Wraithblade6

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

So... Is anybody going to storm around the corner and start killing xenos? Do we want me to try to make a post for some action...? I mean... I've been posting a lot.

Shadow of the Imperium – W40k Inquisition RP

@ClocktowerEchos I am not sure to be honest, yet. I do have a handful of rp's I'm trying to put quality in right now, but I am uncertain how active they are going to be. I may join this still, or I may do so a bit later.

Warhammer 40k: The Long War (Chaos RP) (Dead, for now, please do not apply)

@DrunkasaurusRex, sorry I immediately grabbed your character without permission, however, I merely wished to create tension and fully expect you, or Ashtor, or anyone, to do something to fuckup the spell and get us moving toward a successful escape. I don't mind if you even want to exert some super-powered force of will to counter it. Whatever you want.

Warhammer 40k: The Long War (Chaos RP) (Dead, for now, please do not apply)

A Son of Magnus. Even chaos marines distrusted them. Agathon was right however. For a Thousand Son to be on Minoa III, alone, meant he was up to something secretive and involved. Such was no surprise for a servant of the Great Architect.

The cloaked sorcerer came to a purposeful halt neatly in front of the Palatine Blade warrior, his sparking weapon lowered. He spoke slowly, dragging out his words as if talking were a loathsome, mundane task. "No. This is NOT my fight." From that, it was obvious that the Son had no interest in fighting the enemy Imperial forces. That was not even why he was there. However mysterious his reasons, in the pressing moment, he was not forthcoming about them.

What was already known about the sorcerers of Magnus was that they were the only sentient, free-thinking warriors The Red King had left of his once loyal and troubled legion, and there weren't many of them. Of course, what was free-thought when Tzeentch had you by the balls and there was nothing you could do about it? Still, regardless of whether or not they had been exiled, neither Magnus nor Ahriman would disperse them so lightly. They were not to be wasted on a any random battlefront in the Black Crusades unless the engagement was personal, for that was how Magnus operated. The Thousands Sons swore no loyalty to chaos united, nor even to Tzeentch officially in many cases, although they served the designs of the Changer of Ways whether they were willing or not. They were masters of such incredible power, yet not masters of their own fate.

The armored mage went on, indicating the collapsing lines around him. "I have no interest in wasting time on the failures of the Black Legion. My master has need of me and that is all you will know." The Thousand Sons' classic arrogance was shining through. "Now come, further bickering is pointless. Flee with me, for I know that my fate is not to perish upon this world, and we will escape." He gestured toward the perilously waiting ship. "Make haste, Child of the Emp..."

His tone had only begun to twist into a mocking slurr when a chainaxe whirred unreasonably close, breaking Sanakhet off mid-sentence like sonic phallic symbol. For some reason, to the carefully focused mind of the sorcerer, it was the most annoying sound in the world.

Sanakhet turned sharply from Agathon, yet not so much as to leave an opening for the third legion astartes' Charnabal Sabre to strike him easily in an attack of opportunity. The heat of his glare was legible in the silence of his stare at Guroth. Liquid fury rose up in the sorcerer, and the grip on his force sword subconsciously tightened. Only many millennia of strict self control was able to keep the damn from breaking before Sanakhet's hateful wrath at the servant of Khorne. He knew his was not the time for a deathmatch. His intellect was fortunately his greatest attribute and dominated his actions. Yet, how could a sudden conflict be avoided, right here, right now? It couldn't. He damned the dancing threads of destiny.

Sanakhet flexed his knees ever so slightly as he postured, raising up a gauntleted hand and speaking soft words in a low voice that struck anyone who heard them like a slap across the face. The air wiggled around him like heat rising off his armor. Clearly he was preparing for an unwanted confrontation, but gods damn anyone who knew what in all unholy warp he was casting. It was probably wise to step back.

"Khornate swine..." Sanakhet hissed the words, yet all could hear him and feel the narrowing of his eyes behind his helm as he glared in the Skulltaker's direction. Sanakhet recalled the unforgetable laughter he had psychically witnessed as his primarch had been hurled back into the warp on Fenris after receiving a wound from a Khornate berserker's axe. It had been the laughter of the god himself, mocking the folly of Tzeentch's chosen champion. The hatred was real. Vengeance was due.

Guroth would suddenly feel his body becoming more and more difficult to move. His muscles cramped and his blood ceased flowing in various parts of his body until it nearly paralyzed him, forcefully halting his advance. Sanakhet wasn't going to even bother killing him. Let the oncoming Imperium do that. He relished the thought of the red-clad chaos marine being obliterated by bolterfire as the gunship took off in front of him. To the others, there was little point in trying to save the random Skulltaker's life by dragging him along. It would simply be easier to leave him behind, a victim of the enmity between two gods of chaos. Inwardly, Sanakhet grinned, his place on the escape vessel assured, for who would oppose him while he had the upper hand?

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

@agentmanatee Two posts per week? Wow. I greatly appreciate the effort, however it is not all your fault for the current slowness. Also, I would not want to diminish the quality by making writing a chore. It should be a joy for each of us. If we could get each other to post but once per week, I think we'd be fine. Everyone up for that?

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

I believe I am waiting on @Bright_Ops, @DepressedSoviet, and/or @Hank to reply.

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

All breaths on the command deck of the starfort were unconsciously held for what slowly became an agonizing test of endurance. Finally, a reply transmission was received. Leal only let his breath go once he had confirmed what he was sure he had heard, an acceptance of assistance. The Space Wolves were locked in battle against chaos forces, cultists of course, but likely also demons. From what the naval captain had said, they seemed assured of an eventual victory. The Aristov's men however, Imperial Guard and mortal, were struggling, which meant they were dying. There was also the threat of the forgemoon itself being blown up in a kind of self-exterminatus initiated by the Magos in charge. Leal had to consider the real possibility that any Relictors he sent to the surface may end up being lost forever, and that mattered when you had 100 brothers alone to choose from.

It was instinctive really, but Leal knew in an instant that he could give Captain Aristov and the Wolf Lord Tryfingr his complete trust. Without first consulting anyone else, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He had all the reason he needed to get his men down to the moon's surface where they could fight the enemy, prevent the moon's detonation, and attempt to preserve the adeptus mechanicus from suffering any more collateral damage potentially incurred by the Space Wolves. He responded back, "Transmission received Captain Aristov. We are sending our gunships to the coordinates of your men. By the light of the Emperor, the Amalthus moon will not be lost." Leal remembered his sworn loyalty to the new emperor and his secret pact with Alexius vividly.

The next few moments involved the chapter master delegating command of the Starfort and the few Relictors that were required to remain aboard to preserve the chapter in the event that the moon was detonated and to of course guard the few known relics therein. The secret of the Diamedes artifact would at least be kept by the Ordo Chronos should the worst come to pass. Updates were relayed to Saint's Chariot on the spur of the moment.

"I'm going down there. Garwyn, you're with me." Leal and his first strode purposefully toward the readied thunderhawks.

----

92 of the Relictors' brothers descended in a steep dive toward forgemoon Amalthus. The two gunships gleemed brightly as their hot metal hulls cut through polluted air in attack protocol, only finally leveling out at the last possible moment before they would have crashed nose-first into the surface. Fires burned and smoke obscured the purveyors of gunfire from each other across a wasteland battlefield littered with strewn wreckage. White skulls grinned all the wider on the paudrons of the Relictors as they poured forth form their ships, the first bolters already going off no sooner than the warriors feet hit the ground. It was as if their rage at having been pent up and denied glory for so long had been explosively released upon the forgemoon, so eagerly did the dark grey warriors actively engage the enemy. Hate and glee mixed together in a satisfying meal for the soul for the Relictors space marines.

But their souls were not the only ones feasting. Demonic, possessed bolter and blade were unleashed upon the enemy with equal alacrity, literally harvesting the souls of their hewn victims. Chaos worshippers, mutant juggernauts, and the occasional unseen demon found themselves taken by surprise against the Relictors' advance. The rounds fired from a daemonic bolter curved weirdly mid-air as they bent their paths around corners to seek their targets. A daemonic axe glowed with a foreign green light as it whisked the essence out of its taget's wounds. The viciousness of chaos in battle was terrifying to behold, even when used against itself.

The pressing incursionists began to find their progress halted as the heavily armored reinforcements to the entrenched Imperial guard joined the field. The merely human fighters looked up only to see shadows of bulky astartes forms advancing beside them, dimming the flashes of lasfire that seared the clouds over their heads. Hope began to flicker and tease their hearts.

Somewhere about sector I-z1355, a different kind of light emminated. It was white, yet off-blue, and cold, like logic. Lattore fought alongside Garwyn who bore no such chaotic taint upon his weapons, having left at least one specimen aboard the orbiting starfort for preservation. The two were taking on another front against the lesser demons and cultists, equating to an army by themselves. Helmet vox links kept them connected with their miniscule chapter. They were the closest to the site of the advancing Space Wolves.

Leal fought like a disconnected machine. Conserving ammo, he fought primarily with the angellic powersword whos bright flashes blinded enemy fighters. Warp magic melted in its presence and with it, he could even parry bullets. Now in battle, he was no longer himself alone, but a willing servant of his weapon, the two acting together seemlessly. Garwyn watched his back. So far, they had no run into anything that could stop them.

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

I'm ok with it.

Warhammer 40k: The Long War (Chaos RP) (Dead, for now, please do not apply)

<Snipped quote by Ollumhammersong>

Not sure how he knew this, seeing as all my comms were on a squad-wide vox channel AKA My character's squad alone, but I'll let you have it for plots sake. :)

Anyway, I'll get a post up today.

@Wraithblade6, did your guy kill one of my guys or someone else? Its a wee bit hard to tell from the post.

@Jbcool

I left it ambiguous. I didn't intend for it to be one of yours, in fact I think he wouldn't have, although that chainsword is most certainly dead.

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

*checks watch* 18 hours.

I am beginning to worry about this rp.