POOHEAD189

Heroes of The Guard: A Warhammer 40K RP

Despite my frustration and anger, as soon as I saw the Commissar, it dissipated like mist. What was initially going to be a lecture and latrine duty became an incident that could lead to multiple instances of incarceration or worse. And, of course, when I saw Sel was shot, I rushed passed the Commissar and called for the medic. I likely did not endear myself to him, but I did not quite care at that moment.

Hours later, after myself and a few of the troopers had helped Sel get patched up, I escorted her to my office with the condition she do nothing strenuous for a fortnight. I sincerely hoped it was not going to be strenuous, as the Commissar was accompanying us, as was two other troopers, Kolcek and Pvt Boffin, alongside Morek, of course. I had walked there despite the Commissar's insistence to take me and the others aside to speak, as I wished for the home field advantage.

Once everyone was seated in my office, the Commissar, a fellow named Sobek, began speaking as I had expected. The political officers enjoy their own voice, and think shoving their weight around is the Emperor's Gift to the masses. To be honest, I almost faded out for a moment or two. He seemed to be reciting some edict from one of the endless manuals they have to memorize to laud over the rest of us. But thank the Emperor, I sobered up at just the right moment.

"...it is within my authority to see Corporal Lorica Seldon held and tried for conduct unbecoming a trooper of the astra militarum, and attempted murder."

"Why?" I asked, and the man blinked, clearly unused to being questioned, even by officers. I admit I had a deep-seated distaste for wanton authority, but more than that, I could tell from the numerous whispers I had been told over the past few hours that Sel was innocent. "She has served this unit with nothing but commendable loyalty since I came aboard."

"And she was placed under your care because of numerous infractions-" The Commissar rebuked, voice rising.

"She is serving her time as my liaison as ordered-" I began, but the Sobek cut me off.

"and continuing her unabashed contempt for command by brawling with another squadron and utilizing a live lasgun-"

"Did you not see the lasgun wound? Do you think she shot herself?" I retorted, almost smiling with incredulity at this ridiculousness. The accompanied men, and Sel, followed our back and forth silently.

Commissar Sobek scoffed, shaking his head as if I were a particularly stupid Ogryn. "Sentinel pilots are known for their...rambunctiousness, and I doubt she even knows the proper safety protocols of handling arms."

I paused, merely staring at the Commissar for a solid length of time before I cleared my throat. "I am afraid I think that is entirely baseless, Commissar. However, you are in your right to do what you will. However, I am in my right to make it very difficult for you, and throw myself in there with her if need be. This is not a road that serves the purpose of the Imperium, which means it is not a road you likely wish to tread."

The Commissar glared at me with a look I still think about today. It was quite a beautiful sight, as he looked so surprised and with such a lack of comprehension at my doggedness, he nearly gaped. I was so unintelligent, despite my bluff working, as I was so very close to being thrown onto the chopping block. I wondered if he would pull out his own laspistol and gun me down then and there. However, as he opened his mouth to rebuke me hotly, Kolcek spoke up.

"I did it, lieutenant!" He barked, and all eyes turned to him. He looked nervous, but kept his nerve by staring forward, focusing at the corner of the wall. "I withdrew my laspistol. Corporal Sel took it from me, but not before I accidentally shot her. She was just trying to keep me from killing someone. I was... I was disoriented, not thinking. I didn't know if the Langeroth men were going to hurt us more. It all happened so fast..."

The Commissar looked at Kolcek with a look of distaste, clearly unhappy with this confession. I knew what he wanted. He wanted someone to blame and stick on a pike, and it would keep the squad at maximum capacity to punish the trooper who was injured, rather than incarcerating a healthy man or woman and keeping them from active service. With all of Sel's marks of insubordination, it would have been easy to stick. He was no doubt going to visit the Langeroth regiment next and give them a similar once over, but that did not fill me with joy, either.

"The fact of the matter is, Commissar, my men were attacked in their bunks. If anything, they were acting in self defense. I can assure you by the name Caladwarden they were upstanding servants of the Emperor to a man." I glanced at Morek, who was chewing on another piece of jerky. Where the blazes was he getting those? "-and abhuman." I added to include him.

Commissar Solbek growled, and then turned on his heels. "I will return to speak on the sentencing of trooper Kolcek, if any is required." He said, and then strode down the corridor, leaving us to sit alone with one another for a few moments of awkward silence. As I would later come to expect, Private Boffin looked at me with wide eyes, mouth open, aghast. "Lieutenant, you were going to throw yourself in front of the lance for one of us!? You're an inspiration!"

Well, it had been more of a factor of my own ego, but if it worked for me...

A Basket of Undead

@Mae will post within a day or two, tops!

Blackguards!

Grimdark Aladdin

Amal Kalfir Mansur

---

---

Name

Amal Kalfir Mansur

Race

Human

Gender

Male

Age

28

Appearance

Amal has sly face, a well cut chin, and the grin of a jackal. His body is lithe but strong, many long years spent laboring, climbing buildings, and fighting for his life has given him a rippling physique. His hair and eyes are the same dark coloring as most of his people, his skin a baked, golden brown. He has no wealth, and so he adorns what parts of his body he can in fake jewelry, though even that is few and far between. What jewelry he finds tends to be real, and it tends to be sold very quickly.

His garb is usually in pale, airy pants and a vest of either deep or loud colors, though he is partial to red and gold. His feet are as callused as a boxer's knuckles, so he rarely needs shoes, though he has some sandals when the need arises.

Personality

There has never been one so addicted to danger, which is strange because he also wants an incredibly comfortable life. Oddly enough, these extremes make him oddly easy going with life's misfortunes. He takes the good with the bad and finds the humor in most situations.

Amal is very likeable. Charming, quick witted, funny, and smart. He is also a cold blooded killer and a greedy opportunist, who really only restrains his knife from people he is paid to protect, when it benefits him, and women unless they threaten him.

Background

Amal Kalfir Mansur was born to a common woman. A woman with little means, a few too many romps with important men, or men she believed were important, which could be any man that owned more than one pair of clothing. Amal couuldn't guess who his father was. Perhaps it was the man responsible for his first memories, a bearded face with kind eyes, but he would never know. Amal had recollections of siblings. A crying girl, a wide eyed boy, the vague face of another boy who he used to play with in the street. All of that changed when he was seven, perhaps eight. He couldn't remember. His age mattered little to him at the time. All he remembered was the fact his mother sold him into servitude to pay her debts.

The man who bought him owned a brothel, and Amal served as the errand boy and servant to the guests. The girls treated him like a puppy and protected him from the angry patrons, until one day he ruined a guest's day two years after his service and was sold again, this time as a laborer for the Emir, breaking rocks for three years in the sweltering sun. He grew accustomed to the whip, but not the servitude. A teen is a teen, regardless of the shackles he endured. This rebellious nature came at an auspicious time, and ironically, it allowed him to escape through sheer bloody audacity. No one figured the easy going boy would murder one of the sleeping guards and lift his keys, but it was done. By the time they realized he was gone, there was naught a trace of him.

Amal fled the city on the next caravan, meeting an old peddlar who masqueraded as his uncle. He had Amal steal a few things from some of his rivals in the caravan, and by the time they had made it to their destination, the peddlar was a far richer man than when they had set out. Amal had eaten hearty, and he evidently had found a new career for himself. He spent the next year living on the streets, stealing what he needed to survive, but delivering the peddlar stolen merchandise to gain some extra coin, which he promptly spent on the fairer sex. Life in the brothel had purged him of how many men treated loose women as objects, and so he treated women as investments instead, until he began to lose quite a bit of money and decided to go the quick and easy approach of charming and splitting.

As for his career, he decided to make the lucrative decision to move up from pickpocketing to grave robbing and outright banditry, until he realized the risks were high and yet not too exciting except in a few notable exceptions, and so after a few years, he decided tomb diving was more his forte.

Unfortunately, in his latest foray into the depths, he had inadvertently awoken an ancient evil. A lich that swore to kill the noble house of Malistae. The lich eyed Amal contemptuously but allowed him to live, flying off to the city of Haiekk and terrorizing the inhabitants, nearly wiping out the noble house in its entirety before numerous paladins and mages brought it down. However, as it de-materialized, it spoke the name of the man that freed it.

Amal had taken to pilfering various goods and selling them, but before he could live fat and happy, he was attacked by bounty hunters. Amal had the largest bounty in the eastern sands, and for over a year he was pursued by the best of the best, slitting the throat of thirty hunters and killing a dozen sultan guards, fleeing into the kingdom of Vortigen before he was finally captured by a mob as he slept, and was brought to the maw for his exceptional skills...

Talents

• Acrobatic
• Strength
• Blade work
• Thieving

Flaws

• Greedy
• Violent
• Selfish
• Lustful

Equipment

• Scimitar
• Jambiyah Dagger
• Abs

Miscellaneous

Whatever

They nuked the poor guy

Yeah imma need specifics

Blackguards!

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Haha Abs is listed as one of the items let in with him. Like he can just remove them

@BunniesOfDoom

well technically if he lets himself go, his abs will be removed :P

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard I added two more paragraphs, hope that is sufficient!

Darkhearts: A Forgotten Realms RP

Amal had a masterful physique from years of eating lean and climbing rooftops and running from city guards. However, he had to admit that he was looking somewhat emaciated after the last two weeks of being fed either gruel at intermittent intervals, or practically nothing save berries and a few conies while trekking through the Gods forsaken cold of Vaasa. However, when they dropped the food in front of him, he took little time and practically inhaled half of the food, even more actually, since Char seemed to be slightly less hungry than him.

Well, she was actually just smaller than he, which made since. By the way she ate, he felt she was devouring as much, if not more than she normally would be able to. She was still careful not to let her hair slip though, only her nose poking out every now and then. He had remembered what it was like to be a street urchin, running from street to street, searching for a meal, going to bed hungry. But it had been some time in his adult life when he had been this famished, and so he filled his belly until the two of them finished all the food in front of them. Even the strange vegetables and the odd fruit pottage was not safe from Amal's appetite.

Once the rakish thief was done, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, his long arms spread wide as he yawned. "Drink! We need drink! Eh? Oh, a bottle of ale! Two bottles!" The waitress was not there, but she had heard him, as had a quarter of the room even with the accompanying chatter. A few dozen eyes looked their way, but they were focused on Amal and his jackalish grin and not his swathed companion, luckily.

The waitress walked up and plopped the two bottles down, bemused at his manner. Amal improved her mood giving her another bronze coin, and swiped up the bottles in his hand. He winked at Char. "Let us go to the room. I'm sure you'd like to relax while we drink, yes?"

Even with the frightening cold, he was sure he would go crazy not being able to show his face, and he felt like getting close to a warm fire rather than sitting here where men belched and laughed like goats.

Blackguards!

@Red Wizard I shall do so after I sleep, then!

Blackguards!

Grimdark Aladdin

Amal Kalfir Mansur

---

---

Name

Amal Kalfir Mansur

Race

Human

Gender

Male

Age

28

Appearance

Amal has sly face, a well cut chin, and the grin of a jackal. His body is lithe but strong, many long years spent laboring, climbing buildings, and fighting for his life has given him a rippling physique. His hair and eyes are the same dark coloring as most of his people, his skin a baked, golden brown. He has no wealth, and so he adorns what parts of his body he can in fake jewelry, though even that is few and far between. What jewelry he finds tends to be real, and it tends to be sold very quickly.

His garb is usually in pale, airy pants and a vest of either deep or loud colors, though he is partial to red and gold. His feet are as callused as a boxer's knuckles, so he rarely needs shoes, though he has some sandals when the need arises.

Personality

There has never been one so addicted to danger, which is strange because he also wants an incredibly comfortable life. Oddly enough, these extremes make him oddly easy going with life's misfortunes. He takes the good with the bad and finds the humor in most situations.

Amal is very likeable. Charming, quick witted, funny, and smart. He is also a cold blooded killer and a greedy opportunist, who really only restrains his knife from people he is paid to protect, when it benefits him, and women unless they threaten him.

Background

Amal Kalfir Mansur was born to a common woman. A woman with little means, a few too many romps with important men, or men she believed were important, which could be any man that owned more than one pair of clothing. Amal couuldn't guess who his father was. Perhaps it was the man responsible for his first memories, a bearded face with kind eyes, but he would never know. Amal had recollections of siblings. A crying girl, a wide eyed boy, the vague face of another boy who he used to play with in the street. All of that changed when he was seven, perhaps eight. He couldn't remember. His age mattered little to him at the time. All he remembered was the fact his mother sold him into servitude to pay her debts.

The man who bought him owned a brothel, and Amal served as the errand boy and servant to the guests. The girls treated him like a puppy and protected him from the angry patrons, until one day he ruined a guest's day two years after his service and was sold again, this time as a laborer for the Emir, breaking rocks for three years in the sweltering sun. He grew accustomed to the whip, but not the servitude. A teen is a teen, regardless of the shackles he endured. This rebellious nature came at an auspicious time, and ironically, it allowed him to escape through sheer bloody audacity. No one figured the easy going boy would murder one of the sleeping guards and lift his keys, but it was done. By the time they realized he was gone, there was naught a trace of him.

Amal fled the city on the next caravan, meeting an old peddlar who masqueraded as his uncle. He had Amal steal a few things from some of his rivals in the caravan, and by the time they had made it to their destination, the peddlar was a far richer man than when they had set out. Amal had eaten hearty, and he evidently had found a new career for himself. He spent the next year living on the streets, stealing what he needed to survive, but delivering the peddlar stolen merchandise to gain some extra coin, which he promptly spent on the fairer sex. Life in the brothel had purged him of how many men treated loose women as objects, and so he treated women as investments instead, until he began to lose quite a bit of money and decided to go the quick and easy approach of charming and splitting.

As for his career, he decided to make the lucrative decision to move up from pickpocketing to grave robbing and outright banditry, until he realized the risks were high and yet not too exciting except in a few notable exceptions, and so after a few years, he decided tomb diving was more his forte.

Unfortunately, in his latest foray into the depths, he had inadvertently awoken an ancient evil. A lich that swore to kill the noble house of Malistae. The lich eyed Amal contemptuously but allowed him to live, flying off to the city of Haiekk and terrorizing the inhabitants, nearly wiping out the noble house in its entirety before numerous paladins and mages brought it down. However, as it de-materialized, it spoke the name of the man that freed it.

Amal had taken to pilfering various goods and selling them, but before he could live fat and happy, he was attacked by bounty hunters. Amal had the largest bounty in the eastern sands, and for over a year he was pursued by the best of the best, slitting the throat of thirty hunters and killing a dozen sultan guards, fleeing into the kingdom of Vortigen before he was finally captured by a mob as he slept, and was brought to the maw for his exceptional skills...

Talents

• Acrobatic
• Strength
• Blade work
• Thieving

Flaws

• Greedy
• Violent
• Selfish
• Lustful

Equipment

• Scimitar
• Jambiyah Dagger
• Abs

Miscellaneous

Whatever

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"You asking questions like that is why I am going to marry you." Neil said honestly, and Emmaline's face went from serious to blushing, something the salacious woman almost never did. Taking her by the hand, they left the 'crime' scene, which it was because in Neil's opinion, they got fucking robbed.

The pair of them went back to the tavern, making sure to come in the back way and head up the stairs before anyone could stop them with a request for help or a comment on how there might potentially be an angry ogre looking for them. Once in their tiny room, Emmaline fished through her knapsack for some spell components, and likely some other items for a long time thief. Neil got into his stash, which had some more 'in-the-field' items for a criminal endeavor. A set of lockpicks, a small fial, three throwing daggers, a coil of hochland rope that stretched to thirty yards, a small mirror (with silver at its back) that could be mounted on a metal handle, and a few other trinkets he kept around for professional work.

"Ooooo, forgot I had this, almost." Neil laughed, and Emmaline saw him toss up and catch a bottle of bugman's. Her jaw dropped, and Neil winked with a wicked smile.

"Remember when Kargi searched everyone's rooms? He was lookin' for this." The thief said, and placed a finger to his lips. "He never thought to look in the bushes. Dwarfs don't even want to think about plants unless they're rangers."

"Gimme," Emmaline said, making grabby hands. Neil smiled widely but pulled it away.

"Ah ah ah! Babe, we gotta take one drink each for good luck, then we get going, ok? We can celebrate with the full thing after when we got some gold to throw around."

Emmaline acquiesced, and the two of them each took generous, singular gulps, and then hid the beverage once more. Neil cautioned they should go out the window, since Kargi could probably smell it on their breath. Emmaline was not enthused, but Neil climbed out of the window and Emmaline attempted it, but her foot slipped and Neil had to catch her, which he did with the same deftness he always did.

"I think I have a good idea where he lives," Emmaline whispered to him as they strode off into the fog. The two walked close, to ironically keep themselves out of the danger of potential pick pockets or knives in the dark. "My old master told me most of the places the more private wizards would set shop, and from the way he smelled, remember he had that iron smell? He must be near the ironworks, at the Tower of Blackhaven that overlooks the reik. It's just a mile west, if my head's on straight."

Neil's hands were in his pocket, and whilst Emmaline clung to his right arm, his left hand in his pocket contained a small knife he could swiftly dispatch someone with in short notice.

"I haven't stolen from a wizard in a long time, but they usually have good valuables. Let's not grab anymore wyrdstone though, mutation's not my thing." Neil said with a wink.