Vor

Rise Of The Elder Dragon (Vor x Valchyrie)

Phew, last few days were busy and I only now had time to read your post, good job! I'm beginning work on a reply, you can expect it around the same time as usual - Tuesday/Wednesday.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

Larus Zogin

NAME: Larus Zogin

HOMEWORLD: Solstice, a half-frozen feudal world on the verge of discovering gunpowder, most famous for being the site where the legendary missionary Uriah Jacobus purged a Genestealer infestation. Most of the planet is frozen year round, as a result the population centres are located primarily around the equator. Solstice is divided into a number of kingdoms, ruled by kings and queens, who govern their lands in the Emperor’s name and pay tithes to the planetary governor overseeing the planet from orbit. The locals are deeply religious and revere the Emperor, as well as his champion, Uriah Jacobus, whose shrines and statues dot the countryside. The planet’s harshness is mirrored in its society – one is expected to be hardy and self-reliant, weakness of any form is looked down upon and those who are deemed unproductive or impure are banished or outright killed. Nevertheless, life on Solstice is one of stability, one day is much like the other and everyone knows their place, from the lowliest serf to the mightiest of kings. The Ecclesiarchy keeps a token presence in each capital city to watch for potential heresy or other threats, but otherwise leaves the local clergy to preach their version of the Emperor’s faith, which emphasises utter obedience to the existing social order.

AGE: 22

GENDER: Male

APPEARANCE:

Approx. Character Appearance

Like most Arbites, Larus is not a pleasant-looking man. His expression is grim and emotionless, a stony facade devoid of compassion, much like the helmet he wears. He is of pale complexion, with fair skin and light brownish hair, which is kept close-cropped, almost to the point of baldness. As a result of his hard life his square face is gaunt and lined, making him appear at least half a decade older than he actually is. A pair of grey, steely eyes peek out from underneath his frowning brow, situated beneath a wide forehead; between them stands a slightly crooked nose, suggesting it was broken at some point in the past. Further down is his slanted mouth with its dry, cracked lips, which he has a tendency to lick. A patchy beard grows along his wide chin and pronounced jawline, but he usually shaves it.

Larus' body is lined with scars from the many beatings he received during his childhood and later on in the Schola Progenium; his back in particular is crisscrossed by layer upon layer of scar-tissue, likely from a whip or something along those lines. Due to a life of malnourishment he is not as big as most properly-fed soldiers, but every muscle in his body is well-defined and hard as stone. He is just under six feet tall and walks straight-backed, with a dignified step, as befits a servant of the Emperor.

ROLE: Arbitrator

UNIFORM: The armour worn by Larus is still relatively new, its deep black colour is marred by only a few scratches here and there. It is polished to a shine every time he leaves the precinct and cleaning it is usually the first thing he does after an assignment. A purity seal adorns the left shoulder pad, but apart from that his armour bears no further ornamentation, save for the customary Adeptus Arbites regalia. When not on duty, Larus wears simple clothes, usually whatever off-duty uniform he has been given.

EXPERTISE:

- Martial Upbringing: Growing up in a knight's castle means that Larus has been handling weapons long before he was sent to the Schola Progenium. He is proficient in using swords, maces, spears and a variety of other archaic weapons, as well as being a tough unarmed combatant. In particular, his natural skill with a mace lends itself well to handling a power maul and after additional honing in the Schola it has made him a dangerous foe up close despite his young age.

- Superior Endurance: Solstice is a primitive, cold world and its people are a hardy breed. Growing up, Larus not only had to endure the low temperatures, but also battled a variety of viruses and diseases without relying on modern medicine. Additionally, the frequent beatings he received from his father, along with the rigorous training in the Schola, have given have given him a very high pain tolerance.

- Enforcer: Larus is the type of man who can be trusted to put the fear of the Emperor into even the most violent criminal. Being groomed as a noble's heir meant that he was trained not only in combat, but how to behave before the masses and enforce his will upon them. These lessons have stuck and have been enhanced further by his Arbites training. His strong, harsh voice carries over crowds easily and commands respect from the rabble. Perfect for breaking up riots.

- Primitive skills: Larus is adept at doing various things without requiring much in the way of technology. He can light fires, craft simple items, track creatures, orient himself in the wild and even possesses some knowledge of the more common plants and herbs prevalent throughout humanity's colonies. Of course, this makes for a rather useless skillset on a Hive World, but at least it provides him with his favourite (and only) past-time: fashioning wooden figurines that depict saints and other religious figures.

EQUIPMENT:

- Primary weapon: Combat Shotgun. Standard-issue Vox Legi-Pattern, capable of firing multiple types of shotgun shells, which he carries on his belt and bandolier. The shotgun is outfitted with a retractable bayonet for when he needs to get up close and personal.

- Secondary weapon: Stub gun. As standard as they come, this is perhaps the least used weapon in his arsenal. However, he still keeps it in a pristine condition.

- Melee weapon: Power Maul. By far his favourite weapon and the one he is most proficient in. Larus focuses on a flurry of lighter strikes, which are aimed to disorient and tire the opponent before moving in for the kill. Unless ordered otherwise, the weapon's power field is kept on high setting at all times.

- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield. As per regulations, it is carried on his back when not in use. A sigil has been engraved on the upper left corner of the shield, but it easy is to mistake it for a scratch unless one were to look closer. Larus is very confident on the defensive and is skilled in getting the maximum out of the shield, letting his opponents tire themselves out while conserving his strength for a sudden counter-attack.

- Mementos: A purity seal belonging to his family. It bears the words Lex orandi, lex credendi (The law of prayer is the law of faith) and was worn by his father when he was killed. The priest who brought Larus to the Shcola Progenium gave it to the boy when they parted ways, urging him to commit the words to heart and live his life by them. It is the only link to his past and a reminder of the distant, forgotten world he once called home.

BIOGRAPHY: Larus was born on the feudal planet of Solstice in a noble’s household. His father was a knight, an elite warrior who fought the beasts and Feral Ork tribes roaming the frozen wilderness, and could claim descent from one of the brave souls that had accompanied Uriah Jacobus himself in his fight against the Genestealers in ages past. Larus has little memories of his mother, who passed away from some malady when he was still very young. Their estate was located in the borderlands, so his father was often away defending the family lands from one aggressor or the other. As befits a knight’s son, Larus started training in the martial ways almost as soon as he could walk, entrusted to his father’s most senior and uncompromising men-at-arms.

It made for a brutal childhood, but that was considered the norm on Solstice and, as a devout servant of the Emperor, Larus did not question it. His greatest joy as a child were the brief moments he spent with his father, who was neither a caring, nor a loving parent. Whenever he was home, he would mercilessly test his son in trials of strength, willpower and faith, which resulted in a beating if Larus was found lacking. These were particularly severe when his father was under the influence of the liquor his distilleries brewed, but despite this abhorrent act (of drinking, that is) none would dare to question, much less oppose a member of such an ancient bloodline.

Nevertheless, Larus loved his father and always looked up to him, wishing nothing more than to have his strength and skill at arms, which were renowned throughout the region. Of course, he was also rather infamous for his iron-fisted rule and was feared, rather than loved by his subjects. Thus, it should come as no surprise that he found his death during a peasant revolt when Larus was eleven years old. His next of kin were also lost in the resulting pogrom and the local priest sent for a member of the Ecclesiarchy so that the boy’s fate could be determined. The family had always been held in high esteem and were among the staunchest supporters of the Imperial Cult on the planet, so it was decided that Larus would be taken off-world to better serve the Emperor instead of wasting his life on the primitive backwater.

Larus was brought to the sector's Schola Progenium shortly after and immediately began his training. The tutors in charge of his basic education had their work cut out for them as it was hard to explain the working of the Galaxy to one who thought that an arquebus was the pinnacle of technological evolution. His Drill Abbot, on the other hand, was pleased - unlike many of the newly-recruited Progena, Larus was already thoroughly broken and ready to be reshaped into a useful servant of the Emperor.

Over the next ten years Larus proved himself to be an obedient, capable combatant, with a surprising understanding of the Lex Imperialis given his primitive upbringing. He got perfect scores on his aptitude tests for the Arbites program, however his lack of leadership skills and somewhat backwards way of thinking precluded him from any officer positions. Instead, he was assigned to Aphrodus Primaris to serve as an ordinary Arbitrator, albeit one with a glowing recommendation from his Schola.

His first assignments consisted of patrols in the lower levels of Sarcage's Hive where he faced rioters, psychopaths, drug lords and worse. Larus learned the ropes quickly and distinguished himself in little more than a year since his arrival. During what should have been a routine patrol his squad was ambushed and killed in the ensuing fight, leaving the greenhorn Larus as the only survivor. He was taken prisoner by a criminal gang and tortured for information regarding the Arbitrator's patrols. The ordeal lasted for a couple of days, but Larus didn't break and eventually managed to free himself, kill his guards and dismantle their base of operations from within. In a rare show of mercy, he spared the leader and brought him in cuffs to the precinct where he was revealed to be a high-ranking member of the local underworld. The information gleaned after the man was broken by the Chasteners allowed the Arbites to chase down a number of individuals that had eluded them for years.

The young Arbitrator was commended for his steadfastness and allowed to choose a precinct where his career would begin in earnest. As any true servant of the Emperor would do, Larus requested that he be assigned to the filthiest, most dangerous and unlawful Hive there was. His name was brought to the attention of Judge Catulo, who decided to give the young man a chance to prove his mettle and attached him to the newly-formed Strike Team Omicron.

PERSONALITY: Larus is the product of a violent and brutal society and this has left its mark on every aspect of his personality. He is austere and wants for little and he expects to see the same qualities in those around him. Despite the countless wonders of modern technology he has discovered since leaving Solstice, he still possess that inbred superstition and stubbornness present in simple folk. Such a rigid way of thinking gives him an unshakable faith in the Imperium and the Emperor, but it also means he is slow to accept or even consider new ideas. Even when faced with something new, he'll prefer to use existing mental models rather than trying to think outside the box. This makes him an obedient, dutiful follower, who carries out his orders to the letter and goes to great lengths to see them through, regardless of the cost in human lives.

Saying that Larus is a perfectionist would be something of an understatement. He is driven to excel, not because he wishes to prove he is better than others, but because he has been taught that the Emperor demands it. If he is not doing his best than he is not properly worshiping Him - that is his world view. Of course, this is rooted in deeper psychological causes and even a novice psychiatrist will notice that he exhibits signs common in obsessively compulsive disorders. Larus prays daily, sometimes for hours on end, while going through routine motions such as polishing his armour or cleaning his weapons. At other times, he'll scrub his hands until they bleed in order to purify himself or count the specks of dust in his room, an activity he sees as a ritual to divine the Emperor's will. Even his hobby, carving wooden figurines, is something he takes extremely seriously and he will never consider one as complete until it is "just right".

As already mentioned, Larus believes that everyone must hold themselves up to such high standards, regardless of their position on the social ladder. He despises cowardice, laziness and weakness of any sort. That is why he tends to view the seething masses as little more than subhumans whose base urges must be kept in check through force and intimidation. He regards his fellow Arbites with respect, knowing that they too share the burden of enforcing the Emperor's law. For such a dour man Larus is surprisingly talkative once he gets to know someone, although even those who've been with him for longer consider him as distant and eccentric.

MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

@Vor Using my powers as a Co-GM, I will say that your sheet is certainly done and can be posted into the Character tab; a fine sheet, and you've got everything pretty much spot on when it comes to the lore. Well done, sir.

@Jbcool

Thank you, thank you. I'll hold of from posting it in the character tab, gonna do a final edit tomorrow as I saw some typos and other stuff that needs fixing. But first - sleep!

Yggdrasil Chronicles [A Dystopian Steampunk Resistance RP]

*tumbleweed rolls by*

Star Wars: Revanchism [KOTOR era]

*prods thread with a stick*

Hey guys, what's happening?

I realise our GM might be busy, but what about the rest of you? It's been eleven days since our last IC post, eleven days! We have 15 character sheets and only 9 people have posted in the IC, seriously? Come on, that's almost half the group that hasn't posted yet and we're on the very first post of the thread!

Look, I know RL's a bitch and we're all busy, but it's not like you have to write a novel. The scene has been set, you just need to introduce your character in a couple of paragraphs so that we can get to know them. How hard can that be? Do you mean to tell me that over these past eleven days, not one of you has has had one free hour to sit down and type out a post? I'm among the slowest writers I know and even I could do that.

Sorry for the rant, but I just find it immensely annoying that everyone was super pumped up for the RP in the OOC and in the interest check and now that the actual time to RP has come we've got nothing but silence. We've got an amazing cast of characters, we've got a great plot shaping up and the setting is fucking cool - what's not to like?!

Rise Of The Elder Dragon (Vor x Valchyrie)

Phew, posted! I know I said I'd post yesterday, but since I haven't slept, it still counts as Tuesday, right? :P

Rise Of The Elder Dragon (Vor x Valchyrie)

The Black Citadel was without a doubt one of the most magnificent things he had seen in his entire life. Steam and water turned huge wheels, which propelled various machines of all shapes and sizes, while rows upon rows of cannons were stacked next to the smithies and caused the ground to shake when they were tested on the firing range. It also happened to be the ugliest, noisiest and most unwelcoming places he'd had the dubious pleasure of exploring. These Charr were deadly serious all the time, each one occupied with patrolling, forging weapons, training in their combat fields and Gods knew what else apart from having any fun. Damn it, was this a city or a military camp?

He'd been wandering in the downpour for the past couple of hours, still not certain where he was supposed to find a place to stay. Most locals he encountered didn't even stop to answer his questions and the ones that did had a few choice words directed at humans. The Charr had been ancestral foes of the humans for centuries and these last few years of peace were not enough to mend those prejudices - to say that they hated Garret and those like him would be putting it mildly. The feeling was, of course, mutual, but Garret was the guest here, so he strived to be on his best behaviour.

All of this had given him plenty of time to think and consider his options. That Sylvari woman at the gate had been very blunt and forthcoming, which was both a relief and a shock to Garret. Relief because someone had finally given them some details and shock because the extent of what he had gotten himself into had just become painfully clear. Hauling crates and dealing with doylaks was one thing, but going up against an Elder Dragon of all things was quite a different matter. Aye, he knew that he was signing up for this back in Divinity's Reach but at the time the threat appeared so distant and unreal. And yet, the woman spoke about it as a matter of fact, as if considering the possibility that it actually was real.

Actually, come to think of it, that Sylvari might be more unpleasant than the Black Citadel itself. She was commanding and haughty, strutting around like she owned the place. Garret had hoped that the two had been leading their caravan would assume charge or, perhaps, somebody else. But no, he was stuck with a cold-hearted bitch that threatened to leave stragglers behind. Just great, that's what it was.

With every passing minute he regretted his decision to come here more and more. Should he just leave? He was supposed to report to the Sylvari, but why should he? These damned Orders were supposed to provide them with at least some form of shelter after a month of lugging their baggage around, but they hadn't even taken care of that. What sort of organisation was that? By Balthazar's hairy balls, he didn't even know what Order had hired him, how was he supposed to report to anyone?!

Occupied with such grim thoughts, Garret kept walking through the darkening city, until he eventually came upon a tavern. A statue of a fearsome Charr towered over the entrance, holding a huge bow that must have been as tall as a man. Since Garret was tired of being cold, wet and miserable, he decided to try his chances here and walked through the door.

He was greeted by sounds not unlike the ones in human taverns, only here the music sounded more like battle marches and the raucous laughter was replaced by raucous...growls? When he set foot inside, all heads turned toward him at once, making him feel like he was a particularly interesting create that had crawled out from under a rock. Well, these overgrown cats could go to hell for all he cared, Garret hadn't always been a wagon driver, so if they thought they could intimidate him with a few harsh stares, they could guess again.

The lone human walked over to what he supposed was the bar, where a grey-haired Charr had narrowed its eyes on him. He was a bit shocked to realise that she was female, judging by the way her hair was braided and how her features appeared somewhat softer than those of the males. Still, she towered over him and seemed just as tough and muscular as the rest of them. Garret coughed politely before raising his voice to speak.

"Hello, I was wonderi-"

"We don't serve your kind here" she snarled at him "you humans are too weak to appreciate a proper Charr drinking hole!"

"I'm not here to drink..." Garret sighed, but he was interrupted before he could continue.

"Then what the hell are you doing here, pink-skin?"

"If you'd just let me talk, I might be able to explain."

That's when he felt a big, hairy hand clench his shoulder. He turned around and a saw a much larger Charr, a male no doubt about it, with reddish fur, huge horns and a fearsome set of teeth jutting out from his mouth. An even more wicked-looking sword was strapped to his side.

"This one giving you problems, Karra?" He said in a deep, rumbling voice.

"I don't need your help to deal with this runt," she retorted, "he was just about to leave."

Garret gritted his teeth, trying to get a rein on his emotions, but to no avail. He considered himself a calm man, but the ,month-long march, coupled with that blasted Sylvari mouthing off at the gate and now these bloody Charr…It was too damned much.

“I wasn’t about to leave.” He told them, his voice taking on a threatening edge. “I want a fucking room to stay the night and a pint of ale to wet my throat. I’ve got coin.”

He proceeded to take out his coin pouch and placed it on the bar, but at the same time the male Charr slammed his palm over his hand, trapping it under a layer of fur and muscle.

“You insolent scum,” he leaned in closer to Garret, spittle flying from his mouth that reeked of alcohol, “you know how many humans I killed in the last war? You know how my ancestors torched this pathetic kingdom to the ground and routed your cowardly armies?”

“Best leave now, pink-skin,” the innkeeper said, her smile revealing her sharp fangs, “you don’t want to rile up Scaarin.”

The Charr’s grip on his hand tightened, producing an audible crunch, a little more of this and he was likely to have a shattered hand among the list of things he hated about today. A familiar sensation shot up through his veins, the thrill of the adrenaline rushing through his body. Aye, Garret hadn’t always been a wagon driver, he had been a soldier once and he had fought his fair share of centaurs. They were dumber than Charr, but just as big, if not stronger.

“Or what?” Garret shouted “I’ve had enough of your furry bastards! Are you all talk are you going to back those threats?”

Silence descended upon the room and the tension grew so thick that one could cut it with a knife. The male Charr, trembling with anger, let go of his hand and looked him straight in the eye.

“You’ve got three seconds before I take your head off. One…”

Garret returned the gaze and remained unflinching. This was it – his plan would either work and he’d get a bed or his head was going to decorate the fireplace, which meant he wouldn’t have to suffer this blasted existence any longer. Seemed like a fair deal, either way you looked at it.

“Two…”

Scaarin’s long claws did seem capable of slicing him to shreds, the Charr wouldn’t even reach for his sword, Garret was certain. The way the Charr’s arms hung at the ready indicated that. At least, that’s what he hoped – it was hard to tell with these felines.

“Three!”

As expected, the beast swiped a clawed hand in his direction, but Garret was faster. He ducked under it and reached for the big Charr’s sword, drawing it from its scabbard. Another blow came in his direction, but he spun around before his opponent had a chance to react. Garret went low, slicing the tendons behind the Charr’s knee, effectively hamstringing him. A bestial roar followed as Garret’s opponent went to one knee and tried to turn around.

And again, Garret was faster. The sword in his hands was already at the Charr’s neck when their gazes met. If the room had been silent before, it was now as quiet as a graveyard. The shocked expression on the innkeeper’s face almost compensated all the shite Garret had to endure today. Almost.

“You wanted a fight? There’s you fucking fight!” he cried out, voice thick with anger. “I just wanted a damned bed, but no – you Charr always have to fight something! And what’s this talk of ancestors, eh? My own great-great grandparents lived here and fled after you bastards summoned that firestorm from the sky, because you couldn't beat them in a fair fight. Should I avenge them, here and now, is that what you want?!”

He pressed the sword into the Charr’s throat, drawing blood to prove his point. Their gazes held each other for a moment, which seemed to stretch on for an infinity, but then Garret threw the sword aside and offered his hand.

“Fuck history and fuck wars. That’s all in the past.”

The Charr, Scaarin, eventually accepted his hand and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. Two other Charr came to accompany him back to his table, where his leg was bandaged and another drink was poured. Everyone went back to their business, as if two patrons hadn’t just tried to murder each other before their eyes.

“You’ve got guts, pink-skin, I’ll give you that,” the innkeep, Karra, said, “but don’t think you can drink any of our ale, it’s too strong for you. Wait here.”

Garret sat there, the realisation of what he’d just done finally dawning on him. He looked around, trying to see if anyone was contemplating revenge on him, but he saw nothing. Even the big, angry Scaarin was merrily drinking and talking with his companions, the events of a couple of minutes ago already forgotten. In a way, by fighting and proving his mettle, Garret had earned his place here. That’s how he felt it, at least. The Charr were thought too much of themselves to directly admit it.

Karra returned with a cask of ale, bearing a familiar marking. Lion’s Arch!

“Here, this one’s on the house” she said, as she poured him a pint, “room’s on the left, take this key.”

Garret downed the pint in one go and then took the offered key.

“Don’t think it’s anything much,” Karra continued, “no fancy beds that you humans like, you’ll sleep on the ground and I’ll hear no complaints from you!”

Garret nodded. He ordered another pint and paid for it and the room, after which he departed to his quarters. It was indeed very sparsely-decorated, with a small window, a straw mat and a broken piece of glass that was supposedly a mirror. There was a chair as well, where he could leave his clothes, but that was it. In short, the room was as severe as the Charr that had built it.

He wasn’t one to complain, however. After months of sleeping under the stars, this looked like the Queen’s chambers to him. He tossed his cloak on the chair, took off his traveller’s boots and lied down on the mat, where he discovered a coarse blanket waiting for him. It wasn’t much, but it was more than sufficient.

His mind sorted through the events of the day. After they had been given their orders, the wagon-drivers had decided to set up a makeshift camp outside the city walls. Garret, of course, would have none of it and had decided to seek a proper place to stay, along with a few other brave souls. He hoped those men hadn’t gotten into any fights, because they were decidedly less prepared to handle them than he was. Ah well, he wasn’t their mother, no sense worrying over them…

Whatever other thoughts came to his mind were quickly forgotten, as the exhaustion that had piled up for weeks finally overcame him. Thoughts and worries were cast aside, replaced by the calmness of a deep, dreamless sleep.

Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]

Here's my sheet, I think everything's done, unless I've missed something or gotten it wrong from a lore perspective (which is a possibility).

Larus Zogin

NAME: Larus Zogin

HOMEWORLD: Solstice, a half-frozen feudal world on the verge of discovering gunpowder, most famous for being the site where the legendary missionary Uriah Jacobus purged a Genestealer infestation. Most of the planet is frozen year round, as a result the population centres are located primasrily around the equator. Solstice is divided into a number of kingdoms, ruled by kings and queens, who govern their lands in the Emperor’s name and pay tithes to the planetary governor overseeing the planet from orbit. The locals are deeply religious and revere the Emperor, as well as his champion, Uriah Jacobus, whose shrines and statues dot the countryside. The planet’s harshness is mirrored in its society – one is expected to be hardy and self-reliant, weakness of any form is looked down upon and those who are deemed unproductive or impure are banished or outright killed. Nevertheless, life on Solstice is one of stability, one day is much like the other and everyone knows their place, from the lowliest serf to the mightiest of kings. The Ecclesiarchy keeps a token presence in each capital city to watch for potential heresy or other threats, but otherwise leaves the local clergy to preach their version of the Emperor’s faith, which emphasises utter obedience to the existing social order.

AGE: 22

GENDER: Male

APPEARANCE:

Approx. Character Appearance

Like most Arbites, Larus is not a pleasant-looking man. His expression is grim and emotionless, a stony facade devoid of compassion, much like the helmet he he wears. He is of pale complexion, with fair skin and light brownish hair, which is kept close-cropped, almost to the point of baldness. As a result of his hard life his square face is gaunt and lined, making him appear at least half a decade older than he actually is. A pair of grey, steely eyes peek out from underneath his frowning brow, situated beneath a wide forehead; between them stands a slightly crooked nose, suggesting it was broken at some point in the past. Further down is his slanted mouth with its dry, cracked lips, which he has a tendency to lick. A patchy beard grows along his wide chin and pronounced jawline, but he usually shaves it.

Larus' body is lined with scars from the many beatings he received during his childhood and later on in the Schola Progenium; his back in particular is crisscrossed by layer upon layer of scar-tissue, likely from a whip or something along those lines. Due to a life of malnourishment he is not as big as most properly-fed soldiers, but every muscle in his body is well-defined and hard as stone. He is just under six feet tall and walks straight-backed, with a dignified step, as befits a servant of the Emperor.

ROLE: Arbitrator

UNIFORM: The armour worn by Larus is still relatively new, its deep black colour is marred by only a few scratches here and there. It is polished to a shine every time he leaves the precinct and cleaning it is usually the first thing he does after an assignment. A purity seal adorns the left shoulder pad, but apart from that his armour bears no further ornamentation, save for the customary Adeptus Arbites regalia. When not on duty, Larus wears simple clothes, usually whatever off-duty uniform he has been given.

EXPERTISE:

- Martial Upbringing: Growing up in a knight's castle means that Larus has been handling weapons long before he was sent to the Schola Progenium. He is proficient in using swords, maces, spears and a variety of other archaic weapons, as well as being a tough unarmed combatant. In particular, his natural skill with a mace lends itself well to handling a power maul and after additional honing in the Schola it has made him a dangerous foe up close despite his young age.

- Superior Endurance: Solstice is a primitive, cold world and its people are a hardy breed. Growing up, Larus not only had to endure the low temperatures, but also battled a variety of viruses and diseases without relying on modern medicine. Additionally, the frequent beatings he received from his father, along with the rigorous training in the Schola, have given have given him a very high pain tolerance.

- Enforcer: Larus is the type of man who can be trusted to put the fear of the Emperor into even the most violent criminal. Being groomed as a noble's heir meant that he was trained not only in combat, but how to behave before the masses and enforce his will upon them. These lessons have stuck and have been enhanced further by his Arbites training. His strong, harsh voice carries over crowds easily and commands respect from the rabble. Perfect for breaking up riots.

- Primitive skills: Larus is adept at doing various things without requiring much in the way of technology. He can light fires, craft simple items, track creatures, orient himself in the wild and even possesses some knowledge of the more common plants and herbs prevalent throughout humanity's colonies. Of course, this makes for a rather useless skillset on a Hive World, but at least it provides him with his favourite (and only) past-time: fashioning wooden figurines that depict saints and other religious figures.

EQUIPMENT:

- Primary weapon: Combat Shotgun. Standard-issue Vox Legi-Pattern, capable of firing multiple types of shotgun shells, which he carries on his belt and bandolier. The shotgun is outfitted with a retractable bayonet for when he needs to get up close and personal.

- Secondary weapon: Stub gun. As standard as they come, this is perhaps the least used weapon in his arsenal. However, he still keeps it in a pristine condition.

- Melee weapon: Power Maul. By far his favourite weapon and the one he is most proficient in. Larus focuses on a flurry of lighter strikes, which are aimed to disorient and tire the opponent, before moving in for the kill. Unless ordered otherwise, the weapon's power field is kept on high setting at all times.

- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield. As per regulations, it is carried on his back when not in use. A sigil has been engraved on the upper left corner of the shield, but it easy is to mistake it for a scratch unless one were to look closer. Larus is very confident on the defensive and is skilled in getting the maximum out of the shield, letting his opponents tire themselves out while conserving his strength for a sudden counter-attack.

- Mementos: A purity seal belonging to his family. It bears the words Lex orandi, lex credendi (The law of prayer is the law of faith) and was worn by his father when he was killed. The priest who brought Larus to the Shcola Progenium gave it to the boy when they parted ways, urging him to commit the words to heart and live his life by them. It is the only link to his past and a reminder of the distant, forgotten world he once called home.

BIOGRAPHY: Larus was born on the feudal planet of Solstice in a noble’s household. His father was a knight, an elite warrior who fought the beasts and Feral Ork tribes roaming the frozen wilderness, and could claim descent from one of the brave souls that had accompanied Uriah Jacobus himself in his fight against the Genestealers in ages past. Larus has little memories of his mother, who passed away from some malady when he was still very young. Their estate was located in the borderlands, so his father was often away defending the family lands from one aggressor or the other. As befits a knight’s son, Larus started training in the martial ways almost as soon as he could walk, entrusted to his father’s most senior and uncompromising men-at-arms.

It made for a brutal childhood, but that was considered the norm on Solstice and, as a devout servant of the Emperor, Larus did not question it. His greatest joy as a child were the brief moments he spent with his father, who was neither a caring, nor a loving parent. Whenever he was home, he would mercilessly test his son in trials of strength, willpower and faith, which resulted in a beating if Larus was found lacking. These were particularly severe when his father was under the influence of the liquor his distilleries brewed, but despite this abhorrent act (of drinking, that is) none would dare to question, much less oppose a member of such an ancient bloodline.

Nevertheless, Larus loved his father and always looked up to him, wishing nothing more than to have his strength and skill at arms, which was renowned throughout the region. Of course, he was also rather infamous for his iron-fisted rule and was feared, rather than loved by his subjects. Thus, it should come as no surprise that he found his death during a peasant revolt when Larus was eleven years old. His next of kin were also lost in the resulting pogrom and the local priest sent for a member of the Ecclesiarchy so that the boy’s fate could be determined. The family had always been held in high esteem and were among the staunchest supporters of the Imperial Cult on the planet, so it was decided that Larus would be taken off-world to better serve the Emperor instead of wasting his life in the primitive backwater.

Larus was brought to the sector's Schola Progenium shortly after and immediately began his training. The tutors in charge of his basic education had their work cut out for them as it was hard to explain the working of the Galaxy to one who thought that an arquebus was the pinnacle of technological evolution. His Drill Abbot, on the other hand, was pleased - unlike many of the newly-recruited Progena, Larus was already thoroughly broken and ready to be reshaped into a useful servant of the Emperor.

Over the next ten years Larus proved himself to be an obedient, capable combatant, with a surprising understanding of the Lex Imperialis given his primitive upbringing. He got perfect scores on his aptitude tests for the Arbites program, however his lack of leadership skills and somewhat backwards way of thinking precluded him from any officer positions. Instead, he was assigned to Aphrodus Primaris to serve as an ordinary Arbitrator, albeit one with a glowing recommendation from his Schola.

His first assignments consisted of patrols in the lower levels of Sarcage's Hive where he faced rioters, psychopaths, drug lords and worse. Larus learned the ropes quickly and distinguished himself in little more than a year since his arrival. During what should have been a routine patrol his squad was ambushed and killed in the ensuing fight, leaving the greenhorn Larus as the only survivor. He was taken prisoner by a criminal gang and tortured for information regarding the Arbitrator's patrols. The ordeal lasted for a couple of days, but Larus didn't break and eventually managed to free himself, kill his guards and dismantle their base of operations from within. In a rare show of mercy, he spared the leader and brought him in cuffs to the precinct, where he was revealed to be a high-ranking member of the local underworld. The information gleaned after the man was broken by the Chasteners allowed the Arbites to chase down a number of individuals that had eluded them for years.

The young Arbitrator was commended for his steadfastness and allowed to choose a precinct where his career would begin in earnest. As any true servant of the Emperor would do, Larus requested that he be assigned to the filthiest, most dangerous and unlawful Hive there was. His name was brought to the attention of Judge Catulo, who decided to give the young man a chance to prove his mettle and attached him to the newly-formed Strike Team Omicron.

PERSONALITY: Larus is the product of a violent and brutal society and this has left its mark on every aspect of his personality. He is austere and wants for little and he expects to see the same qualities in those around him. Despite the countless wonders of modern technology he has discovered since leaving Solstice, he still possess that inbred superstition and stubbornness present in simple folk. Such a rigid way of thinking gives him an unshakable faith in the Imperium and the Emperor, but it also means he is slow to accept or even consider new ideas. Even when faced with something new, he'll prefer to use existing mental models rather than trying to think outside the box. This makes him an obedient, dutiful follower, who carries out his orders to the letter and goes to great lengths to see them through, regardless of the cost in human lives.

Saying that Larus is a perfectionist would be something of an understatement. He is driven to excel, not because he wishes to prove he is better than others, but because he has been taught that the Emperor demands it. If he is not doing his best than he is not properly worshiping Him - that is his world view. Of course, this is rooted in deeper psychological causes and even a novice psychiatrist will notice that he exhibits signs common obsessively compulsive disorders. Larus prays daily, sometimes for hours on end, while going through routine motions such as polishing his armour or cleaning his weapons. At other times, he'll scrub his hands until they bleed in order to purify himself or count the specks of dust in his room, which he sees as a ritual to divine the Emperor's will. Even his hobby, carving wooden figurines, is something he takes extremely seriously and he will never consider one as complete until it is "just right".

As already mentioned, Larus believes that everyone must hold themselves up to such high standards, regardless of their position on the social ladder. He despises cowardice, laziness and weakness of any sort. That is why he tends to view the seething masses as little more than subhumans whose base urges must be kept in check through force and intimidation. He regards his fellow Arbites with respect, knowing that they too share the burden of enforcing the Emperor's law. For such a dour man, Larus is surprisingly talkative once he gets to know someone, although even those who've known him for longer consider him distant and eccentric.

MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.

Faster combat in D&D

If you feel the combat in D&D is too long, why are you even playing D&D in the first place? I mean, that's kinda the whole point of the whole thing - gathering items, levelling your character, making them stronger for the fights ahead.

Making everyone have 1 HP and lowering the damage to 1 seems pointless and over-simplified to me. Consider this, it will make having different weapons redundant, wielding a dagger will be the same as wielding a two-handed greatsword. Also, how are you going to balance spells? By your logic, a level 1 magic missile will do as much damage as a 3rd level fireball. What's the point in leveling a character then or having different classes and play styles?

Seems to me like you're better off just switching the format. If you want to RP, you can remove most of the gameplay systems and just settle for a singe dice roll to determine success/failure. Alternatively, there are more narrative focused rulesets that have significantly faster combat than D&D, Savage Worlds and Edge of the Empire (my personal favourite) to name a few.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Orun Greystone

Character Image

Race: Orc (Grey Orc)

Gender: Male

Age: 22 (about mid 20's by human standards)

Class: Cleric

Stats:

Strength: 16 (+3)
Dexterity: 9 (-1)
Constitution: 14 (+2)
Intelligence: 14 (+2)
Wisdom: 16 (+3)
Charisma: 8 (-1)

Physical Description:
Being a Grey Orc, Orun's features are less bestial than those of his more common cousins and his leathery skin is a greenish grey. His wide face, with a prominent jawline and a snub nose is not exactly pleasant to look at and the two tusks jutting from his mouth give him a savage appearance. This is in contrast to his focused eyes, a pair of amber orbs that gleam with intelligence. Like others of his race, Orun has an affinity for facial decorations and his ears are pierced by a multitude of earrings, not to mention a steel ring hanging from his nose. He sometimes braids his black hair, but it usually flows freely down his shoulders, tucked behind his pointy ears.

Orun stands at an impressive seven feet and is heavily muscled, with thick arms and a powerful chest. Most cups and utensils appear child-like in his large hands, which are not particularly deft. His long, sturdy legs provide him with a striding gait and those with shorter limbs are often forced to run in order to catch up with him. Mottled patches of lighter grey fur dot his body, most prominently around his back and forearms. While it is a rare sight to see Orun bare-chested, if one were to do so they would immediately notice a number of scars, as well as a sizable collection of tattoos, each one a rune or sigil associated with Kelemvor.

Armor/Attire: Orun dresses in the priestly robes of Kelemvor's Church, coloured in a sombre shade of grey and completely unadorned, without any trims or frills. Over them he wears a plain steel breastplate with a gorget and a skirt of chainmail, which provides some protection for the lower body. Steel pads protect his elbows and shoulders, though his knees and shins are left unarmoured for greater freedom of movement. During heavy fighting Orun dons a steel helmet with a distinctive T-shaped opening for the mouth and eyes, but it usually dangles unused from the straps of his backpack. A pair of sturdy traveller's boots complete his attire and they are without a doubt one of his most prized possessions. The orc's armour has no ornamentation save for a set of scales engraved on the chest.

Equipment

• Symbol of Kelemvor: Finely-wrought silver scales depicting Kelemvor, Lord of the Dead. Orun would never willingly part with them.
• Two-handed morningstar: A massive morningstar with a long oaken shaft, tailored for Orun's bigger proportions. Due to its length it also doubles as a walking stick.
• Prayer book: A leather-bound tome containing prayers, rituals and teachings of Kelemvor.
• Journal: A small book in which Orun records the details of his travels. The handwriting is surprisingly neat, considering the owner's thick fingers.
• Scroll Case: A wooden case that holds a number of scrolls, both magical and mundane ones.
  - Deny Death Scroll: Perhaps the most valuable of the scrolls in his possession, it allows one to preserve those who have suffered injury in a sort of suspended animation, preventing further harm from outside injuries or poisons.
• Backpack: A backpack suited for travelling, with many compartments and straps. It contains items useful for the road, such as flint and steel, a pan, two pots, torches and an assortment of miscellaneous items. Fastened to it are his waterskin, bedroll and a a length of rope.

Mental Description/Personality:
Orun is very devout and his service to Kelemvor shapes every aspect of his life. He does not put much stake in the structured hierarchy of the Church, but instead acts something akin to a tribal shaman, communing with Kelemvor through dreams and other such portents. By orcish standards he is immensely stoic and, despite his fearsome appearance and physical strength, dislikes violence. If there is a way to solve a situation without resorting to weapons, Orun will deign to seek it out, as surprising as it may seem to those who do not know him. That is not to say that he won't knock some sense into people if they stubbornly refuse to listen!

Despite his priestly upbringing Orun is still very much an orc. He speaks his mind and has little regard for concepts such as social status or rank, the only laws he respects are those laid out by Kelemvor. He cares little for how he is perceived by others and is not swayed by flowery words or promises. Though even-tempered for an orc, certain things such as dishonesty or mishandling of the dead are sure to rile him up, in which case he can become quite intimidating. Orun doesn't believe in personal wealth, has no desire to drink or partake in other earthly pleasures, but has a soft spot for tales and is always interested in hearing new ones.

Like most orcs, Orun is slow to make friends and rarely seeks the chance to do so. Sullen and serious, he does not make for the most interesting conversation partner. Even those who've known him for longer may find him hard to deal with at times, especially since the notion of apologising is completely foreign to him. Nevertheless, he is a stalwart companion and once' he's given his support to a cause it's impossible to deter him.

Goals: Spread Kelemvor's word, collect tithes for the Church, destroy undead and their foul masters.

Background/History:
Orun was born to one of the scattered orc tribes roaming the lands east of the Moonsea. Unlike their mountainous cousins, these Grey Orcs tended to avoid conflict with the more civilised races and instead eked out a meagre existence by living off the land and occasionally raiding their neighbouring tribes. It made for a grueling childhood, as infants were expected to mature quickly so that they could help the tribe. Orun was no exception and would likely have lived and died an early death in those wildlands if not for a strange occurrence.

Orun's tribe had the misfortune of raiding a necromancer's abode while the owner was away. When he returned in the midst of the raid, the necromancer was outraged and cast a curse on the tribe, sending their own ancestors to torment them. It would have been the end of them if not for the timely intervention of two Kelemvorites, who had been hunting the necromancer for their own reasons. They broke the curse and eventually killed the necromancer, but not before one of them lost his life. Despite their aversion for humans the orcs had no choice but to recognise the priest as the tribe's saviour and so they were indebted to him.

The priest declared that one of Kelemvor's own had died for them, in turn they had to give up one of their tribe to maintain the balance. Orun just so happened to be the youngest child and he was eagerly offered to the priest so that he could be sacrificed to the Lord of the Dead. It was a trade they were more than willing to make, after all, what was the life of one little orc compared to that of the entire tribe? To their surprise, the priest did not sacrifice the child, but told them that he would be taken back to Kelemvor's temple.

The young orc, barely seven at the time, was brought to one of the Great Guide's temples in the cold lands of Damara, where he was initiated into the order and began his training as an acolyte. It was hard going at first, but Orun proved to be surprisingly adaptive and took after a life of spirituality easily. Although he never quite lost that inherent orcish wildness, he was a dutiful student and impressed his tutors with his keen mind and lust for knowledge. That is how Orun passed the majority of his life, living in the secluded temple and travelling to the nearby villages with the older priests when someone's last rites needed to be administered.

When he became a fully-ordained priest Orun was expected to follow the orders of his elders and to go where the Church needed him. He was sent to a smaller temple in southern Damara, where he had to minister to the needs of the locals and to watch over the nearby cemeteries. Orun endured this monotonous lifestyle for about a year, after which he packed his things and left the temple, despite his brothers' protests.

With no particular goal in mind Orun travelled west, searching for restless dead and adventure worthy of his patron's cause. This is how he eventually found himself in Hulburg, in the desolate lands of Thar, where he had heard undead were a common sighting and a plague upon its towns and villages.

Other Notes:

• Orun earned the moniker "Greystone" on account of his solemn personality and physical size. The other acolytes would joke that he looked like a big grey stone and once some of the local villagers caught wind of it it, the name stuck. For his part, Orun has embraced it.
• He speaks Common and Orcish freely and possesses some knowledge of Dwarvish, due to his use of the Dethek script (in which Orcish is also written).
• While he does not lust after gold, he always demands payment for services rendered, which he takes as a tithe on behalf of his god. The coin are held separately in a special pouch, which he then deposits in the first shrine or temple of Kelemvor he comes across.
• Though still a member of Kelemvor's Church, Orun is considered a pariah and even a renegade by the branch in Damara. If he should ever return there he'll have some explaining to do.