The Whacko

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Harkin's got nothing aside the chemical mutations that made him a freak. :p

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

The mutants had slunk up into the club silently in the midst of Atella's little speech, their twisted flesh cast in shadows as they passed through the dimly-lit rooms, seeming unconcerned about the taboo of their presence on the surface. In any other establishment, their audacity would have been met with an order of execution. Luckily, shared loyalties with the den's mistress was enough to buy their safe passage up from the Underhive. Harkin stood at the right flank of the small mob of degenerate creatures, jaw clenched slightly as he scanned the room for any threat to his master. He did not like what he saw.

Strangers. Many strangers that smelled to be from off-world. Worst of all was a man bigger than any he'd ever seen. He dwarfed even Coyne, and he stood head and shoulders all others of the Underhive's Faithful. Unconciously his hand went toward the carving knife at his belt, though he quickly realized that it would be of little use against such a foe. He settled for a warning snarl toward the giant as the mob strode toward the mistress, the orphan boys hiding from the stranger's gaze behind Harkin.

Slowly, the mob of bodies parted as their master stepped forward, toward the odd woman they had come to regard as a priestess of the Gods. He was a tall, wirey man that reminded all that saw him of a scarecrow, with his weathered gray suit and wide-brimmed hat. The hawk-like face was thin and boney, with lips too small and dark, beady eyes that seemed to bore into the soul. He tilted his head up the androgynous woman, his rough voice low so that none but his chosen and the mistress could hear

"Atella...how...lovely to see....you in fair health. It has been far too...long since our...last talk." The master's manner of speech was still odd to Harkin at times, with random pauses in his sentences and pronounciations placed on the wrong words. But it was not his place to question the blessings of the Gods, nor the strange effects they could have on the Faithful. He stood to his full height as the master continued, trying to look as intimidating as possible to any ambitious fools that might have tried their luck. "The...Faithful wait for their time here. You have names of...those who.....must die, I trust?"

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Bah, apologies for the absence. RL aggro was strong last week. I shall have a post soon.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Trying to think of how the hell Harkin gets involved at the club, unless his cult leader's hangin' out there. Hmmm....

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Harkin snarled as he watched the giant sewer rat roast above the crude fire, the smell of cooking, no-doubt toxic flesh filling the empty socket where his nose had once been. The other four gathered with him were salivating at the prospect of fresh meat, even if it was liable to make their guts burn and their bodies quiver for hours after. Just having something in their stomach would be worth the price paid. The nearly skeletal mutant drew his knife when he was satisfied the meat was seered to his tastes, carving off hunks of flesh and muscle for the gathered wretches. Two more joined them a moment later; a pair of orphan boys driven down into the sewer by desperation. They were tolerated, as they could steal far easier than any of the abominations dwelling in the Underhive. He gave another short growl as he eyed them, the cybernetic left reading off their vitals to him. Malnurished and sickly, to none's surprise. He threw the pair of boys a hunk of meat, which they set apon as greedily as the mutants.

"Will not be here much longer, brothers." He hissed in a decidedly unnatural voice; it brought up images of rusty nails and dry snake skin to the boys as they listened to him. He tore off a chunk of rat, chewing messily before he spoke again, the others' attention focused totally on him now. "He tells us to wait only short time longer. Have guns and knives and pipes and axes ready. When word comes, we go, we kill, slay for the gods."

This was met with growls and grunts of approval, the wretches visibly excited at the promise his words held. All had been oppressed and forced to live as animals by the Overworlders, and all would be more than happy to take their revenge in blood, fire and depravity. Harkin himself had several ideas rolling around in that partially-exposed skull of his, and it would have made him grin if he still had lips enough for the expression. He'd started a collection of skulls recently, from the rare occasions he'd been able to catch one of the Overworlders alone after one of his shifts at the chemworks. He had six now, most of them gangsters, along with another worker and a streetwalker. The streetwalker he'd doubly pleased the gods with; Khorne and Slaanesh smiled on him that night.

That collection would surely grow soon, if the words of the preacher were true. Yes, he would take many skulls in the time to come. The gods would smile on him and his fellows, and they would know freedom and glory. He looked down at the knife in his hand, bits of roasted meat still clinging to the blade.

"For the gods, shall be ready."

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Harkin

The surface was always a little too bright for his tastes. The air was too fresh, and the sounds too....normal. The men and women of the lower levels milling about and going about their lives, miserable and dark as they may have been. The surface was an alien thing to Harkin, and that above all things made his blood boil and his fists ache.

The mutant was an intruder on his own homeworld, cursed to resign in the lowest of places in the Hive City. And for what? Because he had been cursed by the toxins filling the air in the factories? The radiation and byproducts he and so many others had warned their masters of? That had twisted their bodies into the hideous abominations they were today, all because the Astra Militarum needed their guns and their bombs and their tanks, and damn the men who worked in those chemworks?

He looked down at his hand, growling as he took in the cost the Imperium's greed in his flesh. His body was little more than a skeleton with sickly green skin covering it, causing most on the surface to think him one of Grandfather Nurgle's zombies. His left eye was long gone, rotted away like so much of his body before the mutations had finally settled, and now half of his vision was dominated by the cheap cybernetics he had stolen years ago. His face, the skull with stretched skin as it was, one chunk of scalp missing at the left half of his head to reveal the white bone beneth, caused even some of his fellows in the shithole he lived in to cringe. He snarled with pent-up rage, resentment, and blood-thirst.

He had promised Harkin freedom. Promised him a life where he would no longer be forced to sleep on filthy rags in the sewers, permited to leave only long enough to complete his shift in the chemworks before he would be driven back into the filth and the stink. Where he would know the favor of the gods.

He looked around at his fellows; degenerate, tenebrous beasts like him, flesh mutiliated, twisted and regrown. Twenty of them were here in the cellar of the estate, crude blades and autoguns in hand. Harkin gripped his rifle with all the strength he had as the largest among them prepared to breach the door into the dining room.

Their work would be bloody. There were always guards posted here in the banquettes this house hosted. Khorne would be pleased when their throats and bellies were laid open. Slaanesh would be pleased when they took their trophies from the safes, and their satisfaction from the women. Grandfather Nurgle when they dragged the corpses of those slain back down to the shrine for the ritual. And Tzeentch, for he was always pleased by change.

Slowly, for the first time he could remember in years, Harkin felt his non-existant lips pull into a smile.

Ten seconds later, the door exploded wide open, and they began their work.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

Sorry, been a busy couple days. I'll get my application in tonight.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired]

What say you to a hideous, disgusting Mutant turned to the Dark Gods after being rejected by the rest of human society?

Slice of Life Roleplay anyone? *New Plot Added*

Like the mercenary idea, usually prefer M/F. Is there an age-range you prefer with characters? Oh, and favorite color's brown. Yes, really.

Fae Courtis: The Wylde Hunt

Any room for a leprechaun?