Avatar of Jeddaven

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2 yrs ago
Current Dragons and such
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she/her pronouns. I'm interested in a wide variety of roleplays, but I tend toward prefering High Fantasy and High Sci Fi settings (think Elder Scrolls or Warhammer 40k). Whether it's a Nation Roleplay (I love digging into fictional politics) something on a smaller, individual scale, or something in between, there's a good chance I might be interested! I especially enjoy fantasy setting with weird, esoteric fluff - up to and including the nonsense that happens in Elder Scrolls, or, occasionally, Age of Sigmar.

Fave settings /period/ are Warcraft, and Golarion. WH40k and AoS are close.

Most Recent Posts

"As do I," Agathe said, muttering a nearly-silent prayer under her breath as she closed her eyes... Then opened them again, staring down at Edmund's as she lifted her helmet's visor, revealing her sharp-featured, pale-skinned face. For a woman who held little rank and little real experience, she showed practically none of that, meeting Edmund with the firmness one might expect of his betters, not someone that was several years his younger. Whether his concern was genuine or a mere placation, however, she didn't know.

"My Canoness has gracefully granted me permission to join you- though there will be stipulations," she said, casting her mind back to the conversational lessons of her time as a Cantus.

Both a carrot and a stick, Agathe. Stand firm, she reminded herself.

"...In order to ensure I can adequately meet my other duties to Him, of course. I will require that I be permitted to take leave on Shrine Worlds when able, for example. My oath will be to Him, then to His Imperium, then your dynasty, and I will not be able to sign a contract that binds me to service in perpetuity," Agathe explained, rolling the tension out of her shoulders.
"...Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Blessed Sister, do you need to-"

Agathe's hand shot up, palm-outward, toward the interruption, as she shook her head. She wanted to verbally admonish the short, stocky man that interrupted her - but she was stopped by the knowledge that he was omly nervous, likely afraid of the whip that attended him whenever he slowed in his work.

"Tremble before His majesty, for we all walk in His immortal shadow."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Nodding with a warm smile, she clapped the thickly-bound prayer book in her hands closed, though her eyes did not move; a Sister, after all, would memorize her prayers.

"The Emperor is with you, as He is with all of us. Your daughter, too," she said, her gaze sliding from the man, to his gangly wife crouching over a small bed, to the tiny, frail little girl sleeping in it, her breathing labored and gasping. "Always remember that. Now-" she said, briefly lowering the visor of his armour, her vision instantly filled with a heads-up-display. A summons direction her to... Ah! The Central Observation Dome.

Lifting the dark gunmetal iron-coloured visor back away from her face, she cleared her throat.

"I must depart on business for now, but I will do what I can to return to minister to you. I promise." She said, briefly squeezing the man's hand before turning to leave.




Sister Agathe, punctual as always, was the first to enter the Dome, her iron-coloured armour glinting ever so slightly in its harsh artificial lighting. At one hip she carried her power maul as always, and at the other, her bolt pistol, a Sacrestan's shield fastened to her back-mounted power unit, altogether pushing her somewhat impressive two metres of height just a handful of centimeters higher. She anticipated no combat, of course...

But idleness would beget heresy, and to be unprepared for even the most unlikely eventuality was utterly unacceptable.

"Lord Andamar, Magos." She called out with as much of a bow as her armor would allow, finally approaching the central dais. "I apologize for the delay. I was busy ministering to the ratings - Nyla, the daughter of one of your gunnery ratings, has come down with an illness, and her father requested that I pray for her with him." She continued, stepping onto it with a quiet, relieved sigh as she made the sign of the Aquila across her chest.

Good, she thought, lowering her hands to her sides. I made it. Just on time.
Sister Agathe, Battle Sister of the Order of the Iron Veil, Convent Prioris


Agathe, by all rights, should have led a peaceful existence. She was born on Terra to two priests charged with the maintenance of a small and insignificant temple, its sole purpose to attend to the teeming masses of pilgrims that visited mankind's holy homeworld. She was herself raised as a choir girl, taught to sing the God-Emperor's praises as any pious child would, speaking her first word at only four months old, but her peaceful existence was, unfortunately, cut abruptly short.

Days after her first birthday, she remembers her parents, after the morning's services, rushing her into a backroom and pleading with her to stay quiet and hide - they were playing hide-and-seek!

Being the good child she was, Eleannna hid.

The next thing she remembers is the noise of roaring flames, the building collapsing around her, and being rescued by a terrified old pilgrim in ragged robes.

Imperial records of the incident, at least officially, are just as confused as she was. The pilgrims nearby recall seeing the building abruptly erupt in flame, and Imperial records - including an official investigation - reveal nothing, at least publically.

As the child of good, pious folk, it was promptly decided that she'd be shipped off to the Schola Progenium, destined to live out the rest of her life as one of the Sororitas.

Her aptitude for song, as it turned out, was outpaced only for her aptitude for combat, promptly shifting her destiny from the Orders Madriga to the Orders Miliant, quickly picked up by a visiting Canoness of the Order of the Iron Veil, who believed that Agathe's childhood trauma would make her especially resilient against the ravages of the Great Enemy. After all, her piety only seemed to increase after the loss of her parents.

Her first years as a novice, by and large, were spent in training - harsh as the Schola were, the standards of the Iron Veil were even more exacting, require nothing but the most unflinching zeal from their Sisters and the most resilient minds. Many days were spent working herself until collapse over and over, others in meditation while she was assaulted with distractions and noise, all for the purpose of ensuring that nothing, no matter how tempting, could break her iron will, that she could resist the power of the warp with her mind alone.

The next three years of her life were spent preparing for duty as a Sister of Battle with little time for recreation - but her first field assignment, unfortunately, would not go as planned.

What was supposed to be a relatively simple escort assignment for a ministorum priest turned into disaster when her unit arrived at an unassuming station on the Ultramar-side of the Segmentum Ultima. Shortly after boarding the station, the personnel turned on them, coming at them in rabid hordes with every weapon they could possibly carry. Many of the unprotected ministorum attendants were quickly cut down, but the priest survived, the Sisters forming a defensive circle around her as they fought toward the astropathic choir, hoping to reach it in time to send out a distress signal. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them fell, each successive wave more wretched, more touched by the taint of the Blood God. Mere men became half-mutants, who themselves gave way to monsters that could barely be called men, but reach the Choir they did, Agathe's chainsword drenched in the foul blood of the enemy. The message was sent, and, desperate for shelter, there they held their ground, more sisters falling by the minute.

For what felt like hours, Agathe held her ground along with her sisters, watching them die nobly in the line of duty, even the Palatine in command of their unit.

By the time it was only her, clutching her Palatine's power maul and shield, she thought she would be martyred, and she embraced her fate eagerly, even as the master of the cultists - a towering, red-armored Astartes - emerged, his roaring axes soaked with the blood of those of her Sisters that were left behind.

Letting out a passionate war-cry, she charged headlong at the Berzerker, a prayer on her lips the world seemed to shrink around her as if she were falling into a trance, nothing but the hated enemy visible. She brought up her shield as it clashed with a chainaxe, lifting her maul, fully expecting for her feeble strike to fail.

She felt the bite of a chainblade digging into her knee, cutting through the joint.

Another blow. Another.

The sound of cracking ceramite. A howl. She recalled seeing golden light bleeding out from her maul as it struck, then the sound of the Astartes's body falling to the ground and the sound of lasfire echoing through the station. Had help finally arrived?

Help had, it turned out, arrived in the form of a Rogue Trader and his small fleet - and Agathe completed her mission.

With no direct commanding officer to report to and an ostensibly loyal Rogue Trader she owed a great debt to, Agathe took it upon herself to accompany the trader's fleets, and although she has achieved no high rank in the month and a half since her rescue, she's taken it upon herself to minister to the menials and ratings of Edmund's vessel, additionally offering her skill in close-quarters combat in the event of battle, and, in the absolute worst case, a mind resilient against the ravages of the warp.

Kind and well-spoken, she provides a source of comfort for the crew, whether through simple ministry or hymn and song, and makes efforts to keep herself appraised of her wants and needs. In other ways, though, she is alien and frustrating, wanting for little and asking for even less, partaking in few of the indulgences usually used to bribe and cajole.

Is this a roleplay? I see lots of lore but no explanation of what's going on for players.

Also - considering all the imagery, are the Templars an explicitly Christian organization?
Seems like the GM may have abandoned this. Should I start the OOC?
Very vague statement of interest.

I have an old idea for an Orc group that I never got to explore.

Large confederation of several Orc tribes. Led by an Orc who is trying to temper some of their wilder instincts. Standing army but also branching more deliberately into mercenary groups. Sending Orkie Boys out to ply their trade and bring some of their earnings home to support the clan.

Internal issues with a relation who sees this taming as an affront to what makes them them. Warns that trying to be like da humies will only make them weak, frail, and scared like da humies is.

Looking for a mountainous area for them to inhabit. General backstory theme being that they've been pushed back and back, semi-nomadic, and that is a large part of why the current leader wants them to domesticate a bit. For longevity.


Sounds interesting, although, as a player, I'd personally suggest leaning away from the zany 40k orcs and take them more seriously as a culture; I think that would be a better way to approach and accomplish what you described.
@Liotrentany more updates?

I don't personally have any issues with what you proposed.
<Snipped quote by gorgenmast>

mODERATORS PLEASE DELETE MY POST i DONT WANT TO BE IN THIS RP NO MORE


Too bad, stupid. You're in for life.
THE FATFUCK


A SLOVENLY-DRESSED MAN sat alone at a diner booth in a grease-stained tanktop that had once been a 3XL Six Flags over Freedomville T-shirt until the sleeves had been cut off. A spittle of saliva-diluted mayonnaise trickled down from the corner of his mouth and disappeared into the neckbeard-shaded folds of his multiple chins as he sunk his disgusting teeth into the sesame seed bun of a greaseball diner burger.

"Good eatin'," the fatfuck said to nobody in particular through gluttonous mastication. More likely a subconscious reaction he had absentmindedly voiced as his conscious mind was entirely focused on consuming and enjoying his burger.

"Yep, that's some good eatin'."


TODAY'S NEWS

The burgers from the Fatfuck's favourite have been recalled for containing approximately 90% Cobalt-60 by mass.


Bam.
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