Lady Selune

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

@BCTheEntity

Magnus and I believe Rogal Dorn theorise that they disobeyed the Emperor and were made an example of.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Obligatory Psyker Primarch signing in.

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently Open!

"Burn." The undergrowth curled and blackened. The shriek of whatever insects hadn't gotten clear in time rang true, and then would fade. In the marine's armour, calculations ticked and whirred. Movement, 243. His servo arm swung around and lit itself with the whining hiss of plasma initiating, only to shut off when a squad of guardsmen burst through the undergrowth. They initially raised up their arms, only to drop them once they saw the towering figure standing before them, Flamer held almost casually in his arms as he continued to eradicate the growth that the xenos filth hid themselves in.

"Venerable space marine! Praise the Emperor!" The head of the guardsmen, a tall buzzcut man with a chainsword still whirring in his hand would shout out. "Please, mi'lord, do you happen to know the wherabouts of..." Before he could finish his sentence one of Lelandros' arms had come out, pointing back towards where the jungle path had been cleared. His arm would adjust itself back to his flamer as he let out another jet of liquid purity, watching as a tree's trunk was taken over and began to creak-topple towards the ground. He was not the only one assigned this operation, strictly speaking this was a guardsman's job, but the space marines had taken to burning out more of the undergrowth faster whenever they had the opportunity.

It was menial work, but essential, and the cybernetic parts of Lelandros' mind reminded him how essential they were. The enemy laid spores. Every square foot of scorched earth meant an average of 7 less enemy fighters to contend with in the future. This was the sort of vital operation that should be left to a skitarii incinerator team, but this would have to do instead. One last gout and his flamer would wail dry, the marine letting the weapon swing down and magnetically clamp itself to his leg. "I shall escort you."

He would turn and begin to stalk back through the undergrowth, guardsmen hurrying in his shadow. Here and there the sound of flames and occasional booming comment would mark out another Salamander searing the planet of its impurities, but as they drew closer to the central command station, he would quickly realise something was wrong. Holding a fist up, the guardsmen would stop themselves. "This is Forgepriest Lelandros, is ever-" He wouldn't even be able to finish his sentence before the radio would crackle its reply.

"Forgepriest Lelandros, Astartes Designation SLDT-54011?" The voice that crackled through was not the regular officer, nor a Salamander that Lelandros recognised.

"Correct. Speaking to?"

"Your oath is required." Deep within Lelandros' mind, something primal stirred. The forgepriest would indicate forward with his hand and press onwards, the guardsmen falling back into step with him. The prefabricated structure of the base would rise out of the jungle's undergrowth, the Salamander standing in front of one of the loading docks. A blast of cool air would send his cape fluttering out behind him, the space marine seeing his new comrades before anything else. Four of them stood there- three helmeted, one with his helmet under his arm, all in the black. A Blood Angel, the blue of an Ultramines successor, and the last with the beaked helmet and piercing gaze of what could only be a son of Corax.

Forgepriest Lelandros would bow his head slightly, hands reaching up to his helmet. There was a hiss as the locks that held it in place released themselves, and then he lifted it up, revealing skin as black as coals and eyes as red as embers underneath. The other unhelmeted marine would look at him, their eyes boring into Lelandros' own. Then, silently, he would hand over a scroll. Lelandros would take it in his hand and reluctantly open it, eyes scanning across the scratchy High Gothic slowly.

Then, he would clear his throat. "I, Forgepriest Lelandros, Son of Vulkan, bearer of the Fire of Ry'lan, give myself unto the Deathwatch. In doing so, I fufill the ancient oaths between the Salamanders and the Emperor's own Ordo Xenos, and in doing so give myself to the defence of the Imperium in a new capacity. This is my first oath." Once he had spoken, he would bring his hands up into an aquila, the four space marines across from him making the shape as well.

Idly, he realised, the gobsmacked guardsmen that he had been escorting hurried to make the motion themselves, the reduced squad shuffling away quietly once they thought the superhumans too occupied to care.

---

He was thankful for one thing, and that was that there had been a significant contingent of techpriests aboard the ship that he was being transported on. Now, they stood around him, the forgepriest naked apart from a simple cloth wrapped around his loins. Heat buffeted around him, and he brought the hammer in his bear-like hand down over and over again. Around him, the red-robed priests chanted.

"01001111 01101101 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000" The forgepriest mouthed the words. The litanies and cants drilled into him whilst on the red planet echoed through his mind, even as he brought his hammer down again and again. Frustration, perhaps, but also meticulous detail made every hit a precise execution of the machine's will.

"01000010 01101100 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110101 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01110010 01100001 01100110 01110100" It reminded him of Prometheus. Of home. His fingers tightened around the haft of his tools. Another crashing hammerblow down onto the anvil, before the marine would put down his hammer, the chanting of the priests slowing as he did so.

"Is it done?" Said one, their grindingly mechanical voice sounding like a sweet melody to Lelandros.

"As close as it will be. I leave the finishing to you." He turned away from the craft and looked towards the door, where a figure stood, examining him. It was the Raven, he realised. The two space marines- one fully armoured the other anything but, would allow the infinite differences between hem linger, before the other figure would speak.

"We have almost arrived, Brother tec-Forgepriest." The self-correction would be met with a thankful incline of the Salamander's head, the latter padding across the floor towards the figure. Outside stood two serfs who would hurry to place a cloak around Lelandros' form, and then two more would step forward holding his Omnissian Axe. The symbol of his rank, and the only item he had left. He supposed they couldn't do anything to it that he hadn't already done, and so his midnight black fingers would curl around its shaft, Lelandros bowing his head slightly in thanks.

In silence then, the two would proceed towards the front viewing port. The only noise was the clank of the power armour on the metal floor and the far quieter chinks as the bottom of Lelandros' only remaining weapon tapped against the selfsame floor. When he reached the viewing port, he blinked a few times, initially believing himself to be looking at some abandoned moon, rather than the Watch-Fortress. The explanation would soon come though, and the forgepriest had to admit that it was quite the construction.

The craft they were in would come closer and closer to the seemingly lifeless lock, and then more serfs would arrive. An environmental suit. Of course. His armour was still not with him. Reluctantly giving his axe across to the strongest looking serf, he would don the suit without any complaint, his axe handed back to him. They would land on the surface and he would be escorted down towards the exit of the ship, noting his armour being borne by yet more serfs. His prized combi-bolter, his cloak... Good, it was being treated well. Then, the vaccum of space would open up to them, and he would walk forward, mag-locks in his feet keeping him grounded.

Down and down and down and down they went. The Tyranids had scoured deep... And he was reminded of his first deployment after Mars. The flames, the tunnels, the chitters and cackles, the tearing of metal and flesh. His grip tightened on his axe, the head rotating a single time. The door to the escalator would open, and... By the Omnissiah.

"Welcome to the Watch-Fortress." An emissary was already talking to him, before the marine had the chance to take everything in. "We are glad, as always, to have another familiar with the machine-spirits join our rank. Your expertise will be expounded upon, your knowledge lifted to further heights." The man would clear his throat, Lelandros's suit-covered face showing no emotion.

"For now, please, we will escort you to your quarters where you will receive further instructions."

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

"It's hardly mine either, don't worry about it." Siobhan understood all too well the difficulty of not speaking a language fluently. She moved through too many countries to know all the languages perfectly, and whilst she had a good grasp of the most important (Mandarin, French Chinese, Arabic and English especially since they got you through almost all of Eurasia and most of Africa) she had been to a lot of countries where she had to rely on broken speech and heavily sprinkled in English. At least though, there was a plan. To a chalet- one of the hundreds that lay abandonded nowadays unfortunately, and then to an accomplice.

The fact that the woman didn't remember didn't get her hopes up though. Making someone forget something sounded all too easy a trick for a mage to pull off, but she would keep her fears quiet. She would look about as they moved towards the countryside with a pleasant expression on her face. There was something about nature- about the greens and the calmness of it all that put her mind at ease. There was something inherently more pleasant about walking through a field than down an alleyway, after all.

Nature, however, would be shattered once they approached the chalet. It fit the description to a t- run down, rotten, moulded and inhabited by insects and beasts. She could see it, squatting on a hilltop where it clearly didn't belong. She wrinkled her nose before the smell of it had even hit her nose; she knew precisely what she was getting in to here. She had squatted in disused buildings before, after all.

"Let's get this over with."

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Operation: Ground the Harpy

Beginning Descent, T-0.2 hours

The plane had now definitely begun to go downwards. After more than two hours in the frigid fuselage, it was probably a relief to most inside, especially what with the cramped conditions. To the pilot in the front however, it was the worst of times. The small size and lack of any lights on their aircraft had meant that it had snuck by German air and ground patrols without any problems, but now came the time when they were most visible. The co-pilot was frantically trying to identify the right place to land, the pilot having to take to hedgehopping in order to avoid any potential prying eyes in the sky. Then, at last, after a torturous amount of time circling the countryside, the exact position would be discovered.

Pulling sharply to one side, he would veer the craft around, before pulling up ever so slightly. They needed to... There! As the plane thundered towards one field, flames lit up. Hay bales, he realised, set alight so that they would know where to land. Circling around once to get a proper straight at the runway, the pilot would cut the speed down and lower the landing gears, holding their breath as they brought the plane down lower and lower. Then, with a thump and a screech as wheels came against dry straw, they would make their landing. Almost as soon as they had stopped the pilot slammed open the hatch between them and the fuselage.

"GO! GO! GO! GO!"

The second all crew and cargo were out, the plane would be off again. French partisans threw buckets of water over the hay, and as the first tendrils of smoke made their way up into the mightnight blue sky, the plane would already be in the air, whirling around and gunning the engines back towards England. Hopefully the boche hadn't noticed anything; especially with the low flying they had done earlier. "Best of luck chaps," the co-pilot would say to an empty cargo dock, before pulling the flaps of his hat down tighter and focusing on the sky ahead of them.

---

"Oberführer, please."

"No." The cyborg would turn to look down at the besunglassed stand user, a faint scowl visible on his face. "If there is even a mote that it may be him, I refuse wholeheartedly." Blonde hair and blue eyes against blonde hair and blue eyes; two ideal Germans staring each other down... Although one of them had a rather interesting construction over his eye. "Besides, I am to be deployed to the Eastern Front soon. The Führer work in Russia is not yet complete."

"You were commended to me based on your courage, yet you refuse to do this?" Till's own scowl would slowly spread across his face.

"I do it not out of cowardice. I do it out of respect. Find someone else." The man would slam his mechanical hand down against the table, causing Till to raise an eyebrow.

"Very well. As you wish Oberführer." Till stood up, adjusting his tie as he did so. Turning away from the cyborg, he would calmly close the door behind him, shaking his head as he did so. So much potential... But alas, he would just have to make do with what he had. How would this impudent fool targeting the reich feel when they had the power of multiple stands staring them down? They were already dead, they just didn't know it.

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

Added some stuff.

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

(BUmp.)

Lady Selune Wishes to RP With You! [Always Looking] [Ignore Post Count (It's All Bumps)]

*Glam rock guitar solo*

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

"Five years ago, the Violet Dawn swept over me and I had the worst headache in my entire life." She twirled the folded knife in her pocket around as she spoke, thinking quietly to herself. "I got better at repressing the pain, but five years. Five, mind-splitting years. Then, this year, it vanished." She chuckled to herself, almost darkly. "Oh it felt so gloriously good."

She gave a wicked grin to nothing in particular, finishing off her cigarette before flicking it out of the window. The ember would last a brief moment against the onrushing wind, and then would be blown out, vanishing into the black as it bounced on the tarmac.

Then, she would exhale, the smoke seeming to continue even after her breath had finshed. "Well, you're doing just fine in my opinion." Looking out the window, feeling, rather than seeing, the crescendo in energy that they were approaching. "As for why I'm not scared? Why, what's there to be scared about?" She shrugged. "If I die, I die."

She turned to look seriously at the Polish woman. "What's the plan though."

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently Open!

Forgepriest Lelandros: Born in Fire

Name: Forgepriest Lelandros

Chapter: Salamanders

Chapter Demeanour: Compassionate, Methodical. The Salamanders are known for two things besides their burning flames; their careful consideration of the actions they take, and their compassionate nature towards the citizens of the Imperium that are caught up in the constantly violent maelstrom that swirls through the galaxy. Lelandros is endemic of the first quality- each strike of his servo-harness or gout of flame is carefully placed to maximise its impact, but the training he has been put through has dulled the latter quality in him. He is colder than the average Salamander, but his fire burns yet hotter.

Personal Demeanour: Unlike many Salamanders, Lelandros never returned to Nocturne after his ascension to Prometheus. Although the chapter's values of compassion and protectiveness were imbued upon him by proxy, the Omnissiah's cold logic and the training of the Deathwatch have rendered him far icier than the typical Salamander. In a more literal sense however, he is far from icy- like all of Vulkan's sons, he has an extreme proclivity to reach towards melta and flamer, his time spent burning out xenos, root and stem certainly contributing to this.

Unusually for a space marine, he acts quite aloof when it comes to his comrades-in-arms, preferring the company of machines over man. If given the choice between a conversation with a chaplain and blessing the machine spirit of a land raider, he will always choose the latter. This, however, should not be taken as a lack of morale, cohesion or willingness to both take and issue commands- in battle he can match an Imperial Fist with his stalwartness. If ground is to be held, you can be sure to find Lelandros's boots firmly planted into said ground, and if a location is to be taken, he will apply every aspect of his training and arsenal to capturing it.
Speciality: Forgepriest (Techmarine)

Rank: If he was a regular marine, his seniority would place him as a sergeant, but techmarines operate on a separate axis.

Power Armour History: Like all Salamanders, Lelandros' armour has been extensively modified and changed by the marine himself. It has served many brothers before him, but it was under his tutelage that it was wrought into its current form, green and red mingling together with gunmetal inlays where gold would lie. Although once a thing of beauty, its appearance has been rather tarnished by the heavy-handed application of black, and the machine spirit of Lelandros' armour hasn't forgiven him for what it views as an irredeemable insult. Lelandros frequently has to placate the ancient machine spirit, and more than once he has felt it pull at him as if to complain.

Description: All Salamanders share a peculiar change in their geneseed- slowly, over the course of their lives, their skins will turn a pure, charcoal black. Lelandros skin turned onyx decades ago, and his eyes smoulder an evil-looking red, although perhaps they make him seem a little too much of an intimidating figure. Above his eye gleam no less than four service studs- showing him to be a veteran of no less than eighty years of glorious combat under the Salamanders.

In addition to the honours implanted in his head, his armour also displays an unusual sight. The right side of his armour, rather than being totally blank, instead holds the image of a roaring bonfire, the intricate symbols within showing Lelandros to be a member of the honoured Order of the Fire of Ry'lan. In addition to this, his back is adorned with a great drakeskin cape. With this billowing behind him and the roar of flames around him, Lelandros' form has been the last thing many enemies of the Imperium have laid eyes upon.

Skills: Lelandros has laboured long over the fires of a forge. His form, charcoal and adorned, has been scorched by flames countless times, and each one of these scorchings counts as a lesson into the art of making the broken whole, the simple complex. Like most Forgepriests, Lelandros' skill in engineering weapons of war is impeccable, and his hands have produced works of art as lethal as they are beautiful.

Beyond forging, Lelandros battlefield repair skills are second-to-none. Less-than-gentle coaxing of the machine spirit on his part has brought back artillery and vehicles alike across the scattered worlds of the Imperium. Even beyond this mechanical expertise, Lelandros is certainly no tactical fool. His veterancy has given him similar insight to a sergeant- and if it came down to it, he would have no difficulty in providing direct, accurate commands to other brothers.

History: Many Salamanders share a similar story when it comes to their forging into a battle brother. Born an unusually strong youth, Lelandros' early childhood growth already put him ahead of his youths. In playfights he often came out on top, and he was the quickest when it came to gathering supplies and the sharpest when it came to his learning. This intelligence and strength were not missed by the leader of the tribe in which he lived- a Salamanders Devastator Marine named Agamites. Agamites would see the strength within Lelandros and, with the whole-hearted acceptance of his parents, begin to guide him through the difficult path that would see him ascend to Prometheus as a fully blooded member of the Salamanders.

Although well rounded in most aspects of his training, Lelandros showed particular ability when it came to craftsmanship and engineering. Whilst others in his position were still learning to assemble a stubber, he was hammering out copper inlay for a flamer. When others were busying themselves with flak armour, he was putting the finishing touches on a carapace bodyplate. After he had captured his first Fire Drake and received the genetic implants, it took little time before he was shipped off to Mars, where he learned the ways of the technocracy at a startlingly speedy pace. Returning as a revered Forgepriest, Lelandros would set off on his first true campaign- the eradication of a splinter of Hive Fleet Jormagundr, which, having buried itself deep within the ground, required the sort of deep scorching that could only be found in blessed promethium. In wretched tunnels and mineshafts deep beneath the surface, Lelandros would time and time again be the bulwark of the squads that fought there, fixing damaged armour, weapons and vital equipment, his flamers searing corruption from metal and restoring brilliance to the machines which his battle brothers used. Alas however, these fights would be in vain- as the Imperial forces worked their way deeper and deeper into the planet, they would find themselves in vast crypts, filled with strangely metallic skeletons. The Salamanders would end up detonating the tunnels they had fought so valiantly to clear, buying as much time as they could for the citizens on the surface to flee before the assorted fleets above the surface discharged their payloads- volley after volley of armaments unloaded until the very mantle was rent and the world was turned into an asteroid field from which the necrons would eternally rest.

From there, he would be redeployed to another world beset by dug in xenos that could re-emerge: Orks. This, he took to with even greater zeal, the forgepriest's most notable action being the assistance he leant to a tank column of Imperial Guardsmen- repairing and resanctifying their flame-spewing Chimeras during one particularly hellish push into the Orkoid lines. It was from this battlefield that he was plucked from, his armour to be blackened and his services required by the Deathwatch.

Equipment and Armament: Perhaps the most obvious piece of equipment that Lelandros has is not, strictly speaking, even 'equipment.' His servo arm- a single long, powerful mechanical limb forged in brass and green carries its own tools and weapons, vital to both the upkeep of equipment under Lelandros' oversight as well as for destroying those foolish enough to stand in his way. The ends of these servo-arms can be customised somewhat, but generally he sticks with one of the most common configurations- a plasma cutter/welder that can be used to slice through even the toughest of armour whilst also reforging shattered plasteel.

Apart from his servo-arm, he carries two main pieces of equipment; One is the standard techmarine Omnissan Axe- intricately designed head making the blade look like both cog teeth and flames gushing from the mouth of a great red drake, whilst the other is a potent combi-bolter, made by his own two hands in Nocturn's forges. Underslung to an already astoundingly artistic bolter is a slightly oversized flamer (for combi sizes,) capable of unleashing two scorching gouts of holy promethium per deployment. Lastly, across Lelandros' back is perhaps more of an indication of his chapter than his blackened armour, for there sits a drakeskin cape, the fireproof scales flowing like water with each movement he takes.