Wraithblade6

Warhammer 40k: Kill-Team Epsilon, a Death=][=Watch RP - Currently closed!

@Jbcool I agree that we need a guy to pickup dual lightning claws and a jump pack, but what else would you suggest for a cool melee weapon?

The Gregorian - Imperium (Warhammer 50K RP, The Shape of the Nightmare to Come)

You guys will enjoy this.

The Gregorian - Imperium (Warhammer 50K RP, The Shape of the Nightmare to Come)

Ex Ordine Iustitiae

The Relictor starfort floated like an ungainly hulk amid the small fleet of the Imperium Reborn toward the Revelius sector, where the forge moon Amatheus awaited in an unknown state between prosperity and destruction. Surroundng it was a cohort of ships, which included those owned by Ishitta, Tyro, Karthis, Corbec, K'Vari, Commenus, and of course Amastov. The fleet definitely needed some organization. Millenia had passed since the last acurrate reports about the forgemoon were had. As far as anyone in the new imperium knew, the Tau probably owned it by now. Without warp navagation, travel would be slow, but the Revelius system was thankfully close enough that Arexia Prime would be capable of defending it. Traveling as swiftly as they dared, not a soul slept without some minutes sacrificed to the anticipation every cycle.

Things aboard the Ramillies starfort were quiet. Captain Lattore sat isolated in contemplation with the relicblade that housed the captive holy spirit of order, a shard of the former Emperor's will. If that's what it was, Leal didn't even know. Since the regrouping and reformation of the Relictor's chapter, Leal had halted all research on the daemonweapons and any chaotic relics that still remained in their posession since their unforgiving decimation at the hands of the Grey Knights and the Emperor's final death. Their focus had been on recovery, repair, and recruitment, and of course to protect and defend any human worlds they came across that were in need of defense that had a chance of survival. But they had been robbed of any relics to speak of by the Ordo Malleus, with the exception of the weapons they had preserved or made during their journey and the secret Diamedes Artifact that remained hidden upon their vessel. The goal had always been of course to return to their unique duties as Relictors in regard to collecting and researching such relics, but in the immediate crisis of the disintegrating Imperium, the risks were far too great. That's how Captain Lattore had seen it.

Psychically, with a soft masculine voice that wasn't even a voice or even a sound at all, the sword spoke to Leal, "You will go to Amatheus, and there, bring the people into the fold. This you will do without bloodshed. Restore peace through order. It is not to be destroyed, for the future of mankind depends on this moon's security..."

It wasn't the first time the sword had spoken to him. In fact, any of their daemonweapons could speak, but listening to them was obviously foolish as they were entities of chaos. This sword though, was unquestionably different. Leal did not answer, but his mind was already made up. He would obey.

Armored footfalls in the hall told of one of his men approaching.

"Captain?" A dark skinned, bald Relictor who appeared to be in his 30's announced his presence.

Leal turned his head and greeted his first lieutenant. "Lieutenant Garwyn." Seeing an anxious expression on the face of his most trusted brother, Leal stood up and became more serious. "What do you have to report?"

Lt. Garwyn entered the room, which was plenty large for a small gathering yet dedicated as a storage room for Lattore's sword. He glanced almost warily at the faintly glowing blade. "I must speak with you sir. I am concerned that you have been spending too much time with the holy sword." Garwyn was pure of heart, courageous, and to the point, which is partly why Lattore relied on him so often. He continued quietly in confidance, his concern sincere. "I must remind you that it is 'daemon,' Leal. Even if it bears the essence of the Emperor of Mankind as you say, it's a warp entity nonetheless." He gave a long look into Leal's eyes, judging him. "And you know what became of the Emperor... Heed me. This is no different, and as your first lieutenant I cannot allow it to continue. I fear you endanger our chapter with this frequent meditation in its presence."

Leal blinked. This is not what he had expected. Coming from Garwyn, the acusation had serious weight, and he had to consider it. "By God... You're right." Leal's grey head turned to glance at the object he had come to consider so reverently. There was no doubt that it had heavily influenced him, but its light had been so benevolent and so powerful in destroying chaos in all its' forms. Had he been right not to question it?

Leal then nodded, his brow furrowed. "Thank you for drawing my attention to this Garwyn. I will hereby remove myself form the sword's presence while aboard the starfort until we can verify the entity's alignment." Leal really hesitated to call it a daemon. "This will of course require reinstatement of our research efforts."

"Thank you captain. And there is one more thing. Some of the men are still loyal to Bardane, and they have been talking. They feel there is no honor to be had in politics, that a space marine's duty is to battle. We Relictors wield a power unmatched by any any other chapter, and any time we spend languishing in disuse is a waste of our strength. Some would even consider it a crime. They long to see us freed from the yolk of this petty imperium and in pursuit of the enemy."

Leal glared at Garwyn. It wasn't his fault, but perpetual return of the sentiments of fools undermined the captain's authority. Artekus Bardane was still haunting him from the grave. Perhaps it was that cursed artifact that Leal had stowed away influencing them, or the daemonweapons. The lust for more power was an easy trap to fall into, especially when excused by the claim to righteous intent. Leal understood it all too clearly. Members of the company felt driven to return to the chapter's old ways, to hunt relics independant of authority, like pirates looking for treasure. They'd fight against the forces of chaos, just as they desired, but in the end, they'd prove insignificant in aiding humanity.

"You must tell them as I have told them before, and perhaps it will sound different coming from you. We are part of the Imperium Reborn now. No, we are not politicians, but there is nothing more effective we can do to aid the restoration of mankind at this moment in history. If this Imperium is to flourish, it needs the might of our weapons, and we need repairs, Garwyn. The forgemoon is home to the mechanicus, there is no better anchor for our starfort. Emperor Amastov will take worlds just as was done in the time of the crusades, and we will grow. He is lenient on development of technology just as he is in permitting the use of our weapons, and I have no doubt that in time, mankind will regain warp travel to be able to defend our empire. But for that to happen, we must remain here, now, while we are needed, guardians of what relics our Imperium will inevitably encounter."

The captain began walking outside into the hall, motioning for Garwyn to approach as he revealed his intentions for their future. "There will come a time when our potential will be maximized as our chapter is assigned specific missions across the galaxy, and we will no longer carry the burden of policing ourselves for corruption alone. These are the times we together long for, but we must be patient. SEE this vision with me, lieutenant. A new and strong Imperium, enlivened with new technology and new understanding of the warp through our careful research." Leal lifted and open hand for emphasis, as if the future were something within reach. He then swept his red cloak behind him and turned to continue walking. "I will not have disobedience and unrest within my chapter..."

Alone in the storage room, the possessed blade glowed softly.

PRIES - Paranormal Noir RP [Always recruiting]

The click of keys was subtle in the background of an otherwise fairly quiet building. Mithias had left his door partly open for several reason, one of which was to improve his surveillance over the rest of the offices. Even subtle drafts had meaning, a door opening, a window, a shift in wind direction outside. It all helped the vampire own his surroundings, and this kind of control brought Mithias a sense of security and peace.

He had heard Jay and Buck's exchange, and knew of Aradia's new partnering. It seemed a wise decision. Terminating a supernatural from the Syndicate was inevitably fraught with difficulty. As much as Hadley threatened, actually carrying out his threats would be a serious pain in the ass. There was no way he'd let her go.

"Friday, Dec. 14, 2016, Approximately 7:15 P.M. 114 Downer St. St. Anthony’s Church of the Holy Flame. Affected number unknown: 100 humans presumptive. Complications: surviving affected, affected Syndicate agents, witnesses, lost gun..."

Pretty standard. As Mithias droned on in text, his mind was more concerned with protecting Bill on the night of the soiree. Kissy, whatever she was, wouldn't be enough. Vampires were all very different from each other in their gifts, but they were more likely to have ways for dealing with telekinesis or psychic entities. Madame Red absolutely threw this event together for the personal entertainment factor, but there was no doubt she had other intentions. Being a vampire, Mithias could probably keep track of her at the party, but if she had sent someone else to do her dirty work... Mithias frowned. Planting a tracking device on the assistant director would reveal his constant location, assuming Hadley didn't find it and suspect treachery, but it would tell nothing of his vital signs or other actions. There was something that would however, but it was permanent...

Mithias paused and glanced down at the back of his hand. A vein ran subtly between his metacarpals. If he could convince Hadley to drink even a small amount of his blood, he'd be able to sense him even from afar. The gift would give none of Bill's memories to Mithias, but it inform the vampire of his physical state. Unfortunately, as a side affect, drinking any of the vampire's blood would make the acting director of the Syndicate vulnerable to Mithias' control.

Mithias glanced back at the glowing screen, pausing in his typing. No way in hell Hadley would go for that. The old man didn't trust anyone, and rightly so. A lot of supernaturals would like to get their claws into him.

The typing commenced.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@BCTheEntity Speaking of not getting crushed...

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

The Price of Hesitation

Xepherial loomed over the faint glow of the console as -chip displayed everything it immediately knew about The Rigged Fortune, which wasn't nearly enough information, and only only managed to amplify Xepherial's uncertainty by an order of magnitude. The strange ship seemed almost dead as it floated in place, transmitting no signals and taking no action. An uninteresting waiting game, this was, and Xepherial debated the value of wasting any more time on it.

Just as his hand moved to give -chip the order to start communicating, another blip appeared on the screen. Xeph's hand paused. It was a second ship, a very small one that would probably have been missed completely by the Thunderhawk's limited senors if it weren't for a sudden infrared burst that had flared from it. It was landing on the other side of the hulk, disappearing from view behind some jutting wreckage.

Xepherial wasn't known for speaking to himself, and so he didn't verbalize his intense curiosity. Something had just happened to that little craft. It must have been an explosion, or perhaps there was fighting aboard. A sense of urgency grew as he immediately began...

**PROXIMITY ALERT**

An alarm went off and the screen text went blood red as -chip screamed a dire warning. An extremely large, unidentified object shaped like a spear was on a direct collision course with the Thunderhawk. There was no time to ask where in the warp it came from, which was undoubtedly an accurate statement, because evasive action was immediately required. Focused as a space marine would be, even in a state of panic, Xepherial engaged thrusters and felt the gunship lurch forward with all its might. Through the rearview imagers he saw the thing in the last milliseconds before the collision, like a screaming bolt flying at the camera with unexpected speed, its nose alight with plasmafire like a flaming torch, yet all this terror was maliciously muted by the perfectly silent void of space.

The thunderous roar of tearing metal was deafening just before air pressure was lost and the silence of space claimed -chip and its occupant. The explosion of the left wing engine was laughable compared to the much greater blaze of the meltaweapon drill as it passed by microseconds earlier. The back quarter of the Thunderhawk and left wing were severed off as some prominence of the passing spear of death carelessly smashed through it. Xepherial had been completely unable to secure himself and was sucked out into the blackness of space as air pressure was lost, throwing him clear of the dangerous, spinning remains of his former companion. -chip was no more.

Long, out-of-use mechanisms on Xepherial's power armor quickly kicked in, responding to the aberrant sensor input on his life support and environmental detectors. The thermal waste disappators on his armor's power generator automatically directed themselves to negate his rotation and stabilize his orientation in zero-gravity. The emergency oxygen supply and air purification system quickly surged into his helmet, which thankfully he always wore, and the suit's cogitator set the internal temperature to a cool 18 degrees C.

Xepherial was miraculously unharmed. Stunned with awe, he watched at the monstrous spire sank deep into of one of the hulk's corpse-ship components. Looking back, his heart sank with grief as the body of his own craft careened into the blackness, bleeding small flares of blue oxygen as its morbid sendoff. Xepherial mourned his brave, doomed machine ally and felt a debt of penance weight upon him for its' loss.

With no other option, Xepherial directed himself to land directly upon the metal surface of the spacehulk. Magnetized soles on his armor allowed him to walk unhindered upon its surface. He glanced up in the direction of the Rigged Fortune, his auto-sensory display pointing it out. Was he about to be blasted into oblivion?

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

I was gonna delay to see wtf rigged fortune did, but maybe multiple players on on ship can't agree on what it's doing. I'm gonna post.

The Gregorian - Imperium (Warhammer 50K RP, The Shape of the Nightmare to Come)

@agentmanatee ok. Thanks.

The Gregorian - Imperium (Warhammer 50K RP, The Shape of the Nightmare to Come)

I thought about posting, but the next significant events will require us arriving at the moon in question.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

Oh wait nevermind. Figured it out.