Ollumhammersong

Warhammer Fantasy: The Guild of Esteemed Sellswords - An adventure in the Warhammer Fantasy world!

I shall state my interest and see wherw the ooc goes

Warhammer 40k: For the Greater Good! - A Tau Roleplay

I might

Ruminations of the Tyrant Star [A Black Crusade, 40k style RP Idea]

I might join this as a Raptor part of/leading a talon of five or so others.

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

Thanks to the sophistication of the imperial machine spirit, Cholon's internal vox cut through the noise of a dozen shrieking traitors clambering over his armoured body. He heard the plan for an assault and cursed himself for hurling his rifle moments prior.

The next curses to come out of his mouth had less to do with the many, many enemies still hacking and stabbing at his ceramite exterior. Remembering that his rifle (and by literal attachment, the grenade launcher) had been hurled into the hoard not a minute earlier. He originally planned to dig it out from the corpses and offal after this assault was repelled. But now he had to go digging through heretics for his own weapon.

It was a tall order to lift himself from the pile of bodies, even the servos in his knee joints whinned gently with the effort of standing. The crack and subsequent volley of organized lasfire helped. He could see bodies twist and faces contort as short range las fire heated through meagre clothing and soft flesh.

It was a start. Some of the bolder guardsman took shots at the cretins crawling on the Chogorian's back and legs. Some of those las rounds scored his armour but none came close to damaging anything. It gave him some extra breathing room at least. Enough to unhook a frag grenade from his belt and toss it somewhere into the rear of the hoard to detonate indiscriminately, and to draw his sidearm and begin carving a bloody new path towards where he last threw his weapon. He only hoped the spirit of the weapon would forgive him for discarding it in such a lowly manner. He would have need of its ability again soon.

"As long as we get to leave this trench, I don't care if we run into the eye itself." Speaking his first words to his squad since this assault had begun.

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

I'm working on a post. Hopefully I can get it up today

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

Wait a minute. I have to be missing something, since when are we assaulting? The rp started off with us in a trench being attacked.

We are the ones being assaulted and having to repel. Any enemy wall or formation is accross a no-mans land and certainly not within a quick running or throwing distance

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

"I am the mountain that stands against the wind, I am the cliff that breaks the rising waves..." The white armoured giant intoned to himself as the tide of mutation and heresy smashed into him. Nearly toppling him backward from the sheer press of bodies he could only bend his knees and lock his armour for a moment until he regained his full balance.

At this point all semblance of fighting had deteriorated in the span of half a second. he still pulled the trigger of his rifle. Pumping point blank bolt rounds that ripped with such brute force at such a range as they would pass through two or three bodies before finally losing enough raw momentum to properly detonate their explosive charges. But soon that magazine ran dry and his rifle became little more than an unwieldy club. Frankly it a sad roll for such a beautifully crafted weapon.

“I am the shield that halts the arrow's flight.”

He continued. Raising his voice louder, his vox speakers amplifying the effects of his booming voice and his recitation of an old tribal litany. Repeating these words helped keep his mind focused and reminded him that he needed to stay put for the plan to work. But trapped in this claustrophobic press of bodies with barely enough room to swing his arms, was the most literal personification of hell for one of his people.

Each swing of his arms either sliced nearly eighteen inches of near perfectly crafted steel deep through tainted flesh and warped bone, or shattered limbs and pulped skulls with his rifle. Soon enough his armour was barely white. The top half was a mess of scratches and scorch marks while his lower half was practically painted in gore and bile as each kill splashed against him. Already the trench began to fill with a pool of blood that would have risen to a mortal man's ankle, and was only going to get deeper.

“I am the stone that splits the stream.”

Cholon knew that the strange soldiers with the skull masks were moving backward. He wished he could join them but he knew his place. He could only make himself an even bigger target to buy them a safer retreat. Trying to bring up his knife let his see two crazed heretic woman clinging to his arm, their weight slowing him down enough so that he couldn't block the great metal wrench from smacking him in the knee from behind. Causing that leg to buckle briefly, before he could right himself another heretic jumped on his back and stabbed a rusted blade against the soft armour of his neck. Though the spirit of his armour was stronger than poorly maintained steel. It snapped before it could pierce through though it didn't stop the crazed man from trying.

“I am the thunder that breaks the horde!”

He roared, tossing his rifle forward, it cracked into the chest of other heretic who fell wheezing to the ground, clutching his broken ribs and freshly pierced lung. “I am the fury of the Khan!” Letting himself fall to one knee he grabbed the man on his back by the neck with his now free hand and squeezed, crunching his pathetic spine and allowing the corpse slump down his back. Dozens of blows from all manner of weapons rained down on him, but still the flash of steel and bright ceramite white carved its way through whatever tainted flesh strayed too close.

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

It is a good point that none of us are in any way familiar with the reputations of our parent chapters. Aside from what we may have been told. As we are proverbial blank slates we do not and likely would not have to embody the stereotypes of our chapters. If anything we would be closer to the older Legion personalities.

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

As the howling hoard approached Cholon thumbed the release stud on the revolving chamber for his rifles grenade launcher. He already knew full well what he had loaded to fire. Two frag explosives and one krak, the same as it was ten minutes prior. But he double checked anyway for the sake of feeding a habit.

When the first twisted and sad form broke through the rockcrete dust Cholon's targeting cogitator briefly scanned over and locked a reticule overtop. The machine spirit of his armour seemed to aid in tweaking and making minute adjustments to his aim until the overlay of his weapon's line of fire matched perfectly with the targeter's own projections. But one warped and twisted soul soon became a dozen warped and twist souls, which in turn became a thousand. The limited cogitator in his helmet strained to process each and every new target that came into its view but Cholon soon dismissed its efforts with a blink as it quickly became a pointless endevour for the machine's spirit.

Like he was expected Cholon's trigger discipline held firm. Though he knew his rifle could easily wreak havoc from twice the distance of a mortal's las rifle. Once more he cursed the fate that had him fighting this battle while trapped in a whole. Wild shots scattered around his sillouette, some striking off the armour leaving marks and scorch dust in the paint.

He began his death tally by firing a frag explosive directly into the oncoming horde. With a hollow 'thwoop' and deceptively gentle arc through the air the explosive impacted one of the heretics directly in the chest and threw him backwards for barely a moment before the charge detonated. Killing it, and the nearest four sorrounding traitors and hampering several more with vicious shrapnel.

From there on it was merely a test of patience and trigger discipline. And while his armoured boots stayed firmly planted with each controlled shot he placed into the hoard the muscle and flesh inside was twitching with the need to move... somewhere.... forward, backward, anywhere.

Even as las fire and mass reactive shells reaped a horrifying tally, Cholon knew this was going to come down to a brawl of fists and knives. Firing his bolt rifle one handed, as accuracy hardly mattered even to a space marine at the distance now between him and the enemy. The Chogorian unsheathed his long combat blade, almost as lengthy from tip to pommel as one of the guardsman las-rifles, and held it ready to pierce the throat of the first unfortunate to reach him.

"FOR THE EMPEROR AND THE KHAN!" The Chogorian roared his first words of the battle, indeed his first words for some hours since the bombarding first began. The warcry was amplified by his helmet vox to a thunderous boom tyat spoke volumes of primal heritage and savage intenions.

Warhammer 40K: Unnumbered Sons - A Primaris Roleplay (Accepting players)

Wars weren't fought like this. At least no conflict worthy of song and respect could ever be fought like this. Static emplacements and endless watching and waiting and waiting and watching. It was enough to drive a warrior mad with boredom more effectively than warp-influence ever could. A warrior deserved to feel the ground shake beneath his feet with the thunder of hooves, or at least the squeal of tough wheel rubber. The wind catching their hair. Even running towards the enemy on foot, alone was beginning to seem more and more preferable than continuing this plan. And there was no respect to be found for an enemy who hid behind walls of iron and stone like cowards rather than meet their enemy in the open fields of war. Too afraid to risk their lives in true duels of skill.

It was only due to his physco-indoctrination and warrior training that his chogorian spirit did not take control of his body to leap over the top of the trenches, or eat one of his own bolt rounds in an effort to alleviate his frustrations.

The silencing of thunderous fire promised a short, if unsatisfying relief to his boredom. The enemy was coming. As pathetic creatures that they may be. There was no honour to be found killing the crazed cultists of the arch-enemy. So polluted with warp insanity that the tactics of their former guardsman training barely applied, to say nothing of their discipline. The bolt round that would end their life was greater than their personal worth, and with so many heretics to kill it was quickly proving to be a waste of munitions. The only satisfaction to be found in this butchery was the knowledge that the lives of traitors was being ended en mass. A small comfort.

Taking his stance in the trench, body turned and legs spread for optimum balance, once more Cholon cursed the claustrophobic nature of trench warfare. He barely had room to to anything more than this. The mortal guardsman arrayed around the titan in white armour, marred by earth and grime and pollutants in the air of the once bustling imperial city. And while Cholon new that his presence gave the men courage and a degree of inspiration (if nothing else to play on their sense of pride against showing cowardice before a space marine)Their very presence constricted him into further claustrophobia, though where they had to climb a foot or two up the inclined edge of the trench to peek over the edge and line up their rifles. Cholon merely had to stand and aim. Already a head and shoulders higher than the trench.

That head in turn was attempted to pierce the screen of smoke and dust thrown up by the bombardments. Looking for any sign of the approaching enemy. Ruby red lenses had a particularly sinister glare when coupled with the stern looking respirator plate of the helm. He longed to remove it and feel the meagre wind against his skin but his intimidating height also gave opportunity to snipers, and he was still not immune to bullets hitting his skull.

Cholon didn't bother to respond verbally. Merely sending a confirmation blip through his helmet that he heard his battle brothers words. He was in too sour of a mood for speech.