POOHEAD189

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Three dead. No one injured." Sergeant Rhadvek reported as I reloaded my autogun. Once I realized my aides were alive and most of the men were present, I set my mind to moving forward. Either way, they were going to make it into the xenos-chambers along with us. Now we knew where they were, in a manner of speaking.

"Form them up. V-Columns" I told the sergeant. A dependable man, with a sharp face and a hard way about him. Most of the troops I had been given were green or PDF, but the sergeant was certainly an exception. He called for the men and set them to formation, four of them made of a dozen men each. Each wing had six men, maximizing the area of fire and minimizing casualties if fired from the left, right, or forward. Emmaline and Lazarus stuck close to my person, though much to Emmaline's distress I strode ahead with my men flanking me, stepping off the barren rock and entering the cavernous chambers of the inner sanctum.

My first step into the 'lobby' as one might call it was a shock to my senses. Not in the physical realm, but my psychic presence felt wholly strange. It was as if my entire life I had been walking in rain, and now I stepped into a dry cavern, where stilled air and an enclosed environment altered all sensations of my form. It was not painful, but off-putting. As I walked past the first pillar, I felt the physical sensations rest on my face. The stale, stuffy air, frozen and encased for untold millennia. Breathable, and with surprisingly little dust for how ancient it undoubtedly was.

There was a strange, gloomy ambient light that permeated all space, and yet somehow there was an overwhelming darkness behind every corner, every crevasse, every unknowable turn. As we moved, the foundations of the vast halls stuck out like large, insectoid feet. Green tendrils within the xenos-steel pulsated just as it did at the gate. Some universal and undeniably powerful power source. Lazarus gazed at our surroundings like I would read an old tome from the dark age of technology.

"Find it fascinating?" I asked him, mostly to lighten the mood. The men were on edge. Like it or not, they were now within a xenos construct on a dead world chasing chaos cultists. Half the PDF were shivering.

"Entirely..." The techpriest marveled.

"Stay focused." I cautioned him.

The halls were like fissures between tall cliffs, almost immeasurable in scope. The paths, however, were at least walkable. It was perhaps forty strides between the left and the right. We passed the first corridor and were met with a fork. Emmaline advised we go left, and so we did. As we progressed, the halls became more complex, with smaller chambers locked behind doors in the shape of caskets. One man cried aloud when he spotted a floating drone, much like those the xenos known as the tau used, I suspected. An abominable intelligence, though it didn't seem aggressive at its current state.

DnD OGL 1.0/1.1

WoTC has been doing shitty business practices for years. I'm surprised it took this for people to really throw down with them, but I'm glad. I think at the end of the day, this is good for the ttrpg community.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I had experienced such drops before. Three times, in fact, before that incident. The key was to breathe through the nose. It kept the food down and your nerves calm. On looking at Emmaline, I feel as if I should have informed her of such a technique, along with a few other precautions...

Once we landed, I double checked the oximeter, making certain it read the air was breathable. It made little sense in my estimation on how the planet kept an atmosphere, but it read the environment was safe for humans. Even still, everyone had astra militarum-grade rebreathers on hand, and blessings of the God Emperor in the form of tokens emblazoned with the visage of Saint Lucia, Founder of the Order of the Valorous Heart. Mine was one of many emblams and fetishes of saints long past.

The shuttle door opened like a falling anvil, hitting the ground with a resounding boom, cracking the very stone. 18 guardsmen and 32 PDF troops hustled out in rough skirmish formation, lasguns readied and scanning the bleak horizon. The ground was ubiquitous and uneven, as if the entire planet was the slope of a barren mountain. But the rocks were reddish black and almost burnt looking, and I loathed to touch anything on this forsaken planet. The air was breathable, but foul and tinged with dust. I took one breath and placed my rebreather on, if only to shield myself from the miasma.

Emmaline, Lazarus, and I walked out of the shuttle. Fully encased in carapace armor and shotgun in my hands. I stepped past a PDF trooper, my keen eyes saw his arm visibly shaking. I placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. I changed my optics from low-light to bio forms, and then to infrared, followed by ultraviolet. I cycled between them as my men began to spread out at my command, uplifting every stone and finding every corner in the landscape. Emmaline clutched the staff, obviously unwilling to make any attempt at using it until absolutely necessary, which was smart.

Minutes later, I had a call from Lazarus.

"Hadrian," I heard over the comm. I was in the midst of checking an indention in the rock, curious on if it was a footprint or an anomaly. If something had stepped here, it had to have been extremely dense.

"What is it, Lazarus?"

"I'm not archaeologist, but I calculate I have found the entrance."

I had my doubts as I made my way a click to the north to reconvene with him, but once I stepped over the last rise, I realized Lazarus's remark was an understatement. I admit I caught my breath at the sight. There was a hole in the wall a cadre of Leman Russ tanks could roll through, only this hole was encased in a door of metal I couldn't recognize. Sinister lines of green pulsated slowly, as if they were the veins of some great, sleeping beast. To my horror, I realized the center plates of the massive gate were formed into a xeno skull the size of an imperial knight. From behind, Emmaline approached. I heard her intake of breath at the sight.

"How do we open it?" She asked, breaking the somber mood.

I pulled out the eldritch key and shook it in my hand.

Let's Play Diplomacy As A NRP!

Not sure if I have the time, but looks neat!

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

Khaz Modan

---

Gnomeregan, Tinkers' Court

For a city covered in -- or practically made of -- machinery, few residents complained about the noise... Partly because, for many of them, the distant sound of technology at work was an ancient evolutionary comfort from a time before they were flesh-and-bone, and in other cases, simply because those places where quiet was necessarily were thoroughly dampened against noise.

The Tinkers' Court was one such place, though dampened for necessity rather than comfort. It was, in many ways, the brain of Gnomeregan, the most important decisions in the city made around the perfectly machined dodecahedral table in its center. At one end sat the High Tinker in his lilac-purple Gnomeregan tabard, lime green goggles proudly worn atop his head despite the complete lack of need for them. To his right, Tinkmaster Overspark, replete with rigidly styled pastel pink facial hair and candy red goggles, each length of his mustache and bushy beard at least as long as his head. He, much like Gelbin, always carried a Gnomish Army Knife -- as did every Gnome worth their salt -- but he carried a veritable cornucopia of punch-cards and remotes for controlling his creations, too. Even now.

To his Left, Kelsey Steelspark -- much like Overspark, her hair was a pinkish colour, though far more tinged with red and tied into a medium ponytail, replete with bangs that swept wide to each side of her face. She still wore her black bodysuit, eccentric as any Gnome ever was -- but unlike Overspark, she had the distinctly foreign manners to remove her crimson tactical goggles -- one lens sporting a targeting system and the other an array of various sensors, compared to Overspark's far more industrial microscopic lenses and radiation sensors.

Their guest approached the far end of the table, accompanied by two mountain dwarves, each wielding a hammer and an axe in their meaty fists. They did not expect an attack here, of course. Dwarves and gnomes were about as close as two peoples could get. They weren’t merely allies, they were family. But they were ever ready. They were now on the war footing, and the light only knew they needed to be ever ready.

The Dwarf King did not deign to sit. Instead he stood tall, at least compared to the gnomes and others of his own people. At his sides were his two runic hammers, and on his brow sat the high crown of Khaz Modan, its red ruby glimmering in the light of the bits and bobs of machinery that surrounded them.

Magni appreciated the ingenuity of his cousins. The dwarves weren’t nearly as obsessed with every little facet one might gain from invention, as one could probably tell when faced with dwarven and gnomish architecture. But they had a knack for invention as well, and certainly were avid engineers, particularly of war machines and transport. Magni himself was a renowned smith, as well as warrior and statesman.

“I trust we are all here?” The King asked. “We’ve many things to discuss.”

"Ready and willing, old friend!" Gelbin replied. "We have -- as I'm sure you're aware -- completed construction of the Southshore airfield, but I believe the most pertinent matter is supplying our war-machines with fuel, yes?' Gelbin replied -- as always, he instantly launched into business.

Magni smiled at the immediate proclamation, glad for the enthusiastic support. “Aye, we’ve got plenty of fuel. The last decade we’ve been hard at work procuring it to get our energy demands back to speed. And I think the trade opportunities with a restored northland is well worth the expense.”

"Of course!" Gelbin replied, just as enthusiastically. Brotherhood was so embedded in the two species that one supporting the other was a practical guarantee -- regardless of the circumstances. "We're confident that, with Kul Tiran support, we can maintain a stable line of supply of fuel -- especially with a Thandol Span intact, and combined with our cargo airport. Not to mention, yes -- a reclaimed Lordaeron will make it much easier to establish offensive operations on Northrend, too."

The Dwarf King nodded in approval, placing two large hands on the table. “I know I can always count on you, old friend. I don’t want ye to have to commit any more of your people than necessary. Ye’ve been through much.” He said, as softly as his powerful, granite voice could muster. “While this…’Scourge’ is perhaps as dangerous as the old Horde in the second war, we’re better prepared now and we’ve learned our lessons. This time, we take the fight to them.” He emphasized the proclamation with his large fist knocking on the sturdy table twice.

"Indeed we do!" Gelbin replied, earning sharp nods from the Gnomes attending them. "There does come the military matter of moving Steam Tanks through a thickly wooded area like Silverpine, however..."

Magni grinned broadly. “Oh we’ve got that well thought out.” He said cryptically, though the solution was easy, of course. “Our mortar teams and axe men are the best on azeroth, and there might still be a few workable roads even after all of the corruption. We just need to make sure we have a steady supply line by gyrocopter the further we go in. We are not like the humans, we can take our time to tighten the noose. But we still need to make haste, because they deserve their homeland as much as we with ours.”

"Indeed they do, old friend." Gelbin nodded sagely. "...Which will make capturing ports even more crucial. Our machines will be vital -- the Scourge is slow, after all, but if we can encircle and crush them quickly..." Gelbin said, bringing his gloved hand together into a fist. "Their necromancers won't have a chance to slow us down. It's a matter of speed, and ensuring the work teams are able to keep up with the army. A careful balancing act!"

Magni gave a laugh. “Very good! We’ll send ‘em back to hell where they belong.” He proclaimed, and as everyone was in agreement, he stopped and went. “...Wait, we can’t have a meeting without drink!”

"Oh! Of course! Speaking of, there's a new blend I've been looking to try out on you..."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren saw the ichor and lifeblood of the crushed spider oozing off of the remaining bits of broken corpse up in the web, a bit of the thorax sliding off to hit the ground with a wet 'squelch' a stone's throw from where they sat. Beren sat up, rubbing his head. Jocasta's beaming face was there to greet him, in his lap again.

"Well, usually when you end up on top of me it means it turned out alright." He said with a grin, though he wasn't as animated or mischievous as usual. He seemed a bit wary and off-put, even with the spider dead and the troll's rock's getting caught in the web, keeping them relatively sheltered. He lifted her up and set her down on his feet when he got on his own.

"What is it?" Jocasta asked, sensing his change in demeanor.

Beren didn't answer, at least initially. He glanced around at the huge cavern they found themselves in. He was no dwarf or elf, but he had keen eyes for a man and he had a history of being far below ground. The north was a strange, alien place to Beren, the Ero'Dai being far more used to steaming jungle, dangerous wetlands, and the deep beneath the earth.

"That big spider... that's usually a bad sign. The Dwarves call them Mukelob Spiders." He explained softly, scanning the creases and patterns of the stone. The rivulets could tell stories one might never believe. There was a main passageway he was sure Jocasta had seen, but he counted three other potential tunnels, provided they didn't end within a couple of meters. "When you find a big spider, it means one of three things. One, it means there are more, usually within a few miles from here or closer. Two, it's set there as a guard beast by someone. Or three...there's Dorcha around."

Jocasta's face twisted in panic, but she didn't go white like he might have thought. He wasn't surprised she knew Dorcha meant 'Dark Elves' considering she was a scholar, and he took comfort in the fact she didn't take a lot of things very seriously. It was probably the reason why he jumped earlier. Her calling for him in abject fear was new to him, and he went over without thinking. Though he knew if he had time to think, he'd probably do it again anyway.

"So...there's no chance that could just be a rogue creepy crawly?" She asked him in a whisper, twiddling her fingers like they were spider legs.

"You're right, we have the best luck. Nothing ever goes wrong when we show up," Beren remarked facetiously, though his small smile showed it was in good humor.

"Right," She noted.

The ground was uneven, as most rock was. If one wasn't careful they could fall down a hole or slip and break an ankle. There were a billion ways to die in caverns, and that was before you factored in the beings that lived there. So far all was quiet now, save the annoyed roars of the troll above them. Beren knelt down and grabbed a coil of rope from his pack, wrapping it around his muscled upper arm. Axe in his left hand, he reached into his top's collar and pulled out a pendant. Sliding his head through it, he wrapped the necklace that held the pendant around his right hand and whispered a small litany with the artifact close to his lips.

Slowly it began to glow like a rising sun, shining as brightly as Jocasta's spell of light. It beamed as a star would, illuminating the gloom around them at the mouth of the tunnel.

"Stay close, ok?" He told her.

"I think we're accustomed to that by now," she admitted, grabbing a bit of his shirt, her smile beaming as brightly as the pendant. "Cool necklace by the way. You're full of surprises."

"Sexy right?" He joked.

hello, hello (hello)

welcome to the site!

The Black Delta

"It's good to know your spirits are high," Captain Burnside deadpanned, Holfort helping him up off the ground. Burnside coughed for a moment, and he gladly accepted some of the rationed water, though he made sure not to take more than two small sips to wet his throat. The Captain found a broken piece of kindling on the ground, and on second look it was likely the butt end of Aldrich's pike. He placed it into the ground and steadied himself, using it as a walking stick it seemed.

"Seems they're all wanting to go through. And I say I'd take that stance myself," Holfort said to the Captain earnestly. He had the look of an honest man, as far as sailors on a privateer ship could be. Simple and hard working, but undeniably resourceful when the time came. "You think you can handle that, sir?"

The Captain cleared his throat and looked at the sun, blinking. "Looks like we have no choice."

Burnside and Holfort began to trek toward's the treeline, passing the statue as they did so, only giving it a quick glance. The way the Captain looked at it, it was hard to tell if he knew what it was or not, but he said not a word. The birds above them called out with undulating cries, but otherwise there seemed to be no life close by. The ferns and brush tickled their legs as they took their first steps into the jungle, following the Captain. He seemed to know at least the general direction they needed to travel.

As they continued, the jungle became more animated. Monkeys and strange, squirrel-like animals swung and scampered across the branches of the forest canopy above them. The shade was welcome, but it was humid and somewhat enclosed, the air heavier than on the beach. Sweat came to their skin easily, and soon the bugs came. Big mosquitos and floating beetles and large centipedes crawling along the leafy, soft ground. But that was a mere annoyance.

An hour of walking later, an obstacle appeared in the form of a beast. Firstly, there was a low growl, like a stalling dwarven steam engine. Suddenly something large appeared. Just simply appeared. The stealth was impossible, and yet it seemingly did it without purpose, for the jaguar, and it was indeed a large jaguar, languidly strolled out of the brush and lazily glanced at the assembled group. It stopped six stride away, its eyes widening at the realization of the group of what it likely perceived as large apes. It's maw peeled back to reveal thick fangs, four inches in length. The beast must have weighed four times that of a man.

Above them, a monkey watched curiously, it's mouth in an 'O' shape.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren watched in rapt panic. He didn't know illusion or misdirection, much less real magic. He did know the stuff of the gods, but not these. These were younger than they, but far older than men. What they could do, he didn't know. This one seemed naught but a great shadow. But he knew not to test its limits unless he had to, for Qwarath alone was already likely too much for him. Absently he gripped his shirt over his chest, holding within the cloth his blessed necklace.

All of his contemplation happened in but a moment, however. His main focus was on Jocasta. She was a born actress, but this was a losing proposition.

He had ducked behind further stones, moving silently forward another three strides by a normal man's straight direction. Just at the cusp of the chamber, he hid behind one of the carved thanes. His staff at his back, he slowly slid his axe out for deadly use. Beren steeled himself, hand gripping the haft of his dwarven-crafted weapon. But just before he rose out of his hiding spot, he heard Jocasta's scream at being hit, and to his horror he saw her flying towards the lip of the abyss.

"No!" He cried out, unable to keep himself quiet. Not caring anymore. He stood now, and a cursory glance to his right showed him both Qwarath and the shadow-figure of its primitive deity staring at him. To his horror, the thanes were no longer such as they had been. Their visages had turned orcish or more likely trollish, and their mouths began to move, drum beats flowing from their stone lips in a rhythmic call to their god. Beren didn't care. He watched Jocasta, frozen.

She clung to the stalactite...and slipped.

"Beren!" She cried out desperately.

Qwarath charged him, reaching for him with its apeish arm and roaring a call that Beren swore he understood. As its claw scraped the rock, Beren leaped to the side and did the last thing Qwarath expected, which was to run straight toward the -archtroll. Beren didn't hit him, however. Instead he slid between the arch-troll's bowed legs and then slammed his feet onto the ground, spring boarding himself to do the craziest thing anyone watching could have seen.

Beren leaped off the side of the precipice with no rope or even hope and dived like a hawk, flying towards Jocasta's plummeting form. There was no wind underground, and yet he felt air rushing up at him as he fell, quicker and quicker. Slowly, he managed to get within arms length of a bewildered Jocasta. Beren pulled her close to him. She yelled something but he couldn't hear. Instead he pulled her close and turned in the air, making sure she was above him.

Beren was a lot of things, and while heroic was one of them, he didn't throw his life away recklessly. But he found he really had with her. At least, that's what he thought.

Instead of a stone floor that reduced them to paste, Jocasta and Beren hit something thick and viscous; sticky as well. Like cupping tentacles or strange growths from the rock. Beren and Jocasta hit it with the velocity of a cannon ball, but luckily the material gave as well as it got, bending under their weight and sending them back up a dozen feet, before wobbling back with them along with it.

Jocasta's head popped out of Beren's arms, blinking. "Did you... just try to die with me!?"

Beren blinked, looking around at the jagged walls and the strange, thick string they found themselves attached to. There was very little light down here. The room above had been gloomy but they were now a hundred feet down or further. He looked at her, not really knowing how to answer, so he gave the honest one.

"Yeah?"

Is this site still active?

Yeah, I'm RPing as much now as I did when I joined. Just depends on what you want, really.