could have a chapter and an Elder to serve once again.

Once he was suited up and ready to go, he departed for the helipad immediately. With practiced ease, he warmed up the bird’s engines, did all of the necessary pre-flight checks as thoroughly as if Lancer-Captain Kells was watching him closely from the grave, and once he’d received the all-clear, he was up in the air.

The feel was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but smile even as the battle raged below him. His destination was an evac point a short distance outside the city, and it would only take a few minutes to get there, but he intended to enjoy every moment in the air he could. He could as well have been flying back to the Prdywen after a successful mission, and he could almost smell the salisbury steak and the cheerful looks of his brothers and sisters as they greeted him in the mess,

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you all…” He said, his hand reaching for the dog tags around his neck, “I swear….I’ll avenge you. Somehow...”

He could almost hear their response. It was like the voice of God in his head. One that was forgiving, kind, even gentle. It made him feel immediately at ease.

There’s nothing to avenge. You’re performing your duties admirably...J3-36.

Robert’s eyes widened in horror.

“No...”

Indeed. We need to pull you out of your fantasyland for a brief time. Don’t worry...we’ll put you back. But right now you need to be cognizant. End personality subroutine.

J3’s face lowered. His eyes deadened. He remembered everything. He knew exactly what he was...and he didn’t care.

“How can can I assist Director Secord?”

Watcher pods are gathering as much intel as possible about this battle. This is an information goldmine. It’s everything we wanted and more. Troop movements, supply and logistics information, battle tactics, armor and weapons readouts...we’re getting all of it. You don’t need to worry about all that however, what I want you to do right now...is monitor The Brotherhood’s comm chatter...let's see if we can make some use of you....