Eisenhorn

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

"Right, the week's drills have been disseminated to each of your data slates, make sure the lockers and squads are up to standards before beginning the drills. Just because we have the luxury of a relatively safe leg of the journey doesn't mean we get to slack off. I expect drill reports within a standard day after completion of the drill, as usual. Now get going, another day of work to be done." The subordinates departed after saluting, leaving Gerard Stukov alone in his office/quarters/whatever purpose it was serving today. While relatively spartan by Rogue Trader standards, it was leaps and bounds more luxurious than anything that the voidmaster had known before. That didn't excuse anyone else that answered to him from being able to slack off, however, as the voidmaster was determined to keep this ship as safe as he could possibly ensure, which meant plenty of drills, maintenance, and a whole battery of readiness checks to ensure the safety of ship and crew.

Turning from the closed hatch, Gerard started going through his own data slate, reviewing upcoming meetings he was required to be at. Silas Celeton, the Rogue Trader he was in the direct employ and the ship's Captain, was having a meeting for the various senior officers on board the ship. He had been both pleasantly, and unpleasantly, surprised to be serving aboard another Dauntless class so soon, as heavily retrofitted and modernized as this one was, the new weight suited her well. That being said, he tightened the straps on his carapace breastplate, something he wore at all times when not actively in his rack, and gave himself a once over. Dressed about as well as usual, fatigues and armor, any exposed bionics were clean and polished, clean shaven as usual, both head and chin. Good, he was as presentable as he ever got, and he patted himself down briefly. His pistol was securely holstered, the shotgun secured in the rack beside his desk, it wouldn't be needed for this meeting, doubly so since they were undergoing webway transit currently.

"Right, let's see what the skipper has rattling around in that head of his today..." Exiting his quarters, Gerard moved at brisk pace. He'd be just a few minutes early, which was the bare minimum to be acceptable frankly, but the meeting with the subordinates had ran longer than anticipated. Typical, frankly, hence the built in wiggle room between meetings and such. Fortunately he had not eaten yet, given the meal that was waiting. Swapping nods and quick words with crew as he walked, he did as he always did, kept as up to date on the ship's condition, as well as her crew, at all times. He was no Tech Priest, but it was often easier to talk to another human than it was the the gear heads, and he had more experience talking to them given his own encounters with them. Though thanks to his wandering thoughts, he arrived at the officer's suite in rather short order and, after a moment, entered.

"Sir, Gerard Stukov reporting. Seems like I've made it early as usual." Gerard would give a crisp, brief salute to the Rogue Trader before taking a seat, patiently waiting for the others who would be attending to arrive. A rather mixed bag, by all accounts, but what Rogue Trader could boast something as impressive as having an utterly mundane inner circle of officers and advisors? That being said, he did review his data slate again before the others arrived, seeing if anything worth mentioning would be present currently. Everything had been going as smoothly as one could reasonably expect, which was unusual in and of itself. Perhaps this meeting would be the thing that unstuck everything, such was life sailing the stars after all.

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Voidmaster Gerard Stukov

CS

Name: Gerard Stukov
Age: 54
Species: Human
Appearance:

Height: 5'9"
Weight: 221lbs

Role in the ship: Senior Voidmaster
Notable Equipment and Augmentations:
Bionics - Stukov has seen limited bionic implantation, mostly to repair and make good damage he has received during his time fighting bloody and pitched boarding actions, providing security during shore parties investigating planetary situations, and otherwise requiring rebuilding. While having no limbs fully replaced, he has had a number of internal organs replaced, machinery taking the place of flesh and blood, his experience valued more highly than the resources spent on keeping him alive. The most overt is the left half of his head has a sturdy plate in place, a bionic eye replacing what was lost as well as providing some degree of additional protection.

Mixed Carapace/Flak Armor - While he doesn't wear a full suit of it, Stukov has salvaged, requisitioned, and 'acquired' enough material to have a carapace breastplate sturdy enough to keep his already ravaged insides from getting any worse. When deploying or on duty, he also has flak armor that he wears over his legs and upper arms, preferring to keep more on his feet rather than simply try to soak up incoming fire, though given his previous injuries, this was very much a hard learned lesson. Otherwise, he favors fairly standard fatigues, sleeves rolled up or cut off completely as appropriate.

Artificer Shotgun - The weapon that marks Voidmasters out from their subordinates, the expertly crafted weapon is as much an heirloom at this point as it is simply a master crafted weapon. Pump action, to not risk mechanical failure during prolonged combat, the weapon has seen more combat and conflict than its current owner. Reinforced for close quarters engagements, including a permanent bayonet fixed to the front, it is capable of loading a wide variety of shotgun loads and tackling a variety of situations. Stukov prefers buckshot, though keeps a handful of slugs and inferno shells on hand just in case a special situation arises.

Naval Pistol - Standard issue sidearm for Imperial Naval personnel, even now, Stukov favors it over heftier options like bolt pistols, or more ubiquitous ones like las pistols. Using a specialized autopistol ammo designed to fragment and reduce damage to ship systems while maximizing damage to minimally armored or unarmored flesh. Like other models, the weapon is reinforced and sturdy enough to use as in a melee as a bludgeon without immediate risk to damage or misfire.

Combat Knife - Kept in a boot sheath, there is not much to say about the ubiquitous combat knife. Single edged, mono edged, and weighted for both fighting and throwing, when all else fails, there's always a knife for a last ditch stand, or prying open a ration can.

Concussion Grenades - Another voidsman favorite, these weapons rely on sheer force of the detonation to damage and kill threats, and only grow more dangerous the more compact and confined the space they are thrown into becomes. Stukov always has several on hand at any given time, and values them highly, even if a frag might do more immediate damage, the concussive force can do wonders on modestly armored infantry, especially if caught at ground zero or hemmed in and unable to get clear.

Skills:
Close Quarters Combat - Broadly speaking, Stukov's specialty is in getting stuck into a fight and carrying out a battle as close as he can get. A reliable shot, though no marksman or even on the same footing as most Guard troops drilled in lasgun fire, he often acts as a first line between hostiles getting close to his subordinates, directing fire when necessary but otherwise screening enemy combatants. Between shotgun, bayonet, and naval pistol, the voidmaster tends to blend close range shooting and melee in a way informed and trained by long years of experience and training. The style is necessarily brutal, aimed at finishing a fight quickly, lacking the elegance of a duelist or the precision of a sniper, though more than one hostile has seen their last mistake being to underestimate the brutality as simplicity.

Security Operations - A great deal of Stukov's life revolved around patrolling the ship he was on, always alert for trouble that might be brewing, be it stowaways, mutinous crew, or worse. Securing an area is a necessary skill, as well, when retaking overrun decks or setting up a forward post on an enemy ship to coordinate further boarding actions, just being able to set up barricades and seal bulkheads isn't enough. Being able to spot problems or things that are out of place are just as vital as the knowledge of how to, at a glance, pick out how to not only best fortify a location, but with what they might have on hand.

Field Maintenance/Jury Rigging - Stukov has a practical understanding of a broad spectrum of mechanical and weapons systems, capable of field stripping lasguns and other infantry weapons down, rigging up a fix for a problem, and slapping it back together. He doesn't do this in front of the Mechanicus, when he can help it, of course, but he is quite the natural at jury rigging and improvising when push comes to shove. More electronic systems, however, are not nearly as certain a thing, though if its nothing more complex than a hatch control panel, he can rig it up reliably enough, though the more complex the electronics, the less reliable this talent is.

Biography: Gerard Stukov was born on a refueling and rearming space station, one that saw a great deal of traffic by forces both going to, and from, besieged planets and systems, seeing the near constant bustle and traffic of supplies, soldiers, and others who had a reason to dock and walk the station decks. His family had been voidsmen for as long as they could track, and Gerard was going to be no different, regardless of any personal beliefs in the matter. Raised by the station security as much as his own flesh and blood, he would sign onto the first vessel in service of Ultramar that was in need of fresh voidsmen. A rather short wait, by all accounts, and he was inducted on board the Blind Judgment as one of the freshest voidsmen tasked with protecting the ship, and engaging in boarding actions.

It would not take long for conflict to find them, or the other way around, and would spend the next 30 years serving across various fronts and facing various foes of Ultramar. Whether it was luck or skill, the Blind Judgment had a long and successful career, the cruiser would carry out a variety of anti pirate operations, engagements against hostile fleets, and patrolling the cold void of the space between planets and systems. Of course nothing lasts forever, and that included the ship that the recently minted Voidmaster, having spent his entire career working up the ranks from rank and file to increasingly senior leadership positions as those above him perished or themselves filled the boots of the dead above them, and it would be Chaos renegades that spelled the ship and most of the crew's doom.

On an independent patrol they would be jumped by a four cruisers to match the Blind Judgement, a light cruiser, alone with her few escorts. The boarding craft were quick to launch, after a valiant effort by gun crews to stave off the impending assaults, blunting the first wave of assaults that led to pitched battles across the decks that only become more desperate, eventually leading to the armed crew holding the engine room to make the fateful decision to overload her reactors, consigning her to death over capture. Stukov led as many voidsman and crew as he could to the lifepods, aiming for the nearest planet. Better to risk getting shot to pieces by chaos fighters than a certain death from the overloading reactor. Most of the escape pods would not make it, indeed torn apart by withering passes by fighters or, worse, captured and hauled back towards the chaos pirate fleet. Of course, the final explosion of the Blind Judgement would take countless pirates and traitors out, and more importantly, provide cover for the surviving life pods.

Crash landing on the nearby planet, weeks away from the nearest settlement of any sort, Stukov would gather as many as he could, administer mercies to those who could not move or keep up, and led the grim march through the jungles towards the clearings they saw on the, albeit incredibly rocky, descent into atmosphere. Nearly half the already depleted survivors of the crew wouldn't make it, the jungle proving almost as deadly as the conflict they'd already survived in the void above, but the depleted members of the crew, Stukov at the head, stumbled into the seemingly abandoned observation outposts, though forgotten supplies and prefabricated buildings would prove far more welcome shelter than huddled clearings, trying to keep the hostile jungle at bay.

A Rogue Trader would respond to the distress beacon the survivors jury rigged, the away team finding a skeleton crew of survivors who would be glad to never see a jungle again. Stukov, for his part, stayed aboard the Rogue Trader, the rest of the survivors departing at the next station to report what happened to the Blind Judgment to their supreriors and work from there. Stukov felt he owed a debt to the Rogue Trader, and with his old ship dead and gone, he didn't want to simply wait idly by on another vessel for the same to happen again. Plenty of stories, maybe even some of them true, were told of Rogue Traders and the kinds of lives they led. Stukov signed on as seasoned Voidmaster, and would remain aboard when the new orders came down from on high.

A suicide mission, to reclaim some artifact found by Mechanicus forces, and bring it back. No excess could be spared, which was typical. Stukov would wonder about the details they didn't have, but ultimately, he had sworn an oath. The Rogue Trader's vessel was his charge as much as those he served, and it would only end when he died, or if another ship was shot out from underneath him. He would almost prefer the former at this point, given the far flung distances they will be at, it was unlikely rescue would ever arrive in time. But, Stukov knew his orders, and the orders of those around him, and he would see them through. Even if it felt like a fool's errand, nicely as that could be put.

Additional Notes: Stukov has an intense dislike of climates both bitterly hot and miserably humid, as they remind him of the jungles and predators that had dogged their every step. While having no preferences for most luxuries, the man does enjoy a good cigar when he can afford to get his hands on one, or three.

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Alright, no more delays, CS time.

Voidmaster

CS

Name: Gerard Stukov
Age: 54
Species: Human
Appearance:

Height: 5'9"
Weight: 221lbs

Role in the ship: Senior Voidmaster
Notable Equipment and Augmentations:
Bionics - Stukov has seen limited bionic implantation, mostly to repair and make good damage he has received during his time fighting bloody and pitched boarding actions, providing security during shore parties investigating planetary situations, and otherwise requiring rebuilding. While having no limbs fully replaced, he has had a number of internal organs replaced, machinery taking the place of flesh and blood, his experience valued more highly than the resources spent on keeping him alive. The most overt is the left half of his head has a sturdy plate in place, a bionic eye replacing what was lost as well as providing some degree of additional protection.

Mixed Carapace/Flak Armor - While he doesn't wear a full suit of it, Stukov has salvaged, requisitioned, and 'acquired' enough material to have a carapace breastplate sturdy enough to keep his already ravaged insides from getting any worse. When deploying or on duty, he also has flak armor that he wears over his legs and upper arms, preferring to keep more on his feet rather than simply try to soak up incoming fire, though given his previous injuries, this was very much a hard learned lesson. Otherwise, he favors fairly standard fatigues, sleeves rolled up or cut off completely as appropriate.

Artificer Shotgun - The weapon that marks Voidmasters out from their subordinates, the expertly crafted weapon is as much an heirloom at this point as it is simply a master crafted weapon. Pump action, to not risk mechanical failure during prolonged combat, the weapon has seen more combat and conflict than its current owner. Reinforced for close quarters engagements, including a permanent bayonet fixed to the front, it is capable of loading a wide variety of shotgun loads and tackling a variety of situations. Stukov prefers buckshot, though keeps a handful of slugs and inferno shells on hand just in case a special situation arises.

Naval Pistol - Standard issue sidearm for Imperial Naval personnel, even now, Stukov favors it over heftier options like bolt pistols, or more ubiquitous ones like las pistols. Using a specialized autopistol ammo designed to fragment and reduce damage to ship systems while maximizing damage to minimally armored or unarmored flesh. Like other models, the weapon is reinforced and sturdy enough to use as in a melee as a bludgeon without immediate risk to damage or misfire.

Combat Knife - Kept in a boot sheath, there is not much to say about the ubiquitous combat knife. Single edged, mono edged, and weighted for both fighting and throwing, when all else fails, there's always a knife for a last ditch stand, or prying open a ration can.

Concussion Grenades - Another voidsman favorite, these weapons rely on sheer force of the detonation to damage and kill threats, and only grow more dangerous the more compact and confined the space they are thrown into becomes. Stukov always has several on hand at any given time, and values them highly, even if a frag might do more immediate damage, the concussive force can do wonders on modestly armored infantry, especially if caught at ground zero or hemmed in and unable to get clear.

Skills:
Close Quarters Combat - Broadly speaking, Stukov's specialty is in getting stuck into a fight and carrying out a battle as close as he can get. A reliable shot, though no marksman or even on the same footing as most Guard troops drilled in lasgun fire, he often acts as a first line between hostiles getting close to his subordinates, directing fire when necessary but otherwise screening enemy combatants. Between shotgun, bayonet, and naval pistol, the voidmaster tends to blend close range shooting and melee in a way informed and trained by long years of experience and training. The style is necessarily brutal, aimed at finishing a fight quickly, lacking the elegance of a duelist or the precision of a sniper, though more than one hostile has seen their last mistake being to underestimate the brutality as simplicity.

Security Operations - A great deal of Stukov's life revolved around patrolling the ship he was on, always alert for trouble that might be brewing, be it stowaways, mutinous crew, or worse. Securing an area is a necessary skill, as well, when retaking overrun decks or setting up a forward post on an enemy ship to coordinate further boarding actions, just being able to set up barricades and seal bulkheads isn't enough. Being able to spot problems or things that are out of place are just as vital as the knowledge of how to, at a glance, pick out how to not only best fortify a location, but with what they might have on hand.

Field Maintenance/Jury Rigging - Stukov has a practical understanding of a broad spectrum of mechanical and weapons systems, capable of field stripping lasguns and other infantry weapons down, rigging up a fix for a problem, and slapping it back together. He doesn't do this in front of the Mechanicus, when he can help it, of course, but he is quite the natural at jury rigging and improvising when push comes to shove. More electronic systems, however, are not nearly as certain a thing, though if its nothing more complex than a hatch control panel, he can rig it up reliably enough, though the more complex the electronics, the less reliable this talent is.

Biography: Gerard Stukov was born on a refueling and rearming space station, one that saw a great deal of traffic by forces both going to, and from, besieged planets and systems, seeing the near constant bustle and traffic of supplies, soldiers, and others who had a reason to dock and walk the station decks. His family had been voidsmen for as long as they could track, and Gerard was going to be no different, regardless of any personal beliefs in the matter. Raised by the station security as much as his own flesh and blood, he would sign onto the first vessel in service of Ultramar that was in need of fresh voidsmen. A rather short wait, by all accounts, and he was inducted on board the Blind Judgment as one of the freshest voidsmen tasked with protecting the ship, and engaging in boarding actions.

It would not take long for conflict to find them, or the other way around, and would spend the next 30 years serving across various fronts and facing various foes of Ultramar. Whether it was luck or skill, the Blind Judgment had a long and successful career, the cruiser would carry out a variety of anti pirate operations, engagements against hostile fleets, and patrolling the cold void of the space between planets and systems. Of course nothing lasts forever, and that included the ship that the recently minted Voidmaster, having spent his entire career working up the ranks from rank and file to increasingly senior leadership positions as those above him perished or themselves filled the boots of the dead above them, and it would be Chaos renegades that spelled the ship and most of the crew's doom.

On an independent patrol they would be jumped by a four cruisers to match the Blind Judgement, a light cruiser, alone with her few escorts. The boarding craft were quick to launch, after a valiant effort by gun crews to stave off the impending assaults, blunting the first wave of assaults that led to pitched battles across the decks that only become more desperate, eventually leading to the armed crew holding the engine room to make the fateful decision to overload her reactors, consigning her to death over capture. Stukov led as many voidsman and crew as he could to the lifepods, aiming for the nearest planet. Better to risk getting shot to pieces by chaos fighters than a certain death from the overloading reactor. Most of the escape pods would not make it, indeed torn apart by withering passes by fighters or, worse, captured and hauled back towards the chaos pirate fleet. Of course, the final explosion of the Blind Judgement would take countless pirates and traitors out, and more importantly, provide cover for the surviving life pods.

Crash landing on the nearby planet, weeks away from the nearest settlement of any sort, Stukov would gather as many as he could, administer mercies to those who could not move or keep up, and led the grim march through the jungles towards the clearings they saw on the, albeit incredibly rocky, descent into atmosphere. Nearly half the already depleted survivors of the crew wouldn't make it, the jungle proving almost as deadly as the conflict they'd already survived in the void above, but the depleted members of the crew, Stukov at the head, stumbled into the seemingly abandoned observation outposts, though forgotten supplies and prefabricated buildings would prove far more welcome shelter than huddled clearings, trying to keep the hostile jungle at bay.

A Rogue Trader would respond to the distress beacon the survivors jury rigged, the away team finding a skeleton crew of survivors who would be glad to never see a jungle again. Stukov, for his part, stayed aboard the Rogue Trader, the rest of the survivors departing at the next station to report what happened to the Blind Judgment to their supreriors and work from there. Stukov felt he owed a debt to the Rogue Trader, and with his old ship dead and gone, he didn't want to simply wait idly by on another vessel for the same to happen again. Plenty of stories, maybe even some of them true, were told of Rogue Traders and the kinds of lives they led. Stukov signed on as seasoned Voidmaster, and would remain aboard when the new orders came down from on high.

A suicide mission, to reclaim some artifact found by Mechanicus forces, and bring it back. No excess could be spared, which was typical. Stukov would wonder about the details they didn't have, but ultimately, he had sworn an oath. The Rogue Trader's vessel was his charge as much as those he served, and it would only end when he died, or if another ship was shot out from underneath him. He would almost prefer the former at this point, given the far flung distances they will be at, it was unlikely rescue would ever arrive in time. But, Stukov knew his orders, and the orders of those around him, and he would see them through. Even if it felt like a fool's errand, nicely as that could be put.

Additional Notes: Stukov has an intense dislike of climates both bitterly hot and miserably humid, as they remind him of the jungles and predators that had dogged their every step. While having no preferences for most luxuries, the man does enjoy a good cigar when he can afford to get his hands on one, or three.

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

I do like the what-if angle being taken here, I am indeed interested in seeing where this ends up going, sure as sure.

Warhammer 40k: Enigmas of the Warp

"Only a phobia if it isn't justified or rational, which it most certainly is." Stukov was not interested in trading barbs with some xeno, no matter how determined it was to convince them that it was anything more than looking for the real reason it was here, and spend their lives to see it happen. Whatever higher machinations it had in mind, the armsman knew for fact, would not find an ally in him. The only thing that stayed his hand was Morgenstern's orders to the contrary, and the fact they had bigger problems to sort out. The open warp anomalies and cult presence were both equally concerning, as was the hazardous objective they had located. But no, they were going to be gallivanting about instead of securing the object and investigating the leads they had. Of course, Morgenstern put her foot down on not overdoing it, despite any amusement she may have found in such a contest. Fortunate indeed he was not feeling particularly festive nor competitive at this point at time.

"Duly noted." Stukov wasn't wasting his breath on stating the obvious, given the clearly untouched items in front of him. If he needed food, he had rations he could wolf down between firefights, and that would suffice. Solares' reaching for "his" food elicited no reaction from the Armsman as he instead referred to his dataslate, reviewing the situation and conditions they would be dealing with while on the planet. He would at least be as prepared as he could be, despite recent damaging of his equipment and the mild fact he was, by all accounts, critically under armed compared to the rest of the retinue. He had some ideas to rectify the situation, of course, but that wasn't going to happen in some needlessly fancy restaurant. Rather, he would need to get back to the base armory, restock, rearm, and if need be requisition the equipment he had in mind. Maybe have his arm replaced as well, given it was tainted by the xeno trickery, but he would have to burn that bridge when he came to it. The tech priestess, mad as she was, would no doubt be all too willing to hack his arm off if it meant 'upgrading' him, something to keep in mind. At the mention of being ready to move out, Stukov nodded briskly.

"Sooner we get moving the better. Let's get this done with." If he had any say in the matter, Stukov would have been up and on his feet right now, heading off for the transport to get their objective back to base. But it wasn't his say, and he wasn't going to just run off because he didn't like the orders or plan that was given. Better or worse, he was one to follow orders. At least rational ones, and while he firmly believed the current ones stretched that definition, well, that wasn't grounds enough to consider them unlawful. Not yet, at any rate.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP (Black Crusade Inspired) [CLOSED]

Viktor Slonov

Even the Law could be swayed, the incorruptible, corrupted. It was something even the high and mighty dared not consider, lest it worm its way into their heads as well. For Viktor, however, consideration had long since come and gone, though he had not quite yet thrown off the disguise. He still wore the badge of local Enforcers, though routinely dealt in bribery, turning a blind eye, and even the odd 'convenient' arrest. Minor ways to pad his pockets, improve his station, stepping stones leading ever closer to the abyss, though he knew none of this yet, all he had known was casual corruption. After he was officially relieved of duty, well, he and those more loyal to the credits than the Imperium had gone a bit mental, the badge still worn out of spite rather than obligation.

The idling truck, bearing the local noble's coat of arms as an impromptu, and false, badge of office, cast stark light onto the noble estate's front gate. While several men idled about, one stood out, one hand holding a vox headset up to his ear, the other resting on a slung combat shotgun. The man's form was hard to make out, dull green greatcoat concealing much until facing him square on, revealing a mix of carapace and flak armor, salvaged from otherwise more fitting people, the carapace only covering the vitals of his torso and upper legs. The sides of his head were buzzed, though the greying hair was slightly visible despite this, brown hair well kept on top of his head, swept to the side in one smooth motion. Abruptly tossing the headset of the back of the truck, he ran a hand through his ample beard, smoothing it out as he started walking towards the estate gate, noting how well the men followed his orders, one nodding as he approached. "Viktor, what's the word, we getting paid or we nailing that fat bastard's family to the gates next?"

Viktor, the man in the greatcoat, glanced at the gate. A younger man was crucified to it, still twitching and groaning, barely conscious, crude marks carved into his chest as he dangled and slowly bled, a drawn out execution. The sounds of continued looting, shouting, and the crescendo of a burst of gunfire from within the estate was slowly dying down, meaning Viktor's men were wrapping up. At last, Viktor smiled lowly and produced a dataslate, the glowing green indicating that the transaction had been confirmed. The man who had asked Viktor about pay in the first place was practically salivating at the prospective next payday, and what that could buy him back in one of the Hives on the planet. "Paid in full, once the others drag our employer's rival out here, I'll string him up myself. After that, well, time to see who pay's up next."

In practice, Viktor could not care less about the pay, not really. Every noble family he nailed to the gates of some private estate, every clerk who's card he punched a bit more literally than they might like, destabilized things further. Even a blind man could see it, the local Arbites crackdowns back in the Hive coming less often as they were so busy investigating the rash of violence in so many seemingly random places, and the sheer intensity and drawn out nature of such executions, that they were getting drawn away from the real problem. The main Hive would soon erupt into an orgy of violence, something that his employer's didn't seem aware of, only concerned about bumping off their potential rivals, by any means necessary. All it had taken was that one, desperate useless waste of flesh paying Viktor and his goons to finally set his planned revenge back into motion. His thoughts were interrupted by shouting, laughing, and the smell of freshly soiled trousers. The head of the family, it seems, was finally dug out of his little safe room. That Heretek code had worked after all, he'd have to 'lose' one of his men to that wretch in compensation after all. Still, once the man was dragged forward and forced to his knees, Viktor planted a swift boot into his gut to shut him up, the wheezing much easier to talk over.

"Stop trying to pay us off, it ain't going to get you anywhere. All you nobles, playing at leadership and pretending you have power, reveling in its empty promises. Look where all that power and prestige got you, so fat I'm not sure your concubine's guts can hang you long enough to strangle. Good thing I ran some spare wire through them, eh? Get him under the lamp post." The fat noble struggled and started shouting curses, how the other families wouldn't let this stand, how he had friends, allies in power, that they would all rot if they were lucky, yadda yadda yadda. The fat fuck didn't see his precious concubine's corpse under the lamp post, her guts spooled like rope, a grisly noose prepared already. True to his word, Viktor had one of his men run some cable through them since it was well know how hefty this one had gotten. He only stopped shouting and ranting when the lukewarm intestine was put around his neck, and with a grunt, Viktor hoisted him up, nailing the end into place with a stake. The man kicked for longer than he thought, and from the grumbling, several men had lost best on this too. Good thing Viktor didn't make blind bets, and he took satisfaction watching the life flee the man's eyes, the kicking dying down to twitching death throes, to nothing.

"Right, set the promethium trails and let the place burn, let's see if the pyre burns any higher this time. Leave the corpses here for the Arbites to find and panic over. We got our pay, and the sooner we get back to the Hive, the sooner you lot can get to spend your pay and I can get our next job in line." The men seemed keen to that, meanwhile Viktor climbed up into the driver's cabin, his second in command driving as the group tore off into the night, the looming Hive city, at least half a day's trip at speed away, still looked like it dominated the skyline. The XO rambled on about this haul and how far ahead it would put them, but Viktor tuned him out. Another job like this, and the whole rotten facade the Imperium had propped up, had convinced him to prop up for so long, would come crashing down. The Law and Order they so desperately craved, well, would vanish like the myths they were. Also he figured he knew which man to give to the Heretek, he'd gotten himself shot like an idiot by the estate's personal guards. He'd make a nice tribute to that Heretek, keep up his end of the bargain and all that. He had taken to enjoying his work now, more so than he ever had propping up the rotting house. Few more kicks, and it would go up like a damned funeral pyre. After that, well, he had enough credits stashed away to pay off a Rogue Trader he'd met and been bribed by he could hitch a ride with. Seems there was more to do for a man with talents like his, especially if he would denounce the Emperor. Sure, that was easy, what had that so called God ever done for him, really? Got him fired, that's what, just for making his own personal life a bit easier. And if he got to enjoy burning the whole rotten power structure down, well, all the better right?

Viktor Slonov
Chaos God: Undivided, for now.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP (Black Crusade Inspired) [CLOSED]

Alright, took me long enough, but got this knocked out, let me know how it looks.

CS

Even the Law could be swayed, the incorruptible, corrupted. It was something even the high and mighty dared not consider, lest it worm its way into their heads as well. For Viktor, however, consideration had long since come and gone, though he had not quite yet thrown off the disguise. He still wore the badge of local Enforcers, though routinely dealt in bribery, turning a blind eye, and even the odd 'convenient' arrest. Minor ways to pad his pockets, improve his station, stepping stones leading ever closer to the abyss, though he knew none of this yet, all he had known was casual corruption. After he was officially relieved of duty, well, he and those more loyal to the credits than the Imperium had gone a bit mental, the badge still worn out of spite rather than obligation.

The idling truck, bearing the local noble's coat of arms as an impromptu, and false, badge of office, cast stark light onto the noble estate's front gate. While several men idled about, one stood out, one hand holding a vox headset up to his ear, the other resting on a slung combat shotgun. The man's form was hard to make out, dull green greatcoat concealing much until facing him square on, revealing a mix of carapace and flak armor, salvaged from otherwise more fitting people, the carapace only covering the vitals of his torso and upper legs. The sides of his head were buzzed, though the greying hair was slightly visible despite this, brown hair well kept on top of his head, swept to the side in one smooth motion. Abruptly tossing the headset of the back of the truck, he ran a hand through his ample beard, smoothing it out as he started walking towards the estate gate, noting how well the men followed his orders, one nodding as he approached. "Viktor, what's the word, we getting paid or we nailing that fat bastard's family to the gates next?"

Viktor, the man in the greatcoat, glanced at the gate. A younger man was crucified to it, still twitching and groaning, barely conscious, crude marks carved into his chest as he dangled and slowly bled, a drawn out execution. The sounds of continued looting, shouting, and the crescendo of a burst of gunfire from within the estate was slowly dying down, meaning Viktor's men were wrapping up. At last, Viktor smiled lowly and produced a dataslate, the glowing green indicating that the transaction had been confirmed. The man who had asked Viktor about pay in the first place was practically salivating at the prospective next payday, and what that could buy him back in one of the Hives on the planet. "Paid in full, once the others drag our employer's rival out here, I'll string him up myself. After that, well, time to see who pay's up next."

In practice, Viktor could not care less about the pay, not really. Every noble family he nailed to the gates of some private estate, every clerk who's card he punched a bit more literally than they might like, destabilized things further. Even a blind man could see it, the local Arbites crackdowns back in the Hive coming less often as they were so busy investigating the rash of violence in so many seemingly random places, and the sheer intensity and drawn out nature of such executions, that they were getting drawn away from the real problem. The main Hive would soon erupt into an orgy of violence, something that his employer's didn't seem aware of, only concerned about bumping off their potential rivals, by any means necessary. All it had taken was that one, desperate useless waste of flesh paying Viktor and his goons to finally set his planned revenge back into motion. His thoughts were interrupted by shouting, laughing, and the smell of freshly soiled trousers. The head of the family, it seems, was finally dug out of his little safe room. That Heretek code had worked after all, he'd have to 'lose' one of his men to that wretch in compensation after all. Still, once the man was dragged forward and forced to his knees, Viktor planted a swift boot into his gut to shut him up, the wheezing much easier to talk over.

"Stop trying to pay us off, it ain't going to get you anywhere. All you nobles, playing at leadership and pretending you have power, reveling in its empty promises. Look where all that power and prestige got you, so fat I'm not sure your concubine's guts can hang you long enough to strangle. Good thing I ran some spare wire through them, eh? Get him under the lamp post." The fat noble struggled and started shouting curses, how the other families wouldn't let this stand, how he had friends, allies in power, that they would all rot if they were lucky, yadda yadda yadda. The fat fuck didn't see his precious concubine's corpse under the lamp post, her guts spooled like rope, a grisly noose prepared already. True to his word, Viktor had one of his men run some cable through them since it was well know how hefty this one had gotten. He only stopped shouting and ranting when the lukewarm intestine was put around his neck, and with a grunt, Viktor hoisted him up, nailing the end into place with a stake. The man kicked for longer than he thought, and from the grumbling, several men had lost best on this too. Good thing Viktor didn't make blind bets, and he took satisfaction watching the life flee the man's eyes, the kicking dying down to twitching death throes, to nothing.

"Right, set the promethium trails and let the place burn, let's see if the pyre burns any higher this time. Leave the corpses here for the Arbites to find and panic over. We got our pay, and the sooner we get back to the Hive, the sooner you lot can get to spend your pay and I can get our next job in line." The men seemed keen to that, meanwhile Viktor climbed up into the driver's cabin, his second in command driving as the group tore off into the night, the looming Hive city, at least half a day's trip at speed away, still looked like it dominated the skyline. The XO rambled on about this haul and how far ahead it would put them, but Viktor tuned him out. Another job like this, and the whole rotten facade the Imperium had propped up, had convinced him to prop up for so long, would come crashing down. The Law and Order they so desperately craved, well, would vanish like the myths they were. Also he figured he knew which man to give to the Heretek, he'd gotten himself shot like an idiot by the estate's personal guards. He'd make a nice tribute to that Heretek, keep up his end of the bargain and all that. He had taken to enjoying his work now, more so than he ever had propping up the rotting house. Few more kicks, and it would go up like a damned funeral pyre. After that, well, he had enough credits stashed away to pay off a Rogue Trader he'd met and been bribed by he could hitch a ride with. Seems there was more to do for a man with talents like his, especially if he would denounce the Emperor. Sure, that was easy, what had that so called God ever done for him, really? Got him fired, that's what, just for making his own personal life a bit easier. And if he got to enjoy burning the whole rotten power structure down, well, all the better right?

Viktor Slonov
Chaos God: Undivided, for now.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP (Black Crusade Inspired) [CLOSED]

Well I am most certainly interested, I'll be taking some time to brush up on some lore to see what ideas seem most solid and I'll have a CS cooked up sometime this week, once I'm satisfied with the condition its in.

Grimm Noir [Rebooting~]

Location: Haven Academy

Mentions: @PrankFox

"Still excited even after that doomsday speech we just got huh?"

"Eh? Oh, yes of course! Sure it should be concerning, but anyone who planned to take this seriously should have been as ready as they could be already! If a little warning like that spooked them, well, I guess they weren't going to be making it far either way. I'm not gonna worry though personally, right now it should be fairly easy. Go to the hotel, and wait for things to kick off proper. Might do some maintenance while I wait, I'll have to find something to do." Midori was caught mid stride, figuratively speaking, and practically rebounded off nothing to shift his focus on the one who'd made the remark to begin with. Tall, sturdy, brilliantly red hair and impressively blue eyes. Well dressed too, and Midori had to look up, as usual, to meet the boys gaze. He offered a warm smile as he finished rambling, however briefly, and extended his hand as he picked up from where he left off on his ramblings.

"Right, introductions, can't forget those! Midori Yoake, it's a pleasure to meet you! You definitely seem like you were all but built for this, I can imagine you'll go through the initiation with flying colors, you and plenty of the other people I've seen around already as well. I'm hoping anyone who sticks around is serious about this though, I don't want to see anyone getting buried, I mean who does right? But I'm hoping the scare speech was just that, to spook those who aren't ready or prepared for this, well, as ready or prepared as we can be given how little information there is floating around out there! We should probably get going though, don't want to be late, right? Can chat on the way!" It seemed, better or worse, Midori had decided he would be walking with this new friend to the hotel, after all, most of the folks seemed off put by his outgoing approaches. Someone approaching him first that didn't already at least know him was a pleasant change of pace, and it would no doubt become apparent the energetic young man loved to chatter.

Grimm Noir [Rebooting~]

Location: Haven Academy

Mentions: N/A

In due time the various newcomers and prospective students were properly ushered into the great hall, and Midori's excitement only grew. It was finally time to hear from the Headmaster, and there was a name he'd heard thrown around quite a bit once his interest in being a Huntsman began. Goldi Lockhart, apparently incredibly focused and cold, a figurative ice queen. Well he couldn't say whether he believed it or not, rumors were nasty things, despite how many peddled them, and he was more interested to see how the Headmaster carried themselves before making his own judgement. Way he figured, she earned her place as the first and foremost in raising the next generation of Huntsman and Huntresses, regardless of demeanor, that wasn't something you sort of accidentally fell into. The murmurings and whispering finally died down once everyone spotted the Headmaster and she began speaking, and had Midori's rapt, and full, attention. This was going to be a moment that lived in his memory for the rest of his life, one way or another, and he wasn't ever going to let himself forget it.

She began by reiterating how hard this life would be, something he'd been hearing time and again, over and over, from people trying to dissuade him, and all they ever did was steel his resolve further. This was no exception, sure it was going to be hard, but what worth doing was easy? If this hadn't been worth doing he would have given up long before standing here, and anyone else who was standing here should be thinking the same! Still, something caught his eye about her stance and gaze had lingered, pausing just long enough for him to wonder who had caught her eye. He hoped it wasn't Buff, poor Silme couldn't catch a break if he was already being singled out by the headmaster. He needed to figure out something that would stand up to the sheer abuse his friend put anything built through, he had ideas but it wasn't like he could do anything with them right now.

The solemn remark that she would be burying many of them and that, well, she would have to write home to their guardians about their passing would have been sobering for most, but Midori didn't let it dampen his spirits. It was going to be hard, sure, but from the few he'd interacted with, well, he wasn't going to let the idea of so many of the people around him living their last days get to him. No, he'd see the dawn and he'd most certainly see it alongside plenty of the others here too! Sure, they were inexperienced and new to the lifestyle, but what good was an initiation that killed off too many potential recruits? It was poor design to throttle supply that much, and he wondered if it was as much an effort to scare off those who weren't as committed or certain in their decision. A smarter man might worry he'd be proven wrong come the next day, but well, for now, Midori remained confident in not just his ability to pass the trial, but that of the others he'd dealt with. Silme and Artemisia could probably do this with one hand tied behind their backs, so he had a lot of work to do to get up to their levels!

As soon as the speech had begun, well, it was already over and they were being told to report to the hotel. Checking his pamphlet, Midori indeed found the voucher good for tonight at the Celestial Swan. That was...serious money for someone like him, and even if they weren't going to spend the night there, getting any time at all to spend there would be a grand experience! He grinned once they were dismissed, and decided there was no point just taking off alone, might as well find someone to walk and talk with! Maybe he'd end up tracking down Silme or Artemisia, or maybe a new friend. That would be nice, new friends were a welcome addition, especially since maybe he'd be lucky and meet a future teammate! With that he practically bounded off, seeing who he could end up running into and chattering their poor ears off. Running into was going to be figurative, but given the high energy the young man had, well, literally could be a possibility too.