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2 mos ago
Current Thanks for threatening my hope for disability pay, guys. God what a shitahow of a time.
2 likes
3 mos ago
Man, when we gettin tables for these posts. I want to microsoft sheets on these folks.
1 like
3 mos ago
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, they have stolen my milkshake, I have called the authorities.
9 likes
7 mos ago
I have 99 problems and they're all trying to fight me please send help.
1 like
1 yr ago
Don't be a part of the problem, be the whole problem.
3 likes

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As the individual fleets of Astartes vessels began their translations into realspace, the bleeding wounds of the Immaterium closing behind them, so too did a different breed of warship. Lance and macro batteries bristling about their broadsides, warships of the Imperial Navy slipped from the Warp as squadrons of escorts began to form up alongside them. These hulls of Battlefleet Charadon bore signs of battle, deep scars and patched armor plate, while one cruiser soon began venting atmosphere from one of her far lower decks. It closed as quickly as it was made, a leak of gas into the void, as the warships formed up with their larger brethren. Transports came behind, each slowing to a crawl with their precious cargoes of Astra Militarum regiments, their own hulls wearied and worn.

To all ships at the point, and indeed reaching to the ships that lay before them engaged against the xenos, a hail came. Audio only, the voice ground with age and tinted with vox-aids, to reach every bridge in the fleet he spoke.

“To all vessels, this is Solar Admiral Draysius, Battlefleet Charadon. By the grace of the Emperor we know this is our duty. All warships, make battle speed, form with Battlefleet Trecentis and engage the xenos. This foe bleeds - this foe can die. Target their exhaust ports if able and be wary of their spawn. All escorts shall provide for the defensive screen. Hold your strike kraft launches and concentrate your fire. Keep it bleeding. Keep its attentions clear of our transports. Once it is rendered ineffective, we shall begin planetary landings. Astartes vessels - your orders are no different. Make landfall if you desire. I shall not deny Angels their blood. Solar Admiral Draysius, out.”

The Imperial Navy squadrons began their rallied charge to join their damaged Trecentis brothers, the warships yet firing again and again into the creature. A dozen swarms cut through the defensive screen, blanketing one of the lagging cruisers in a swarm before pulling away to reveal her hull breached in a dozen places, venting atmosphere, coolants, and personnel. The massive xenos craft, however, remained implacable in orbit, the scaled hull resisting the fire from the fleet.


Gulf Marchers III Company
Strike Cruiser Rulior Braeces Tagates
Karia System Mandeville Point

The door to the bridge opened, two more joining the Fleetmaster upon the bridge. He did not need to turn to see who; the smells of burnt Promethium yet lingered on the Fleet Librarian’s armor where he had anointed it and only one other would be so inclined to come to the bridge at such a time. Their twin boot-steps and clamor of armor shifting seemed to fill the space, though it was nothing new to the bridge-crews. They, too, remained concentrated upon their tasks. For the Fleetmaster, his eyes remained fixed on the hololithic display of the battle, of the singular xenos threat that hung in the center while one group of Imperial warships, Battlefleet Trecentis, was huddled between it and the planet. To them, directly against the xenos, sped Charadon with all haste. They were to join their brother in the corner and die bleeding.

He chafed against it, yet only through such a way could there be any chance for the Trecentis ships to survive. Otherwise, they would be the sacrificial lamb.

“Fleetmaster, the Third stands ready to embark the drop-pods and landing craft.”

“We have no need for the landing. Not yet. The only targets as yet are scattered, flies about the hive city. Sahas, your Tarot. What has it said.”

“Nothing and everything. Every card is drawn and reversed. Another’s hand guards against His providence; I have never seen such interference.”

“Then we have no need for the landing. Not as yet. Sound General Quarters, prepare port batteries for sustained fires. Helmsman, alter course fifteen degrees starboard of Battlefleet Charadon, maximum burn. Voxmaster, hail the Astartes fleets, close-band.”

As the alarm for General Quarters sounded throughout the ship, and indeed across the Gulf Marcher’s fleet as they turned with engines flaring like grand torches in the night, a voice cut-across the bridge. “The channel is open, Fleetmaster.”

“This is Fleetmaster Amocis of the Gulf Marchers. We sail for the creature’s flanks as it feasts against the Imperial Navy, in the Emperor’s Name. You may join them in their butchering or join us in cleansing this creature of life’s burden. The choice is yours.”
Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.
Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.
Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.
Regrettably, due to medical problems sapping a lot of my energy and time, I'll have to bow out of the RP.

I'm fine with my characters coming under control of the DMs, to either exist as NPCs or to quietly leave the setting as well.

Sorry all.
I'll be honest, been waiting on other players so I'm not just clogging things up...and because I don't know what Kennedy will show off...




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