Lady Selune

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

@Reia I like her already. If Arlena will is a different matter.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Your captain, reporting in.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Captain Di Fieroccu

Name: Arlena Di Fieroccu

Age: 32

Gender: Female

Approximate Height & Weight: 5'11" and 80kg

Former Regiment: Mordian Iron Guard

Speciality: Company Captain

Appearance: Arlena could, if you looked past much of her steelier exterior, be called 'beautiful.' To do so, one would need to take in her rich black hair, hazelnut eyes and tanned olive skin, whilst at the same time looking past a back rigid from perpetually standing to attention, the long scar trailing from between her eyebrows to down below her jawline, her nose showing signs of being stitched back together and, the rare times it is visible, the pockmarked scar tissue along her right hand side visible without her shirt on.

Besides the more immediate aspects of her appearance there is also the fact that despite being of no small rank she has clearly spent a not-insignificant amount of time toning her physique. Her figure is muscled and fairly bulky, and when she rolls up her sleeves to assist with moving or carrying something it definitely shows.

Uniform: Golden epaulettes, commissar-like cap, rich blue overcoat and fine trousers interwoven with flak armour. These are the clothes of the Mordian Iron Guard, and these are the clothes that have clad Arlena for countless years of marching across some of the toughest ground the Imperium has ever needed reclaiming. Hers are a little more reinforced than the common guardsman, being stiffer and woven with carapace, rather than the usual flak, and her epaulettes are slightly more ornate than the factory-fresh uniforms of Mordian recruits, but nonetheless Before entering any battlefield Arlena spends a frankly incredible amount of time polishing and ironing her clothing until it is wrinkle-free and she can see her own reflection in her boots- anyone else showing anywhere near her level of dedication when it comes to prim and proper dress will quickly find themselves on her good side.

Armament: This really depends on the situation she expects to be leading her men into, but Arlena's rank as a captain affords her more powerful weapons than her lower-ranking colleagues. This tends to manifest itself in bolt weaponry, rather than the usual slug or las-throwing equivalent. Generally, she can be seem carrying a bolt pistol and an accompanying power-sabre, but rarely she may be seen with a human-scaled bolter, the chugging noise of rocket-engines firing spelling doom for the Emperor's enemies.

Personality/Demeanour: Like most Mordians, Arlena can generally be described with a small handful of adjectives; 'stern,' 'grim,' and 'dour.' A heavy-handed disciplinarian when it comes to soldiers that step out of line, those that show a similar level of grit and dedication to herself can earn themselves her steely respect. Arlena is also a firm believer in leading from the front- she is not the sort of captain to sit back with a cadre of vox-casters and medics, but instead will be directing the firing line herself, adding her own shots to the volleys of the soldiers under command and, if the situation turns dire, assisting with stretchering the wounded, sandbagging up fortifications and carrying ammunition about.

Greatest Ambition: Her highest aspiration is to serve the Emperor faithfully and dutifully until her death. This makes her perhaps the perfect guardsman in terms of desire.

Greatest Hatred: Ill-discipline, ill-fitting clothes, ill-manneredness.

Skills: Arlena's skills as a combatant are second to those required by leadership. With a steely resolve and utterly unflinching exterior, it is said that Arlena's voice has never broken a single time in her 14 years of service. She is quite capable of instilling this sort of discipline in her own men, be it through sufficient carrot or stick, and despite this all manages to be an above-average gunman and melee combatant.

In addition to this, Arlena possesses what has to be one of the rarest skills in the entirety of the guard- the stones to tell a commissar they aren't doing their job properly. During her stint as a sergeant she astonished the auxiliary attached to her squad by suggesting punishments for actions that they hadn't considered needed reprimanding.

History: Mordian is a thoroughly miserable world in every description of the world. With Arlena's mother succumbing to post-partum depression at a very young age and her father not faring much better, Arlena was, for much of her early childhood, something of a feral lass, scrambling through the pitch-black streets of her hive world home and scratching out a living each day in the hopes that the next would come and she could repeat the process. It was a world of difficulty and danger, but somehow, she survived, and more than that, pulled through harder and stronger, an iron rod blasted by hotter flames than its peers.

Having joined a gang by the time she was a young teen, she would watch as her friends fell prey to drugs and alcohol at equally young ages, dying of overdoses or of overestimating their abilities in fights- she learned her lesson the hard way, a good portion of her face being carved open when she was 14 years old, the young girl surviving through grit and a merciful street doctor that meant her visage would be scarred, but not permanently ruined.

At 17 years old she was involved in a particularly brutal turf war, one that was so rowdy that the local PDF were deployed to it. Picked up by the scruff of her neck by a Mordian trooper and practically press-ganged into the Guard initially, she took to the shining and discipline far too well for someone that had had none of it for most of her life. Nowadays, she would claim that the wild part of her life poorly reflected her true personality, for it was here, in the Iron Guard, that she proved herself.

Deployed as part of the Mordian 246th, she would see action in three separate campaigns on four different worlds (and one moon,) each new environment clawing her slightly further up the ranks by her own grit and determination. Having twice fought orks and once fought renegades, she is no stranger to many of the threats that plague the Imperium, taking this new reforming not as something negative, but as a chance for her to forge these disparate souls into an efficient and brutal fighting force, like she was so many years ago.

Miscellaneous: Arlena despises combat stims and their users, but has a particular weakness for dammassine; so much so that there are rumours the normally entirely by-the-regulations officer carries a hip flask of the stuff on her at all times, and, many a drunkard guardsman has accused her of drinking their confiscated amasec.

Arlena is an absolutely mean regicide player. Perfectly willing to sacrifice vast swathes of pieces to secure herself victory, she is surprisingly gentle when it comes to beginners to the game, and is willing to teach anyone the basic rules once. Once they know those however, the kid gloves are permanently removed.

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

The house was definitely staring at her.

She knew this, not through any normal means, but because she could feel her mind beginning to creak in that funny way it did whenever something beyond her comprehension started up. "It's not an issue," she would finally say, her French floundering a little bit from her distraction. She idly wondered how many languages she could switch between with these two, before just forgetting about it and walking up the stairs, knuckles drained white from her grip on the handbar.

Her nose wrinkled at the scent, but she just persisted in using her nose. You didn't get used to smells by breathing through your mouth, and it was important to get used to scents because otherwise you'd always be stuck breathing through your mouth. Also, it was just a lot safer to do so- your nose was designed to filter out nasties when you breathed, after all. She would cast her gaze towards where the sound was, before coughing slightly.

"Interesting sound. Tell me, this teleportion... Where am I going to be headed to, exactly?"

~ 1959: Into the Darkness ~ - A Vietnam Dieselpunk scenario

Flamethrower fried rice and crispy town to go with anyone?

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

Ladedadedaa

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

bump

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Operation: Ground the Harpy

"Welcome to France Comrades!" The first Frenchman to speak was an obviously muscular and obviously disfigured farmhand. He was brawny and built like a workhorse, but his face drooped down on one side, patches of hair missing and his skin slightly burnt. A tragedy, but one that had got him out of being forcibly conscripted by the boche. "Speak to the foreign agent here, she's the one that coordinates the drops." He would toss a thumb towards Lilianne, and then jam a pitchfork into the hay bales, breaking them apart so that the burnt parts wouldn't be as obvious.

The plan was really quite simple. Cars by this point had become something of an oddity, allowed to be used exclusively by the German occupiers. This meant that bicycles, horses, and, of course, good old fashioned walking were the ways that most Frenchmen now got about, even in the metropolitan areas where once the rumble of motor engines had never ceased. With that in mind, the group would take a short hike dangerously close to a nazi checkpoint in order to reach a smaller dilapidated farmhouse perhaps half an hour away. There were many of these now-disused buildings on the outskirts of cities, and one was hardly more notable than the other. With a day to let any heat cool off, the party could then proceed into Orleans proper, and continue on with the rest of the mission.

Plans, of course, rareley ended up bearing the intended fruit, but having one was important nonetheless.

---

Till could not have thought of two individuals who looked nothing like he'd expected them, but here they were. "Your exploits, Frauleins, are legendary. The early breakthroughs in the invasion... Everyone has heard of them. Why come to me about a mere bluthund operation?"

"Vhe have a suspicion," the shorter woman would begin almost immediately, splaying their fingers out confidently on the table. A sharp glare down from her partner quietened her quickly however.

"Vhe do zhink zhat our assiztance vhill be neccezarry vhor zhe most part. However, zhe Fuhrer himself has decreed zhat vhe are to stay in France in case of enemy stands, and zhus, should zhou need us at any point, you vhill only have to make a zhingle request and vhe shall be zhere."

This had been what he had wanted from the Oberführer, exactly what he had wanted. Nodding, first to himself and then to the two women, a slow smile would break across his face. "Excellent fraulines. Truly excellent. If this is more than just a Bluthund in the end, your assistance will be utterly invaluable. Many thanks." He would stand up from his chair, and was just about to leave when he remembered, of course.

"Have a very nice day. Heil Hitler." The man snapped his heels together quickly in lieu of a proper salute, and whilst one of the women responded with a muted 'heil' and a nod of her head, the other's hand shot up almost immediately.

"Heil Hitler! Let's hope it's more than just a Bluthund!"

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

This was her meeting spot. She was no stranger to hiking, but trying to carry luggage through this sort of outsdoorsy muck was not exactly her preferred pasttime. Grumbling a little as her case's wheel caught on something again, she would resign herself to lifting it up and over absolutely every obstacle that came to their path. At one point she even had a bramble seemingly move on its own to wrap around her ankle, tearing out enough of her skin to cause pricks of blood to rise to the surface. By the time that they had reached the house, she felt the dire need for another cigarette, the amount of damage she had already done to her lungs tonight be damned.

"All ready for what." She said, although despite the phrasing it hardly sounded like a question. Looking at the chalet, she felt her skin start to crawl. Someone was watching them. Someone? Something? One of the two. Her eyes scoured the windows of the house, and she felt for a moment as if the house itself was staring back at her, but that was impossible. She would grit her teeth and turn to the man, introducing herslef as she did so. "Siobhan, wondering what's going on... Although no doubt you knew the former and could guess that I was doing the latter."

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Primarch Sheet

Name: Iniephor The Scholar

Gender: Male

Homeworld: The world of Knosson was perhaps one of the most ideal areas for Iniephor to find himself on. A vast world that had been colonised and recolonised no less than four times, it was perhaps not quite a death world but certainly desired to be one. The surface of the planet was fragmented and riddled with asteroid impacts, the tectonic plates wild and crashing, and all manner of strange creatures inhabited and had inhabited the planet's surface. Despite this however, the people that lived on the planet thrived, in large part due to the huge protective domes that were built around major cities.

Knosson surface however was just the beginning. Although brutal warp storms besieged the solar system and made travel in and out of the system impossible, the planets within the system had all seen some measure of human activity. Knosson's twin moons of Minos and Phaistos showed now-destroyed settlements, and across the entire solar system there was the indelible ink of intelligent activities.

Appearance: Iniephor's appearance is as malleable as clay is to a sculptor, but all his forms have one thing in common; a pair of curling horns that start just above his temples and end in line with his jaws. Because of this, Iniephor rarely shows his hair, his head normally covered with a wide hood that conceals the one part of his inhumanity. Despite the malleability of his form however, Iniephor normally chooses a fairly reasonable shape, at least for a primarch. Iniephor's standard appearance measures around twelve-foot-tall in total, with burnished bronze-brown skin and a shaggy mane of brown hair, the ends lightening to a pleasant blond.

In terms of dress, Iniephor is loath to don his proper armour. Instead, he much prefers his academic's wear, garb similar to that of what scholars and philosophers have traditionally worn on Knosson for generations. Besides the vast hood he also wears a loose- fitting sleeveless chiton for warmer climates or a sleeved tunic for cooler ones, tight-fitting yet tough wearing trousers and, in very cold climates, a heavy cloak.

Personality: Iniephor is a strange sort of individual. Studious, yet rarely found in a library, adventurous yet spending most of his time studying he is simultaneously one of the greatest scholars possible and the worse student. Apart from these contradictions, Iniephor shares much with his father. Relentlessly proud of his psychic potential, he revels in opportunities to use it and to explore the limits of his power.

In addition, he has a fascination with human nature and evolution. Firmly believing that humanity must become psychic or perish (something he unknowingly shares with his father, although his outlook is more extreme) his moral compass can oftentimes dip into some severely questionable areas, something he has few qualms about.

Skills: Iniephor's excessive psychic power renders him with no small variety of interesting and unique skills. Besides the ability to reshape large aspects of his physique, he is a master in almost all of the recognised Imperial disciplines, the exception being divination, a field which requires him to take significantly more steps before he can truly see things that have not occurred yet.

Outside of his psychic power, Iniephor is also superlatively intelligent, hence his moniker of 'the scholar.' An accomplished academic and writer, his books on the nature of the vast sea and its pelagic currents are the seminal works on these subjects- literature which no librarius could do without. Besides warp studies, he is also accomplished in natural and unnatural sciences, languages (having studied Eldar and Orkish, as well as another, more ancient language that he does not know the origin of) and far, far more.

Assignment Grade: Alpha-Plus. Iniephor's active psychic power is second only to that of the Emperor himself, and he has the mental fortitude to bear witness to this. Iniephor's feats when his mind was still developing surpassed that of the few 'magicians' that lived in Knosson, and his fully grown and well-curated mind surpasses those of his brothers with an almost contemptuous ease

Biography: Iniephor would arrive on Knossos in some of the worst conditions the planet had ever experience. His cradle fell into the ocean, swept along by roaring storms and beating waves. Thrust out of the sea, he was found by an astonished fisherman and quickly taken back to land, where he was cared for by his wife for a number of days. His extraordinary growth and the horns that rapidly started jutting from his head would draw the attention of Knosson's 'magicians' and it took very little psychic knowledge to recognise the prodigious power contained within his mind.

Taken to the palace at age three (now fully grown) Iniephor would astonish the ruling family with his still fairly nascent psychic powers. Taken in as an advisor and good luck symbol, he would study under the court's finest psychic powers, only to surpass and exceed them in every way within the year. None on Knosson could match his keen mind, and so it was that by age five he was already considered to be the greatest mind Knosson had ever seen.

Leading digs and research missions across the planet, he would quickly find out that his people were not the first, nor were they the only ones. Digs on Minos showed evidence of great battles, and when he set foot on Phaistos, he encountered xenos for the first time. As he and his men established a research camp, they were approached by mysterious, slender humanoids who had monitored the tomb world that the primarch had unwittingly landed upon.

The farseer of the eldar- for, indeed, that was what they were, sensed the psychic power radiating from Iniephor. Unsure of exactly what he was witnessing, but realising the impact the young man would have on the galaxy at large, the eldar would only give a warning before melting back into the shadows, leaving the young man confused, yet intrigued.

By the time that the Emperor made planetfall, Iniephor had long since been crowned Scholar-Emperor of Knosson and the newly reclaimed Minos. Although not understanding the true significance of what lay beneath Phaistos, he had heeded the words of the strange figures he had spoken to so long ago and had left it alone, instead focusing on turning Knosson and Minos into a relative paradise. Great domes and walls held the unnatural weather at bay, whilst psychic tuning relays soothed the minds of newly born psykers, who would be taken to great universities to train and educate in the ways of the Vast Sea.

The Meeting

Iniephor awoke in a cold sweat.

Someone was in his dreams.

He had feared this. Of course, he had feared this. In his scrying into the Vast Sea that lay beside their own universe, he had felt uncountable evils crawl their way across his skin, drilling at his flesh and pricking at his mind. He had read of those before him, the shoulders that he had used to climb to the heights he was now, men driven insane and ravening, tearing at their own eyes or going berserk, frail scholars tearing men apart limb from limb. He had thought his own iron will to be strong enough to surpass these beings, but now there was a shape in his mind. His eyes would stare up at the ceiling of the room he was in, blankly looking at it without absorbing anything, and then he would stand up and walk across to his vast desk.

One of the greatest trees had been felled to construct this desk, and so it was that when he rummaged through it for a pen and a sheaf of paper, it would take him a little while to physically extract them from it. Setting the paper down, he would write out everything he remembered from the dreams. Most men now, in his shoes, would frantically rush for the stimulants, attempting to steel themselves to stay awake as long as possible, but not him. Not in the slightest. Instead, he would run his finger across the keratin of one of his horns, wipe the sweat from his forehead and settle back into his bed, feeling his otherworldly energy course through his veins.

As soon as his eyes closed, the person appeared again. It said four words. "We will meet soon." Then, it disappeared. When Iniephor awoke again, he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember the appearance of the individual. It... He... He couldn't. He just couldn't. Every time he felt like he had seized upon what they looked like it would slip from his mind, the scholar reluctantly noting it down before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.

---

The next day, he would emerge from his bedroom and stagger to the open-air scrying pool. He gazed down at the liquid inside, black as night, and at first, he would see his own reflection. A longer gaze, a deeper gaze, and then he would begin to see behind him, shapes appearing in the sky. Ships, craft far larger and more imposing than the ones that he used to move about the worlds they inhabited. He stared deeper, at every element of the craft. When would they arrive? Was the figure last night in them? He continued staring, until a scream brought him back to reality. Looking towards the source of the noise, he saw a woman clutching one hand over her mouth and pointing to the sky with the other.

Turning around, his eyes widened. He flicked between the scrying pool and the sky, realising now that he had not been seeing the future, like he was so accustomed to, but instead the reflection of the sky. Dashing inside as quickly as he could, he would don his scholarly robes and begin his sprint, magics welling at his command. From above the sky shapes would begin to plummet, and by the time he had reached the centre of Knosson's capital, he would see strange figures emerging from them. Aliens? No, no, they looked nothing like those strange sarcophagi, nor like the humanoids he had encountered once, with their high cheeks and knife-like ears. These were blocky, rough and heavily armed. They would scan the crowds that assembled around them, and for the briefest of moments, Iniephor felt a strange kinship between him and these bizarre newcomers. They too, he realised, had abilities much like him. He could sense the power throbbing beneath their veins, but then...

A power far greater was descending. His eyes would turn skywards, towards where a vehicle descended like a celestial from upon the heavens. Its blocky shape would roar, thrusters activating as the huge shape slowed its descent... Although not enough for a perfectly smooth landing. With a crack that spoke of the road beneath splintering and shattering it would come to a stop, the sense of overwhelming power pressing in on Iniephor's mind. Slowly, the doors of the craft would open themselves and there would stand the figure that Iniephor had seen in his dreams. Almost immediately the scholar would launch out his mind, invisible magics
whirling through the Vast Ocean towards this figure, this god among men, whose power threatened to drag even the superhuman in front of him to his knees. With a gesture that could have been a man swatting the fly the figure would dismiss the magic, chuckling as they did so.

Then they stepped into the light. Golden. Shining. Imperious. His eyes were a vortex, one that Iniephor's gaze was pulled into almost instantly. The figure would step forward and reach for the primarch, his hand coming to the vast hood that concealed his face. It would push the cloth back, brush past his horns, and then the man would let out another deep booming chuckle. "You really are one of my creations then."

Legion Sheet

Legion Name: The Lantern Bearers (Formerly Aeon Scribes)

Legion Number: I

Legion Strength: Around eighty-five thousand astartes. This makes the Lantern Bearers a small legion, but the psychic potential of an unusally large proportion of its recruits more than makes up for this flaw.

Armour Appearance:

The Lantern Bearer's chapter symbol is a holdover from before Iniephor's time, to when they were named the Aeon Scribes. It displays a feathered quill alongside a sword, and many have noticed that it bears no small semblance to an eagle's wing and claw grasping a sword, drawing comparisons to the Aquila. Why the original design is the way it is is unknown, even to Iniephor.

Warcry:

• THROUGH KNOWLEDGE, POWER!
• FACITA MEMORIA! (High Gothic, lit 'Become A Memory')
• STRIKE THEM INTO THE RECORDS!
• FOR INIEPHOR!

Dramatis Personae:
Diomedies Meldetires: One of Iniephor's close friends from his time as Emperor of Knosson. His Malcador, a man who was made a space marine almost too late, and serves as advisor and librarian, although not as a combatant.

Megistias Elloren: Chief Librarian of the Lantern Bearers. Flighty, capricious, but a highly capable divinator, intensely passionate researcher and one of the only people to ever be able to ask Iniephor a question he had to mull over.

Ajax Demtrion: Known as the "Butcher of Bulmeros." A freakishly strong, even for an astartes, individual, he is the Lord Executioner of the Lantern Bearers. His psychic powers are very much power over finess- he can squash a man like a bug with his mind, but gently placing something down would be difficult for him. One of the few people in the entire legion Iniephor does not like but still holds a significant role.

Favoured Tactics/Battlefield Role: The Lantern Bearers are a force that is easy to underestimate. Rarely coming together in great numbers, they instead tend to act as Iniephor's personal expedition assistants most of the time. It is only when Iniephor's ire is roused enough to fully commit to an assault does their full power become clear.

Most individual members of the Lantern Bearers share in some level of psychic potential (and Iniephor's gene seed is noted to awaken psychic potential in those that might otherwise never realise it.) Through careful training, the legion has learned to pool together their psychic might, creating a gestalt field of energy that can be tapped into by those among them powerful enough to manipulate it outwards. This is particularly obvious when the first chapter takes to the field.

Even when not utilising storms of psychic power offensively, they can still cut a bloody swath through their foes. Precogniscents and biomancers dodge and weather fire superlatively, allowing for marines to march through a tornado of steel and take very few losses. When they emerge at the other end, an overwhelming deluge of returning fire coming from storm bolters, witchfire and promethium, annihilating enemy positions rapidly and efficiently, the ends of their foes meticulously noted down in the annals of the chapter's history.

Even in melee combat, the lantern bearers are no slouches. Force weapons are a common sight amongst the legion, Lantern Bearers generally choosing hammers and staves which smash through armour and bone as if they consisted of Styrofoam.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: The Lantern Bearers are, first and foremost, researchers and archaeologists, much like Iniephor himself. They meticulously and studiously study all manner of subjects, from mundane pottery to the depths of the human mind, uncovering the past of humanity to hopefully plot the future. Because of this, almost every Lantern Bearer march into battle searching for more to curate and add to their history- the chapter also has a truly prodigious amount of remembrancers amidst their numbers, all of whom are respected just as much as the chapter serfs are.

When it comes to planetfall, the Lantern Bearers tend to set up rather organised societies. Planets touched by the Lantern Bearers are fairly easy to recognise, as the legion has the tendency to organise things similarly to their homeworld of Knossos, with administrative functions centred in 'castles' which the rest of the cities are centred around.

Relationships: The Lantern Bearers are perhaps the most interesting when it comes to their interactions outside of the legion. Despite showing none of the typical traits which would endear the mechanicus to them, they have nonetheless earned the respect of the Cult of Mars through Iniephor's constant tendencies to unearth all manner of tech and STCs through his incessant rummaging across the galaxy. Because of this (and aforementioned rummaging) they boast a somewhat more varied arsenal than might be expected of them, with a not-insignificant amount of artificer armour counted in their ranks.

When it comes to warp denizens, the Lantern Bearers have already been noticed. Of course, they would- Iniephor's mind shines almost as bright as the Emperor's, and when they pool their psychic power they create a beacon so powerful that it could blind an unprepared daemon. Many of the legion have unwittingly wrestled with these foes, although it is the Lords of Change who have taken particular interest in meddling with the First Legion. If this will materialise into something more sinister remains to be seen.

The Lantern Bearers, as the name suggests, often operate on the uncharted edges of the Imperium. Even for the Great Crusade they tend to roam farther and delve deeper into worlds. Because of this, they are oftentimes the first interactions once-cut off worlds have with the Imperium at large. Their ordered nature, psychic powers and highly stylised armour means that they're often mistaken as akin to gods, something which they rectify as quickly as possible. The Lantern Bearers do not leave behind feral worlds.

Lastly, the legion's relation with their father- not Iniephor, but the Emperor itself, is built on shaky foundations. The Emperor's desire to control psychic humanity and anathemic attitude to religion puts him at odds with the often spiritualistic Lantern Bearers, who view their gifts as something to be cherished and shared, not fiercly denied. Although Iniephor would be rightfully horrified at the touch of chaos, going renegade would not be out of the question.