I'm pretty sure a crappy astropah heard your fireball loud and clear.
Wraithblade6 Member
Interrogator Chaplain
STATUS: I may not come back. It was nice playing with you all. I wish you all good lives. 4 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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- Wraithblade6 11 yrs ago
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4 yrs ago
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I may not come back. It was nice playing with you all. I wish you all good lives.
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4 yrs ago
The fires of hell did not kill me.
7 yrs ago
No shoes no shirt and I still get service WHY?!
7 yrs ago
Too tired to post.
8 yrs ago
God told me, I've already got the life.....
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Ork don't think too good.
Perfectly in character.
Perfectly in character.
And if I recall correctly, both an navigator and an astrophath have the psychic wherewithall to NUKE anyone instantly.
With a sharp inhale across sharp fangs, Mithias sat bolt upright in his chambers. It was perfectly dark, his sheets were soft and dry, and there wasn't a sound in the room other than his own calming breaths. The psychic radiation of so much sudden fear and pain had awakened him from his daylight slumber. So many humans were terrified, running for their lives in the streets above. It felt like a war, like in the world wars when an entire city came under siege. Mithias tried to focus. No, this was no nightmare. Something was happening outside right now, something that didn't make sense for a small town like Vance. He threw aside the sheets in a fluid motion and set to see it for himself.
Just as he thought, the humans were under attack. The entire town was being assaulted by a youngblood vampire army that for some reason felt it would be more effective to strike under the damning light of the sun. Like himself, they would be weakened, slowed, and their senses dulled. "Foolish." Mithias commented to himself as he watched from a private drive on a hill. He was wearing a long black coat that hid his weapons yet allowed him movement. His hair was tied back and a Fedora shielded his yellow eyes. The scent of fresh blood was actually on the air, as was the odor of burning tires and spent gunpowder. The adrenaline and despair tainting that sanguine ichor of life made it all the darker an evil to drink and the more enticing for it. Mithias consciously rebelled against the thought of indulging.
The vampire knew immediately that this was not his place. Any fool immortal who threw themselves into battle at every opportunity would wind up wasting the life they had been given. Elders knew better than to involve themselves in the meaningless skirmishes between humans and the lesser of their own kind, even if such battles seemed so grand and important. ... They were nothing. They didn't matter, and no lasting and wise immortal ever invested themselves in those who would easily wind up dead in such petty engagements. This largely included associations with humans.
Mithias had been warned. He knew how dangerous it was here in Vance at this particular moment, and every cell in his body told him to flee, dispense with these mere mortal lives, and live to fight another day. He should live, to return again after some reconnaissance and perhaps assist the Covenant in seeking their revenge. This, he could do, but he could not fight the Covenant's battles directly for them. First off, he was one of the enemy and not to be trusted, nor did he trust them. Secondly, it was god-damned daylight.
But logic forever failed when it came to matters of the heart. For hundreds of years, Mithias had kept and watched his descendants as if they were his own children, and it just so happened that a few of them lived here in Vance, serving as low-ranking Covenant members. Their lives were at stake, and this pinched at the vampire's fatherly nerve. Mithias would move in, find out who had organized this ridiculous attack and protect the Covenant stronghold.
Moments later, Mithias arrived near the scene of where Tristan, Valadimir, and Johnathan were. Having "dealt with" one or two of the vampire soldiers on his way in, Mithias had learned a few things, one being that Johnathan was his next most likely target. He recognized Vladimir and noted him facing off against some strange vampire who carried a sword. The two were still speaking, but neither were yielding any pertinent information. Mithais merely listened from behind a corner as he searched for the young blonde Johnathan.
Vladimir and Mithias had never crossed paths. Mithias preferred to keep away from any powerful tool of the Covenant and always managed to escape before Vlad could track him down. The vampiric dog seemed quite useful.
Somewhere in Vance, a young woman was trying to run home.
Just as he thought, the humans were under attack. The entire town was being assaulted by a youngblood vampire army that for some reason felt it would be more effective to strike under the damning light of the sun. Like himself, they would be weakened, slowed, and their senses dulled. "Foolish." Mithias commented to himself as he watched from a private drive on a hill. He was wearing a long black coat that hid his weapons yet allowed him movement. His hair was tied back and a Fedora shielded his yellow eyes. The scent of fresh blood was actually on the air, as was the odor of burning tires and spent gunpowder. The adrenaline and despair tainting that sanguine ichor of life made it all the darker an evil to drink and the more enticing for it. Mithias consciously rebelled against the thought of indulging.
The vampire knew immediately that this was not his place. Any fool immortal who threw themselves into battle at every opportunity would wind up wasting the life they had been given. Elders knew better than to involve themselves in the meaningless skirmishes between humans and the lesser of their own kind, even if such battles seemed so grand and important. ... They were nothing. They didn't matter, and no lasting and wise immortal ever invested themselves in those who would easily wind up dead in such petty engagements. This largely included associations with humans.
Mithias had been warned. He knew how dangerous it was here in Vance at this particular moment, and every cell in his body told him to flee, dispense with these mere mortal lives, and live to fight another day. He should live, to return again after some reconnaissance and perhaps assist the Covenant in seeking their revenge. This, he could do, but he could not fight the Covenant's battles directly for them. First off, he was one of the enemy and not to be trusted, nor did he trust them. Secondly, it was god-damned daylight.
But logic forever failed when it came to matters of the heart. For hundreds of years, Mithias had kept and watched his descendants as if they were his own children, and it just so happened that a few of them lived here in Vance, serving as low-ranking Covenant members. Their lives were at stake, and this pinched at the vampire's fatherly nerve. Mithias would move in, find out who had organized this ridiculous attack and protect the Covenant stronghold.
Moments later, Mithias arrived near the scene of where Tristan, Valadimir, and Johnathan were. Having "dealt with" one or two of the vampire soldiers on his way in, Mithias had learned a few things, one being that Johnathan was his next most likely target. He recognized Vladimir and noted him facing off against some strange vampire who carried a sword. The two were still speaking, but neither were yielding any pertinent information. Mithais merely listened from behind a corner as he searched for the young blonde Johnathan.
Vladimir and Mithias had never crossed paths. Mithias preferred to keep away from any powerful tool of the Covenant and always managed to escape before Vlad could track him down. The vampiric dog seemed quite useful.
Somewhere in Vance, a young woman was trying to run home.
I'm contemplating my entrance. Anyone care where I come in?
I didn't want to spoil anything, but I would have Xepherial protect Urgugg, potentially.
Rather than kill the ork, people could run from it.
Xeph doesn't blame the imperium for gunning him down. He was on the wrong side of the war at caliban.
Also, xeph might do some surprising things in the near future.
Also, xeph might do some surprising things in the near future.
Alright, @Necroes. Enjoy that.
@Necroes@Sophrus
A kind of grunty, huffy sound that might have come from a large animal drew Xepherial out of his shock at himself, and he quickly turned his head to see the ork that had appeared far down the corridor to his right. He recognized the xeno witch from before, the one that had conjured up a wicked blast of energy in the previous battle that nearly killed him. How had he gotten here so rapidly?! There wasn't even time to ask this question as the imminent danger became apparent. The ork witch was clearly angry and Xepherial knew the look of an enemy drawing his weapon...
"GET DOWN!" He ordered as a ball of warpfire manifested from the creature's face and grew into something a collosal dragon would have breathed. As it rushed down the inescapable long hall, Xepherial knew he had only one option. He ducked and rapidly forced himself inside Oskar's cell, barely fitting as his body somehow knew to contort itself as a desperate measure. His metallic bulk fell on top of the imprisoned guardsman, Oskar, who would have been utterly crushed had Xepherial not caught himself on his hands on either side of the man. Heat and daemonflame burst inside of the room as the door behind them and much of the wall both melted and vaporized in the sorcery as the fireball passed. Human screams jolted the air around them as the other prisoners were instantly badly burned, unable to benefit from Xepherial acting as their shield. Many were killed in their cells down the entire deck until the fireball fizzled out before it could breech the hull itself.
Everything that could burn was on fire. Alarms blared loudly at this point, pipes were severed, billowing steam, oil, and toxic waste into the brigg. If the crew hadn't known something was up, they did now. Before Urgrugg knew it, a large shape marched out of the smoke and he was kicked over onto his back by a big, black foot. Xepherial pinned him against the floor. The perfectly round barrel of a muzzle came into focus between the ork's eyes, a clear signal that he was living his last conscious moments.
The instant of fear passed as acceptance of death set in for the ork, yet the moment tarried like some kind of psychological torture. Xepherial was hesitating. This ork... he was lying on the ground, dying, no... Xepherial himself had been lying on the ground, dying... and this was the creature that had lifted him up and out of the fire, away from thousands of bloody Tyranid maggots that wanted to swarm his guts. He... he couldn't kill him. What kind of tratorious heresy had come over him?! Everything he had ever learned, everything loyal in his body demanded that he pull the trigger, yet he was at a moral impasse. In fury, the Dark Angel roared at Urgugg and the bolter fired at point blank range... One round wasted. The Angel had shot the floor instead.
Sickened and furious, and deliberating over his sanity, Xepherial stormed away from the ork and looked to see if Oskar was still there.
A kind of grunty, huffy sound that might have come from a large animal drew Xepherial out of his shock at himself, and he quickly turned his head to see the ork that had appeared far down the corridor to his right. He recognized the xeno witch from before, the one that had conjured up a wicked blast of energy in the previous battle that nearly killed him. How had he gotten here so rapidly?! There wasn't even time to ask this question as the imminent danger became apparent. The ork witch was clearly angry and Xepherial knew the look of an enemy drawing his weapon...
"GET DOWN!" He ordered as a ball of warpfire manifested from the creature's face and grew into something a collosal dragon would have breathed. As it rushed down the inescapable long hall, Xepherial knew he had only one option. He ducked and rapidly forced himself inside Oskar's cell, barely fitting as his body somehow knew to contort itself as a desperate measure. His metallic bulk fell on top of the imprisoned guardsman, Oskar, who would have been utterly crushed had Xepherial not caught himself on his hands on either side of the man. Heat and daemonflame burst inside of the room as the door behind them and much of the wall both melted and vaporized in the sorcery as the fireball passed. Human screams jolted the air around them as the other prisoners were instantly badly burned, unable to benefit from Xepherial acting as their shield. Many were killed in their cells down the entire deck until the fireball fizzled out before it could breech the hull itself.
Everything that could burn was on fire. Alarms blared loudly at this point, pipes were severed, billowing steam, oil, and toxic waste into the brigg. If the crew hadn't known something was up, they did now. Before Urgrugg knew it, a large shape marched out of the smoke and he was kicked over onto his back by a big, black foot. Xepherial pinned him against the floor. The perfectly round barrel of a muzzle came into focus between the ork's eyes, a clear signal that he was living his last conscious moments.
The instant of fear passed as acceptance of death set in for the ork, yet the moment tarried like some kind of psychological torture. Xepherial was hesitating. This ork... he was lying on the ground, dying, no... Xepherial himself had been lying on the ground, dying... and this was the creature that had lifted him up and out of the fire, away from thousands of bloody Tyranid maggots that wanted to swarm his guts. He... he couldn't kill him. What kind of tratorious heresy had come over him?! Everything he had ever learned, everything loyal in his body demanded that he pull the trigger, yet he was at a moral impasse. In fury, the Dark Angel roared at Urgugg and the bolter fired at point blank range... One round wasted. The Angel had shot the floor instead.
Sickened and furious, and deliberating over his sanity, Xepherial stormed away from the ork and looked to see if Oskar was still there.
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