|
For Ten Thousand years the Space Marine Legions who turned away from the domineering Emperor of Man have waged war against those foolish enough to remain loyal to a Corpse who cared little of His Sons and Mankind while he was alive, and cares none in death. At the forefront of this war is the Black Legion. While other legions have become obsessed with the follies of their gods, spending more time waging war amongst themselves than against the real Enemy of Man, the Black Legion, under the leadership of Abbadon the Despoiler, has led Thirteen Black Crusades against the Imperium of Man. The Black Legion, among only a handful of the other original traitor legions, continues to wage the Long War against the foolish loyalists.  Black Legion members waging war against Foolish Loyalists Many think that the Black Legion is comprised of only remnants of the Sons of Horus. While the majority of the legion are those who fought under Horus Lupercal, an ever growing numberof Astartes are those from other Traitor legions, or even Loyalist Chapters, who tired of their old way of waging war. Abandoning their former loyalties to wear the Black and Gold of the Black Legion, these Astartes are ones who wish to fight the Long War above all else. You are a member of one of Abbadon's trusted strike teams. Abbadon calls upon these teams when he has work that must be done far away from the support of the main Black Legion forces. Often dropped in alone on a hostile world with no additional support and just an objective, these strike teams are among the Legion's strongest soldiers.  One of those strike teams, sent to a hellhole of a planet without even thermal undergarments, much less additional support. Abbadon is in the middle of his 13th Black Crusade. He controls Cadia, and works to weaken the pylons, so as to allow the Eye of Terror to spill out past Cadia, and into the Imperium as a whole. To complete this, you have been sent to the world of Pandamonia in the Screaming Vortex. A diverse world of lush jungles, harsh deserts, snowy mountains, and other, more daemonic, geography the world has been long rumored to contain ancient artefacts. These rumors have drawn numerous others to this world. Other Traitor astartes have set up fortifications on world, trying to find the same artefacts. Dark Eldar are present, always trying to experiment with the local wildlife. The orks have seemed to always be here. Even the Harlequins are present, seeming to try and prevent anyone from digging up the secrets of this world. On top of all these threats are the local fauna, ranging from deranged mutants to killer animals to chaos daemons; this world seems ready to kill anyone who sets foot on it. This is the exact kind of challenge that your Strike Team has been assembled for.  Pictured: your strike team? _____________________________________________________________________________________ Welcome everyone to my next Black Crusade game. This is going to be a high level game of astartes that is going to be focused primarily on one world. The inspiration for the world draws heavily from the planet Pandora from the Borderlands video game series. The locations are varied and warp rifts are everywhere. This is essentially an excuse for me to use whatever monsters I want to use from the various Tomes that have been released. Also, while it may not seem like it from the write up above, I do also plan to borrow from Pandora's sense of humor and make this a "light-hearted" game (well light hearted for me). Expect eccentric Chaos types, animals with funny names, and an Iron Warrior NPC based off of Mr. Torgue. Creation is as follows: 1. Race: Chaos marines only. 2. Experience: You start with 5,000 exp. This is more than enough to take an archetype from any of the tomes and customize it yourself. Any and all advanced archetypes are allowed from any of the tomes, though if you want to spend all that experience with one of the base archetypes, you may. 2.1. Alignment for the sake of spending exp will work as follows: If you pick an archetype that says you start play aligned to a God, then you have that alignment for the purpose of spending your exp. If you pick an archetype that says you start play unaligned, then you spend your exp as if you are unaligned, and after character creation check your advances to see if you align. If you use one of the “Core” archetypes (Champion, Chosen, Forsaken, or Sorcerer) you may chose your alignment before you begin spending EXP. This is often referred to as Man mode in #acolyte games. You do not have to chose your alignment before spending exp if you do not desire. If so, then you spend exp until you would have aligned (so once you have five advances in on god more than any other) so for those base archetypes, the order of your exp expenditures does matter. 3. Starting Infamy and corruption: Per the box on page 47 of the core rule book, you get +3 infamy and +5 corruption for every 1,000 exp, so you get +15 infamy and +25 corruption. Note that the +15 infamy is on top of the 19+1d5 you start with. So you essentially get 34+1d5 infamy. Do not use the infamy listed under the advanced archetype. 4. Stats: Roll for everything as written in the book. Use orokos to roll, game name “Back in Black”. 5. Starting gear: you get bonus items based on infamy as usual, so you get at least three items, more if you roll well and choose your motivations and the like for maximum infamy gain. 6. Other stuff: As I said, all of the archetypes are allowed. If you choose one from another legion, such as a Thousand Son Sorcerer, or an Alpha Legionare, that means that you come from that legion originally. In your character fluff, indicate why it is you are now with the Black Legion. Did you disagree with your Legion's method of leadership? Were you forced out? Something else? If the archetype you pick does not indicate a specific chapter in the name, such as the core archetypes, the Vet of the Long War, the Plague marine, Khorne Berserker, etc, Indicate if you are an original Black Legion member, come from another Legion, or if you are a recent walker of the Path of Glory and are fallen Loyalist. If your character has a Black Legion background, you must have “The Black Legion Armor” for your armor's customization. Anyone else may choose to default to that, or roll customization as normal. You may have one of your starting weapons be a Legacy weapon if you choose. Mutations will be rolled as recruits come in, just state in your app how many you should get. Everyone should get one, maybe two. If you would like to play a possessed marine using the rules in Tome of Decay create your character normally and note in your app you would like to try a possessed character. I will decide after apps are made, and only one player will start possessed. House Rules: 1. The minion of Chaos talents do not require a minimum fellowship, only a minimum infamy amount. Do note that leadership rules remain unchanged, so if you get a greater minion of chaos while you have 20 fellowship, and you leave the minion alone, they will still need to pass a leadership test to make sure the minion doesn't run off and get a coffee instead of what you told them. I'll at least keep the recruit up until May 2nd. I am looking for 5-6 players. * No Firesight apps* Werix fucked around with this message at 18:45 on Apr 26, 2015 |
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 00:53
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 06:09 |
|
|
pre:Name: Rakhsh Archetype: Khorne Berzerker Alignment: Khorne Pride: Grace -5 BS +5 Agi Disgrace: Betrayal +5 CP, -10 Charm Motivation: Ascendancy -2 W +5 WP Stats: 9#2d10 8 17 16 13 14 7 15 12 17 Stats: Reroll the 7: 2d10 8 (Eh. My rolls were amazing and it's still an improvement.) Wounds: 1d5 4 Infamy: 1d5 2 Characteristics: WS: 52 (30+5+17) BS: 33 (30+8-5) S: 52 (30+5+17) T: 45 (30+15) Agi: 49 (30+5+14) Int: 43 (30+13) Per: 42 (30+12) WP: 51 (30+5+16) Fel: 38 (30+8) Wounds: 18 (16+4-2) Infamy: 36 (34+2) IP: CP: 30 Skills: Athletics +10 Awareness Common Lore (War) Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War, Pirates) Intimidate +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry +10 Survival Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Battle Rage Berserk Charge Bulging Biceps Cold Hearted Fearless Flesh Render Frenzy Furious Assault Legion Weapon Training Lightning Reflexes Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Nerves of Steel Pity the Weak Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons, Psychic Powers) Sure Strike Unarmed Warrior Traits/Mutations/Other: Amphibious Avatar of Slaughter Brutal Charge Mark of the Blood God Unnatural Strength(+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Unstoppable Wrath Vampiric Addiction. Gear: Legionnaire Power Armour (Devotional Iconography, Osmotic Gills, Magnetic Soles, Enhanced Ceramite Plating) Legionnaire Bolter Legionnaire Combat Knife four magazines for starting weapon Legion chainsword Bolt Pistol 2 Legion frag grenades 2 Legion krak grenades Acquisitions: Bloodshield (Best Quality Legacy Chain Sword (Human)) (Legacy of Pain, Shield of Hate) -Duelists Grip Helmet Augs Silvernet XP Spent (4650/5000) Khorn Berzerker -3600 Battle Rage -300 Greater Minion of Chaos (Stampy) 750 How to smash whatever it was he indicated needed smashing was left to their imagination, and generally left every squad to it's own devices. And since World Eaters aren't exactly known for cooperation without an overlord to point them in the right direction, anything more complex than butchering a planet of paraplegic children generally ended in a prolonged bloody failure. And every time they failed Rostom grew larger and more erratically violent. The rest of the warband, of course, assumed this was a sign of the Blood God's favor, as opposed to his obvious disdain for letting a failure command them. One day, during a void operation on the hull of an Imperial warship, Rakhsh had finally had enough. His squad had drawn the short straw, accompanying Rostom himself in combat. And by combat he meant standing on the side of the enemy ship while Rostom beat the side of the hull with his club yelling "SCHMASH THE IMPERIALS! SCHMASH EM!" for an hour. His entourage, all except Rakhsh, enthusiastically followed suit. What the gently caress were they doing? They'd never actually chop their way through an armored bulkhead. gently caress that, Rakhsh was out of here. He kicked off back to the battlebarge, and headed for the bridge. As one of the only people still capable of working a computer, noone seemed to notice him come onto the bridge and set the ship on a collision course with the enemy, and with any luck his own idiot commander. With that settled he quickly made his way to the flight deck to get the gently caress out before he died with the rest of the morons. Butt, before he boarded the transport, fleeing to some less hopelessly stupid army, a voice crying "WAIT LORD! WAIT!" came from behind him. It was Private Stampson, one of the cultists who sometimes accompanied his squad to act as cannon fodder! How did he get out of the slave pens? "My Lord, take me with you that I may serve the Blood God through you!" Rakhsh took a moment to consider before replying: "Only if the Blood God, here and now, provides a sign that you are WORTHY to join so great a warrior as I!" Rakhsh didn't actually expect anything to happen, he just wanted the little poo poo to leave. But almost as soon as he had finished speaking Stampson fell to his hands and knees and began screaming. And changing. His body began swelling to monstrous size. Great ropes of muscle enveloped his limbs. "TRULY THE BLOOD GOD HAS BLESSED ME! MY ASCENDANCY IS AT HAND!" His puny screams became a mighty bellow. He was now far larger than Rakhsh himeself was. "QUAKE IN FEAR PUNY CHAOS SPACE MARINE. IT SHALL BE I WHO IS YOUR MASTER!!" A great horn grew from his head. Actually his chin. Wait what the gently caress-  Stampy: "Awww" Rakhsh: "Shut up and get in. Dumbass." pre:Stampy the Manephant, Greater Minion of Chaos Schizotek fucked around with this message at 03:05 on Apr 27, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 01:46
|
|
|
If the game system is any decent? Ill gladly join up. Played Chaos in the figures so this should be fun. Interested in Nurgle if that matters.
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 01:51
|
|
|
 In better times. It was not long after the Siege of Terra that Iocanthos saw a sickness creeping through his fellow Raptors. Proud warriors were being twisted into screeching beasts, mockeries of the flying predators that had been symbols of their might. Every time he saw a fellow Raptor slouched over, crawling around on all fours and snarling at the ceiling that prevented him from soaring, Iocanthos shook in fury and swore he could hear the mocking laughter of the Chaos gods who could bring an Astartes so low. In time, Iocanthos realized the name of this disease: weakness. His brethren were weaklings, failures, all too willing to submit their souls and bodies to the warping influence of Chaos in return for power. It was one thing to call upon Khorne to bless your blade or Slaanesh to speed your steps, but another thing entirely to dedicate yourself to the Ruinous Powers, to war for their sake rather than your own. Chaos should be a tool, not a master. Never a master. Iocanthos refused to accept the same fate; he departed the corrupted Raptors and struck out on his own. In time he gathered a diaspora of warriors from other Legions, all of them united in their hatred of the mutation and servitude that had corrupted their brethren. At the head of this new warband, the Dread Talons, Iocanthos would spend as much time slaughtering Champions of the Dark Gods as he would striking out against the Imperium; in his eyes, both were equally guilty of the unforgivable crime of weakness. To throw yourself on the mercy of a god was to show that you never deserved your life to begin with. Iocanthos would serve others only so far as it benefited him; his only true master was himself. But that was then, and this is now. Abaddon wants to unite the Fallen Legions, and he will not brook rogue elements like the Dread Talons striking out at his force. Assisted by traitors within the Talons' ranks, he smashed Iocanthos's warband to pieces and presented him with an ultimatum: swear fealty on bended knee to Abaddon and the Black Legion or be twisted into Spawndom by his sorcerers. It was hardly a choice. A few days after swearing servitude to another, Iocanthos's form was twisted by Chaos for the first time. Now he watches and waits, seething in hatred for Abaddon. For now, he will play the part of the servant and fetch artifacts from the Vortex for his "master," but if Abaddon should ever slip, Iocanthos will be among the first to turn against him. pre:Name: Iocanthos Archetype: Night Lord (+5 S, +5 WP) Alignment: Unaligned Pride: Grace (+5 Agi, -5 BS) Disgrace: Destruction (+2 Inf, -4 Fel) Motivation: Perfection (+5 WS, -3 Int, -3 Fel) Stats: 9#2d10 10 13 14 10 6 4 11 9 8 Stats: Reroll the 4: 2d10 16 Wounds: 1d5 3 Infamy: 1d5 5 Characteristics: WS: 51 (16+5) BS: 36 (11-5) S: 45 (10+5) T: 40 (10) Agi: 49 (14+5) Int: 35 (8-3) Per: 39 (9) WP: 48 (13+5) Fel: 02 (6-3-4-27) Wounds: 18 Infamy: 41 (+2) IP: 4 CP: 25 Skills: Acrobatics Athletics Awareness +10 Common Lore (Screaming Vortex, War) Deceive Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Heresy, The Horus Heresy, The Long War) Intimidate +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface, Aeronautica) Parry +10 Stealth +10 Survival Tech-Use Talents: Ancient Warrior Ambidextrous Berserk Charge Bulging Biceps Cold Hearted Disturbing Voice Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Iron Jaw Jaded Legion Weapon Training Lightning Reflexes Nerves of Steel Paranoia Pity the Weak Quick Draw Raptor Resistance (Heat, Cold, Poisons) Sure Strike Two-Weapon Wielder (Melee) Unarmed Warrior Traits/Mutations/Other: Amphibious Dark Sight Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Flaming Skull: Fear (1), Fellowship Loss: 27 Spectral Haunter: Penalties for attacking a Night Lord and bonuses to Stealth Checks that Combat Circumstances grant based on visual hindrances are increased by 20. Terror Tactics: A Night Lord may spend IP to grant himself and his allies up to Fear (4) for the remainder of a session. Each rank of Fear requires the expenditure of 2 IP, 2 days of prep, and a -20 Intimidate Test. GM may modify the difficulty based on the Night Lord's actions and/or add additional skill checks based on the situation. Gear: Legion Power Armour --Black Legion's Armour -Sustainable Power Source -Enhanced Ceramite Plating -Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer Legion Bolter (4 Mags) Legion Combat Knife Legion Power Sword x2 2 Legion Frag Grenades 2 Legion Krak Grenades GC Jump Pack GC Helmet Augmentations GC Cameleoline Cloak Acquisitions: GC Jump Pack (-10 Rare +10 Single -10 Good) GC Helmet Augmentations (-10 Rare +10 Single -10 Good) Legion Power Sword(-30 Extremely Rare +10 Ancient Warrior +10 Single) GC Cameleoline Cloak (-10 Rare+10 Single-10 Good) XP Spent 4950/5000 Night Lords Chaos Space Marine-3600 (U) Stealth +10-350 (U) Pity the Weak-250 (K) Berserk Charge-250 (K) Iron Jaw-250 (N) Disturbing Voice-250 (N) Dachshundofdoom fucked around with this message at 04:05 on May 2, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 04:58
|
|
|
Here is Iocanthos mutation options: Roll one: You got a 05! Pick from the following: Addiction (pickled rat tails), Animal Hybrid (vermin), Bestial(cattle) Roll two: You roll 43! Pick from the following: Centaroid(insect),Featureless face,Illusion of Normalcy, Flaming skull, Headless
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 05:15
|
|
|
Hoping for Possessed. Pox The siege of Terra, betrayal, rage, revenge. Flight. The Eye. Pain, terror, rage and anguish. Hatred. A being twisted and tormented, once a perfect man built and rebuilt to be the perfect soldier. Broken and reforged, in body and faith. Time passes. Hatred hones, rage hones, madness hones. Insanity. Corpulence. Life. Beyond all reason. Life. Cancer. Pestilence. Plague. His god is unworthy. A man who would be god, who would sit upon the throne of an empire. A man. That is all. Not a god. Not worthy of his position or praise. A man, who is little more than a husk. The man shall fall. The imperium shall fall. Perhaps a new Emperor shall take up the mantle. But this once perfect man has faith in a new god now. A god of life. Unrelenting life. A god of pestilence. A god who fills his faithful with his love. This man, once perfect, now twisted and reshapen. Corpulence, plague, the gift of Nurgle has remade him. And now he brings Nurgle's love to the masses. Fighting his former allies, or those who followed in their footsteps. He shall bring Nurgle's love to the Imperium. He shall face the emperor, unmask his lies, and show him that even such a fallen emperor can receive the love of the great and mighty Nurgle. pre:Name: Pox Archetype: Plague Marine (-10 Agi, +10 T, +5 WP) Alignment: Nurgle Pride: Fortitude (+5 T, -3 Agi, -3 Int) Disgrace: Betrayal (+5 Corruption) Motivation: Violence (+5 Corruption, -3 Int) Stats: 9#2d10 10 8 13 13 12 11 17 15 6 Stats: Reroll the 6: 2d10 9 Wounds: 1d5 4 Infamy: 1d5 2 Characteristics: WS: 48 (13+30+5) BS: 42 (12+30) S: 47[67] (17+30)[Power Armour] T: 71 (15+30+10+5+10+1) Agi: 24 (13+30-10-3+10-16) Int: 35 (11+30-3-3) Per: 39 (9+30) WP: 45 (10+30+5) Fel: 33 (8+30-5) Wounds: 22 Infamy: 36 IP: 3 CP: 35 Skills: Athletics Awareness +10 Common Lore (any, War) Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Daemonology, The Horus Heresy, The Long War) Intimidate +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry +10 Talents: Ancient Warrior Ambidextrous Bolter Drill Bulging Biceps Exotic Weapon Training (Plague Knife) Fearless Hardy Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Hip Shooting Iron Jaw Legion Weapon Training Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Rapid Reload Resistance (Heat, Cold, Poisons) Sure Strike Takedown Unarmed Warrior Traits/Mutations/Other: Amphibious Grossly Fat Nurgle's Rot Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Abominable Physiology: Never suffers Damage or other negative effects from Diseases, poisons, or the Toxic Quality unless he chooses to suffer these effects (although he can still be infected by Diseases as normal, and can spread them to others.). Hideous Resilience: As a Reaction, may make a Difficult (-10) Toughness Test. If he succeeds, he reduces the Damage from the next hit he suffers before the beginning of his next Turn by 1 per Degree of Success he scores on the Test. If he reduces the Damage to 0 this way, he gains the Fear (1) Trait to the foe whose attack he so easily withstood. Infectious Miasma: May spend an Infamy point to release the swarms of bloat-flies, corpse-gases, and other vile contagions housed within his bloated frame. For the next 1d5+1 Rounds, at the start of the Plague Marine's Turn, each other character within 10 metres of the Plague Marine suffers a single hit for 1d10 Energy Damage with the Toxic Quality, ignoring armour that is not environmentally sealed. Gear: Legion Power Armour --Black Legion's Armour -Sustainable Power Source -Enhanced Ceramite Plating -Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer Legion Bolter (4 Mags) Legion Boltgun (2 Mags) Legion Combat Knife Legacy Weapon Plague Knife (Legacy of Pain, Vicious) 3 Blight Grenades 2 Legion Krak Grenades Acquisitions: Plauge Knife -> Legacy Weapon Plague Knife, cost because of Felling. Death's Grasp Festering Shroud XP Spent 4950/5000 Plague Marine Chaos Space Marine-3600 (N) Toughness-100 (N) Toughness-250 (N) Ag-250 (U) Qg-500 (U) WS-250 (U) Ryuujin fucked around with this message at 16:45 on Apr 29, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 07:35
|
|
|
 "My sons, the galaxy is burning. We all bear witness to a final truth -- our way is not the way of the Imperium. You have never stood in the Emperor’s light. Never worn the Imperial eagle. And you never will. You shall stand in midnight clad, your claws forever red with the lifeblood of my father’s failed empire, warring through the centuries as the talons of a murdered god. Rise, my sons, and take your wrath across the stars, in my name. In my memory. Rise, my Night Lords." — The Primarch Konrad Curze, at the final gathering of the VIII Legion Born in the hive city of Nostramo Secundus, his father a murderer, his mother a whore. Daren Khalid had a typical Nostraman upbringing after the Night Haunter left their world with the Emperor of Mankind. Daycare till he was old enough for the Schola. A practiced thief by the time he was 8, murderer by 11 and a neophyte of the VIII Legion by the time he was 13. The crimes he committed as a child were rewarded by being chosen by the demigods to be one of the Night Haunter’s children. On Darrowmar he stalked PDF forces in the night, ceramite fingers scraping the walls to herald his coming before he would rend them with a chainsword. On Farinatus, he dropped with his Raptor brothers onto retreating rebel forces and slagged men and tank alike with his Meltagun. The smell that lingers in the air after particles of flesh and ceramite mix together in the smoke born of dozens of funeral pyres. Its something that touched his black heart. So unlike the rest of the Night Lords, who degenerated into sadistic killers who preyed on the weak, Daren desired a different kind of prey. As a teenager in the gangs of Nostramo, he was never one of the strongest, indeed he was more of a short and skinny boy. Then as now, he relished making giants fall. As a child he wetted his blade with the guts of the toughest thugs. As an Astartes, he took great pleasure in hunting down and introducing armored companies to the gift of true terror as he jumped in the midst of their formations. During the Siege of Terra, he had the, as of yet, unique experience of boarding a Reaver Battle Titan in the heat of battle with the rest of his squad. Close combat against cyborgs who shouldn’t feel fear, but excreted its scent in copious amounts, tinged with oil and the vile scent of “black blood”. The look in the princeps eyes as he was forcibly disconnected from his god-machine, the meek frail man absolutely powerless before him, now that was something. Its quite a thing to make the powerful, powerless. Their fear the sweetest wine as they realize they too are mortal. After the death of the Night Haunter, his company ventured into the Eye of Terror where they sold their services for supplies, transportation to hive worlds that beckoned the Night Lords tender caress, the usual degeneracy. Over the centuries his squad was whittled down until only he remained. With a hunger for true war that went unsatisfied for a full millennia of real time, Daren Khalid abandoned what remained of his warband and took a pilgrimage into the Eye of Terror one last time. He sought death and glory one last time as he grew tired of this existence. He found both in the Black Legion and has served them faithfully until the present day. Wielding the same bolter he was issued as an Initiate, reforged as a mastercrafted Combi-Melta by the Dark Mechanicus for pacts honored millennia past, he wages total war against all who stand before him. Forget that the worms of the Black Legion needed to stoop to seeking the blessings of the Gods. How fools wasted their time was not his concern. What sufficed was that they satiated his hunger for millennia. That would be enough to turn a blind eye to their “worship”. And now, with the 13th Black Crusade coming, the final Crusade, Daren looks forward to the day he walks Terra’s soil once more. Death to the False Emperor and all his slaves! pre:Name: Daren Khalid Archetype: Night Lords Chaos Space Marine Pride: Foresight Disgrace: Wrath Motivation: Violence Special Abilities: Spectral Haunter Terror Tactics Characteristics: WS 47 (47) BS 47 (47) S 42[62] (37 + 5[Archetype]) T 40 (40) Ag 52 (47 + 5 [Advances]) Int 42 (40 - 3[Motivation] + 5[Advances]) Per 53[63] (43 + 10 [Pride/Disgrace]) WP 45 (42 - 2[Disgrace] + 5[Archetype]) Fel 32 (37 - 5[Pride])' Inf 39 (39) Wounds: 15 [16 - 1(Disgrace)] Infamy Points: 3 Corruption: 31 [25 + 6 (Cold Hearted/Motivation)] Experience: 5,000/5,000 Banked Experience: 0 Advances: Archetype: Night Lords CSM (3600 exp) Armour-Monger (500) [Unaligned] Security (200) [Unaligned] Simple Agility Advance (250) [Unaligned] Simple Intelligence Advance (250) [Unaligned] Trade (Armourer) (200) [Unaligned] Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Cold-Hearted Counter-Attack Jaded Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Legion Weapon Training Lightning Reflexes Nerves of Steel Paranoia Raptor Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons) Sure Strike Quick Draw Unarmed Warrior Skills: Acrobatics Athletics Awareness +10 Common Lore (Screaming Vortex) Common Lore (War) +10 Deceive Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War) Intimidate +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Aeronautica, Surface) Parry +10 Security Stealth Tech-Use Trade (Armourer) Traits: Amphibious Dark Sight Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Gifts Additional Limb x2 (Amputated) Starting Equipment: Legion Power Armour Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 16:59 on Apr 29, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 08:27
|
|
|
 You know, after the siege of Terra, some of us, hungry for revenge, followed the traitor barges into the Eye. We had no idea what was waiting for us, but blinded as we were by anguish and hatred, we kept going. We never found them after entering the eye, instead, beings of warped curiosity and boundless malice found us. We suffered. The beings tormenting us had no concept of time and so, neither did our suffering. Even today, I can't accurately describe my captor. An entity of erosion, it found breaking me down and restoring me interesting. Unlike some of my brethren who still remain there, corrupted beyond recognition, my captor always restored me to just as I was when it found me. But with each cycle, I felt myself grow stronger. And I think that was what perplexed my captor so. Over and over again I'd be subjected to myriad diseases, crippling wounds, the vacuum of open space and a host of other torments too varied and numerous to list. But always, I would be restored, more resilient in both mind and matter. I began sharing my captors curiosity in my development, began to savor the feeling of breaking down and growing back. I can't accurately say exactly when I had my epiphany, but at some point, I realized that this was what the Imperium needed. To be torn down and rebuilt, over and over and over again, until at last, it can't be torn down. What Horus did, he did for the wrong reasons, but the end result was just. The Imperium must fall so something stronger can rise from the ashes. Alone, I could not accomplish that, even after all the times I've been broken down, but with the aid of my misguided brethren in the Eye, the Black Legion in particular, that goal is within reach. And so I joined them on their Black Crusades, offering the blessing of rebirth to those who would stand in our way. My new brothers think me mad, but my zealousness in prosecuting our foes seem to clear any misgivings they might harbor. The Imperium will fall. A new Imperium will rise in its place. I will gladly consort with these traitors and madmen to accomplish that goal. Whatever sins I might commit working towards it are immaterial. The end justifies the means. The new beginning, even more so. pre:Name: Thrun the Ruin
Archetype: Imperial Fist Plague Marine
Alignment: Nurgle
Pride: Fortitude (+5 T, -3 Agi, -3 Int)
Disgrace: Destruction (+2 Infamy, -4 Fel)
Motivation: Violence (+5 Corr, -3 Int)
Characteristics:
WS: 39
BS: 48 (43+5)
S: 40
T: 60 (40+10+5+5)
Ag: 26 (39-10-3)
Int: 36 (42-3-3)
Per: 42
WP: 53 (43+5+5)
Fel: 36 (39-3)
Wounds 22/22
Corruption: 30
Infamy: 41
Skills:
Athletics
Awareness +10
Common Lore (Screaming Vortex, War)
Dodge
Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy, The Long War, Daemonology)
Intimidate +10
Linguistics (Low Gothic)
Navigate (Surface)
Operate (Surface)
Parry +10
Survival
Talents:
Ancient Warrior
Ambidextrous
Blind Fighting
Bolter Drill
Bulging Biceps
Deadeye Shot
Exotic Weapon Training (Plague Knife)
Fearless
Hardy
Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight)
Hip Shooting
Iron Jaw
Legion Weapon Training
Mighty Shot
Nerves of Steel
Quick Draw
Rapid Reload
Resistance (Heat, Cold, Poisons)
Unarmed Warrior
Traits:
Unnatural Strength (+4)
Unnatural Toughness (+5)
Stuff of Nightmares (Immune to poisons, diseases, the need to breathe, most environmental hazards, bleeding, stunning.
Ignore any crit that doesn't destroy outright unless inflicted by psychic powers, force weapons or holy attacks)
Gifts of the Gods:
Mark of Nurgle
Illusion of Normality (Appear normal. Range of Nurgle's Rot is 2xCB)
Abominable Physiology:
Never suffers Damage or other negative effects from Diseases,
poisons, or the Toxic Quality unless he chooses to. He can still
be infected by Diseases as normal, and can spread them to others.
Hideous Resilience:
As a Reaction, a Plague Marine may make a Difficult (–10) Toughness Test.
If he succeeds, reduce the Damage from the next hit he suffers before
the beginning of his next Turn by 1 per Degree of Success scored on the Test.
If he reduces the Damage to 0 this way, he gains the Fear (1) Trait to the foe
whose attack he so easily withstood.
Infectious Miasma:
A Plague Marine may spend an Infamy point to release the swarms
of bloat-flies, corpse-gases, and other vile contagions housed within
his bloated frame. For the next 1d5+1 Rounds, at the start of the
Plague Marine’s Turn, each other character within 10 metres of the
Plague Marine suffers a single hit for 1d10 Energy Damage with the
Toxic Quality, ignoring armour that is not environmentally sealed.
Gear:
Legacy Legion Bolter w/pistol grip, 2 mags (Good quality, Half-IB to Dam/Pen, Legacy of Blood(+1 Dam, +5 to resist psychic), Overwhelming (Half-IB Concussive))
Plague Knife
Legion Combat Knife
3 Blight Grenades
2 Legion Krak Grenades
Trophy Rack
1 clip of Hellfire Bolt Rounds
Refractor Field
Legion Power Armour
--Chain Loinguard (Any critical effect to legs is reduced by 2)
-Auto-Senses
-Sustainable Power Source
-Enhanced Ceramite Plating
-Vox-Link
-Recoil Suppression
Legion Bolter
100m ROF: S/3/– DAM: 1d10+14X PEN: 6 CLIP: 24 Qualities: Tearing, Concussive 2, Reliable
XP Spent 4,950 /5,000
Toughness +5 (100)
Mighty Shot (400)
+5 BS (250)
+5 WP (500)
Survival (100)
Acquisitions:
Trophy Rack (-20 Very Rare, +10 Single)
1 clip of Hellfire Bolt Rounds (-20 Very Rare, +10 Single)
Refractor Field (-20 Very Rare, +10 Single)
Pistol Grip for Bolter (-30 Extremely Rare, +10 Ancient Warrior, +10 Single)
Stats: 9#2d10 9 12 9 10 13 9 8 12 10
Rerolling the 8: 2d10 13
Infamy and wounds: 2d5 9
Legacy Weapon History: 1d10 8
Bellicose Legacy Weapon ability: 1d10 7
Power Armor History: 1d10 7
Cynic Jester fucked around with this message at 19:11 on Apr 26, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 09:33
|
|
|
Two night lords and two plague marines. Will do mutation and gift rolls later today. I have to do lawyer stuff today first.
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 14:14
|
|
|
Werix posted:Two night lords and two plague marines. Will do mutation and gift rolls later today. I have to do lawyer stuff today first. When you get on IRC I have some questions about the power tampering thing, mainly can I use it to power my combi-melta's melta function at a weaker level than if i just hooked an infernus pistol to it. Alternatively I can just get a Meltagun proper and call it a day.
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 15:18
|
|
|
Pox: Gift 1: you get a Reward of Nurgle! He has rewarded you with his Rot! Gift 2: You get a gift this time. You roll a 76! Pick from the following: Pervasive Miasma, projectile attack, Grossly fat, Slayer limb, Strange voice Daren Khalid: Gift one: pick from the following for Gift one: Choice 1 (roll of 43): Featureless face, Illusion of Normalcy, Flaming skull Choice 2(roll of 86): Additional Limb(left hand/arm), Strange Walk, Tail Gift Two: Choice 1(Roll of 45): Featureless face, Illusion of Normalcy, Flaming skull, Headless Choice 2 (Roll of 85): Additional Limb (right arm/side), Strange Walk, Tail Wow, limited options there for ya. Thrun the Ruin: Gift 1: Not a Reward of your god. Choose from the following (roll of 47): Illusion of Normalcy, Flaming skull, headless, Icon of Blasphemy, Infernal will Gift 2: Nurgle smiles upon you, and you receive on of his Rewards. Nurgle has granted you with his Infernal Mark!
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 18:06
|
|
|
 Viturus Ever since the Crimson Sabres chapter got eternally cursed by the Blood God after, they were haunted by the voices of all those they killed thus far. The only way to silence these maddening voices was with further bloodshed. Viturus was only a recent recruit to the chapter, still doing his Assault Marine training in the 8th Company, and as such, he wasn't as affected as the rest of his chapter. And even when the chapter went to hide inside warp storms and turned into the Crimson Slaughter warband, Viturus managed to avoid getting possessed, the daemons of the warp preferring the more veterans marines to take over. He knew there was no redemption for him after the massacres on the Imperium he did, but staying with the current warband was too much for him. When the 13th Black Crusade by Abaddon started, Viturus didn't think twice before joining the ranks of the Black Legion, turning him into a renegade of a renegade chapter in the first place! Anyone can guess what the veterans of millennia of pure warfare against the Imperium of Man thought of new members in the Black Legion like Viturus. The young (at least by astartes standards) renegade had to slowly gain the respect of his betters with much sweat and blood. Although the very generous gifts of the gods helped him immensely in battle, soaring in the air with daemonic wings and causing temporary terror in his enemies, the great part of the Black Legion still thought little of him. But at least his skills were recognized enough to be sent to the nigh-suicidal missions of Abaddon's Strike Teams. After all, there's nothing better to throw at your enemies than expendable young warriors eager to prove themselves at any cost, specially ones that constantly suffer from maddening voices and unending need for violence. code:Infamy: 1d5+34 35 Stats: 9#2d10+30 47 37 41 35 47 42 44 39 36 Reroll the 5: 2d10+30 40 frajaq fucked around with this message at 21:43 on May 2, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 18:23
|
|
|
Here is the basic crunch of my Warpsmith character.pre:Name: Karvos the Resolute Archetype: Warpsmith Alignment: Pride: Logic Disgrace: Destruction Motivation: Ascendancy Characteristics: WS: 44 BS: 47 S: 43 T: 47 Ag: 43 Int: 48 Per: 30 WP: 47 Fel: 34 Wounds: 14 Infamy: 40 Corruption: 30 Skills: Athletics Awareness Dodge Trade (Armourer) Common Lore (Adeptus Mechanicus, Tech, War) Scrutiny Forbidden Lore (Adeptus, Astartes, Adeptus Mechanicus, Daemonology, The Long War, the Warp) Linguistics (Low-Gothic Techna-Lingua) Medicae Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Scholastic Lore (Occult) Tech Use +10 Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Cold Hearted Disturbing Voice Enemy (Adeptus Mechanicus) Excessive Wealth Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Mechandentrite Use Legion Weapon Training Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons) Total Recall Unarmed Warrior Combat Sense Technical Knock Unshakeable Will Traits Mechanicus Implants Unnatural Strength (4) Unnatural Toughness (4) Armour: Legionnaire Power Armour (AP 9, Locations covered All) -Customization: The Black Legion's Armour + -Subsystems Vox Link Sustainable Power Source Recoil Suppression Weapons: Fallen Magos Power Axe (2d10+4E, 6 Pen, Power Field, Unbalanced) Legionnaire Bolter (100m, S/3, 1d10+9x, 4 Pen, 24 clip, Full, Tearing) -Four Bolter rounds Legionnaire Knife (1d10r, 2 Pen) Legionnaire Melta (20m, S, 2d10+13E 12 Pen, 6 clip, 2 Full Melta) Gear: Chandentrite Dataslate Infernal Star Lumien Capacitors Mechatendril Good Mind Impulse Unit Good Servo-Arm Gifts of the Gods: Burning Body Eyes of Chaos Acquisitions Infernal Star Legion Combat Bike Legion Melta Gun Exp: 3600 Warpsmith 200 Forbidden Lore (Warp) 250 Excessive Wealth 750 Crushing Blow Hunt11 fucked around with this message at 11:04 on May 2, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 19:01
|
|
|
My dudes done enough for mutations now. Heres hoping they don't suck!
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 19:12
|
|
|
 To serve in the Black Legion is to be one of the elite. 13 times has the Legion been the spearhead aimed at the Imperium's heart, and 13 times has Steknavich been a part of it. Though he was never a commander, he led his squad into battle in many systems. For him the driving motivation was to avenge the fallen Warmaster, slain by base trickery by the corpse-god on his own battle barge. Ever had Horus led them to victory before. He was the soul of the Black Legion. Wasn't it true that they took his name for their their own? Steknavich was once a sergeant in the Luna Wolves. The proudest day of his long life was declaring their Primarch honored above all else. Even when he began to walk the path of the gods, they followed. For surely he would always lead them true. It was the zeal and will he showed that brought Steknavich to the attention of his superiors. His skill at arms was masterful and his cool head had brought his squad through thick and thin, drawing the attention of even the warlords of other legions. To serve as Abaddon's hand in important matters was to earn the approval and favor of the Warmaster. Steknavich would serve him well, and in doing so carve a name for himself across the Imperium. pre:Name: Steknavich Specialization: Veteran of the Long War (Unaligned) Pride: Martial Prowess Disgrace: Deceit Motivation: Nihilism Characteristics: WS: 61 (30+16) [+5 Career] [+5 Pride] [+5 Advance] BS: 38 (30+ 8) S: 69 (30+14) [+20 Equipment] [+5 Advance] T: 48 (30+13) [+5 Advance] Ag: 39 (30+ 9) Int: 33 (30+ 8) [-5 Pride] Per: 36 (30+10) [-4 Disgrace] WP: 42 (30+10) [+5 Career] [-3 Motivation] Fel: 42 (30+12) Wounds: 19 Infamy: 40 IP: 4/4 CP: 30 Skills: Athletics Awareness +10 Charm Command Common Lore (War) Dodge Forbidden Lore (Astartes) Forbidden Lore (Inquisition) Forbidden Lore (Long War) Forbidden Lore (Pirates) Intimidation Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry +10 Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis) Talents: Air of Authority Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Enemy (Astartes) Hatred (Astartes, Imperial Guard) Heightened Senses (Sight, Hearing) Jaded Legion Weapon Training Lightning Reflexes Nerves of Steel Peer (Traitor Legions, Warlords) Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poison) Unarmed Warrior Unshakable Will Traits: Amphibious Unnatural Strength +4 Unnatural Toughness +4 Gifts: Dark Soul Magnificent Horns Gear: Legion Power Armor (Black Legion) - Auto-senses - Vox Link - Sustainable Power Source Legionnaire Bolt Postol w/ 4 mags 1 Legion Frag 1 Legion Krak Combat Knife Trophy Rack Legion Power Sword Good Quality Legion Plasma Pistol Jump Pack Good Quality Cybernetic Senses (Sight) Advances: 5000/5000 Operate (Aeronautica) 200 Raptor 250 WS +5 250 Strength +5 250 Toughness +5 250 Scrutiny 200 Vicissitude fucked around with this message at 03:25 on Apr 28, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 19:20
|
|
|
Rakhsh: Gift 1: Pick from the following(rolled 95): Tentacle, Vampiric addiction, Warp-touched, Warp sight Gift 2: Khorne smiles upon you and you receive the Mark of the God of Blood! Karvos the Resolute: Gift 1: Option 1 (rolled 31): Dark soul, Dimensional instability, Eye of Chaos Option 2 (rolled 76): Pervasive Miasma, projectile attack, Grossly fat, Slayer Limb, strange voice Gift 2: Option 1 (rolled 24): boneless, Burning body, Chaos Organ, cyclops Option 2: (rolled 42): Centaroid (reptile), featureless face, illusion of normalcy Steknavich Gift 1: Option 1 (rolled 61): Intelligent cyst, warp-eater, limb loss, Magnificent horns Option 2 (rolled 92): tail, tentacle, vampiric addiction, warp-touched Gift 2: Option 1 (rolled 26): burning body, chaos organ, cyclops, dark soul option 2: (rolled 37): Emaciated, eye-stalks, Centaroid(vermin), featureless face
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 19:44
|
|
|
My app is done and Iocanthos is ready to make friends and influence people with his Fellowship of 2.
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 20:13
|
|
|
I kind of want to roll up a Noise Marine for this, but I'm not going to be able to post enough for a PBP over the next few weeks. Good luck and I'll probably try to follow the game when I get the chance.
|
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 21:55
|
|
|
TOO BAD I GOT THERE FIRST MUAHAHAHA Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a grey world. Everywhere she looked there was nothing but grey buildings, grey people and grey skies. She said as much to to abbess, but was told that the world was not there for her enjoyment. When she protested, quoting scripture in her defense, she was punished. At first it was fasting but that only made everything seem greyer and strengthened the will in her. She spoke out again and more publically. This would not stand and she was punished again. Scourging of the flesh to drive the wickedness out of her. Through the pain of the lash it seemed the girl found a calm center. Most surprising was the grey that seemed to peel back as her skin did. Color soon began to explode across the walls before her eyes. The abbess saw the look in her face and mistook it for revelation, and so it was. But the source was not as divine as was believed. The girl returned to her sisters to tell the tale of her experience. It was not the avoidance of the world but rather embracing it that brought you closer to trancendence. They practiced and experimented in secret. At first it was just simple things like stealing sacremental wine or a bit of fine food from the market. But soon it escalated. Eventually it was an all-out cabal engaging in bacchanals in places where no eyes were to see them. The girl watched as her world began to fill with color and light. An angel came to her, then. A beautiful vision with dark eyes and a voice as sweet as honey. She could have more, so much more, if only she severed her ties to the Emperor. It wasn't much of a choice. As the convent burned the girl watched the flames dance bright in the night. She had lost some of her sisters, true, but there were others who did not succumb to the blaze. As she walked the stars they would stay and spread the word to their people. Everyone was capable of freeing themselves and seeing the light. All it took was someone to open their eyes. Samira caught the attentions of agents of the Black Legion shortly after talking a priest into suicide. He leapt gleefully into the flames in order to transcend the flesh and see the light. It took a charming voice to do that, to make such a willing sacrifice. But Slaanesh revels in those that come to her in such a way. Since her ascension Samira has been augmented by technology and divinity. Though her skill on the battlefield is exceptional, it is in far more pleasant company that she shines brightly. Why beat a world into submission when you can make them lay down for you, and think it was their own idea to do so? pre:Name: Samira Specialization: Noise Marine (Slaanesh) Pride: Beauty Disgrace: Greed Motivation: Arcane Characteristics: WS: 43 (30+13) BS: 54 (30+19) [+5 Career] S: 59 (30+12) [-3 Motivation] [+20 Equipment] T: 42 (30+12) Ag: 45 (30+15) Int: 41 (30+ 9) [+2 Motivation] Per: 51 (30+16) [+5 Career] WP: 40 (30+14) [-4 Pride] Fel: 51 (30+16) [+5 Advance] Wounds: 20 Infamy: 37 IP: 3/3 CP: 33 Skills: Acrobatics Athletics Awareness +10 Charm +10 Common Lore (Screaming Vortex) Common Lore (War) Deceive +10 Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Astartes) Forbidden Lore (Demonology) Forbidden Lore (Long War) Interrogate Intimidate Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Deadeye Shot Exotic Weapon Training (Sonic Blaster, Doom Siren) Heightened Senses (Sight, Hearing) Hip Shooting Jaded Legion Weapon Training Lightning Reflexes Light Sleeper Marksman Mimic Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poison) Unarmed Warrior Traits: Amphibious Overwhelming Need (-10 to Commerce attempts) Unnatural Strength +4 Unnatural Toughness +4 Unnatural Fellowship +1 Gifts: Chaos Organ (Daemonette Eyes) Tail Gear: Legion Power Armor (Devotional Iconography - Slaanesh) - Sustainable Power Source - Bio-Monitor and Injectors - Recoil Suppression Legionnaire Bolt Pistol w/ 2 mags 1 Legion Frag 1 Legion Krak Combat Knife Sonic Blaster 2 Legion Frag 2 Legion Krak Common Quality Doom Siren w/ Noxious Discharge Legion Power Fist 4 doses Rose Advances: 5000/5000 Noise Marine 3600 Charm 100 Charm +10 200 Radiant Presence 200 Fellowship +5 100 Deceive +10 200 Exotic Weapon Training 500 - Doom Siren Acrobatics 100 Mad Moxxi fucked around with this message at 22:33 on May 2, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 26, 2015 22:15
|
|
|
I felt like writing this bit up after sweating over the gifts my char got quite unnecessarily. Hope you enjoy. Oh and before the game start (assuming I'm one of those selected), assume that the extra limbs were amputated by a Black Legion apothecary. The Gift of Hubris Pride comes before the fall. For the Night Lords Legion, it was their pride and disdain for all others that did not carry the gene seed of the sunless world. Daren Khalid spat on those who mutated and were corrupted in body and soul. How ironic that now he was in the place of those he spit on for millennia. The flesh change had come for him in the night after 3 months campaigning on Medrengard some 2 centuries ago. At first it was simply the case of the worst backache he’s ever had, something Daren Khalid assumed was the side effect of surviving a glancing blow with a power fist. Then it started to move down his sides and the pain localized into his ribcage. It was like something was punching his kidneys on the inside repeatedly. Wracked with pain, the Night Lord screamed for his slave to help him remove his power armour. For 8 nights he suffered in agony as the mutations, whatever they were, grew inside him. On the 9th night, wracked with and brought to his knees,he crawled out of his chambers until he made it out of the prefab building that housed him and other Black Legionnaires. Looking up at the purple sky of the daemon world whose name he would never learn to speak, Daren Khalid screamed and howled his hate at the Dark Gods for daring to taint him. As he gave the finger with both hands his bloody metamorphosis completed. Two fleshy, sinuous arms punched out of the sides of his body, taking Daren Khalid’s breath away. He had no air left in his 3 lungs to scream any louder than he already had and the Space Marine passed out. Three hours later he was awakened by the Champion Rali, a Black Legion veteran who found this turn of events to be quite hilarious. The Night Lord who considered himself superior to all now a mere mutant. How rich! Daren Khalid swore to kill him but the Champion laughed it off. Said that now that he’s been blessed by the Dark Ones, maybe he’d learn to open his eyes to their power. Perhaps he would have to reevaluate his thoughts on the gods Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 21:59 on Apr 27, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 27, 2015 14:18
|
|
|
Samira Gift 1: Failed Infamy check, rolled a 21, choose from: Steel-hearted, boneless, burning body, Chaos Organ Gift 2: Slaanesh really hates you. You again fail the infamy test, and then roll an 87, you get: Additional limb, Strange walk, Tail, Tentacle
|
|
#
?
Apr 29, 2015 01:16
|
|
|
Put my app, only missing bio
frajaq fucked around with this message at 23:14 on Apr 29, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 29, 2015 23:02
|
|
|
 Feye Del Fallen Seer Even among the hallowed ranks of the Adeptus Astartes, the inherent biases, prejudices and base mortal fears that plague the Imperium find a home. A brother should be a brother, but it is not so. Feye Del was a loyal member of the Imperial Fists, bearing the yellow armor with pride and determination that equalled any in his chapter. His devotion was great and although a lowly bolter-marine he fought with a stubborn doggedness that would have made Dorn proud. Then one day, a member of the Librarium came to him. It had become clear to the librarian that Del's luck was more than that, that he was indeed a psyker that had managed to slip through the nets and safeguards. In a single night, everything changed. He was pulled from his squad, his name stricken from their records. He was confined to his quarters aboard a strike cruiser, sent back to Terra with orders to pray for the salvation of his soul. Those who had been his brothers refused to speak to him, and made the aquilla at his passing on the rare occasion he was allowed an escort from his room. Once on Terra he was taken to the Imperial Palace, to the halls of the Schola Telepathica where he was to be 'initiated' along with the other humans. He, an astartes, a direct genetic descendent of noble Dorn and the Emperor Himself, a part of whom Feye carried inside him in his geneseed, was treated as though he was a danger. A traitor. He began to learn much from his fellow 'students,' with whom he began to feel a stronger and stronger kinship. He learned of their trials, of their pain and the tortures they had been subjected to both during their training and before. He began to see from a new perspective, the great inequities and crimes of the Imperium. He lobbied greatly for a chance to patrol the walls of the Imperial Palace as the Imperial Fists had once done, and eventuall this was granted. There, one night, on walls half a kilometer high he contemplated the Imperium. He had spent much time patrolling all around the palace, and secretly he had been recording all that he could. And now on a cold, dark night he slipped away. How exactly he came to the Eye of Terror he can scarcely remember. It was a blur of rogue traders, stowing away and sometimes bargaining with xenos for passage. But he made it, and joined with a warband aligned to Lord Abaddon's Black Legion. Along the way he heard the whispers of Tzeentch, and developed his abilities far beyond what those fools on Terra could have ever dreamed. Eventually he came to the Great Despoiler's attention, and was called with others to present themselves to Abaddon for... evaluation. Each in turn was presented with a gift, and sent away. But Feye instead offered a gift to Abaddon - all of the recordings, sketches and picts that he had been able to gather of the Imperial Palace. He asked only to make clear one thing: His war was against the Emperor and those who served him. Not the people of the Imperium, who are as much victims as any. If that was acceptable, then Feye Del would serve in any capacity, without deceit or disloyalty. If not... he left the rest unspoken. It seems that Abaddon appreciated the brazen nature of this lowly traitor, and perhaps he reminded the great Warmaster of a different time, a different Legion. Regardless, he was accepted into the Black Legion and Del has since joined one of the 'troubleshooter' teams that Lord Abaddon dispatches into the galaxy. pre:Name: Feye Del Archetype: Sorcerer Dedication: Tzeentch Pride: Devotion Disgraces: Greed Motivation: Perfection Wounds: 17 Infamy: 36 Corruption: 30 WS: 46 [2d10=6, 10] BS: 39 [2d10=7, 2] St: 40 [2d10=8, 10] - 5(Pride) - 3(Motiv) Tg: 42 [2d10=3, 9] Ag: 36 [2d10=2, 4] It: 37 [2d10=5, 2] Pr: 60 [2d10=9, 6] + 5 (Motiv) + 10 Wp: 61 [2d10=9, 2] + 5(Arch) +5(Pride) + 10 Fl: 32 [2d10=1, 4] - 3(Motiv) In: 36 [1d5=2] Cr: 30 Starting Skills: Athletics, Awareness, Common Lore (War), Dodge, Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy), Forbidden Lore (Daemons), Linguistics (Low Gothic), Navigate (Surface), Operate (Surface), Parry, Psyniscience +30 Scholastic Lore (Occult), Scrutiny Starting Talents: Ambidextrous, Bulging Biceps, Legion Weapon Training, Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight), Meditation Nerves of Steel, Peer (Mortal Followers of Tzeentch) Psy Rating (x5) Quick Draw, Rapid Reaction Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons), Unarmed Warrior. Warp Sense Powers: Glimpse Personal Augury Precognition Precognitive Strike Traits: Amphibious Face of Tzeentch Fear (2) Psyker (Bound) Tail (Tzeentch) Unnatural Strength(+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4). Starting Equipment: Legacy Legion Combi-Bolter -Legacy of Excess (Ballistic Skill) -Versatile -Instictive (+10 to attack/evasion during surprise round) Legionnaire Power Armour, -The Black Legion's Armor -Sustainable Power Source -Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer -Recoil Suppression Force Staff, Poor Quality Conversion Field, Talisman of Tzeentch, Legion Bolt Pistol, Legionnaire Combat Knife, four magazines for starting weapon. http://orokos.com/roll/281833 http://orokos.com/roll/281835 re-roll willpower http://orokos.com/roll/281836 http://orokos.com/roll/281988 Purchases: +10 Per 750xp +10 WP 350xp +30 Psyniscience 1200 +3 Psy Rating 2250xp Personal Augury 200xp Warp Sense 200xp 4950/5000 ProfessorCurly fucked around with this message at 03:55 on Apr 30, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 30, 2015 01:52
|
|
|
Viturus Gift one: option 1(rolled 48):Illusion of normalcy, flaming skull, headless, icon of blasphemy, Infernal will Option 2 (rolled 80): Grossly fat, slayer limb, strange voice, additional Limb (right side) Gift 2: Option 1(rolled 90): tail, tentacle Option 2: (rolled 15): Blasted senses(smell), winged, blessed fits, steel-hearted Feye Del Gift 1: passed your Infamy test. Tzeentch rewards you with an ugly rear end face of Tzeentch! Gift 2: Failed this time. Choose one (rolled 88): Strange walk, tail, tentacle
|
|
#
?
Apr 30, 2015 02:31
|
|
|
Get ready for my Forsaken Dark Angel, aligned (naturally) to Tzeentch. Had lots of fun writing this! Sathiel, the Thrice-Born One of the Fallen, in the service of Tzeentch  "How many times must one be born until they are free?" The plasma gun charged sinfully, with the body of the weapon thrumming a cheerful note and pleasantly glowing. Sathiel leveled the barrel at the head of one of his ancient brethern - the Dark Angels - whom he had defeated. Laying on the ground, the marine could not muster the strength to throw Sathiel's foot from his chest. "Why should I answer your riddle, faithless cur?" "Because..." Sathiel took in a deep breath and sighed "...Your answer will determine whether I let you go and fetch more hounds to chase me or..." he trailed off as his finger lightly squeezed the trigger "...I give you release from your slavery. The choice is yours, of course, but I must remind you that it's the only real choice you've ever had in your life. Please choose wisely." The other marine fell silent. He looked utterly bemused. "What's your game, traitor?" Sathiel feigned an expression of hurt. "Why, dear brother, no game at all! It is knowledge that I seek. The answers that I am given help me to understand the world a little bit more and..." a shadow of menace colored Sathiel's voice, "...your place in it." The marine contemplated his situation for a moment, then answered. "The answer is easy for men such as we are. A man must be born twice before he is free." "Ah, but how is that man born twice? Which births, and why?" "Once when he is a baby brought into this world - that birth brings him into the service of the Emperor - and the second when he is reborn as a Space Marine, when he is free to exercise his will upon the world." "But would you not entertain the notion of pursuing the path of the Dark Gods as a rebirth in and of itself?" The fallen marine looked stunned at this notion. "As expected from a traitor. Should you fall to Chaos, that is not a rebirth - that is a death. A death that, regardless of what occurs here today, will find you eventually, dog." As quickly as he spat out the word "dog", Sathiel pressed his boot harder into the marine's chest, caving in part of his armor and responded. "As expected from a fool. I find your answer to be positively unsatisfactory and, to be honest, completely dull and trite. Many of our brothers have uttered the same words as you, many have never been seen again. No one could hope to gain any sort of knowledge or wisdom from your words." A wicked gleam entered Sathiel's eyes, "But now, I shall educate you." "In the realms of Chaos, my nom de guerre is the Thrice-Born. There have been other men, only slightly more clever than yourself, who have told me the number three thinking it would appease me. In truth, a man must be born four times before he is free." Sathiel could tell that he lost his audience, but his dread soliloquies were just part of his many prayers and devotions that he gave to Tzeentch. In them, he offered soon-to-be-defeated foes just a glimpse into his own plans - just as his patron tormented him - and how he would use them to further his plans, within plans, within plans. "I reject your first answer - when one is a baby - because it is worthless. Humans have no value aside from being the primary currency of war, and their individual births are utterly meaningless. Your second answer, however, shows promise but ah! It is less your own idea and more one that has been drilled into you. It is correct, but you know not the truth of it. One's first birth is as a Space Marine, when your body and your mind are catapulted far beyond the mortal ken. But when you are a Space Marine, you are no more free than a dog is to its master. When your Chapter Master calls, when the High Lords of Terra call, or even when a Rogue Trader calls, you salivate and answer." "But it is necessary - as a Marine, you can start to pursue your passions with the intellect granted to you by the transformation. As a Dark Angel, I hungered for knowledge above all others, though I lacked the intrinsic gift squandered by our Chapter Librarians. It was of no consequence to me - interrogation was enough to learn the answers I sought, and the more I learned the more I began to realize my condition as a slave. Never was I in charge of my own destiny, rather I was forced to row through the sea of death so common in this age for the benefit of inconsequential humans barricaded on the Jailor's World of Terra." "How dare you sully the name of Holy Ter-" A plasma discharge rang through the air. "Be silent when your betters are speaking, dog, or else you shall lose..." Sathiel glanced at the arm he shot off at the elbow, "...the next one more painfully. But what I learned in my questing! The knowledge I gained was simply too rich - interrogating Xenos, Chaos cultists, renegade Space Marines, and even the stray Inquisitor taught me so much about the universe that we live in. The light of knowledge was terribly bright. But as you should know, but are probably too witless to realize, is that bright lights cast dark shadows. And in these dark shadows I saw what I was - a slave. So I underwent my second birth - my birth as an individual. You probably know well the story of when it happened - around the time we brought that rogue splinter of the Blood Ravens to heel - but not the why." "As I interrogated the Librarian - I task that I must remind you I thoroughly enjoyed - in his last breaths he connected his mind to my own and exposed me, however briefly, to the truth. The origins of the Fallen, the histories of the Long War, and the enmity between the Emperor and Chaos. Needless to say, I was shocked - broken even. I slipped away the very next battle and joined them in their retreat. I was no substitute for a Chapter Librarian, to be certain, but my knowledge of the defects in our order of battle gave us ample time to escape. However, though I was now free to seek out more knowledge and ply my way through the ruined galaxy as an individual unrestrained by Codex or piety, I was still not free. To survive, I had to fall in with vicious warbands and witless apostates. Countless times I found myself more of a prize in the service of some upjumped lord in the Screaming Vortex. Countless more times I found myself alone on death worlds and blasted hellscapes as I hopped from planet to planet in my quest for more and greater knowledge. Nevertheless, I learned how to scavenge parts of the various Marks of Power Armor to replace the faulty parts of my own. I learned how to trail an enemy and prevent him from doing the same. And I especially learned to hate you for what you are - people who could be true paragons of greatness that unquestioningly shackle themselves in slavery to a man who values them no more than the human lives that are spent every day in his name." Sachiel gave the marine a hard stare. "No witticisms? No proclamations against my blasphemy? It looks like you are learning..." "Then I suppose you're going to tell me that your third birth is the one in thrall to the Dark Gods?" the marine stated with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You mock your death, but it appears that you can listen. Too little too late, though. During my ranging, I would hear the faintest whispers telling me where to look, which portals to take, and where to start digging. Every time I found some lost piece of information, xenos trinket, or relic bolter the whispers grew louder and louder. At first, I thought I was going insane due to the lonely nature of my exploits. Before I saw the truth, I thought I might have been hearing the Voice of the Emperor. But what I heard was a much wiser voice indeed - the Voice of Tzeentch. With every captive, every expedition, and every victory he whispered secrets into my ear that told me the truth and won me through the day. The more I learn, the more I seek to know. And in the end, no Chaos God knows as much as Tzeentch. Only he can satiate my hunger for knowledge, and only in glimpsing his Infinite Plan can I see the way to my fourth birth. In dedicating myself to him, I won yet more freedom for myself but it is still tainted with the knowledge that I serve someone. It is only through the fourth that I will truly be free. For now, though, I work with the Black Legion - in furthering their objectives, I gain access to the knowledge and resources that I need to catalyze my fourth and final birth. In return, my presence leads more idiots like you to them, giving them materiel and what they need to replenish their numbers. Not to mention my formidable intellect and knowledge." "The fourth and final? What deranged birth is that? Your birth as the leader of a Black Crusade? Your promotion to janitor of Abaddon's privy?" The marine snorted in blood-choked laughter. Sathiel could not help but join him. "You've some small amount of wit, brother. I've not heard that one before. Though if Abaddon's humble janitor is able to beat you without breaking a sweat, then the Space Marine legions are very much doomed." "You flatter yourself. Luck was on your side today. Luck that will not be with you once more of my brothers find you." "You misunderstand yet again. Luck is not on my side - Fate is." "You and your Fate can go rot in the Warp for all I care." "Be careful what you say - the Warp is everywhere. It may even take me all the way to the Golden Throne if you're not careful." The marine harrumphed and coughed up some more blood. "You and your thrice births can go sod off. Are you even going to kill me, or are we done here?" "But you haven't asked about the fourth birth - it's easily the best part!" Sathiel purred. "And what of it?" Oh, it's quite simple - even a half-wit like you would understand." Sathiel gathered his menace for the final words. "My rebirth as a Daemon Prince and dominion over my own realm." His plasma gun punctuated his final point. Its aim was true this time. Sathiel heaved his fallen brother over his shoulder. "Now, let's get you cleaned up. Your armor will fetch me some nice trinkets, and your progenoids will almost certainly gain me access to the Dark Mechanicus' most recent treatise on Daemon Engines..." pre:Name: Sathiel the Thrice-Born Archetype: Forsaken Alignment: Tzeentch Pride: Logic (+5 Intelligence, -5 Perception) Disgrace: Betrayal (+5 Corruption, -10 Charm) Motivation: Arcane (+4 Corruption, +2 Intelligence, -3 Strength) Wounds: 20+1 = 21 Infamy: 23+15 = 38 Corruption: 34 (25 Base, +5 Disgrace, +4 Motivation) Initiative: 1d10+6 Characteristics: WS: 36 BS: 40+10 Advance = 50 ST: 39-3 Motivation = 36 TN: 36 (Re-rolled) AG: 39+10 Advance = 49 IN: 42+5 Advance +5 Pride +2 Motivation = 54 PR: 42-5 Pride = 37 WP: 42+10 Advance = 52 FS: 44 Skills: Acrobatics Athletics Awareness Common Lore (War) *Common Lore (All)* Commerce Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes) Forbidden Lore (Horus Heresy and the Long War) Interrogate +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Logic +10 Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry *Scholastic Lore (All)* Scrutiny +10 Survival +10 Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Combat Formation Deadeye Shot Enemy (Dark Angels) Legion Weapon Training Hatred (Adeptus Astartes) Heightened Senses (Hearing) Heightened Senses (Sight) Infused Knowledge Jaded Light Sleeper Nerves of Steel Orthoproxy Polyglot Quick Draw Rapid Reload Resistance (Cold) Resistance (Heat) Resistance (Poisons) Sound Constitution x1 Unarmed Warrior Traits: Amphibious Psyker - Psy Rating 1 Quadruped Sturdy Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Unnatural Willpower (+1) Other: Resourceful (+10 to acquiring items Rare or lower) Gifts of the Gods: Mark of Tzeentch Centauroid (Cattle), with suckers for feet. Gear: Legionnaire Power Armor (AP 10 Body, AP 8 Else) - Customization: Chain Loinguard (-2 to Critical Effects on legs) - Subsystems: -Sustainable Power Source -Enhanced Ceramite Plating -Osmotic Gill Best Quality Legacy Legion Plasma Gun "Jovian Bolter" 4x Clips of Plasma Gun Ammo LuiCypher fucked around with this message at 04:41 on May 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Apr 30, 2015 03:38
|
|
|
 Osseus While Osseus has forgotten the Adeptus Astartes chapter he once belonged to, he has not forgotten how he and his chapter were judged and deemed corrupted. They were given a choice: die now, or go on a crusade into the Eye of Terror to posthumously clear their name. His chapter, and others also facing the same charges of corruption, chose the latter. The first few months of the "crusade" are a jumbled up mix of trauma and horror in Osseus's mind, as his chapter was torn apart piece by piece by the many dangers of the warp. And as a librarian, Osseus's mind was continuously assaulted, day after day, by various offers of power or threats from daemons eager to consume his soul. Unable to withstand the voices any longer, Osseus sacrificed the few remaining survivors of his chapter and pledged his soul to the Dark Gods. In the time that followed, the sorcerer jumped from warband to warband, constantly disappointed in the petty squabbles of his comrades, until he joined the Black Legion. Unlike the others, ]they had focus, an unholy drive to see the Imperium and all its works crumble and trampled into the dust. For Osseus still blames the incompetent Imperium for sending his battle-brothers to die, cursed and alone against the horrors of the warp. pre:Name: Osseus Race: Chaos Space Marine Archetype: Sorcerer Pride: Martial Prowess (+5 WS, -5 Int) Disgrace: Betrayal (+5 Corruption, -10 to Charm tests) Motivation: Vengeance (+2 Wounds, -5 Per) Alignment: Khorne: 2 Nurgle: 0 Slaanesh: 1 Tzeentch: 4 Characteristics: http://orokos.com/roll/282702 WS: 52 (30+17)+5 [Pride] BS: 42 (30+12) S: 50 (30+15)+5[Simple] T: 40 (30+10) Ag: 39 (30+9) Int: 36 (30+11)-5[Pride] Per: 38 (30+13)-5[Motivation] WP: 58 (30+18)+10[Intermediate] Fel: 41 (30+11) http://orokos.com/roll/282704 Wounds: 20 Infamy: 35 Infamy Points: 3/3 Corruption: 31 Skills: Athletics Awareness Common Lore (War) Deception Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Horus Heresy and the Long War, Daemons) Forbidden Lore (Warp) +20 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Psyniscience Scholastic Lore (Occult) Scrutiny Talents: Ambidextrous Bulging Biceps Legion Weapon Training Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Meditation Nerves of Steel Psy Rating 4 Swift Attack Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons) Unarmed Warrior Traits: Amphibious Psyker Unnatural Strength (4) Unnatural Toughness (4) Unnatural Willpower (1) Special Ability: Psychic Powers: Mind Over Matter Psychic Scream Telekinetic Shield Thought Sending Warptime Gifts of the Gods: Chaos Organ [Unnatural Willpower (1)] Magnificent Horns [+10 to minion loyalty, charge can't be parried] Gear: Legion Power Armor: http://orokos.com/roll/282735 Black Legion's Armor, +1 AP if unaligned. Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer Sustainable Power Source Recoil Suppression Helmet: preysense goggles, rebreather, photo-visor, vox-caster Force Sword (Deathgranter): http://orokos.com/roll/282744 Legacy of Change, gain 2d5 to WS, bonus applies to BS instead if doubles Bellicose Pattern: http://orokos.com/roll/282747 Slayer, may spend an IP to gain Felling (x) equal to Infamy Bonus. Legion Bolter Legion Bolt Pistol Legion Combat Knife Psy Focus Good Helmet Augmentations (see helmet above) Advances: [5,000/5,000] Psy Rating +2 [1,500] Warptime [400] Swift Attack [500] Simple Strength [250] Telekinetic Shield [200] Simple WP [250] Forbidden Lore (Warp) +20 [1,050] Dodge +10 [350] Intermediate WP [500] Acquisitions: Force Sword upgraded to Legacy Weapon Psy Focus Good Helmet Augmentations Astus fucked around with this message at 07:01 on May 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
May 1, 2015 05:48
|
|
|
The Dork Angel Gift 1: Tzeentch no like you, choose from the following(roll of 40):Eye stalks, Centaroid(cattle), Featureless face, illusion of normalcy Gift 2: Tzeentch favors you this time, enjoy your Mark of Tzeentch Osseus Gift 1: Option 1 (rolled 23): Boneless, burning body, Chaos organ Option 2: (Rolled 93): Tentacle, vampric addiction, warp touched Gift 2: Option 1 (rolled 63): warp eater, limb loss(right hand), magnificent horns Option 2 (rolled 43): featureless face, illusion of normalcy, flaming skull Apparently three is your lucky number.  NOTERecruit will likely remain open until Sunday. I will make picks then, and then the game will be up shortly after.
|
|
#
?
May 2, 2015 04:49
|
|
|
If this campaign is going to be lighthearted... ...Then screw it. The boring choice is Illusions of Normalcy. The obvious and completely silly choice is Centauroid all the way. Let the Fallen cavort manically in how beautifully Tzeentch has gifted him!
|
|
#
?
May 3, 2015 04:42
|
|
|
So recruitment closes today? I might have to work on something during lunch. Or I'll just follow the game and wait for someone to die.
|
|
#
?
May 3, 2015 16:11
|
|
|
Okay, got quite a few apps for this game, but I am sticking with my 5-6, so here they are. First is Frajaq playing the Chosen Viturus who remains undedicated! Next is Dachshundofdoom Playing the unaligned Night Lord Iocanthos! May he not be as dry and boring as his planetary namesake! Thrid is Professorcurly playing the Tzeentch aligned sorcerer Feye Del! Fourth is Vicissitude playing the unaligned Veteran of the Long War Not Serp! Since we need at least one original Black Legion Marine here. Fifth is mandozer the Viva Miriya playing yet another unaligned Night Lord by the name of Daren Khalid! May the best Night Lord win! Last and certainly least is Cynic Jester playing the Plague Marine Thrun the Ruin! May he be as catchy as his name is! The game thread should be up in the next couple of days. It might go up tonight, it might be by Wednesday, whenever I feel like it. in the meantime, lets do some team building exercises. I want you to pick two of your teammates. For the first teammate write about a time you saved their life from something totally embarrassing. It can be whatever you want, and that becomes part of their history and the shared group history. You can totally bring up constantly the one time you saved whatshisface from a Great Unclean One's five bean burrito fart. For the second teammate, tell me about a time where they totally saved your life, and had they not intervened you'd be dead. Whatever it is, it has to be even more shameful than the situation you pulled squad member number one out of. If it isn't more shameful I'll call you out on it!
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 00:34
|
|
|
"There's a psyker in our squad, alright? One of those..those SEER types that can look into the future. His name is Feye Del and he's a renegade marine, just like me, although his story is very different from mine, at least from what I've heard. There were powerful sorcerers back in the Black Legion armada, but you think they had time for a whelp like me? I have... I have these VOICES in my head due to my ex-warband's curse, voices from everything and everyone that I've ever killed. Only way to make them stop is to keep killing and killing and killing. As you can imagine that's a truly cruel vicious cycle. But psykers know about these warp curses, right? And so I'm here thinking, I have to watch out for Feye Del, make sure he survives, since he might be the only psyker in the Black Legion that could help me, but I need to gain his respect first, you know? It's just how things work in the galaxy. In any case, our team got sent to one of these extermination missions, this time the target being the Death Company of the Flesh Eaters. I swear to the Dark Gods, these loyalist astartes are just as completely crazy like the Khornate Berserker's I've seen in action. They were sent to suppress a rebellion in some Industrial Worlds in the edges of Segmentum Obscurus. The objective was the usual, wait for them to get distracted slaughtering rebels and strike from behind. But things like that never go according to plan and we get jumped. One of the Death Company's Sergeants manages to charge Feye Del and knock him down. My first thought watching that was 'I thought he was a seer, wasn't he supposed to see this coming?'. And this sergeant...he rips the Sorcerer's arms armor off with his lightning claw and then proceeds to take a huge bite, ripping a good chunk of meat from Feye Del. The pure savagery was...truly impressive. But I had to save my battle-brother. Flapping my gifted bat-like daemonic wings, I charged at the Sergeant just as he was going for the second bite and knocked him off the Sorcerer. With my left gauntlet I punched him, again, again, again and again until I was satisfied and his face was a gory mess. Just to be sure I fired my plasma pistol twice as I was getting up. And that was how I saved the Seer from literally being eaten alive by a loyalist. But it wasn't all glory for Viturus in my recent time in the strike team. See, there's not only one but TWO Night Lords in the squad. Original members of that ancient legion, the real stuff of legends. And I have to confess I learned a lot watching them work. The maneuvers they can pull out with their jump packs are truly impressive. One time, during an assault on a Howling Griffons's position, I saw Daren Khalid take care of an enemy dreadnought all by himself. He would dodge around the battlefield avoiding assault cannon rounds, approach it and use the jump pack to land right behind the machine. One precise shot of his Combi-Melta later, just one, and the war-machine was neutralized. When I saw ANOTHER dreadnought coming towards our position, I knew I had to try that. While grabbing a melta charge I thought to myself 'The Night Lords can fly with their jump packs, meanwhile I have actual wings myself. This should be even easier for me!' Ruinous Powers, how stupid I was. The thing about jump packs is that they're SMALLER than my wings, something I would realize only when I was about to be killed. I advanced towards the machine just like Daren Khalid did, dodging the shots, but when I was about to fly over, the drat dreadnought managed to grab my wings and bring me brutally to the ground. The impact left me completely breathless for just a few seconds, but that was enough for the loyalist to crush me to a pulp with a single pummel of its powerfist. If it wasn't for the bright melta shot from Daren Khalid's combi-melta that completely destroyed the weapon. One reload later, the other dreadnought was neutralized too. Ever since that I decided to stick to the basics, those I'm good at. Leave the fancy stuff for the true veterans..." frajaq fucked around with this message at 05:28 on May 4, 2015 |
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 02:00
|
|
|
"That plague marine. Thrun the Ruin, I think he calls himself. He turns my stomach in more ways than one, that slave of a god, but he's a good distraction and if I couldn't work with people I loathed I couldn't work with anyone. Mostly because Abaddon will have me killed, or worse, if I ever give in to the urge to start stabbing these damned Legionnaires. Bastard. Anyway, we're on some kind of death world. We're supposed to be locating a xenos ruin near the equator. Abaddon's pet witches say the species that lived there worshiped Chaos before dying, left behind a stone slab inscribed with the names of their patron daemons or something. But there's this continuous storm pattern on the planet, so they had to drop us off 50 miles from the ruins; we have to hike through the rain and howling gales the rest of the way. That goes about as you'd expect. About the 5th time what looked like a tree tries to kill us all, Thrun says he'll take the lead." "It works out pretty well for most of the walk. For example, he just sat there laughing while an 8-foot spider looking thing bit him over and over. He said the venom tickled. But we're about a mile out, he takes a step forward, and the ground underneath him collapses into a churning pit of sand and tendrils. At the bottom there's this worm with gnashing jaws and acid spit, and it's not that big but damned if it hasn't halfway swallowed him by the time I cut away the tentacles around me. The others are still struggling and it looks like he isn't going to make it unless somebody does something, so that falls to me. It doesn't feel fear, obviously, and I can't stab the exposed part without hitting him since he's up to his waist in its maw, roaring and cutting at its mouth to no real effect. So I did what I had to: hooked my arms under his and fired my jump pack. Of course, normal Astartes jump packs are meant to lift one Space Marine, not two, especially when one has doubled in weight because he's half-rotten, but lucky for him I'm a Raptor and I don't let little things like 'intended safety thresholds' stop me from soaring. I tore the wires that control those out a long time ago. Engine load tracker in my helmet spikes to something like 280%, alarms are screaming about imminent meltdown, but I'm no coward. Finally I get him loose, but it turns out half the reason he was so hard to lift was the suction from the thing in the pit trying to swallow him, so the second I break the seal I'm applying way too much power and we go flying backwards about 100 meters. Good thing I was able to roll over so he took the impact. He wasn't too happy about that, but I told him to quit bitching and start walking, because I wasn't carrying him back." "Anyway, the stone was a bust. Whole thing was a waste of time. I hear Abaddon killed a lot of sorcerers for wasting his time that day. Heh heh. Brings a tiny glimmer of joy to my black, black hearts." -------------------------------------------------- "But let me tell you about something that really, really pisses me off. Owing people something. And by people, I mean Steknavich. Smarmy bastard loves bringing up that time he saved me, and as if it wasn't bad enough to owe anyone something, he's original Black Legion and he knows how much I loathe wearing this armor. We're on this planet, one which barely deserves to be called a planet. There's barely an atmosphere, and all it is, as far as the eye can see, is this black volcanic glass. Imagine hours and hours of trudging in the near-silence of an atmosphere-starved rock, up and down these mile-wide sheets of black glass that crack and fall apart under your feet if you aren't careful, so you can't even stop paying attention. Oh no, you have to be perfectly aware of every hour you waste just...walking. Can't even soar, because the glass can barely hold us walking on it. If I slam down on it I'll just drop into the miles-deep chasms that run throughout the place. I hated this planet almost more than I hate Abaddon, is what I'm saying." "I don't even remember what we were looking for. Whatever it was, I know we were stealing something from the Necrons. The trouble didn't end once we got off the surface. We descend into one of the chasms along this obviously unnatural staircase made of metal. From there, instead of hours of trudging along the surface trying not to fall to your death, it's hours of trudging through claustrophobic, empty metal tunnels while robot bugs stare at you from the shadows, wondering when the xenos skeletons are going to get up and start trying to vaporize you. At this point, between void travel and walking to the site to "avoid any hidden anti-air defenses," it's been weeks since I flew. I'm edgy, twitchy, and I'm seriously starting to consider killing everyone and taking my chances with Abaddon's wrath, threats of Spawndom be damned. And that's when we find the chamber we've been looking for." "It's the first wide-open space in the entire tomb. It goes from tunnels that we have to march through single-file to nothing but open space in all directions. We could barely see the walls on the other side. In the middle, there's this pyramid with a glowing green orb in the middle, on a pedestal. Even above us, there's nothing but blackness to be seen, no ceiling in sight. Finally, I have the room to soar and I'm not going to break through the floor when I land. So I laugh and say, 'Wait here. I'll be back with that thing in a second,' my voice sounding like razor blades to my ears. I'm never going to forgive Abaddon for the abomination that my voice and head have become, even if it is useful for terrifying the weak-willed. I don't want help from chaos and I never will. Where was I? Right. I run forward a few steps and jump, drawing my swords as I do, and I soar in as high an arc as possible, my twin swords tracing blue streaks in the dark. And for about a second, it's beautiful; I am the Raptor, I am soaring death, I am the winged nightmare. And then I slam headfirst into the ceiling, because there is a ceiling, I just didn't see it because it's made of the loving black glass!" "The noise is unimaginable. Imagine a battlecruiser full of antique vases crashing into a planet made of crystal. I'm knocked unconscious for a second, by the time I wake up I'm spinning wildly towards the ground in a hailstorm of glass fragments. I barely right myself and slow my descent, still hit the ground hard enough to dent it a little. It seems like I stood there forever, stunned, as this impossibly loud crash echoes around me and glass fragments hail down on me, but it was probably just a second. And then a Necron with all kinds of fancy ornamentation and an incredibly bright green scythe appears in front of me and swings his scythe at my head. A second before it connects, a burning plasma bolt hits one of its arms and blows it off, making the scythe pass over me by inches. Steknavich charges in, roaring, and as he swings a chainsword at it it vanishes. We stand there for a few seconds and he turns to me and says 'Nice flight.' I would have challenged him right then and there if about 500 Necrons hadn't warped in everywhere. Long story short, we grab the orb and run. They chased us for hours, nonstop hordes of those little scarabs coming from all directions, backed up by far too many Warriors to fight off. They stopped chasing us once we got out of the tomb, so I guess they didn't care that much that we stole the orb. Honestly, I think they might have just been angry that I woke them up."
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 05:01
|
|
|
"I know it is foolish, but I believe that my dedication to Tzeentch gives me more freedom than bondage. Who can hope to outwit the Changer of Ways, to outplay him in his own grand game. But from my position, I can at least glimpse the board, and perhaps make a move of my own. Perhaps it is the move that Tzeentch wanted, perhaps not. All choice might be an illusion, a grand trick meant to distract us from the puppet-threads that control us. In either case, I believe that I had a choice when I met Iocanthos..." The Night Lord was held by two veterans of the Black Legion, while Lord Abaddon presided from his throne. There was jeering, hissing from the human sycophants trying to read their master's mood, trying to win favor enough for another day of servitude. The marines in the room were silent, waiting the pronouncement. The air was filled with soft scratching, crackling on the edge of hearing as a cabal of sorcerers prepared to loose their powers upon the renegade and leave him nothing but a simpering spawn. The restrained Raptor, Iocanthos, had just finished swearing dark and portentous oaths to the Despoiler, Warmaster of All Chaos and renouncing his rebellious ways. Abaddon was now pondering them, evaluating how loyal the captured marine could really be given his past of burning Chaos and Imperium with equal zeal. "Seer Feye Del, present yourself to me." A wave of confusion in the room, but the crowd quickly parted so that the "new" arrival might step forward. He bore the Eye of Horus and the sigil of Tzeentch, but he was by no means the most accomplished psyker or seer in the room. Some of these more veteran sorcerers felt slighted, jealous of the attention Abaddon was showing the newcomer. But for all was a slight sense of relief - better the pup face the whims of the warmaster, than risk themselves. Del approached the dais and knelt down, bowing his head, "How might I serve, Warmaster?" He dared not actually say Abaddon's name here, "Seer, do you think that these oaths are offered truly? Or is this wretch merely trying to save his own skin for a few moments longer?" Feye Del turned to look at Iocanthos, who turned his head slightly to look back. There was no time to prepare a tarot or other prophetic ritual, and he could not simply turn his gaze to the skeins of fate as other, more blessed practitioners might. And yet... "He will be... as loyal as any servant you have, my lord." Silence. Then a menacing chuckle emanated from Abaddon, "Indeed? Then you shall serve together, young seer. If your vision proves wrong, you can be his first victim. Your soul will provide proof of his betrayal when it crawls through the warp to me, begging for salvation. Release him. Both of you, begone from my sight. I have already expended more attention on you than you deserve..." -------------- "However, I cannot deny that I owe a great deal to those who I serve with. My vision is imperfect and my skill at divining the future is not always reliable. I still do not know why Thrun the Ruin saved me. Perhaps it is our shared origin, millenia removed. I admit that I restrain myself when I am around him - I do not wish to appear... childlike, before him. But I do wish to know. Wish to know of Dorn, of The Emperor, of the Imperium-that-Was before the eternal war began. In any case, it is not like a servant of Nurgle to go out of his way to save a Tzeentchian cultist..." Sometimes it can be a mistake to depend on the gift of foresight and farseeing over the physical senses. Sometimes, in searching for signs of danger among the warp, you let the obvious escape your vision. And hearing. And smell, if we're to be perfectly honest. And that is how Feye Del, Seer of the Black Legion, was caught off guard by a stampeding squiggoth. It had no mind to sense, its presence in the warp was minimal and truly it would present no danger to those who were paying the least bit of attention. Had he noticed it sooner he might have sent it off with some well placed bolt rounds or lead it back to his team. Instead, the first sign of the beast he noticed was the ground trembling, disturbing his trance. Then the creature swung its head and slammed the marine aside like a rag doll. His bolter slipped from his hands, and not even his armor could cushion the damage from crashing through a grove of trees. The Squiggoth took time to turn around to finish the job, and he was too stunned and injured to try and get away. The only thing that saved him was the sudden appearance of Thrun, emerging from the brush bolter firing. The explosions angered the creature at first, and it charged again - but then it was confronted with the Pox of Nurgle. Thrun was himself a plague marine unlike any other. Somehow, the curse did not touch him physically. He was the same marine, unblemished by years of servitude to the Lord of Flies. There was no visible sign of disease - but when Thrun raised his arm, he inflicted the pox all the same. The Squiggoth recognized the taint and quickly fled, wanting no part of this sickened prey. Then Thrun turned toward Del, shaking his head. "I thought you were a seer. Aren't you supposed to see these sorts of things coming?" "A...aha, urk... Just... just as planned..." "Uh huh. Get up, I'm not stopping it again if it comes back." ProfessorCurly fucked around with this message at 01:12 on May 5, 2015 |
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 05:17
|
|
|
For all their claptrap about stealth, the Night Lords can be far from subtle. Take this one in particular, Daren Khalid. We set up a nice ambush. Everyone was in place and the charges go off right on cue, sending the Guard convoy into confusion. We jump in with fire support from above, textbook right? Only Daren peels off to rout a squad trying to mount a defense. Admirable, but unnecessary. The fuel truck they were using as cover was already on fire. By the time he gets his first kill the truck goes up, taking the squad and almost him with it. I run out to make pickup and his armor is half gone, what's left is on fire, and there's a Commissar putting the fear of the bolt into his men to rally. I pull the raptor back to a crater left by the charges and get some sense back in him. He's still got one good arm to shoot and when they close in I take it to close quarters, hacking down anyone who tries to overrun the position. By the time we're done, he can stand. Got a hell of a tongue lashing from the Lord, though. At least he's still around to complain about it. --------- Now, anyone can make a bad call. You survive, you move on wiser for it. Now, supposedly a jump pack can handle just about anything thrown at it as long as it's not heavy ordnance. But as it turns out, steelwing gulls are not something that the warpsmiths had considered in their design. We were advancing through a junkyard. Well, I say yard, but it was more of a district. Some place outside one of the havens the loyalists were using on some backwater wasteland of a planet. They just decided to start piling all their crap up on one area. Anyway, we're moving forward and our progress disturbs some of the local wildlife. Scavenger birds start taking to the air. I say drat them and jump right into the flock. One of the poxy bastards gets sucked right into the intake. The jet blows out and next thing I know I'm spiraling into a tower of junk a hundred feet high. Next thing after that, the drat thing topples right down on top of me. I'm stuck under several tons of rotting whatever. For 9 hours. It was Viturus who pulled me out of it. He saw me go down like an idiot and he was the one who dug me out.
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 06:26
|
|
|
Sometimes, I feel old. So very old. The Imperium now is a completely different beast than it was when I was still an Imperial Fist. But Viturus somehow manages to make me feel even older. I've seen a lot of rash decisions over the years. Champions challenging daemon princes to single combat, warp smiths linking themselves to an already possessed titan, Imperial vessels braving the warp with their geller field down and on and on the litany of short sighted decisions go. But Viturus has managed to top most of those. You see, I am blessed with a resilience that is born of dying a hundred thousand different deaths. So when I called out that I would be scouting out the rancid and stagnant sewers of a hive city devoured by plague and pestilence, it was because I was sure in the knowledge that whatever the sewer might throw at me paled in comparison to what I have endured previously. And then Viturus, probably eager to prove himself or some such, decides he should join me on this scouting mission. I tell him to cover my back and into the depths we go. A few hours later we hit the bottom, where we come across a wide pool of such virulence that I am forced to stop and admire the sheer lethality of it. Part acid, part deamon, all malice, the pool was truly a wonder to behold. And then Viturus wades into it. Seconds later the servos in lower parts of his armor give out. Torn out of my reverie, I am forced to wade in after him, the pool hissing and popping with anger as I slowly drag him out of it. For the remainder of the trek through the dank sewers, I am forced to drag his sorry shape out as the legs of his armor have locked up completely. During the trek we also come across the loyalists we were searching for, forcing me to alternate between engaging the foe and dragging Viturus into a new position every so often. By the time we make it out of the sewers, we're both out of ammo, Viturus entire armor has locked up and I'm forced to make the report with him tied to my back. Not quite how I imagined my service with the Legion would be. But I've made my own share of poor decisions. I have a tendency to get caught up in the now, especially in battle. Often I will end up far ahead of my brethren as I eschew cover and proper battlefield movement to engage the enemy, to bring death and new life to those opposing us. This zeal is usually offset by my resilience, but in an engagement with our loyal brothers of the Dark Angels chapter I pushed to far ahead of my companions and was surrounded. At first it was only sporadic bolter fire, but without realizing I was being corralled, I ended up in a killing zone, surrounded by the foe. Impact by impact I slowly began weakening, the coordinated fields fire laid down by the loyalists preventing any sort of effective response on my part. What few bolts I got off were completely ineffectual. It was then that the fusillade faltered. The sound of combat could be heard beyond the lines the loyalists were hemming me in with. Gradually the pressure on me withered and died completely. Out of the smoke and scattered debris walked a squad of marines, guided there by the Seer, Feye Del. "There are many paths to victory. You merely need to see" he uttered as he guided the squad onwards in pursuit of the foe.
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 12:37
|
|
|
Calling you out jester; being surrounded by bad guys is not more embarrassing than someone's armor being locked up by wading into poo. Your rescue needs some more humility to it.
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 19:34
|
|
|
I kind of went with "saving them from something serious, being saved from something dumb," is that ok?
|
|
#
?
May 4, 2015 21:26
|
|
|
Werix posted:Calling you out jester; being surrounded by bad guys is not more embarrassing than someone's armor being locked up by wading into poo. Your rescue needs some more humility to it. But it was sentient demonic poo!
|
|
#
?
May 5, 2015 00:56
|
|
|
“I hate these thinblooded mongrels I have to fight alongside. My fellow Legionnaires are much worthier company to keep. That whiny bitch Viturus should thank his “gods” that I didn’t notice it was him fighting that dreadnought and I was only focused on the next kill. The galaxy would be a better place without him and the rest of the whelps of the CRIMSON SLAUGHTER. A whole chapter cursed to hear the cries of those they killed in their dreams? Thats called part of becoming a man on Nostramo. Still I hate having to owe anyone my life and thus far it looks like I’ve managed to keep even on that score. Yes Steknavich saved my life, I do not deny this. But as I laid on my back, half of my armor scorched off or melting into my wounds, I watched the Chosen fight. There was a warrior, a Luna Wolf who I remembered that wielded a sword just like him.” “I was with 6th Claw, 13th Company when we dropped on Terra. Block to block fighting against Imperial Fists and White Scars at the Lion’s Gate spaceport. Most of my Company was killed before they even got out of their pods by the orbital guns. Scattered, we attached ourselves to a Sons of Horus squad and joined them in the assault. There I saw him, decapitating and dismembering Imperial Fists with his chainsword. No berserker of khorne with their furious rages, this was a swordsman of skill. Its was a mesmerizing sight to see Imperial Fists slaughtered with clean and precise blows. Then the warrior went down as a Imperial Fist tackled him, Gladius in hand and intent on driving it into the back of his neck. 4 shots into the Fist’s powerpack rendered him immobile and saved the Wolf for the time.” “I lost sight of him in the melee that followed as we got hit hard by a Fists counterattack. All I know is when we had cleared the field and the spaceport was ours, I saw the same Imperial Fist who I had incapacitated lying in a pool of his own blood, on his back and a few more bodies near that one as well. Yeah, its gotta be him. You don’t forget a sight like that for the rest of your days.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “By all that is hate! First the curse of mutation and now I owe that wretch Viturus my life!?!?!? drat the Dark Gods and all their daemonspawn! We were deployed to provide security for a Dark Mechanicus expedition on a world that housed a Necron Tomb World. In the event of the the tomb being at risk of awakening, we carried a Plasma Bomb to seal it behind us as we made our escape. Go figure after 2 weeks, the Tomb begins awakening and we have to hurry up and seal it before the whole planet is overrun by Necrons.” “So down into the tombs we go, sneaking through this place that’s older than the false emperor and humanity itself. The Seer Feye Del and I were taking point as our team moved through the caverns. The auspex my MIU was plugged into suddenly started picking up movement, a massive contact. I couldn’t tell if it was above, below us, or where for sure. All I know is that it came crashing out of the walls and crushed one of the Chosen to bits. It had a big green eye that shot a ray that disappeared all before it to well by the ten hells how should I know where!?!. I think the magos we spoke to said something about alternate dimensions or something.” “We fought a running battle against the steel abomination. I would fire my combi melta whenever I could get alongside it without being subject to its gaze before it would disappear into the rocks in the tomb. It seemed to home in on whichever one of us was the most on edge, as if it could sense our twin hearts beat through the rocks. From below me the Tomb Sentinel came and grabbed me by the leg in its claws. I met its green eye and saw oblivion looking back at me. It was the end.” “Then I caught a glimpse of movement and saw a figure on top of the beast. Then the detonation of a meltabomb on the Sentinel’s head, destroying it and freeing me from its grasp. I saw no flame of the jetpack when the figure jumped up off of the dying Necron warmachine.There was only one of us who could fly on their own power, Virturus.” “Son of a bitch.”
|
|
#
?
May 7, 2015 02:06
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 06:09 |
|
|
Get to posting fools!
|
|
#
?
May 8, 2015 03:16
|
|