Lady Selune

Retaking the Front (40k Astra Militarum Roleplay, Currently Full)

hider

Name: Darius Catadan

Character Description: It’s a well-known fact that the Hawks come from a low-grav world. Darius is taller than you average imperial citizen, and enough time fighting on the front has made it so that he’s got the muscle and strength to back it up as well. With cropped black hair and permanent stubble, he looks every bit the veteran, and he follows it up with a pair of steel-grey eyes.

Despite his time on the front, the Emperor has blessed him, and he’s ended up surprisingly free of mutilations. He’s missing two toes, and has non-cybernetic implants in his leg, from where his grav-chute decided that 37 feet up was the perfect time to malfunction, and he broke his leg in seven different places.

Role: Harakoni Warhawk 72nd Veteran Special Weapons Trooper (Formerly.) Squad Sergeant and Special Weapons Trooper (Current.)

Specialities:

• Independent operation. Grav troopers are expected to spend time behind enemy lines, and that’s a risky and difficult job. ‘Hawks are trained to be more flexible and independent than your average trooper, and Darius is no exception, although he’s more of ‘go and blow everything up’ kind of guy at heart.
• Armour destruction. Enemy armour is always an issue to the trooper on the ground. With melta galore, Darius is trained to reduce enemy steel to slag before it becomes an issue to the rest of the troopers.
• Special operations. If you need to storm an enemy base, plant a demolitions charge, and then leg it, Darius is your man. If you need to assassinate an enemy leader, Darius might not be able to take the shot, but he sure as hell can get the sniper there so he can.
• Rapid response. Darius is trained to plug holes if and when they come up. If an extra hand is needed manning a heavy weapon, or if a vehicle gunner has been slain, most likely Darius will step in to fill the role.

Equipment Specialities.

• Lasgun. Old reliable. When you’re facing down a horde of the latest thing trying to kill you, a solid blast to the face from a lasgun tends to stop it dead in it’s tracks. Accept no substitute.
• Combat Shotgun: Apart from this, of course. When you really need an ork out of your face in the next 0.3 seconds, otherwise you’re going to be bisected by a blade bigger than your head.
• Krak grenades: Twist the magnetic seal, lob ‘em at enemy armour, then get your head down, because it’s about to cause a hell of mess.
• Meltagun: There’s a lot of things drop troops really don’t want to see. At the top of that list is enemy armour coming in to the one position you’ve been instructed to hold. The meltagun ensures that said armour will not be a threat after roughly 2 seconds of charging, and then a superheated burst will reduce any fancy armour to rubble.
• Grav-Chute: He rarely gets to use it anymore, but the Warhawks are drop infantry, and he’s trained like one.

Characteristics:
Weapon Skill: 3. Gettin' up close and personal is fine an all, but only in small doses. We got big guns for a reason ya know.
Ballistic Skill: 7. I ain't a snipah here, but I can hit the broad side of a barn, and then some. I mean,, most of the time I end up firing at tanks bigger than a fackin' barn, so…
Strength: 5. I don’t exactly do the whole footslogging thing normally, but I can carry mah gear, yup I can.
Toughness: 8. Couple of bullets ain't hurtin' me none.
Agility: 5. You ever tried grav chuting? Gotta be on the tips of your toes, otherwise you’ll break a leg. Let me tell you, you don’t want to break a leg on insertion.
Intelligence: 4. I’m a hive worlder. Cut me some slack. I know enough about the important stuff, but I don’t need to know all the fancy shit. Praise the Emperor and pass the ammunition.”
Perception: 5 Sometimes I pick up on the little things. Sometimes. Not often. Actually, you know what? Forget it.
Willpower: 8. I broke my leg and crawled through fucking mud and dirt, under enemy fire for fucks knows how long, just so I could survive another day. I am NOT giving up dammit.
Fellowship: 5. You guys are hardly my old crew, but ah well. Gotta make do, I guess. Some of you are alright.

Equipment:

• Carapace armour. Standard issue to warhawks, it’s kept him safe more times than he can count. Slightly heavy though, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.
• Meltagun. Fitted with a heavy-duty flamer strap.
• Stubpistol. He learned how to use a stubber way back in his hive world days, and whilst some people mock the gun for it’s lack of stopping power, he’s found that there ain’t nothing better than some nice chunky stubpistol shots to stop something dead.
• Grav-chute He wishes.
• Krak and frag grenades. Useful to assault enemy positions, or engage armour when his meltagun is on cooldown.
• Warhawk regulator and knee/groin/shoulder/arm plating.

Personality:
I won’t lie. The Emperor in his ultimat’ fuckin’ knowledge, has decided to let the Imperium be FUBAR’d. I don’t know why, and I don’t want ta find out why, but what I do know is that we’ve got a hell of a lot of killing to do, and I don’t want to waste any more time talkin’. Get to it!

• Combat Eager: “I ‘ave said this before, raight? Well, I’ll say it again. I FACKING LOVE THIS SHIT!” – Darius, facing down ~70 orks with 21 fellow soldiers.
• Blasé: “Fer fucks sake. Yes, you’ve lost ya arm. Grab it and get to a medic, alright? We need to concentrate on killin’ these fackers.” – Darius, to a wounded soldier from the Dessin 198th.
• Dry: “Ya know. I’ve probably had better days.” – Darius, after having his chute malfunction and breaking his leg, in the middle of a battlefield full of heretics.

History:

• "Of course I was born on sodding Harakoni. Do I look like I'm a fackin' Elysian pansy trooper? Hive world's a tricky life, but ain't nothing better than grav chuting into the valleys and going hunting. Learnt a lot that would come in handy later, that's for sure."
• "Imperial guard training? No, I was just magically made a fucking Warhawk. I was a tough little fucker, that much was for sure, I'll tell you as damned much. When training was done, I got sent to go and fuck up some orks."
• "After that? Well, lotta shit went down after that. I don't know all the details. I just know that we're not with the rest a the facking Imperium, so I'm gonna shoot as many bastards as it takes to make sure that changes."

A light in the Darkness (Warhammer 40k, Astra militarum rp)

@Ollumhammersong *throws hat in the ring, decapitates heretic.*

Willing and ready.

A light in the Darkness (Warhammer 40k, Astra militarum rp)

@Ollumhammersong

Rest in pepperoni no recognitioni for Selune :D

A light in the Darkness (Warhammer 40k, Astra militarum rp)

Also paging @Irredeemable and @BCTheEntity

A light in the Darkness (Warhammer 40k, Astra militarum rp)

*Jumps out of moving car and meltas an ork in the face.*

Sorry, is nobody talking about the GLORY OF MOTHERFUCKING ARMAGEDDON?

Hellpact

Elizabeth Solomon pulled up to 1313 Faust Dr at exactly 11:48 PM, in a sleek black taxi, upholstered with high grain pigmented leather. There was a dash cam, and another camera in the lights, which was currently focused on her. She was holding in her hand a version of the Aeneid in the original Latin, slightly dog-eared from being well read. Labor omnia vicit improbus et duris urgens in rebus egestas. She folded the edge of the page over and snapped the book shut, tucking it into a small satchel she was carrying, in which she rummaged for her purse. The satchel, as well, was leather, but it was a much richer, browner leather than that of the car. Lower grain, true, but aniline rather than pigmented, making it look much more natural. Pulling out a simple little thing, she extracted a crisp $50 bill, and when the car came to a stop, handed the taxi driver the money.

"Much appreciated miss. Let me just get your bag for you..." The driver clumsily clambered out of the car and went to unlock the boot, allowing for the occultist to open her door, swinging her legs out, and then standing up. It was a trick she had learned a long time ago- this way, if the car sped off or was moving, you didn't risk being caught off guard. Besides, it looked much sleeker. The road here was neat and tarmacked, although she could see that parts of it had been recently patched over. Seemed that they had an issue with potholes. Her heels clicked softly against the surface as she went around to the back of the car, where the cabbie was offering her bag. She packed so that everything could fit inside the overhead compartment, and as such, the little bag barely made its way to the top of her thighs.

It was tartan- brown and green. Not very appealing, especially since it was scuffed and made from canvas, but inside was contained everything that she needed. "You sure this is the place miss? Wouldn't want to drop you off at a stranger's place, ya know?" The driver turned to her, and she nodded.

"No no, I'm quite sure this is the place." The building matched up too well with what she could see in her mind. The neat, colonial-era building, with the deceptively modern upgrades. The security cameras, the no doubt electrified gate, that stood open, no doubt for her, and numerous other small details spoiling it for her. "My thanks. Keep the rest of the bill." The plastic of the rucksack's wheels rumbled up over the kerb, and she walked through onto the driveway. Knowing the distance could be useful, she thought idly to herself, pacing out her steps. By the time she had reached the ornate doors- the dark wood suggesting walnut, or perhaps a darker oak. Probably oak, if this had been kept to the original as close as possible, although mahogany was also a possibility. She hefted the knocker-brass, and let it fall against the door a few times. Clack, clack, clack.

The door swung open, and she was pleasantly surprised to be faced with a handsome, if grim-faced man. A professionally tailored suit, and the way he stood marked him out as a servant, most likely a footman or butler. Butler, if she had to guess. In silence, she was lead through neat little corridors to a sitting room, where she stifled her surprise. She was not the only one here. A number of other individuals also sat here. In fact, four others were here, a fifth walking in after her. Her eyes scanning each one methodically- picking out details with a keen eye.

A man with scars that practically screeched of the wyrd and bizarre. He was grim, angry. An interesting figure, but she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. A ponytailed, leather-jacketed blonde woman, with curious eyes. Too curious. She could be a threat, and she was marked as such. She would not have her secrets learned so easily. Touching a hand discreetly to her forehead, she examined her. Her ethereal vision lit up at her wedding ring. Interesting. Depriving that of her could be a legitimate strategy. She was also armed. It was very difficult for someone to truly 'concealed carry,' there were always bulges where they shouldn't be.

Another handsome gentleman, with an uncanny resemblance to the old Doctor. He had a look that made her a little uneasy. Aggressive. Predatory. A very different kind of dangerous when compared to the woman that she had just examined. He was built interestingly as well however- lots of muscle packed into his legs. Someone used to running. Running and with a predatory look... Ah, a criminal, of course. Well, she wasn't one to criticise life choices. Lord knows she had made some poor ones, that was for sure. His focus seemed to be his gloves. In good repair, but old. Cherished.

The woman in black, looking like she had come from a funeral. There was sadness to her, but also a haughtiness, a person who had blindly stared into themselves and found only perfectness. Ultimately, she would stumble from potential end to potential end, trying to find whatever it was she wanted. She initially dismissed her, but it was only her glimmerken that made her confused. She couldn't see her focus. Ah, perhaps, it was tucked away, like her book. That was the obvious solution, and it made her brief confusion seem silly.

The... The child. That disturbed her a little, she had to say. Someone so young, in the tattered clothes that she was wearing. Apart from the coat- it was a marvellous coat, practically bulging. Part of her half-expected the girl to turn to her and say something like 'you alright guv'na?' as if she was a Dickensian orphan. Still though... That child was dangerous. Very dangerous. She oozed it, she breathed it. She wanted to stay well clear of that child. Hell, she wanted to throw a crucifix at that child and scream about the power of Christ... A sentiment not helped by the gloves, glowing with magic and seemingly made from stitched together... She didn't want to know what that was made out of.

Taking a seat, and asking for a glass of milk, she idly looked at the carvings on the table. Wonderful. It seemed their esteemed host was rather interested in the occult- which, of course, was something she had already known, what with the minor detail of the image of this house being beamed directly to her skull, and Farsi rearranging itself, as well as the interest in so many people each seeped in magic. Said host would enter, dressed more like a southern belle than a northern lady. Lady Eve. She focused on the face. Drank it in. That was a face she would remember, she thought, wiping away her dairy moustache with her handkerchief. The questions, of course, flew fast. She would let them be answered first, and her name be answered last.

Hellpact

Elementary, poppet.

Elizabeth Solomon

"Follow your spirit, and upon this charge, cry out to whatever you hold dear."

Name: Elizabeth Solomon
Alias: Emma Shaw, Eliza O’Connor, Eli Mannings
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Nationality: English, Irish Descent
Appearance: Elizabeth is a relatively unassuming figure. She is slight, stands at 5’9 feet tall, with red hair that borders on ginger, and pale eyes. She is fair skinned, with a smattering of freckles, but dresses conservatively. A turtleneck sweater, or a long coat and warm jumper are what she prefers, with perhaps a pair of jodhpurs or bush pants for comfort and much-wanted pockets. Finally, she wears a pair of rather hipster-ish glasses, which she cleans religiously. Her teeth aren't quite meticulous- they're a slight off-white colour, and whilst they were clearly straightened in the past, they've partially reverted a little, and are almost imperceptibly crooked. Her nails are almost never painted, although they're neatly trimmed and cut, and she has minimal blemishes apart from her freckles- certainly no acne scars. Her ears are pierced, but it seems to be almost entirely random as to if she wears something in them, and she's a fan of minimalist, but apparent, makeup.

History: “Oh dearie, you want to know more about me, do you? Well, I am quite a private person, but I suppose I can make a little bit of an exception for you. Don’t stop me now, or I might not get started again.” Elizabeth lets out a lilting laugh, before continuing. “I was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I still remember the Troubles, you know. They ended when I was... Oh, I must have been six when they ended, so I don’t remember them that well. My family was well off enough, I suppose. My mother was a university lecturer, you see, and my father was in the IT business. A bit before the curve, but there you go, that’s pa for you.” She seems a little wistful, before shifting in her seat, clearing her throat, and going on. "Middle class through and through. My grandpa fought in the war... World War Two, that is, and afterwards he had gone into the electronics business too. IBM. Ma... Now, ma, like I said, she was a lecturer."

"She taught Irish Studies at Belfast. Not a wildly popular course, but she had enough students every year and she found it fascinating. Plus, she loved the work you see. She would have home-schooled me if she hadn't had her own work to do. A bi of a shame, but ah well. Instead I went to a normal primary school. When I was young, I was unremarkable, but that changed. Oh yes, that changed. Of course, it took a little bit before I would change, but that's how things go. Nobody changes overnight... Except when they do." Her face changes for a split second, and then she goes back to normal. "That's not relevant to the story though, not in the slightest. Rapidly returning to the subject... We moved to England when I was ten. England proper, that is, the country south of Scotland, because we were technically already within Great Britain." She clears her throat a little bit, and adjusts her necklace, which is a simple thing.

“I studied hard. I was motivated, I was driven then. I wanted to be the best, the very best. So, I threw myself into my work, and I earned the grades that I rightfully deserved." Flying colours in my GCSEs, flying colours in my A levels. A* in English Literature, History, Latin and Classical Civilisations. Yes, I did four A levels. Cambridge university awaited me- my family was very pleased. Middle class Irish girl, and I was dressing up and going off to Cambridge! Next prime minister, that was me.” Another laugh, this one with a bitter tone to it. “Then I found something. Something that would change me. I found a book. A very curious book, written in a Latin dialect.”

“I’m sure you know of the stories and stereotypes about what could be in that book.” She leans in now, her earlier mirth entirely evaporated from her voice. “I spent weeks locked up in my dorm, barely eating anything, trying to decipher that book. The dialect was basically another language, and I found it infuriating. There was no way I was going to let someone else steal the victory that came closer and closer to being on the tip of my tongue away from me- I had to tear that book apart myself. Sure enough, that was what I did. I pried the information from it, dissected it like a rat in a lab until I was left with the raw information.” She leans back now, and offers another smile, the seriousness gone once more. “It was a rather interesting book.”

"Ah, and the invitation. Of course, I should have expected curiosity. The answer is quite simple. I was reading a book. No, not the book, it was a book of Farsi poetry. Then, as if by a ghostly force, the words rearranged themselves. 1313 Faust Dr. Boston, Massachusetts. Then, plain as day, I saw a quaint little house. I knew that I would be needing to be heading there, sometime soon, because that was, well, quite the invite, if ever I've received one."

“After that, well, things went oddly. I dropped out of university, largely lose contact with my folks, shook things up a little with my life, and I ended up doing a little bit of backpacking around the world. Linguistics, I found, I had quite a talent for. Not just mortal tongues, too. Never mind that though. I’ve revealed more than I’m comfortable with already.”

Sin: Superbia- Pride: "I work hard. Every day of my life I work hard. Does this not place me above those who waste away their time in petty pursuits and meaningless questions? When I study the occult, in the curtain of knowledge that so few have torn aside... To imply that I am the same as the common student...
Virtue: Diligence- "I have nothing further to say about this. I work hard. Very hard. My past shows this. I don't think I need to promote myself further.

Personality:
Determined. Calculated. Calm. Elizabeth will fixate on an end goal and reach that end goal. She's constantly curious, but tries to hide this curiosity behind a veil of disinterestedness. A very private person, she likes making sure that people don't know even the most basic information about her. She considers her studies into the eldritch to be the pinnacle of research, and woe betide those that disagree with her.

Skills:

• Linguistics. Elizabeth is a brilliant and talented Linguist. Her mother tongue of English, as well as Gaelic, French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, Arabic and Farsi are all languages she is fluent in, and she has a passing familiarity with Hebrew, Cantonese and Mandarin.
• Analysis. Elizabeth is the sort of woman to walk into a room and tell the builder things he wasn’t aware of. She focuses on details, and often odd ones at that, marking them all in her mind. She has occasionally turned this into something of a ‘Sherlock scan,’ although this has its own flaws.
• Tidiness of mind. This doesn’t perhaps sound like a useful ability, but to Elizabeth, having a mind as organised as hers is how she functions as well as she does. Every scrap of information she could need is disseminated and catalogued into a mind as orderly as a hospital ward, allowing her a clarity of thinking and a way of repressing memories that is unsurpassed.
• Teaching. When it comes to describing things, Elizabeth always knows the words for the task at hand. Be it a lecture, a rushed detailing on eldritch script, or how she made the morning tea, she’s a keen educator.

Spells:

• Clairvoyance: Elizabeth selects one item or person she knows with reasonable detail, within a 100-meter-radius of her, and knows his/her/its exact location at the time of casting the spell.
• Glimmerken: Elizabeth pressed her thumb, index finger and middle finger to her forehead for a brief moment whilst casting. Afterwards, she can see near-perfectly for around ten metres in pitch blackness, and a further 30 metres as if it was dimly lit. The spell lasts for 1 hour. Elizabeth cannot determine colour using this spell, only shades of grey. Gllimmerken also allows to see items that have been touched by magic, such as focuses, or items that have been enchanted or cursed.
• Recollect: Elizabeth can recall memories with eidetic precision. These can be any memories, from any period of time in her life, and she keeps them permanently, to be recalled at any time. These memories have to be self-enclosed, so that they have a defined beginning, middle and end, and cannot last for longer than an hour.

Focus: The book. A plain, black-leather bound thing, with gilt edges and a scarlet red ribbon divider. Small enough to tuck into a pocket comfortably, she never reveals the contents to anyone.
Equipment: An inflammable bottle of cleaning spray, a handkerchief designed for cleaning spectacles, a notepad and several ballpoint pens, a small portable phone charger, a small length of paracord, a packet of tissue paper, a mint-condition zippo lighter, a small pack of playing cards, a packet of Marlboro cigarettes and a packet of ‘extra tuff’ mint chewing gum.

Other:
“I walk this path alone- for who would walk it with me? I stride among the souls who cannot see, for their knowledge they let could their vision, let it cloud not clarify and cause their damnable minds to be ignorant of what they could know.”

Hellpact

@ProPro

Finished.

Hellpact

@ProPro

Goddit.

Hellpact

Still work in progress.