Ezekiel

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A 24th century adventure in space

I'm here, sorry for the delay. Will plan something up.

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A search for a Captain and Co-GM

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The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Sekhmetara Khafre

Name: Sekhmetara Khafre

Gender: Female

Homeworld: Mithra

Inspiration Images

The Palace of Malika:

The world of Mithra sits in an ideal position within the life zone of its star, Rahken, with a somewhat warmer climate than Terra during the early era of human history. Whether this entirely accounts for the world’s dangerous megafauna is another matter, with various theories revolving around the world’s settlement during the Dark Age of Technology. The majority of the world’s land surface is covered in rainforest and savannah, ranging to desert and cold-tundra at the extremes. No continent on Mithra is permanently covered in snow or ice. The most obvious hallmarks of the planet’s original settlement are the space elevators connecting the world to its two moons, Khonsu and Thotha. While neither moon naturally possessed life or a climate, both have been reshaped into paradise estates through extensive terraforming and palace facilities. Mithra is a Knight World, with noble houses having formed around the original pilots of the Technological Warsuits. Local understanding of the technology of the warsuits, moons and elevators is relatively high for an isolated Knight World, with a Caste of Engineers able to maintain all three to a high functioning degree, if not able to recreate them entirely.

Being reintroduced to the Imperium has not radically altered Mithrasee society, with most representatives of the wider Imperium remaining upon one of the twin moons as opposed to the world itself. The frontier-cities that Sekhmetara established during her unification of the world and its moons remain and have steadily grown since the Imperium has instigated greater settlement efforts upon the world and there is a growing class of influential and wealthy Mithrasee upon the world itself as a consequence.

Appearance:

Standing twelve feet tall, Sekhmetara bears herself with an imperious stance even for her brother and sister primachs. Her skin is a dark nubile tone, and while her form is no doubt visibly powerful by any human measure, she is somewhat slender and feminine by Primach standards, the strength in her form not obscuring her curvaceous build or the softness of her features. Across her skin are various golden markings, unlike the traditional nobility of her home planet, these are formed from actual metal, so that her primach physiology does not remove the markings within the scope of days. Even still, they require rework every few years. Her long dark hair is often elegantly styled, although on occasion she will appear with shockingly white hair. How this is achieved is not immediately obvious, certainly not dye given the nature of Primachs.

As befitting of a Mithrasee noble, Sekhmetara takes great care with her appearance, especially when the occasion suits it and it is not difficult to understand, even visually, why the people of her homeworld considered her the likeness of their Goddess of the Hunt reborn.

Appearance Guides

Personality:

If one was being favorable, one might describe Sekhmetara as unwaveringly confident, a critic might call her arrogant. She likely falls somewhere in between. The product of success in both martial and political matters on a world where such things are prized with religious fanaticism. That is not to say she is abrasive, although likely some find her too self-aggrandizing. She is smooth of tongue in the extreme, a carefully presented character of whatever aspect of her pleasure or wrath she wishes to embody at the specific time. When she wishes to, she can appear the opposite of aloof, as invested in whoever she is conversing with as she could anyone else in the entire galaxy, but this can be replaced with cold fury in the next moment, genuine or acted. She is a being that has grown up with the pressure and benefits of divine rule and there is much in her behavior that is reminiscent of the divine beings of ancient myth.

Perhaps more unusually among primachs, she takes great interest in social and cultural arts, her ‘Crusade Court’ a font of such things, retaining the trappings of Imperial Nobility from her homeworld.

Skills:

-Martial Skills: All Primachs are dangerous, but Sekhmetara is so in a way which seems to balance between refined nobility and wild aggression. Having been raised a noble in the Knightly society of Mithra, followed by exile to the untamed wilderness of her home planet, she has fought both ritually and for survival against monsters that could fell a Knight Lance. In battle as a part of the Crusade, she wields the Glaive Encarmine, a masterfully crafted power glaive, Alongside this, her gauntlets house twin-volkite weaponry and retractable power blades.
-Charmer: Sekhmetara is a skilled diplomat as much as she is a warrior and tactician, her force of charisma motivation in the extreme, coupled with an upbringing in the cultured halls of her homeland, she is just as insistent to take in the cultural intricacies of other worlds, both for use in her role in bringing more worlds into the Imperial fold, but also simply as one who appreciates such things.

-Eye of the Huntress: Sekhmetara has a seemingly supernatural connection to both the natural world and the art of the Hunt, seemingly able to stalk prey where no other can find a trail, or implement the advantages of her surroundings with a capacity which exceeds even the greatest of mortal or astartes commanders.

-Refined Arts: As well as a simple observer of such things, Sekhmetara is well versed in the creation of artistry, be that art itself, dance, sculpture, song, the refined tactics of noble generals, she has delved deeply into them all, more than capable of impressing the greatest minds and performers of the worlds she encounters.

Assignment Grade: Delta: While not always immediately obvious, Sekhmetara has a strong connection to the Warp, her interactions with it often subtle. Her presence calls attention to her, or allows her to mask herself beyond what her form and presentation should allow. The most visually obvious use of her psychic power includes cosmetic changes to herself, hardly as obvious as those who can twist their whole forms, but using it often to change the colouration of her hair, to cause her golden markings and eyes to glow, and other such tricks which only add to the impact her presence can bring. As she has regained contact with the Emperor, her control of her psychic abilities have honed somewhat, and she has begun to be able to wield more directly damaging psychic abilities, however she still tends to avoid this.

Biography:

Sekhmetara’s arrival to Mithra and its moons was not a peaceful occurrence. As her lifepod was cast back into reality, the vessel struck Thotha, the pod crashing into the opulent artificial gardens of the Silver Court, the ruling noble body of The Empire of the Scale. Loosely known as a garden, these were instead vast grounds that varied from sculpted pleasure gardens to wild xenos-hunting grounds with deliberately challenging terrain. It was within the latter that the Primach life-pod landed, with enough force to register initially as a noteworthy meteorite impact. The Royal Bondsmen discovered the crash site with relative ease, within a day of the impact despite the vast scale of the hunting grounds. It was several weeks, however, before Sekhmetara would be discovered, by then as mature and developed as a child, albeit on a greater scale, having lived and hunted among the monstrosities that the nobility would hunt for sport.

The Bondsmen which eventually found her were not, however, the original Royal patrol, but instead the Men-At-Arms of House Khafre discovered the nascent primach. Rather than strike out at the unknown, the Bondsmen approached the young Sekhmetara with restraint, allowing her to see them out of their Armiger Warsuits as an exercise in trust. Rather than return her directly to Silver Court, Sekhmetara was instead spirited away to the Estates of House Khafre nearby, where she would shortly meet who would become her adoptive family. While Sekhmetara, as any Primach, quickly took on and mastered the linguistic skill of communication, the weeks she had spent surviving in the wild continued to define her for the early months of her time within the Estate of House Khafre, being decidedly unsafe to approach for both the noble family themselves and their bondsmen. While this presented as wild rage, in actuality it was from a place of savage cunning as the Primach assessed their goal in acquiring and housing her. It was the younger generation of Khafre nobles, then grandchildren of the House Patriarch, Kwasi and Isabis, who first formed a true bond with the Primach. It was through their social interactions that Sekhmetara accepted her place within the House, even if she surely already knew her destiny was beyond that of an adoptive scion of a Knightly House. Once she was properly ‘socialised’ her existence became known across the Silver Court, the prodigal adopted child of House Khafre, who quickly took up and excelled at any task, art or martial, brought to her. In her mind, the exchange was little more than a game to pass the time as she gathered more knowledge about the situation she, and the planetary system she called home, was in. It was a game she enjoyed, however, and as time passed, her bond with her adoptive family grew.

It was very swiftly apparent that it was more than just rapid maturity and increased capability which marked out the Primach, for she swiftly grew taller than her adoptive peers, and then taller again than even the most gene-enhanced of the Noble Men-At-Arms in the service of the Empire of the Scale. The House of Khafre hailed her as a prodigy, a gift from the Gods of Old, while the other Noble Houses that became aware of her either proclaimed that she must be a sign from the Great Serpent, or an ancient heresy to be extinguished. Most notably, her increased physiology meant that she would never be able to pilot the sacred War-Knights which were the sign of nobility across Mithra and its connected moons. Her admission into the Dance of Knives, the proving ground of the nobility, was therefore contentious. Many whished her bared, many among her own House through it folly to try, even her greater physiology would surely fail against the competition of nobles clad within their Questoris armoured demi-titans. Both were ignored, and with the support of House Khafre, no precedence was found to keep her from participating. The Dance of Knives embodied the wilder aspects of the Knightly Nobility, ritualised tests of combat deep in the bio-engineered wilds of the Silver Court’s hunting grounds. Each of the noble scions involved had trained all their lives for the contest, but to Sekhmetara, this was simply coming home, to the place of her first memories. The young primach made a mockery of the Thothan elite, the fastest dance that had been recorded, lasting scant days as opposed to the month long contest anticipated by the ruling caste of the Empire. Such a devastating upheaval was felt even among the planetside fiefdoms paying tribute to the Empire and the word of the Sekhmetara and House Khafre spread ever further.

The rule of the Empire of the Scale was not kind for those fiefdoms, and even the privileged nobility atop Thotha could wrankle under the power of the Serpent Priests. With such a challenge to the established order, these rumours of Sekhmetara soon became mythology, her name became synonymous with the ancient Wild Gods of Mithra, gods which many among the fiefs which still opposed them empire maintained as sacred. This was a challenge the Silver Court could not ignore, and so the plot to censure House Khafre began. The House, however, was not without its own substantial allies at court, and so when the first blows struck, they were prepared. Legions of House Bondsmen fought back against the levies of the Serpent Priests, the Inner Circle of the Household riding out within their ancient Questoris battlesuits. It was a fierce battle, but it was also a screen. As the greatest lords and ladies of House Khafre fought and died, the future of the house was stolen away by more subtle means, absconding down the great grav-carriers of the Star-Bridge to the surface of Mithra itself. Sekhmetara and her adopted siblings among them. With a handful of Questoris battlesuits, barely any more bondsmen, and the wilds of Mithra to face while well within the territory of the Empire, the future did not seem bright for the Household despite their narrow escape. Avoiding the population centres of the Scale-Fiefdoms, the survivors of House Khafre struck out through the wilderness of Mithra, crossing vast savannahs and great tropical jungles, encountering monstrous creatures with more than enough strength or brutal cunning to fell one of the Knight suits. It was the uncanny ability of Sekhmetara, along with her martial ability, which lead them through. Even before they had left Imperial territory, her legend had grown yet further. Evidence of the vast monsters slain by the Primach were taken as proof of her survival, and continued ability, by those longing for freedom from the Serpent Priests.

It took over a year of travel through the wilderness to escape the borders of the Imperial-Fiefs, the few survivors of the journey making it to the city state of Malika. By the time of their arrival, they were anticipated, and the opportunity to strike back at the Empire of the Scale brought a sense of celebration not just to the survivors of the exodus, but also the people awaiting them. After finally catching sight of the great huntress that the stories had famed, the Council of Merchants ruling Malika immediately swore their city to Sekhmetara, even before she could ask. Over the next weeks, the word from Malika began to spread. Several Fiefs swore loyalty simply through the insistence of the Council of Merchants, but even so, Sekhmetara travelled to them. To do so, the Techno-Smiths of Malika offered her one of their greatest relics, a hover-vehicle, said to pre-date the Ancient Dark. The Primach altered the mechanical wonder to suit her form, and for the first time, possessed a steed capable of bearing her at the speed she wished. Not all of the independent fiefdoms were willing to side with the growing federation on rumour or request alone, many more, however, were quick to correct this upon encountering the rapidly moving Primach, her energy and charisma leading the way, and her unrepentant fury propelling her further when the former was not enough. Few direct battles were fought during this stage, although there were many duels of honour in the style of the Mithra nobles. Sekhmetara herself fought some, although most were taken upon and won by her growing cadre of loyal Questoris Knights.

Malika had been the staging point of her efforts to unite the fiefdoms against the Empire, and it was here that all gathered to swear loyalty, not just to the cause to drive back the Serpent Priests, but now also to the rule of the Primach herself, the years of her efforts in unification solidfying that this was not simply a short term federation of states, but the formation of a new power. Some voiced concerns that they were simply trading one Imperial ruler for another, and the Primach herself did little to debate this. She instead set out to prove that at every opportunity, she was the ‘better’ choice. Her people were more prosperous, her armies more victorious. When the first stone of the foundations of the new palace at Malika were set, so to did the Crusade against the Empire of the Scale truly begin. It was a gruelling conflict, for all the nations and cities she had brought together, the Imperial forces sitll outnumbered them, and with the technological marvels found on the satellite moon that housed the Silver Court, were more advanced as well. The Khafre forces, however, made up for this with skill at arms and tactical marvel, launching daring raids and assaults through the untamed wilderness of Mithra. The elements themselves seemed to ride alongside the Knight Lances of New-Malika, and it was rumoured on several occasions that Sekhmetara lead hosts of the wild beasts themselves against the Serpent Legions. Fiefdom after Fiefdom fell to the sweeping advance of the Primach’s forces. These conquests were fast and fierce, but they did not seek to maim and burn. From the oppressive rule of the Empire of the Scale, chains were broken, and The Empire of Unconquered Sun was born. By now the old stories of Sekhmetara as the chosen of the Wild Gods, or even one of them reborn in flesh, how now swept through the populace. She never endorsed such things herself, but nor did she quash them. When it was this fact that brough the noble houses of the moon of Khonsu down to parlay with her, and lend their forces to the final defeat of the Empire of the Scale, she was more than willing to wield their faith as her weapon.

Once these fresh Knight Lances and their bondsmen joined her more electic force, the days of the Empire of the Scale upon Mithra were numbered. No longer forced to rely on hit and run tactics and the force of diplomacy, the Unconquered Sun utterly excised the corruption of the Empire of the Scale from Mithra, and preparations for a means to assault the moon of Thotha began.

They would never be completed, however, for during the celebratory feast to mark the surrender of the final Fiefdom loyal to the Empire on Mithra, the Emperor covertly met with Sekhmetara and revealed both himself, and her true origin. Little is know widely of what they discussed, but by the time the meeting had concluded, Sekhmetara had sworn loyalty to the Imperium and in doing so, signed the death warrant of the Moon that had been her home. The next day, Sekhmetara Khafre joined her father, and new Liege, in the systematic destruction of Thotha. Much of the Silver Court was annihilated from orbit, before The Abyssal Lurkers were unleashed on the surface. While the memories of all those present have since been distorted by the psychic might of the Emperor, this stands as Sekhmetara’s first interaction with Astartes and one of her siblings. Shortly, the 20th Legion was summoned to Mithra, to meet their Primach at last.

Sekhmetara took to her place as the Primach of a Legion with great enthusiasm and commitment to her vision. She remade the Legion, which had previously been renown for some of the most gruelling engagements of the Crusade, into a fighting force modeled off her successful campaigns on Mithra. The Primach took well to the greater technologies of the Imperium of Man, and the intricacies of voidwar. Ever since her ascension to command of her Legion, the Tears have specialised in the swift compliance of human worlds through decisive strikes and deft diplomacy, although much as with her time on Mithra, Sekhmetara now longs for a greater challenge to place herself and her daughters against.

The Meeting:

Night had fallen over Ghutan, scant hours after the Unconquered Sun had broken upon it. From atop palace battlements which overlooked the city, the blanket of darkness was pierced with a thousand lesser pinpricks of light. Most of the conquests of the campaign had been reserved, or simply diplomatic surrenders. Ghutan had earned its fate, however. The rulers of the city had been almost as devoted to the Serpent Priests and their lies as the Silver Court itself, they had long resisted the advances of the Unconquered Sun, performing ever greater atrocities in the name of their scaled god to summon his aid, or simply to infuriate those who fought to free Mithra. It had been futile, Sekhmetara had lead the final charge herself, they had crushed their armies, annihilated their defences, tore down their idols. She had allowed the sack of the city’s noble quarter with no reservations. The downtrodden of Ghutan had even joined her armies in doing so.

The palace, however, was incandescent in another kind of light. Once the ruling nobility and priests had surrendered, likely seeking a last change to spare the wrath of the Empress of Malika, she had ordained that the celebration of their great, and final, victory upon Mithra be held in the palace that had once orchestrated the greatest obstacle to their success. The great serpentine icons, statues and works of art had been pulled down, shattered, and replaced with the icons of Sekhmetara’s reign, the blazing symbol of dawn. They had turned this den of vipers into a house of light and joy. At least, that was the idea. As Sekhmetara stood on the great balcony overlooking her latest conquest, she could not hide from the hollow feeling which held sway within her. Her gaze rose up to the dominant figure of Thotha in the Night sky, and the column of light marking the great star-bridge connecting it to Mithra. The connection point was some distance away at this time of the lunar cycle, although she knew it to be heading towards them. Her eyes, keener than any human she had ever known, picked out the impossibly distant structures and artificial biomes across the moon. She recalled her memories, of her childhood, both wild and among her adoptive household. She held the image of her adoptive father, Techan Khafre, in her mind, shutting her eyes to do so. Sekhmetara would not be content until not just Mithra was free of the Serpent Priests, she would demolish their Silver Court, and carve the name of Khafre into their burial mount. Her sombre mood, however, was ruining the celebrations, and she knew she should return to the victory feast she had earned. Many of her followers, even her inner circle, we acting like the war was won, writing off any chance of being able to assail Thotha itself. She would have to dispel this idea, but, perhaps after one more night.

“A worthy view.” The voice surprised her, it was rare, almost unheard of in recent years, that anything could ambush her, even the great monsters of the wilds, let alone a human. Still, she turned her head slowly to the side. To her great surprise, she found her features level with another. For the first time in decades, Sekhmetara found her eyes level with those of another. There had been rumours of another being akin to her roaming Mithra of late. She had taken it to be headless superstition, no matter how much her heart yearned to hope otherwise. There were none like her. At least, she had thought so. “A worthy conqueror.” The man, dark skinned, as most with on Mithra, if not so dark as her own. He was handsome, in an imperious sort of way. That almost made her laugh, for her to think of someone else as imperious. He motioned to her as he spoke, offering her a golden cup, a twin in his own hand.
She accepted with a slight bow of her head, the scent of the wine wafted up to her immediately, with a subtle tone she did not recognise. “I often wish it had the same affect.” She spoke simply, speaking with this stranger with the assumption he knew her trials. “It looks like fun.” She motioned back towards the palace, referencing the revelry occurring.

“There is a plant, from a far off place. Somewhere quite different to this, to everything you know. You will feel it, now.” The man explained, before taking a sip from his own cup. His words brought a raised eyebrow to her features, attempting to process his words. A thousand questions fought for competition in her mind, but something about the stranger, more than simply the nature he presented, prevented her from asking, for now.

Instead she took a sip of her drink, savouring the taste of the wine, much as it always had been, before she swallowed. The effect wasn’t instant, but, after a few moments, it was there. The barest tingle, the smallest dulling of her senses and a soft surge of elation. She laughed, he look of deep thought breaking into a smile, as she looked down at the cup, then back up to the stranger.

“So, that is what it feels like…I understand now.” She laughed again, swirling her drink before taking another sip.

“Well, an approximation. You will never feel it entirely the same, for, you are not the same. You are so much more, Sekhmetara Khafre, and I feel such joy to have found you.” The stranger’s smile grew kinder, and, in a break of decorum, should he had been any other guest to her gathering, placed a hand upon her bare shoulder. She began to speak, not to challenge the gesture, but to ask one of her many thousand of questions. That was when the Light struck her. The man’s touch set her every sensation afire, he mind plunged into an incandescent so bright it robbed all other sensation.

When she finally spoke, long before she returned entirely to her mortal shell, her thoughts still glimpsing vistas of greatness, of the vast scope of the stars, she managed one simple word.

“Father.”

-------------

“You cannot mean to allow this!?” The words, uncharacteristically direct and openly emotional, chased Sekhmetara as she moved through the halls of the palace, the auric shine of her armour playing back the firelight of a hundred torches.

“I allow nothing, the Emperor, my father, your new lord, commands it.” The Primach responded simply, opening and closing the gauntlet of her left hand, watching as the unfamiliar new technology whirred to life within. She had fired the weapon within before, a gift from the Imperium upon its true arrival, but she yearned to see it in true practice.
“It is our ‘home’ sister, the Priests corrupted the message of the Great King, but they are the enemy not ou-”

“Do not speak of your snake god again, sister, not to me, and never to our Emperor or his subjects.” Sekhmetara whirled to warn the suddenly cowed figure of Isabis, the slender woman practically jumping back at the rare sight of true anger from the Primach towards her adopted kin. “And do not take my compliance for simple inaction, Thotha will burn because the Emperor wills it, but every moment will be deserved. If you blame anyone, blame the Serpent Priests and your foul god. I do not simply allow it, I relish it. I am the Unconquered Sun and my fire will cleanse all trace of those who have cursed Mithra.” The details of Sekhmetara’s eyes disappeared beneath the bright glow of her building power, starting gold before transitioning to the surging white-blue of plasma fire, the heat crackling through the air, forcing Isabis back another step.

“You were chosen sister, you ca-”

“Prophecy is a lie, we forge our own path now.”

The Tears of Dawn

Legion Name: The Tears of Dawn

Legion Number: XX

Legion Strength: 75,000 Marines supported by The Knight Lances of Mithra and a large contingent of Auxilia. The Legion maintains a much larger contingent of Jetbikes and aerial mechanised forces than Legions of equivalent size. The Legion fleet also provides greater firepower than the size of the legion would suggest, however it does so through large numbers of smaller, faster, vessels.

Armour Appearance:
Legionary:


First Company:


Warcry: “Sol Invicta.” “The Dawn Breaks.” “For The Light Encarmine!”

Dramatis Personae:

Ahonsa Mensu: First Captain of the Tears of Dawn, Ahonsa is the second individual to hold this rank since the unification between Primach and Legion. A native of Mithra, she is young for her position, ambitious and utterly dedicated to Sekhmetara’s vision for the Legion. Ahonsa has a particular dislike to the Terran members of the Legion who have questioned her Primach’s willingness to place important duties on the shoulders of non-Astartes from Mithra. Unlike many of the high-ranking members of the Legion, she opts not to fight from atop a jetbike, instead having forged her career in the recon units that are so key to The Tears War Doctrine.

Kvasi Khafre: The Primach’s younger brother via her adoption into House Khafre, Kvasi forsoke his natural place as the primary heir of House Khafre to join Sekhmetara’s crusade. Almost as impulsive, bold and brilliant as the Primach herself, Kvasi acts as Sekhmetara’s primary liaison with the Knight Lances which fight alongside the Tears of Dawn. There are few individuals closer to the Primach than her adopted brother, but even the knights of other houses that accompany the Tears have a grudging respect for the tactical doctrines he has assisted in writing.

Isabis Khafre: Younger sister to both Sekhmetara and Kvasi, Isabis never ascended to pilot her own Questoris warsuit, but equally was beyond the age to become an astartes by the time of Mithra’s compliance. Rather than remain upon their homeworld or try to find another military role within the XX’s fleet, Isabis has instead become a rembrancer and orator of impressive ability, already considered among the most favoured across the Crusade. Unlike her two older siblings, she comes across, generally, with a softer approach, although she is just as often in the Primach’s company as a warrior-brother.

Bahati Khafre: One of the youngest surviving members of House Khafre, Bahati was able to be fully inducted into the Tears of Dawn, the only member of the noble house to have done so. Despite Sekhmetara’s fondness for those of her homeworld, Bahati has received no among of benefit from nepotism, although years after compliance, is now a Captain within the 6th Chapter. Bahati is a bold and aggressive officer even by the standards of the Tears of Dawn, and feels a burning desire to prove the strength of Mithra, the Tears, and House Khafre to the wider Imperium.

Chief Librarian Elosha Turna: One of the few remaining Terran Tears with a position in close proximity to the Primach after the death of First Captain Jeriah some years before, Elosha has been instrumental in helping the Primach to hone her psychic ability. Elosha is typical in mindset for the Terran Tears, being far more stoic than their Mithran sisters, but no less dedicated to the Primach and committed to her change of vision for the Legion. Sekhmetara and Elosha seem to have a genuinely close bond, rivalled only by those with her adopted family.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: The Tears of Dawn combine an approach which favours diplomatic resolutions to human compliance with a surge of brutal, if elegant, force. Small in terms of numbers for a Legion, the Tears boast a far greater arsenal of jetbikes and aerial strike craft than their number would suggest, the pilots of their Legion being famed across the Imperium and their fellow Legions. The war-doctrine of the Tears is to combine the anvil of their Imperial Army and Knight lance allies with the hammer of the Tears aerial drop-strikes, deploying via Storm Eagles, Thunderhawks and drop pods while the tide of their jetbike mounted warriors continue to sweep over the enemy. This approach is a substantial departure from their role before Sekhmetara was discovered by the Imperium, having been a mechanised infantry force dedicated to gruelling campaigns in some of the most problematic warzones, with a particular focus on extermination campaigns.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: While before the Tears of Dawn were subdued and sombre, rarely fighting alongside their fellow legions except when circumstance demanded it, and with little support from the other wings of the Imperial warmachine, they are now a vibrant display of warrior-culture centre around the spirit of Mithra. The Tears of Dawn are encouraged to have pursuits outside of their combat role in the Legion, although many still use this opportunity to hone more specialised or ritualistic martial pursuits. While the Legion itself is on the smaller side, their fleet is substantial, bearing a greater amount of Imperial Army elements alongside the Knights and Bondsmen of Mithra. Alongside these, are a great number of rembrancers and other civilian roles, which has formed the Tears fleet into a cultural hub among the stars. Within the Legion itself, particularly the Mithran-Born, many of the trappings of their birth culture survive, with warrior sisterhoods arranged around the themes and concepts of the Mithran Wild Gods. The exception to this is the faith of the Serpent Priests, last acts of Sekhmetara on her homeworld being to instigate various purges of the Empire of the Scale’s religion, even if she had grown up among it.

Relationships: TBC

The Scholomance: A Magic School RP

Been a while since I tried something new.
Interested!

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

“Call them.”

The tone was easy, but forceful, a command in all but tone. It didn’t have to be, the concept of refusal had been left behind long ago, years before Lubbock had pulled the damaged rat out of his hole in Seattle, a will broken by years of torment, only to find new suffering in freedom.

The labyrinthian streets of Los Angeles stretched out below them, a teeming hive of humanity lit by a billion motes of light, drenching the forested hills in darkness by contrast. Two figures inhabited the clearing, Lubbock stood, pacing around the area, while the other knelt. Surrounding the latter figure, runic symbols which hurt to look at, drawn in blood over the grass, stretched out. At seemingly random points, candles burned, faintly, in the night air. Human fat did not burn terribly well, but, it always paid to follow the recipe with these sorts of things.

“Call them.” The words were more insistent this time, betraying the impatience of a born killer, beneath the veneer of sophistication the toreador expressed. The kneeling figure made no noise. It had been some nights since Lubbock had removed their tongue, mostly in a fit of boredom. They’d lost their eyes long ago, plucked out for the crime of sharing the secrets of Clan Tremere, then cast into the bowls of the Seattle Madhouse. They were the true reason Lubbock had deigned to unseat the ruling parties of the Ivory Tower to the North. A city burned so that he might have one piece to his puzzle. The figure did not refuse, their lips moving to silently express the syllables of a spell, the drying blood stirring around them as the first spell was cast.

“Good.” It was a simple word, but it brought elation from the kneeling figure, a happy smile breaching the grimace of their ruined features. For the first time, Lubbock exuded approval, and to the being utterly caught in the power of his presence, it tasted finer than any taste of blood could have. The toreador approached the kneeling figure, slinking behind them, not breaking any of the symbols. He embraced the Tremere from behind, wrapping long, slender arms around them.

“Is your first wish still the same?” He asked her, the mute female kindred nodding slowly, but insistently, leaning back into the embrace. She rasped something that was almost a yes.

“Then I will burn them all for you. Rest well.” Lubbock spoke to her in a tone that was almost kind, before one finger pressed onto her chest. As easily as tearing paper, her ribcage gave in, Lubbock plucking her heart from her as simply as removing an apple from a crate. The Tremere gasped in final relief, before crumbling into ash. Lubbock was alone for only a few moments, before the pervasive dark of the night was interrupted by four stark motes of red. Stepping forth from these brief sparks, the Tremere of Los Angeles. Well, four of them.

There was a moment of confusion as they regarded the stooped figure of Lubbock, resting, as he appeared to be, at the centre of a large piece of Tremere spellwork. As he made to stand, he allowed some of his aura to bleed through into what would be visible to the trained eyes of more experience kindred. A tiny shred of his vast identity.
“You are not the traitor.” One finally spoke, the tallest. They were all clad in the red and black robes of their particular strain of Tremere, the surprisingly conservative chantry that Strauss lead on the Sunset Coast. Lubbock was disappointed he had not come himself, but then, perhaps he had some inkling of what had awaited his subordinates.

“Not the one you are looking for, no. You are a moment too late for that.” Lubbock rolled his shoulders as he spoke. In the low light, it finally became obvious that the finely dressed figure was covered in the ash of final death.

“You are interfering in Chantry business.” One of the others spoke, a female voice from within the obscuring hood and folds of her robes. Lubbock didn’t turn his attention as he spoke, his eyes dancing between all four Tremere, seemingly randomly.

“That is an unusual way of thanking me for doing your work for you.” He replied, seemingly adjusting his suit, heedless of the coat of ash preventing him from appearing as sophisticated as he had begun the night. The Tremere had begun to spread out, circling the spiraling patterns, their attention divided between watching the Toreador at the centre, and seeking to decipher the purposes of the spell. Naturally, they did not believe this could be spellwork of his design, instead of something their traitor had attempted, and been interrupted.

“Our arts are none of your concern, Toreador, her life was not yours to take.” The tall one spoke again, a long pale limb drawing forth from his robe, the taloned hand raising with a palm up. Already Lubbock could feel the draw of the Tremere’s blood magic. The air crackled with power and he inhaled steadily, through lungs that no longer needed to breathe. The moment the first syllables left their lips, he was in motion. The power of his own, stolen, blood thrummed and the world came to a halt. The air crackled with the force and speed of his form, the sleek, ash-covered Toreador moving beyond even the supernatural senses of his fellow Kindred. Before the first spell could be completed, one taloned hand had rent through the first kindred sorcerer, their precious vitae tumbling into the air, the power in their form sagging.

It was a dance of death, and few had practiced the steps for as long, with such enthusiasm, as Lubbock. He weaved through the crackling power of their air, the might of Thaumatergy sizzling the spaces he had occupied moments before. He was a being of power beyond these modern nights, but even he was weary of the touch of their magic, but they would never halt him. In the time it would take a mortal to even focus on the scene, the fight was over, the Tremere humbled, but not slain, kept on the brink of their unnatural lives.

“The Camarilla have taught you that you are the predators of the night, that human are sheep to be preyed upon, to be corralled and hunted.” Lubbock spoke as he returned to the centre of the runes, as the leaking blood of the Tremere flowed into the patterns already marked into the ground. His own fangs were slicked with their blood, granting him a temporary taste of the secrets they fought hard to keep. “That is a lie. You are the flock, the kine are grass. Bait to keep you in your little herds. Now comes the age of the true hunters.” His pace brought him to the centre, and he turned West, out towards the horizon, the great ocean that cast back the Light of Los Angeles and the Heavens above. As fluid as the water, his tongue switched from the bastardised modern tongue of the kine, to the old language. The intonations of Caine that his mother had taught him, before the Deluge had swept it all away.

“Arise, Ravnos, Arikel calls you, Rise, The Night Calls you once more.” As Lubbock spoke, he felt the pressure of his Sire’s mind within him even greater than before, felt the weight of eons, the voices of all the Kindred who he had consumed, or perhaps consumed him, rise to a crescendo in his mind. Then they were drowned in singular, unflinching, rage. The runes around him grew bright in the darkness, before Lubbock, and everything around him, was consumed in flame.

----------------

Henry’s eyes snapped from his view of the city, leaning as he was at the edge of the Sunset’s pool-balcony, his mind on the young kindred whom he had agreed to shelter, as a bright light scorched through the night behind him. He had missed the initial flash, but he knew with one heart beat that it had not been natural. He who had taught the first men the might of magic would know it anywhere, even bastardised by the Kindred and their ways.

The light that he saw, however, was far more mundane. The orange light of a new dawn poured down the Hollywood hills. A moment later and the surge of heated air and ash struck him, the wave passing over him. The clothing on his form singed, and only his supernatural physiology kept his skin from doing the same, kept the rush of air from blasting him from the ledge. Some of his guests weren’t so lucky, sent sprawling down the hillside below, or falling in pain as their skin blistered. This was on the prelude, the heatwave of a detonation, as he watched the hills of Hollywood come alive in flame, he knew the forest fire was not far behind, rushing down towards the city proper.

His phone was already ringing, and he was on the way to answer when enough sensation rocked him. Not a physical one, a pang in his soul, a wrenching dread as one of the many scattered pieces of his essence called out to him.

It was the beginning of the end.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

Any restrictions for anyone wanting to play Power Girl? Back in the days of Ultimate Comic RP I had a version of the character I wouldnt mind returning to.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Rp is still chugging away and open!

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

I have reopened the Discord Server!

New Link: https://discord.gg/fkGBmZ9

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Hellion

Los Angels
The Hollywood Hills
The Sunset Lounge

“Look out for her, she’s young, not tested in our world.”

“I’m not running a creche, love.”

“Do you mean that, or is it just another British thing?”

“Take a guess, I’ve a bar to run, something you occasionally let me get back to.”

“Thank you, Henry, try not to think about me too much.”

In truth, he never truly needed convincing to aid the lost and the damned of LA. That would have been the height of irony. No one was as lost or damned as the Archtraitor. The thought brought a slight smile to his lips as he went about the business of working the bar, the brief snippet of conversation with Eva playing back over his mind as he did his best to pay attention to whatever slice of Kindred politics the couple across from him were providing with their incessant need to gossip, to impress. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly he became someone worth impressing in the supernatural underworld of LA, but it hadn’t been overnight.

That’s when she slipped into the next seat over. The woman that looked out of place, yet finally home, all at the same time. The scars that marked her out most of all. They all carried scars, one way or another, these aristocrats of the night.

“Hypocrite” he thought to himself in a voice that sounded distinctly like a certain Toreador, as he passed his way down the bar, cleaning a glass as he did so. It was an awfully typical view of what a bartender ‘should’ be doing, but then, that was half the point.

“Drink?” He asked plainly, his mouth forming the words in such a way that played on the years he had spent in a similar, but different life in the dive bars of another continent. Somewhere else he had become someone worth impressing quite by accident. He watched her for a moment, gauging the reaction of all new kindred to the words. “A drink that won’t have you hurling it right back up on the bar.” He clarified. He was pouring before she really answered. A scotch he had grown to enjoy from back home, laced with enough plasma that a kindred could keep it down without effort. If they were lucky, they might even taste it, beyond the buzz of alcohol which when mixed properly, their kind could still feel. He placed it down, uncaring of whether she took it up or not.

“Henry Locke, I’m told we’re friends now.”

Nicole eyed the drink with curiosity if anything else. While she and Eva had shared various blood-infused wines during their time together at the oceanside villa, that had been about the extent of it, so a concoction based with Scotch would certainly be a new experience. The woman held the glass up to the light, and then looked back at the gentleman across from her.

“You know what? I don’t even like Scotch, but I’ve had a crazy enough few weeks, that I don’t even give a fuck right now.” Nicole motioned her hand toward the other as though she were going to toast, before knocking back the glass and draining its contents in one fell swoop.

“Holy shit monkeys” She choked on the words, as the mixed drink made its way down her throat like a fiery dragon descending into a tunnel. “That’s-” She coughed a couple of times to clear her voice before continuing. “Yeah, that’s just what I needed.” She chuckled, returning the now empty glass to the bar top, and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Whew, okay.” She smiled at the rugged man with the hauntingly beautiful eyes. “Good to meet you, by the way.” She then nodded her head. “I’m Nicole. ‘Nikki’, if you prefer. And yeah, I suppose we are friends now.” The Gangrel couldn’t help but feel rather stupid and awkward in the other’s presence, but she also assumed it was the effects of the drink moreso than anxiety welling up just for being there.

Or perhaps it was both.

“I-um, I think I was supposed to meet a woman by the name of ‘Rachel’ here. Do you happen to know where I’d find her?”

“You’re looking for perhaps the one woman more busy in this city than our other mutual acquaintance.” Henry spoke plainly, although he didn’t hide the slight smile of amusement at her reaction to the drink, a somewhat teasing expression utterly lacking in any true malice. “But I presume if you’ve been sent after her, she’ll also be making time for you, I’ll give her a buzz, let her know you’re here.”

Henry wasn’t the only person paying attention to Nicole, however, the couple the man had been speaking with before carrying on their own conversation with far less zeal, carefully watching the pair as they spoke, the tang of fresh blood in the air. There was more than just the usual Kindred nature in this, with the news steadily rolling in from the North, newcomers were both a greater threat and curiosity than ever before.

“We have a fair few rooms here, I only have hillside free at the moment, but you’re welcome to it. Rest, freshen up, whatever. No rush to clear out while you get your bearings.” There was no need to add that this life required you to find those bearings imminently. Anyone who made it passed the first few nights knew that, if nothing else. As he spoke, he removed a sleek looking phone from his pocket, thumbing the screen without turning his attention from those across the bar, passing on the previously mentioned message to Rachel.

“You don’t necessarily look like the type who used to enjoy the company of big city lawyers too much, so, fair warning on that front.” Henry continued with the same hint of amusement, although his eyes were studying the room behind Nicole, noting whoever was trying to listen in without appearing like they were.
“Between you and me, don’t mention to anyone that you’ve come in from out of town.” He spoke a little quieter, his lips barely moving as he did so. “That might get you in even more heat from the old bastards you’re going to be bumping into around these parts.”

Without trying to seem too relieved by the prospects of staying at the hotel, per Henry Locke’s invitation, the offer did ease her mind nevertheless. A mind that still had so many thoughts swirling around that needed an answer, and yet the mental weariness of just the last few days alone began to creep up on her like a looming shadow. But, she allowed a half-smile, and nodded as her host spoke, knowing that she would need to lay low for a bit longer, replace things she no longer had, and just generally figure out who she was and what role she was supposed to play within her new life.

“I appreciate the offer.” She said, glancing around the lounge area, before meeting the man’s eyes once again. “And God knows I could use a proper shower.” She snorted, thinking back to a couple of days prior, finding a campground somewhere up in Northern California where she was able to slip in and clean up before continuing the journey. “And a change of clothes.” Nikki shook her head and smirked at the silly comments, which were apparently brought up by the recent ingestion of a fairly potent drink. “Although it’s not like I have to wash my hair.” She ran a hand across her bare scalp, feeling only the stubble from taking electric trimmers to it, and yet missing the beautiful hair she once had.

“Anyway…” She sighed.

Henry’s comment, however, regarding her being “out of town” did pique some curiosity in the back of her mind, and yet she didn’t even bother to ask about it, and only nodded in acknowledgement as though she understood the meaning behind the “advice”. Perhaps such a statement came as a typical warning to those vampires who were relatively new to the unlife, because someone as green about her existence as Nicole was, even she knew there were always bigger fish in the sea and the neonate was simply a worm dangling at the end of a hook.

“If it’s okay, I think I might stick around here for a bit.” She broke eye contact with the other momentarily, instead staring at the empty glass on the bartop. “I don’t really know what to do next other than wait at this point.”

Nicole didn’t want to have to admit -especially to a stranger- that she was lost, but she was. Despite Eva’s help, it was tough returning to a city you came to know well over the course of many years as a police officer, only to have no real direction in a life you just couldn’t fully comprehend.

“I still have so many questions.” She continued, looking back up at Henry, who certainly played his part as a proper host to listen as long as he could. “But, maybe this isn’t the time to ask, and you have better things to do no doubt. I can wait for Rachel.”

“Take your time here, I’m in no rush to keep rooms empty.” Henry set another glass back down on the bar, admiring the shine in the light for the moment before placing it onto a row of similar, if not all identical, receptacles. “Other needs, beyond a place to stay and a hot shower, can be attended to here as well. Usually there’s a charge, unless I decide otherwise, which I do.” He explained further. Kindred might not need solid food, but they certainly needed sustenance. Henry might not have had a warehouse of thinbloods chained up in the basement, but he had the next best thing; Los Angeles.

“You can ask away, I’ve got nowhere to be, love.” He answered her, slipping more heavily into the accent that spun from his lips, a brief smile feathered across his lips. “They can’t exactly fire me, I can show you the rooms now, if you’d like?” He offered, absentmindedly selecting another glass to shine while he waited, a good enough ruse to subtly keep his eyes on the couple at the end of the bar, trying to pin down their nebulous allegiance in the cold dark.

Her eyes lazily followed the path of the glass as Henry replaced it with the others, folding her hands atop the bar and periodically glancing around the room before meeting with the eyes of the man across from her once again. She didn’t quite know where to start in her line of questioning. Nicole was, afterall, a police officer, and was trained to ask questions about a great many things in order to get to the bottom of an issue. But, did any of that even matter anymore? Was she even a cop? The training was there and the memories retained, sure. But the urge to get back to her previous life was just out of reach. As though she had any real choice.

“How do I find-” The woman paused for a moment, unsure of even how to phrase the question. “I need to know where I came from. What I mean to say is, like...how do I find the one who made me? You know, my Sire.”

She couldn’t help but notice that her voice lowered to almost a whisper on the last few words as though it was some big secret within the confines of the Sunset. This had been a place full of vampires, at least presumably, but at the same time, she didn’t know any of them and they didn’t know her. Eva warned her that Kindred politics was a dirty business, sometimes even more so than that of the mortal realm, and trust was something not easily obtained. Sold and destroyed at a whim if anything else. But there was at least something she felt for Henry Locke, a trustworthiness that perhaps was born out of having no other recourse…?

“If you want my advice, Kindred are always far too hung up on who their sires are. Our mutual friend and her sire? They’re no different. They’d have all lived happier, longer lives if they’d all just decided to let old bonds die.” As Henry spoke, the volume of the Lounge’s ambient music seemed to rise, ever so slightly, just enough to gradually obscure his words from those further than his immediate area. He studied her again, yet another desperate child clinging for something, anything, to steady themselves before being pulled under. This world did not deserve them.

“The kind of Kindred you’re looking for, best to start at the Last Round, a bar Downtown. Gangrel, what you are, and Brujah of a certain...lack of sensibility, flock to the place.” Henry spoke with a theatrical sense of hesitation, as if speaking the name of the place pained him. “I apologise for sending you there, the smell is really something, but the owner, Nines, he’s not so bad, when he’s behaving. If anyone can find a Gangrel in this city, it’s probably him, or someone in his ‘bar” Henry almost seemed to shiver at the final word, as if it were forced out of him. As he finished speaking, however, he rested a somewhat small, if ornate, looking key on the bar top.

“Room number is on the back. Chipped as well, but don’t tell the rest of the clientele that, they like it old school.”

“Sensibility” She echoed, with a wry smile growing. “That’s a tough thing to find, especially in this city.” Her voice raised just a bit over the music, wondering if it was her hearing that wavered or the volume. It seemed that everything was so much more sensitive since her embrace, and she still found herself trying to manage every sense at once. “But thank you Henry, I think you gave me just what I needed. At least a start anyway.”

Nicole slipped the key in the inner pocket of her leather jacket and hopped off the bar stool. “I think I might just freshen up before I get dirty again.” She winked at the other, as she walked off toward the direction of the elevators.

Avatar - The Fall of Si Wong City

The latter but purely because I already have too many discord servers.
I completely understand if that is not a compelling argument.