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    1. Jeddaven 11 yrs ago
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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.

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"Louder!" Agathe bellowed, crushing the skull of a cultist beneath her armoured boot with a wet, sickening crunch. "Let them hear your prayer! Let them hear your cries of adulation for the God-Emperor. From the heart, my brothers and sisters in arms, for He is the salvation of mankind!" In such times, after all, more important than perhaps even the skill with which she and her militia fought was the strength of their face, for anything less than absolute obedience and zeal would leave them vulnerable to corruption. One's prayer wad to be an iron veil with which to guard their mind.

Keep the fire in your heart hot, and you hatred cold and disdainful. Despise the foe, but let not rage overcome you, lest you trade one evil for another. Her Canoness once said to her, words that stuck with her to this very day. Take these words to heart, and never forget the power of your faith, and against the Great Enemy you will always be well-armed.

Pausing a moment to asses her situation, Agathe briefly noted the gore dripped from her chainsword, the ravaged organs dripping from its snarling teeth - and all about her, the scene was much the same. Corpses left and right, a handful of cultists still standing to fight... Most, at a glance, were not faces she recognized. Cultists then, mostly, meaning they'd come out on top, but by precisely how much she didn't quite know. What she did know, however, was that they had barely made a dent... And that they needed to dig deeper, to find the head of the snake and sever it.

Agathe to Bridge. We have nearly secured our present position, and will proceed deeper into the lower decks. If the cult has any witches among their number, I do not intend to give them the chance to act, as I fear the cultists attempting to take the Enginarium are not the primary threat. are the vessel's auspex feeds sanctified? I could use intelligence, but I will not risk you unnecessary exposure to memetic corruption. She spoke into her helmet in High Gothic, hoping that those listening in would be unfamiliar. Holding up her hand to indicate pause, she gazed down at her chainsword, aggressively revving the blade to free it of the guts and blood coating its gears.

"Is anyone incapable of fighting? Sound off now! There is no shame in it. You will be brought to the medicae!"

Nothing. Tragically, there was scarcely little time to check the militia fallen for injuries, and her heart did truly weep for them... But if they paused too long, then everyone aboard the ship was worse than dead.

"Good. With me! Ogryn in front, shields up. You're our toughest. Flamers, at the ready to fill corridors if they step aside. We head deeper into the lower decks, and it is vital that we stay together as much as possible!"

She did not lie, of course, but Agathe knew as well as anyone else that to find what she hoped to in a vessel like this would be incredibly difficult, even with the aid of unfortunately unreliable pict-feeds.

Perhaps, she hoped, He would guide her.

I tread the path of Righteousness.
Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot
Though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them
Though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step
And with his guidance, I know that I will always step true.





Every step after that was one punctuated by shouted prayer, each one etched into Agathe's mind from years of harsh schooling; she needed no time to stop to read her tomes, though she always kept them with her. Every so often, she'd see another line of zealous militiapeople advancing through an adjoining hallway, always within a few moments of sighting each other - yet the vessel, like any Imperial type, was labyrinthine, and just as frequently as they could get the drop on groups of cultists, they, too, would manage to ambush the militia. With the Enginarium blocked off, though, the greatest utility they had way in stabbing deep into the heart of the cult, with guidance from the bridge, the Emperor Himself or nothing but Agathe's own instinct; whatever the case would turn out to be, she knew in her heart that this was her best hope of ending the uprising, just as she'd been trained. The chaff was just that.

(WIP)









Milord, this is Sister Agathe. I am gathering a militia of the faithful. We will strike the enemy formation from the lower decks and attempt to cut off their advance toward the Gellar Field generators. The Emperor Protects.

"A spiritu dominatus,

Domine, libra nos,

From the lighting and the tempest," Agathe intoned, testing her chainsword with a quick rev of its powerful motors.

"Our Emperor, deliver us." Came the chorus of assembled crewmen before her - they, likewise, were preparing themselves, gathering up improvised weaponry from massive utility room around them. A handful were lucky to get their hands on auto-weapons, but most simply wielded hastily repurposed tools - bulkhead cutters, salvaging saws, maintenance torches repurposed into flamers...

"From plague, temptation and war,"

"Our Emperor, deliver us."

Satisfied with her chainsword, she clipped it into place at her waist, priming her power maul with a click of the angry red switch on its handle, a sharp crackle filling the air.

"From the scourge of the Kraken,

Our Emperor, deliver us."

Most of the assembled were young, fit men and women - those assigned to manual labor duties - but only a few, much like the heretics, knew how to fight any better than the common man.

"From the blasphemy of the Fallen,

Our Emperor, deliver us,"

Those were equipped with the heaviest, most powerful implements they could find; illegal boarding shotguns and flamers intended for use in exterminating vermin and dangerous mutants.

"From the begetting of daemons,

Our Emperor, deliver us,"

They, too, were equipped with commbeads, the only ones capable of coordinating their fellows.

"From the curse of the mutant,

Our Emperor, deliver us,"

The most lucky, perhaps, was the first Ogryn in Agathe's motley crew, wielding a blast door bent into the shape of a shield and a massive power hammer. His fellows, equally massive, were just as gigantic - but power hammers were a rare tool, many of which, she imagined, were held in the upper decks.

"A morte perpetua,

Domine, libra nos.

That thou wouldst bring them only death,

That thou shouldst spare none,

That thou shouldst pardon none,"

This time, they all spoke together - Agathe and her militia, marshalled behind her - as the utility room's doors slowly began to roll open.

"Sister Agathe to the bridge. We are engaging the enemy. May the Emperor protect."

"We beseech thee, destroy them."

"For the Emperor!" They cried out as one, spilling out from the utility room and into the halls, almost immediately meeting the scattered number of the enemy. Agathe, of course, was at their head, her face beneath her helmet etched into a snarl of zealous rage as she marched forward, knocking one heretic down as her revving chainsword cleaved through another, sawing him in two on a diagonal running from his shoulder to his waist. He barely had the chance to scream before his guts spilled across the floor, one of his comrades unloading a hail of lead into Agathe's chest.

To her, the assault broke over her plate like water, bullets smashing themselves into pieces to no effect. The cultist was unlucky enough to receive a bolter round to his ribcage for his efforts, blowing open his chest cavity like a gory piñata.

"If I must slay you, lost children of the Emperor, then I will!" She shouted, her voice artificially amplified into a bellowing howl by her helmet. Her pronouncement was punctuated by another swing of her chainsword, casually decapitating another cultist as it tore through flesh and bone.

"-but I will take no joy in this work! Lay down your arms, and you can yet be redeemed!"

None did, though perhaps, Agathe thought, she was partly to blame, carving bloody ruin through the cultists with every word. Or perhaps the Ogryn bore some of that weight - she could see the enormous man from the utility room angrily crush the skull of one of the cultists in his meaty palm as the noise of stomping feet nearby alerted her to the activity of more of the labor-Ogryn, ever-dim, but unambitious and ever-loyal. She was thankful for their presence more than anything aside the Emperor's grace, perhaps, though even they couldn't stop their allies from bleeding and dying as they aggressively pushed away from one of many utility rooms, up through the lower decks... And, if He bid it, toward the Gellar Field generators. Ogryn or not, the Gellars, Agathe guessed, were the most important target. Unless they summoned a horde of daemons, the cultists would melt into ash before the onslaught of fire and rad-weapons the Mechanicus possessed. If the heretics took the Enginarium, they could stop the vessel, destroy it, or perhaps redirect it... Unpleasant options, to be sure, but if they reached the Gellars deeper within, mere death would be a mercy.

Agathe to Bridge. We have momentum, and are continuing to push out of the lower decks and toward the Enginarium to aid the Mechanicus in securing the Gellars. Sustaining acceptably minor casualties as of present - I've rallied several of the labor Ogryn and a great number of the crew - no time for a headcount but will attempt to rally more when Any possibility of emergency translation into realspace? Expect that cultists are attempting to disrupt Gellar Field generators to affect a daemonic incursion. The Emperor Protects.

"The Emperor is very proud of you all, for refusing to bow to heresy!" Agathe shouted, waiting as the Ogryn proudly puffed out his chest, clubbing down a pair of cultists with casual ease.



I dunno how active I can be, but I really enjoy thinking up little nation states, so I figured I'd join in the fun. I'll do my best to participate regularly.



Hey, I had that land claimed in the interest check - is there any way I could convince you to part with it?

Specifically this sheet.


The very moment the Squat began to fall - or perhaps leapt - from his perch, the warning systems in her armour kicked into high gear, warning her of a large object approaching at significant velocy. Her body, too, reacted, twitching for her power maul...

But mere moments later, it finally registered the object as a Squat and she relaxed, sucking in a deep breath through her nose as she silently wondered what, other than his apparent tenacity, Edmund saw as valuable in the gruff, bearded man. There must have been something, after all... But he hardly seemed approachable. Perhaps a master of close-quarters combat? His shotgun must've fit that bill.

Next, she was alerted to the arrival of another - a ratling - first by an innocuous warning from inside her helm, then the shape of a strange little man stuffed into an ill-fitting suit dashing across her field of vision like he'd accidentally shit himself, only to seat next to the other abhuman, utterly silent. If not for the ill-fitting uniform, however, she might've been as equally lost, but she'd heard of enough ratlings in the Guard, usually employed as scouts, snipers, or for duties of that sort. Another loyal servant of the Emperor, either way, and one who probably had substantial combat experience. As long as he had some way to contribute, he would surely be welcome.

And then without so much as a word from either of the Magi, she watched Dahti's attention shift, and she instantly let out a sigh, knowing full well that there was a tendency among the visibly differing sects of the Mechanicus to argue. Between a man more machine than man and the genetic machine Dahti was, she assumed argument was inevitable...

And it was, not that she cared terribly to listen, keeping her focus on Edmund aside from a respectful bow in turn to Dahti. Even if she didn't want to be pulled into whaetever he'd just dragged himself into, he deserved the courtesy of a visible greeting, at the very least.

Thankfully, the brewing philosophical debate was cut short by Edmund's intervention, finally allowing Agathe to bring her gaze to the projected holo-image. It was...

Frighteningly accurate, as far as she could tell. Despite how odd the ratling looked in his outfit, she couldn't help but focus on how unusually perfect the image was, unlike many holoprojections she'd seen before, if any. Its sheer accurate clouded her mind before she was knocked out of her momentary stupor by Edmund's words.

Trailblazer... A pathfinder of sorts, maybe? That'd be... Incredibly helpful, she thought. Agathe, after all, had seen little of the wild places of the galaxy, and knew even less of how to navigate them. The Squat, a mercenary. The Magi, more obviously essential in her mind, and herself...

Well, Edmund had respected her wishes to keep her face hidden, and that was enough...

For a few moments, until Lord Guilliman's name graced her ears and she felt a shudder of religious ecstasy at the mere notion of her, but a meagre Battle Sister, being joined to a mission given by the Lord-Proector Himself. Even if Edmund wouldn't or couldn't yet divulge the precise details, such a fact meant whatever they were going to do must've been incredibly vital, that the Inquisition would certainly follow them...

Agathe couldn't help letting her mind race, words blurring together so much she nearly failed to listen to Edmund, if not for the memory of her Palatine whipping her mind into shape reminding her to stay focused on the task at hand.

Still, she couldn't help herself from bringing her hands togehter in the shape of an Aquila over her chest, muttering a prayer under her breath.

"I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot; though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step."

Quietly sucking in a breath through her nose, she closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, then flipped them open.

"A... request, Lord, if you would permit it. I would aks that myself and the priests aboard this vessel be allowed to perform a ceremony to bless this journey - all are invited, of course, even our Navigator. I... Think that making clear the provenance of our voyage would provide an enormous, mentally steeling boost of morale to the crew, and, perhaps moreso, to bless the vessel with such a ceremony will surely aid us in repelling the threat of our Greatest Enemy," Agathe continued. "I can speak to the priests to compile a list of materials we will require, but I do not believe that might more than a little incense, water, and fuel will be required."
@Jb Nonetheless, reply Agathe would, even if she didn't expect Edmund to respond in kind. There were boundaries to be set, of course - and while she was perfectly willing to obey orders she would not, after all, do so unthinkingly and without question.

"Fear not," she attempted to reassure him, "my duty as an Iron Veil is to combat the sorcery of the Great Enemy, and the mere existence of xenos, as it were, is of little concern in comparison," she said, silently reminding herself that she would not hesitate to destroy them for abusing Edmund's goodwill or more important abusing the citizenry of the Imperium, or for desecrating his holy places. Rogue Trader or not, such flagrant violations of His blessings were utterly unacceptable.

At the sight - and sound - of the Chief Enginseer's arrival, however, she offered only a simple nod in greeting. He seemed to have little interest in formality, after all, and while she could respect his affinity for holy promethium, she would not -- could not -- reward dangerous arrogance.
"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.
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