Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

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Bone2pick
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Bone2pick » Fri Jan 03, 2014 2:14 pm

Race: Ork
Actual Name: Meggah Wyze
*Nickname: Masta
Class: Runtherd
Faction: Freebooter
*Age: 51

*Goal: To study his enemies, to make war with them, to enslave them, and ultimately steal their knowledge.
*Religious Views: Gork and Mork rule all
*Political views: Do as the Warboss says...Unless he's wrong.

Default attitude: An uncharacteristic ork thinker and manipulator. Patient, analytical, diabolical, with a touch of traditional orkish wrath.
*Likes: Grabbing new slaves, attacking enemies with his elite gretchin, and learning alien languages.
Dislikes: A micro managing Warboss & Space Marines
FEARS: Other orks rejecting him for his differences
Strengths: Battle evaluation, leadership, linguistics, and close quarter combat
Weaknesses: unwilling to commit his gretchin to dangerous warfare, retreats under serious resistance

Armour: Squig leather body suit with reinforced (looted) Eldar Aspect armour plates. Meggah's belly and upper groin have also been replaced with crude ork cyber organs and plating
Weapons: double barrel break-action Kustom Kannon that fires inaccurate but orange fruit size exploding rounds, polearm forked electrified Grot-Prod
*Possessions on Person: bookie (large book on belt), peeksie (binoculars), teef pouch (money purse), a trophy headress made from Eldar Swooping Hawk feathers, & metal shackles
*Hair: bald green head
*Eyes: Burgundy

Biography:

It's rare, but sometimes the galaxy gets things wrong. When it's right no one notices, a storm is a storm, a stone is a stone, and a man is a man. Perfect. Everything tends to go according to plan, and for the orks of the forty first millennium, this is especially true. The greenskins are cut from the same cloth, a battle bloodied cloth that churns out the meanest and nastiest warriors for Gork and Mork's next great Waaagh! Their desire is singular and irresistible, a thirst for combat that never quenches. War isn't the means to an end, it is the sole prize of their existence. There is but one value in ork "kultur"; and that's what can you bring to the next battle?

Yet he happened. So different that he required secrecy to blend in. It was true he shared his species thrill of a fresh kill, and it was undeniable that he loved the unfettered wrath one felt as they diced their way through epic planetary invasions, but he also fought another hunger. A gnawing compulsion that bit at more than merely his adrenal glands and muscles. Beyond killing, beyond combat, beyond victory, he wanted...To learn. Who was his enemy, what did they speak, what did they desire, and ultimately; what did they think? It had infected his mind.

He left before they could cast him out. A Blood Axe no more, he took his runts with him. His gretchin, abnormally loyal to their master and abnormally skilled compared to others of their ilk, eagerly joined his self-imposed exile into piracy. What better way to flourish and thrive as an oddity than the freedom of a Freebooter? Now he keeps a wartrukk full of shackles for future slaves and a book for all their secrets. And he's just getting started.

If the galaxy made a mistake when it created Meggah Wyze, someone else would have to pay for it.
Last edited by Bone2pick on Sat Jan 04, 2014 12:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Chaos Farseer » Fri Jan 03, 2014 8:47 pm

Race: Human
Actual Name: Alric Luthaniel Vost
Nickname: “Maples”
Class: Member of Valhallan 482nd Ice Warriors, Scout Team No. 19 “Ice Spikes”
Faction: Imperial Loyalist
Age: 36 Standard Terran Years

Goal: Fulfill his twenty-year quota and get back home.
Religious Views: Emperor needs to get off his throne and do something.
Political Views: A man's responsibility is to his family, friends and comrades. Rank not granted, but earned.
Default Attitude: Perpetually talkative and skeptical. Comments on everything. Vulgar. Impatient. Does not understand sarcasm.
Likes: Enjoys the sounds xenos make when their vital organs explode. Likes smoking, eating, and especially talking. Prefers colder places and low-grav planets.
Dislikes: Scowls while waiting. Impassive about abhumans. Hates warm weather, high-grav planets, pompous superiors, enemy heavy armor, the Novus Six incident, and especially Orks. Dislikes alcohol, drugs, and helmets.
Fears: He can't get away from it he can't shoot it he can't see it right behind him getting closer getting faster...
Strengths: Precision sniping, explosives and “dealing with it.”
Weaknesses: Not very stealthy; headstrong, individualistic, lung cancer.

Armour: Standard Valhallian snow-camo flak armor with combat webbing harness and five-setting cameleoline cloak.
Weapons: Cadian Hot-Shot Lasgun with extended barrel, bipod and holographic laser scope. Heirloom autopistol with 6 custom “hailstorm” buckshot rounds. Dire Spider serrated fang knife. 4 kg Demolition Charge. Three flak grenades, two krak grenades, two smoke grenades.
Possessions on Person: Backpack, box of nine cigars, three days of standard-issue “bone gruel”, water tablets, cartograph, chrono, holo-slate with family portrait, compass, tent, two sets of matches, 20 meters of rope, Tranki scarf, permafrost stone, pack of tanna leaves, three extra lasgun charge packs, micro-bead, respirator, photo-visors, demolition kit

Hair: Black, short, and grimy
Eyes: Squinted puce green

Biography:

Alric Luthaniel Vost grew up on the frigid world of Valhalla, born in its underground caverns and raised on the nutrient slimes farmed beneath the earth. While he was raised on strong family values (and the passed-down hatred of Orks from ten millenniums prior), Alric never cared to stay trapped in the tunnels and when the call for volunteers came for the yearly tithe, Alric gladly volunteered.
In the years which followed, Alric not only survived but distinguished himself as a skilled marksman. His promotion to the scout corps as a trainee unfortunately coincided with the 482nd's deployment on the death world of Novus Six. During the slaughter and evacuation which followed, Alric lost the squad's cartograph and only by sheer luck ran into the Cadian 391st dropships. After the Exterminatus, Alric and the rest of the “Ice Spikes” were mistakenly deployed into the incorrect warzones again and again, eventually landing Valaris Signor to eliminate the Tau presence.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Lionic » Sat Jan 04, 2014 3:28 pm

The Imperial ship groaned and sighed mightily as it Left the warp just above the planet. Just as the Imperial guardsmen began scurrying about, manning posts, and readying drop ships, another far more sinister force began mobilizing.
The Magus let out a mental wave, waking his brothers from hibernation. They slowly unfurled their talons, claws and legs, and started moving through the shadows and walls of the Huge imperial ship.
Crawling along the sealing, they drooped down on an unsuspecting pilot, and hid away in side the cargo hold of his ship. The pilot soon awoke with no idea why he was on the ground, simply went about his duty with know idea what he had just brought to the planet...
The question is, do oil your war machines... or feed them

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by destuctir » Sat Jan 04, 2014 5:10 pm

the husk of the communicator landed on the floor with a stale thud...

the unrelenting's folly pilot had just watched as Salo'tekh let his anger pour out of him into the poor messenger. He wasn't angry that a warp storm had appeared on his route, he wasn't angry his fleet was stalled for C'tan knows how long because of it. he wasn't even angry that it had caused his ship to spiral out at damn near warp speed.

he was angry that his flag ship had detected this SMALL issue beforehand and didn't alert him of his impending doom because the pilot had assumed he would be clear of it before it arrived. his ship had actually suffered minimal damage from the storm itself, it was the spinning at lightspeed that did a number on it.

Salo'tekh turned to the, now quick terrified, pilot. "the immortals are to remain aboard as guardians of the vessel, any information you receive is to be passed to me immediately. you are to enter low orbit on the planets most far out moon, have the two disintegration cannons ready at all times. If when i return we are being persuade by any hostile, fire on them without question and prepare to jump for the warp, storm or no storm. the Lychguard and barges are to board a landing vehicle immediately after orbit is achieved. scan the planets surface, i want a defensible and hidden location to land the drop ship and the doom scythe. i also want a point of insertion into the tomb world, protocol dark sun is to be activated immediately if i fall. if this vessel comes under fire it is to flee and return when the opportunity to do so arises, if there is no way to reenter the planets area without detection, you are to wait until the full force of the fleet can be brought down open this world."

the pilot returned to his work, busily sending data across the ship nexus to all soldiers. Salo'tekh looked out towards the solar system he was headed for. "something is, wrong... for the first time i genuinely fear that i may be looking upon my grave." if the metal had aloud it, a menacing grin would have scarred across his face.

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Cthulu Mechanicus » Sat Jan 04, 2014 5:52 pm

584's company halted for the night. At Major Phi's command, the platoon began digging, a simple number from his mouth indicating which Earthworks construction he wanted finished before the men could rest. The only true rest was for the dead, but mortal frames still needed it. His newly acquired spade bit the earth, as his training guided his every move. A series of Ramparts and trenches, creating a variety of Killzones to maximize enemy losses. The entire platoon moved in unison, dirt being moved to turn what was once a plains into a basic defensive position. At the Major's command, 584 pitched his tent and entered it. He maintained a grip on his lasgun as he slept, his dreams filled with images of blood, bone, fire, and a shining Aquila. A broken homeworld. Nuclear fire. Screams for mercy, pleas to an Emperor they had forsaken. When he awoke, his mind remembered the sins. They must be atoned for.

The platoon spent the morning flattening the earthworks they had created, to prevent enemy usage. He packed up his tent as he swallowed down his morning ration. He stood at attention, his Greatcoat stained with dirt. The Major walked up and down the roughly 80 soldiers arrayed in front of him. 100 faceless men, identified only by a number. 9874512584. On his right, 9874512585. Coins of flesh to be spent to repay a debt. "Trooper 584-Braum." The Major spoke, his face unreadable beneath his gas mask. "Yes sir?" 584 was confused. Majors rarely spoke to privates, fresh out of training. "You have been selected to carry the Platoon's flag. Let it fall, and you will die leaving the debt unpaid. 584 swallowed hard. "I will not fail you sir." His mind was barely functioning, he was unable to refuse the honour. He took the flag from its place in the centre of the camp, and clutched it tight. He lifted it above his head, as the Aquila-emblazoned gas mask with the platoon number fluttered in the wind. He saluted the Major as he fell into line at the front of the rapidly forming formation. They began to march, as alien eyes watched from the horizon.
Last edited by Cthulu Mechanicus on Tue Jan 07, 2014 11:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by respect92 » Sun Jan 05, 2014 9:51 am

Race: Human
Actual Name: Zandra Zvift
Nickname: Zvifty
Class: Sergeant
Faction: 108th Drop Troop Regiment
Age: 24
Goal: She wants reach the rank of a colonel
Religious Views: None
Political views: None
Default attitude: Acheerful girl when not in combat. In combat serious and consentrated
Likes: Command, associate with her squad, pancakes
Dislikes: Peaoples that disobey, beeing alone, vegetables
FEARS: Beeing aone in darkness, losing her whole squad and be the only one alive
Strengths: She have a strong voice so her orders can be herd well, good at solving problems like when the plan do not goes as planned
Weaknesses: Not as strongly built as other male sergants, beeing seasick when going onboard on a boat, even if its in dock or on land
Armour: Elysian drop troop flak armor female-version
Weapons: Lasgun with auxiliary grenade launcher, knife and 3 frag grenades
*Possessions on Person: A familyphoto, pocket knife
*Hair: Short, orange [See pic]
*Eyes: Blue [See pic]
AND FINALLY:
Biography:
She grew up on the street. When she had a hard time, her friends where there to support her. The city threw the worst it had at her and she sent it home bleeding. At 12 years old a captain saw when she ordered her friends in a fight when she and her friends was outnumbered, 5 against 13.The captain was just on way to interrupt the uneven fight when he saw the fire in her Eyes. Thanx to her leadership they won the fight. Thou they had alot of bruises and one had Broken his arm. The captain waled to Zvift and took her with him. Thats when her training started. During 10 years she was trained in an imperial camp where they took care of homeless Children. After the 10 years she had proven herself to be thesergeant of her Group. The guys she was going to lead had all trained with her during the 10 years. One year later they where sent on their first real mission, as a scout squad on the planet Valaris Signor.
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Last edited by respect92 on Tue Mar 04, 2014 2:44 pm, edited 6 times in total.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Jason » Sun Jan 05, 2014 6:40 pm

Lucius sat in the launch bay of the cruiser, his helmet pulled down over his eyes to shield them from the stark hangar lighting that permeated through the wide open space. He and his squad had been pulled from the planet after the Necrons had awoken from their tomb and confronted the Tau and Imperial forces that were fighting upon the planet. He remained in his armor and webbing, his gear resting on the floor below him as he tried to catch a quick nap before being redeployed.

One of his squad-mates was taken into the infirmary after the surprise attack, being wounded by the Necron menace, removed indefinitely from immediate action. That being said, only four members remained of his squad. He thought about the situation with his eyes closed, hearing the ministrations of hangar crews and people barking orders at one another, footsteps echoing off of the gangways overhead. He pondered as a set of boots came bureaucratically clonking down the path beside him; a sound of a boot that was to be recognised with fear and temperament. As the steel shodden boots approached his position, he was quick to flip his helmet to its proper resting place and stand to. The field commissar and his retinue were approaching, the tall hat, great coat and arms placed stiffly behind his back signalled his station.

“Glad to see you are well aware of your surroundings, soldier. Carry on.” The Commissar stated in passing, not breaking stride to acknowledge Lucius’s stiff reply.

A sigh left his lips as he slumped back down onto the perch he was resting on, the harsh lighting causing him to squint as his eyes adjusted once again. It was not long before a messenger made his way hurriedly to his position and saluted Lucius.

“Lieutenant, your team’s assembly and presence is required in bay 7, prepared for insertion and prolonged combat.” The messenger swiftly stated.

“Aye, take my affirmation of the order to the commander; we’ll be ready in five.” He responded.

“Yes sir!” the messenger affirmed, saluting once more.

Lucius gave a casual salute back as he watched the boy run off down the gangways, returning to whoever gave the order. Sucking in a deep breath, Lucius stood up and stretched, arching his back and rolling his shoulders. He picked up his gear and strapped his weapon to his webbing and began the walk to his team’s quarters. His heavy boots making little noise against the gangways and paths- a credit to his stealth abilities- he approached the quarters, and gave the metal door quick rapp with his gloved knuckles.

“Stand to, we are going back down.” Lucius exclaimed.

In moments, the three others spilled out of the room prepped and ready for combat.

Altaern, the demolitions and technician of the group.
Ayva, the team’s medical officer and biological agent specialist
Teyver, Heavy/Special weapons expert and designated marksman
Burke (not present due to injury), Mechanical expert and communications specialist

The group gave casual salutes to their lieutenant and proceeded to the hangar bay they were requested. As they passed officers and navy personnel, they received salutes and commendations from the lower ranks and nods of approval as they saluted the higher-ups aboard the cruiser. Upon reaching the bay, they spotted their usual Valkyrie in its bay, the “Delivery-Man” in its pilot seat.

They were greeted by a logistical officer with a data-slate in front of his face, as most logistical officers usually greet people.

“Lieutenant Brenner, you and your team are being sent to the surface to secure an entrance to a mine complex below. Our sources have confirmed as of an hour ago, the outpost is still under guard of the Xeno Tau Empire. Elimination without remorse is recommended and encouraged for dealing with the enemies stationed there.”

“-When’s that not the case… ever?” Teyver whispers, eliciting stifled laughter and shaky smiles from the team as they try to remain composed. Lucius just rolls his eyes at the comment and keeps listening.

“There are not many, but expect heavy resistance from those stationed there; it is one of the last mine entrances that the Xeno’s hold. Once secured, remain vigilant in your approach, as the Necrontyre menace has yet to appear in that sector, and they may at any time. Signal your completion and you will be relieved by a regular force.” The officer finished.

“Understood, sir.” Lucius reponds, saluting the officer.

“Good luck Lucius, bring glory in the Emperor’s name.” The officer retorts, saluting and walking away.

Lucius nods his head towards the open hatch of the Valkyrie as the team begins to enter the vehicle. Once seated, they are instructed to equip the HALO grav-chutes. Puzzled, since they are supposed to be dropped off on a mesa close to the complex, they do as they are told.

As the Valkyrie phases through the magnetic air-lock of the hangar and begins its entrance into the planet’s atmosphere, Delivery-Man can be heard over the intercom.

“Hey fellas- and Ayva- I read over the mission briefing before we took off and uhh… looks like that area is heating up on route. You uhh… got the grav-chutes on yeah? Well, you may need ‘em.”

Concern crosses Ayva’s face as the hull shudders with the force of the atmosphere impacting the vessel as the team streaked closer and closer to their objective. Once they entered the low atmosphere, combat can be heard as they flew over battlefields and engagements. Aggressive maneuvering and some luck brought the team over empty space as the warning light flicked on, signalling their closeness to the landing zone. Once they unbuckled themselves and prepped, Delivery-Man came upon the intercom again.

“They got us lit up with a marker light, hold on!”

Lucius and the team manage to dive to a railing as the Valkyrie begins spinning and rolling, attempting to lose the tracking that was locked on to their signature.

“Missile launch detected, now’s a good a place as any! Good luck Louie!” Delivery-man snapped through the intercom, the red light flashing green as the rear door opened. Lucius spied the small streaking object near the ground, twisting its way towards them.

The team didn’t need more of a hint as they all leapt out of the rear ramp, tucking to avoid collision. They were high up, spread out and making their high-speed decent towards the planet below. Lucius twisted to watch Delivery-Man spin the Valkyrie into some high rocky spires extending from the planet, and the missile impacting, creating a large plume of fire. Holding his breath, he watched the Valkyrie slip out the other side as it made its return approach. It screamed by, Lucius swearing that the pilot was giving him a thumb’s up as he passed.
Last edited by Jason on Thu Jan 09, 2014 1:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by destuctir » Mon Jan 06, 2014 5:40 pm

the Pilot stood behind a control panel, hands on the contact pads he was communicating to the entire ship. Salo'takh was meters away looking down at the moon, the Lychguard were on the surface practicing in low gravity. Turtle formations, combined attacks, and even unarmed fighting. Salo'takh turned to the pilot

"so, this moon is how far from providing cover fire?"

"it would take me 0.08 local solar cycles to reach a covering position from this moon, assuming its a B line without opposition"

"if its as good as you can do we will make it work, and the drop location you have found?"

a large 3D hologram took over the room, the hologram depicted a closed valley

"this valley, it is perfect."
the hologram zooms for a opening
"there is only one way into the area without descending the 200 meter drops from the valley top." the hologram moves to the opposite side of the valley
"a large waterfall enters the valley here, effectively turning the entire floor of the valley into a small pool, about 8 inches deep, the only way out being the entrance."
the hologram moves through the waterfall into a cavern behind it
"a hidden cavern behind the waterfall is spacious enough to contain the drop ship, doom scythe, annihilation barges and Lychguard comfortably."

"good, good. So where is out point of insertion"

the hologram disappears

"4.3 miles to the northeast is a small tau mineshaft, abandoned during the initial imperial attack since it was providing few resources. cross referencing the design of the tomb world with a rough scan of the mineshaft design shows that the cave system comes within meters of the tomb world near the very bottom of it."

"within meters? well either canoptek response units will be flooding that mineshaft or we will need to blow are way in..."

"yes, either way the tomb world will be aware of our presence by the time we breach its defenses."

"is there anyway to contact the tomb world? do they have a stable power system yet or is it unorganized attacks on other forces? if we can contact them i wish to speak to there Phearon"

"i will admit i havent exactly been focusing on it but if you want i can force contact to them by the time you land. they wont know were the ship is, i will relay it off some satellites orbiting the planet, when you land i will have your answer."

"begin immediately, we leave for the surface in 20 minutes."

Salo'tekh turned to leave the bridge.

"as the humans say, its time to kick the tyres and light the fires..."

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Bone2pick » Mon Jan 06, 2014 8:35 pm

*Onboard the Kill Kroozer Bleeda*

Side by side they walked through the curtains of sparks. Gleaming droplets kissing their flesh and armour before they burned out of existence. Smek tilted his head back to get a proper view of the source of the fiery showers, that source being a busy team of Mekboys. Each one was elevated on top of a makeshift ladder in order to hastily weld together the finishing repairs to the dozens of Dethkoptas that were chained to the ceiling. The Mek Bay that surrounded them was so packed full of ork vehicles, so overly crowded with Wartrukks, Warbuggies, Battle Wagons, and Kill Krushas, that many of the lighter machines had to be suspended from above in order to maintain a clear (or clear enough) walkway.

It was as noisy as it was cramped. Skill saws screamed as they bit into metal, hammers pounded as they crashed onto their mark, engines roared as they fired for ignition, and welding torches popped and cracked as they fused their joints together. As deafening as it all was, it had a mysterious way of blending into a somewhat rhythmic background song. Meggah Wyze spotted the ork they had come to see after they passed under the final spark shower.

Working inside the mechanical guts of an unidentifiable warmarchine was a Mek cranking down on a wrench that was longer than his own arm. The goggles covering his bulging eyes were streaked from oil that had been freshly wiped clear of its surface. His name was Buzzer, and he was the Big Mek in charge of things on this side of the ship. Meggah moved within an arm's reach of the ork while his companion stopped short a few feet behind him. He had brought Smek, his Runtherd in training, along for the meeting; but he had instructed his apprentice to let Meggah do all of the talking.

"Ima here Buzzer."

The Mek finished tightening up a particularly troublesome bolt with his oversized tool before acknowledging his pair of visitors. His eyes darted to Smek and then finally settled on Meggah Wyze. After a brief moment of collecting his thoughts he spoke.

"Gud newz. Ayve got en axtra shokk attack gun n Mek."

Meggah could feel Smek's tension growing behind him. He on the other hand, had already guessed the most likely subject of their summoning.

"So?"

Meggah knew perfectly well what Buzzer was implying, but he wanted the Big Mek to spell it out before he refused the command. A command that would be poorly veiled as an offer. Buzzer snorted at the dismissive question.

"So, aye figurd yewd want tu use et durr'en da fight."

"Yew figurd rong."

Two other Mek boys who were obscurely working further up the same vehicle that Buzzer had been repairing, stopped their tinkering to turn and look at the budding argument. Their expressions clearly explained that they weren't accustomed to hearing many orks talk to their Big Mek with that tone. Smek took a moment to snarl in their direction before Meggah continued.

"Aye aint puttn wun sing'ul runt uv mine thru dat shokk gun. Et kills moar uv my grots den et kills dem."

Buzzer fixed a disgusted look on his face and then pulled his wrench down to his hip. He practically spit the next question at Meggah.

"Runtz die Runtherd...Yew plannun on fighten et awll?"

Meggah Wyze didn't miss a beat with his reply.

"We'll be fighten Buzzer, but ef yew lose trak uv us, yew kan folla da trale uv bodiez we leev buhind."

The Big Mek tightened the grip on his wrench and it twitched into an aggressive position. The response from Meggah Wyze was instinctive, he rested the sides of his knuckles against his left hip holster. The same holster that sheathed his kannon, a double-barreled beast that could bark loud enough to wake the dead. It was an unsublte gesture, a clear no-nonsense signal that any eruption of violence would assuredly escalate quickly. Buzzer hesitated and eventually transitioned into a more relaxed stance. He had gotten the message.

"Sute yer'self Freebooter."

And that was it. The Big Mek went back to his duties and the pair of Runtherds were already marching back where they had come from. Smek finally broke the silence.

"Wat'do weh do now?"

Meggah Wyze slipped into a grin before he answered his partner.

"Now weh gev da boyz a pep tawk."
Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Bjorn » Mon Jan 06, 2014 8:51 pm

Race: Ork
Actual Name:Randy Butternubs
*Nickname: Smudge
Class: Stormboyz
Faction: THE BIGGEST WAAGH IN THE AREA OBVIOUSLY
*Age: 20(I guess? He's a man made of spores, deal with it nerds)
*Goal: To get to the 'krumpin faster
*Religious Views: Gork is da best, Mork is da best too maybe
*Political views: Biggest is best
Default attitude: Real 'ard like
*Likes/Dislikes: Krumpin, getting teef, flyin
FEARS: Loosin' is teef, crashin, gettin krumped
Strengths: He has a jetpack. Also, he is an ork.
Weaknesses:He made his own Jetpack.
Armour: That weird brown stuff all Ork boyz's seem to be wearing on the GW website
Weapons: A big choppa, and a slugga. A big old anti tank mine, and some Imperial frag grenades on a stick.
*Possessions on Person: More bullets, more teef, some wicked sick flying goggles he nicked from some dead imperial.
*Hair: Ez bald ya git
*Eyes: Blue. Or maybe green. Probably black, now that I think about it.
AND FINALLY:
Biography: Randy has always been a tad large, closer to a nob than a boy, but he always had one dream as a little babby Ork. To fly. Ever since he was a wee little spore, he would dream ov flyen threw the clouds, and krumpin the big gits up there. Wot if Gork was there? Well, e'd get krumped too! And so, Randy Butternubs began his journey with the Evil Sunz clan, as a Stormboy. Flying through the skies like a demented falcon, Randy earned his nickname "Smudge" when he accidentally fell through the internal mechanisms of a Stompa. Because of this, he came out rather black looking, much to the Gretchins amusement. So Randy killed them, and flew away with his little Stormboy friends.

He's on the planet because I need an excuse to roleplay and he's part of the Waagh.


POST COMING SOON

mebbye


The once shimmering green that coated the hull of the Forgerfather's Anvil floated quietly through the vastness of space, staying a faithful distance from the various large Orkish Rock's that led the front of the Waaagh. The Astarte vessel had fallen almost sixteen years prior, in a minor engagement with a small Orkish Freeboota incursion into Imperial space. The once splendid hull had been rent and torn open, orkish modifications poking through the surface into a twisted amalgamation of blackened metal and the massive ship based weapons forced hastily into firing positions. Brutish, pig like effigies were being constructed from anything that was bolted down, and even some that were, into a ramshackle invasion force, scrap vehicles being made in the names of Gork, and the occasional Mork. Mekboyz scrambled between areas, their gretchen carrying tools as the last minute adjustments were added to the ever growing fleet of vehicles.

As the horde of ships floated ever closer to the planet, a feeling of anticipation grew from those who knew what to expect. The inhabitants of the ship were Orks, brutish beasts that reveled in war and violence, with little control over their primal lives other than to fight, and to enjoy it. There were different types of boys that were contained within, from the warp-touched weird boys, the mechanically inclined Mekboys, the back-stabbingly sneaky Kommando's, even to the regular, fight-loving run of the mill Ork boy.

Smudge however, was not one of them. He was a Stormboy, a master of the Orkish art of Jetpack flight. Lightning raids, shock and awe attacks and the ability to leave a slightly acrid smokey path of death in his wake, was something he was rather proud of. He was bigger than most Stormboys, being more comparable to an Ork Nob, huge slabs of muscle, covered in a thick hide as is the case with most Orks. He complemented his hide with some Orkish squig-leather armor, a thick slugga-pistol and a 'Eavy Choppa, and a looted flying cap, with some flight goggles. A necklace of collected Teef ran around his thick chest multiple times, as well as a number of extra magazines for his over sized pistol.

Smudge grinned smugly at the group of Stormboyz assembled in front of him. One of the larger of the group spoke out.

"You sed we'd be av'in a good krump after 5 weeks! And we're still up ere with them bloody beakies floating around us, wifout anyone to scrap with!" The gray skinned Ork barked, a piggish snort finishing his sentence as a few of the closest boys nodded in agreement.

Smudge frowned, standing up and waddling a little closer to the boy, whose eyes widened slightly as he stood to his full height. "Eh, you wot you little nobber? We's about to be up to our slugga's in 'ummies, an them weird blue'ens as well! I'm gonna get more teef than you will ya little git!" Smudge barked, spittle flying from his maw, the pungent stench of his unwashed mass filling the void around the monster.

"Ey's just sayin boss, we's not been krumpin anyones for a while now, we fancy a good scrap is all!" A smaller Ork piped up, before shrinking down again as Smudge glanced at it and smacked it on top of it's head.

"Shurrup you, I din't ask!" He roared, turning back to the Ork mob. "Owzit then lads, you fancy a good scrap?" The Ork's roared in unison, raising a number of crudely made weapons above their heads. "Then get ya packs, and let's get ready to fly ya git's, we've got a fight to get to!" Smudge bellowed, setting off running toward the scrap-bay, which was filled with a variety of vehicles which may be possible to land ahead of the incoming Waaagh.
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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Jason » Thu Jan 09, 2014 2:27 pm

The arid atmosphere surged past the rapidly descending team as they made their fall towards the planet below. The emergency exit from the Valkyrie had left them somewhat scattered, but Lucius could make visual contact with the members of his team. As the HALO jump was nearly at the time of deployment, Lucius was about to give some commands through his vox as a voice was heard transmitting on his team’s frequency.

Was it… singing? Lucius turned to spy Altaern, rolling in the air and preparing to activate his chute, singing over his vox.

“Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck gettin’ dirt ‘n gritty…”

“Altaern.”

“Been down, isn’t it a pity, doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city…”

Before Lucius could berate his specialist his grav-chute deployed, rapidly decelerating as he frantically sped towards the ground below. The ground met his legs fast, to which he rolled to lessen the impact. Once he came to a respectable halt upon the surface, he swiftly unharnessed his weapon and brought it to his shoulder, scanning the immediate area. With no sign of enemy activity, he stood up and located the rest of his team, who had all landed in the immediate area.

“Right, let’s get this going shall we?” Lucius asked his squad as they sauntered near. “Primary objective is on the other side of this mesa; we can assume that the entrance to the mines below stretch underneath the mesa and far down below. Luckily, going down there isn't our job.”

The team made their way across the outskirts of the mesa, and upon nearing the platforms of the mining complex, Lucius called for a halt.

“Alright, everyone knows their jobs, right?”

“Climb the mesa and provide fire support from the elevation; taking out any resistance that may be atop quietly.” Teyver repied.

“Remain rear guard and focus on eliminating flanking manoeuvres while staying within proximity of the main assault.” Ayva retorted, checking the various packs and satchels about her webbing.

“Go with you, get as close as possible and unleash hell” Replied Altaern, who had been humming quietly to himself since he got down to the surface.

“Good. Remember, if you get in a tangle, closer is better. These xeno can’t hold their own in close combat.” Lucius finished. “Good luck.”

With the short meeting concluded, the team remained hidden as Teyver made his ascension atop the mesa skilfully and quickly. The sheer cliffs rose over fifty meters, but to Teyver, it was nothing more than climbing into his bunk at night.

Upon nearing the edge of the mesa’s plateau, Teyver peeked over the edge, bringing his eyes to ground level. Upon the plateau were two of the xeno’s warriors. They sat with their backs to him peering down at the complex below. Teyver mantled the plateau with eerie stealth as he inched his way closer and closer, neither his boots nor his armour making any noise as he slithered in to his prey. He could hear their foul and strange language as they spoke to one another; they chortled and joked unaware of their hunter right behind them.

Teyver drew his combat blade, positioning himself behind the closest and rearing up, he plunged the blade into the side of the xeno’s neck. Swiftly drawing it from its temporary alien scabbard, he tackled the other as it fumbled for its weapon. He pried the knife between the warriors armor plates, sinking it deep into the chest of the xeno. He could hear sputtering for a moment, and weak grasping as it’s alien hands tried to push him away; soon enough, it ceased.

“Mesa clear. Moving into position.” Teyver whispered over the vox. He quickly un-lashed his weapon and lay prone near the edge of the plateau , spying down on top of the mining complex. “It appears to be manned by eight of the xeno warriors, some of their foul drones, and one of their battle-suits.”

“Affirmative Teyver, wait for our signal before firing.” Lucius crackled over the vox.

Lucius and Altaern had been inching closer and closer to the camp making it to the edge of the platform without being detected. They could hear the Tau language above them as they slowly shuffled to gain a better view.

It was a standard construction; a raised platform with some machinery sitting atop, a marshalling area and a small building placed before the opening into the planet. The soft sound of metallic feet on a steel platform drew near as the crisis suit made its way towards them, casually patrolling the area. It stopped above them oblivious to their position.

Lucius made a signal with his hands, and Altaern nodded swiftly. He reached into his pack, removing a melta-charge from within; arming its magnetic coupler. Lucius did one final check of his hotshot las-gun and nodded. Altaern jumped up, clamping the metla-charge onto the underside of the metal suit before ducking back down and covering his head. The suit’s sensors went berserk as alarms and warnings began to chime, but it was far too late as the short-timed explosive went off, vaporizing the steel armour and shearing limbs and armaments off. The pilot was immediately glassed as the high-intensity charge created an inferno under his body. Ducking back and leaning over the platform, Lucius began to fire at the warriors, who had caught wind and located their position. The gunfight had erupted from pure serenity to madness in a split-second. Altaern racked the slide on his shotgun as he jumped aloft onto the platform, strafing the warrior’s position with shot as he began to flank them. It was not soon after the fire-fight had started as the warriors began to drop from an unseen target; Teyver calmly picking them off when he could.

Altaern stood behind a column of metal, reloading his weapon as one of the fire warriors ran past him towards a small control station. He leaped out onto its back and began clubbing him with his un-ready weapon, determined to not let him activate the drones. Within moments, two warriors remained. They dropped their weapons and attempted surrender as the team began to gather around; the platform full of holes, scorch marks and a ruined battle-suit. Teyver promptly drew his pistol and executed both of them as he climbed onto the platform, finishing his descent from the mesa.

Lucius put a finger to his ear, activating the long-range vox. “Brenner’s team successful. No losses. Relief clear for occupation.”
Regardez l'aventure à venir
Esse Eximius Ad Invicem
Bad Company, till the day I die.


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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Bone2pick » Thu Jan 09, 2014 8:04 pm

Snotlings scurried across the long bench tables wiping down their filthy metal tops with slightly less filthy rags. Everyone had been gathered for the meeting. The once empty kitchen now had its capacity challenged with wall to wall greenskin bodies. The least among the attendees were the snotlings who were generally assigned with the more trivial tasks that the group required; things like cooking, cleaning, and fetching whatever was needed for their superiors. Next up was the backbone of the Freebooters, the gretchin. Physically inferior to their orkish kin, they fully made up for their lack of size with an abundance of cunning methods. The Sly Guyz, that's what they called themselves. To take the name was to take the mark, a brand that proudly displayed their allegiance; a simple thumbprint of ink that vertically crossed both lips. Every thumbprint had to be earned. Through service. Through battle. Through hell. That was how you gained the black thumb.

At the head of the largest table stood the leadership. On the right was the apprentice, Smek, who was busy conversing with a nearby runt. He was dressed in a loosely tattered charcoal grey vest adorned with rivets, bandanas, and swatches of chainmail. On the left, standing atop a food crate so as to be seen over the table, was an angry looking gretchin with a long barreled shoota strapped across his back. His name was Spoon, and he was the alpha grot of the Sly Guyz. By every account Spoon had always, in every observable circumstance, chose to keep a foreboding frown tightly smeared across his face. Today was no different, with the corners of his lips practically resting at his jawline. In between the two esteemed greenskins was the Masta. He was naturally taller than everyone present but the plumage fanning out from every direction of his headdress made him even more so. Each feather of his hat had been plucked from the corpse of a once proud Eldar Swooping Hawk. Even his midnight blue leather bodysuit had scraps of the Aspect warriors sacred armour patched into it.

The chatter inside the kitchen had swelled from a smattering of conversations into a now buzzing racket. Meggah Wyze ended the distractions with a single word.

"Shaddup!"

Silence. Instant and absolute. Every eye was on the Masta, and every mouth was sealed shut. Meggah could hear Spoon breathing beside him. The meeting commenced.

"Soon wee wul be on duh plan'nut ov da blue skenz, but wee dedn't come out ere fer dem gits."

Spoon made a gesture of shaking his head to support his master's claim. He had a habit of nonverbally assisting the Runtherd's briefings. Meggah Wyze continued.

"Wee kame fer duh oomies."

Heads nodded around the room. A few sets of teeth were barred at just the mere thought of battling an army of the Imperium. After all, they were the reason the Warboss had hired the Freebooters in the first place. It was personal.

"Nd aye no et's been uh wile, so wee bedda brush up on argh N-eh-mee. Fer dat wee need da booksie."

Without instruction Spoon snapped into action and deftly pulled the hanging book free from Meggah Wyze's belt. The hefty tome was encased in a brutally haggard metal cover, and the gretchin slammed its bulky contents violently onto the table top. Meggah gave a subtle nod of appreciation to his helper and then flipped through the book's pages. He stilled his busy black thumb, a thumb darkened from years of Sly Guy anoitings, from its flipping when he finally arrived at the section he desired.

Several rough sketches of various Imperial Guard troopers filled the page, along with notes and footnotes about encountered weaponry and artillery. The Runtherd remembered his audience and decided to keep his message simple.

"Dere argh three tings tuh consida wen yer deeling wit duh oomies."

Spoon then lifted four fingers in the air as a visual clue for everyone. Meggah carried on despite the error.

"Dey be skerrd. Dey be slow. En dey be dumb."

Spoon had lowered a finger for each point and then shot a cross-eyed look at his one remaining extended digit. Surely his hand had betrayed him. Smek finally added his voice to the meeting.

"Dey wul brekk like clay en bleed like pigs."

An evil glee washed over Meggah Wyze and the next words oozed off his lips.

"Eezy pickuns guyz, eezy pickuns."
Space Marines excel at warfare because they were designed to excel at everything.

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Lionic » Sat Jan 11, 2014 2:59 am

The Imperial landing craft cut a long trail of dust into desert landscape as it flew low across the land. The pilots moved the controls with jerky actions and distant eyes. Each one bore a small incision on their necks, one no natural blade could make.
In the back clinging to the walls and floor, oozing slime from toothy maws, were a group of genestealers. And levitating in the center, with a thin warp field rippling around him, floated the Magus. He stared forward, intently eyeing the landscape. A small round building came into view. A small burst of energy crackled from his scalp, and the pilots instantly jerked the controls suicidally, setting a course for the tau out post.
Soon a loud cracking was heard as shots from a small weapon emplacement whizzed by. The small building became larger and larger, and several tau could be seen running about, one frantically trying to send a message. There was a sudden crack, a tearing noise, then an explosion, as an engine was destroyed. lights blinked and warning sounds blared, but the pilots kept a straight course. More tau warriors began to fire on the vehicle, and shots pinged and pierced the metal in a downpour of pulse shots.
But it was too late. With a thunderous impact the landing ship exploded, spewing shrapnel across the barren land, and smashing a large chunk of the small bunker,crushing all those unlucky enough to be inside. for second there was silence and the tau fire warriors began to gather themselves. Suddenly There was a shifting of metal, then another, and another, and genestealers began to spill out from the wreckage.
The tau let loose a panicked flurry of fire, but the tyranids were already upon them. Rending claws ripped apart the weak fire warrior armor, whilst the magus slowly hovered up from the wreck on a shimmering warp field. The tau fire warriors battled as hard as they could, but were simply out-matched. They were cut down one by one, until only one remained. The Magus quickly halted the genestealers frenzy, and down descended down to the remaining fire warior like some twisted alien angel. The phycic node on his forehead crackled with warp power as he spoke to the fire warrior in his own voice.
"you will tell your commander the humans have attacked this out post and they must quickly reinforce this base."
the fire warrior then promptly collapsed.
The question is, do oil your war machines... or feed them

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by jackmrnorris94 » Sat Jan 11, 2014 6:35 am

The air hang heavy as the platoon froze and stared forward into the blackness before them. With a quick nod the Lieutenant motioned for Grim to get moving. Hastily Grim and his squad gathered up their gear and jumped down onto the tracks, Grim holding his machine gun at his hip began to jog forward motioning with his free hand for the rest of the platoon to do the same. The tunnel once again filled with the sound of rattling equipment as they advanced.

Suddenly blue light filled the tunnel, and for a moment everything was bright as day. Grim jumped down instinctively hugging the ground as close as he could. Others were not so lucky. Volley after volley was poured down the tunnel, whilst the chaotic sound of screams and gunfire became deafening. In a flash Grim began putting fire down the tunnel, moving his shots back and forth as he tried to catch the flashes of the Xeno guns. Taking what little cover there was, the remainder of the platoon did the same, filling the air with tracers.

As quickly as the fight had began it stopped. There was a slight moment of relief, but quickly this disappeared as the cries of the wounded started. The Lieutenant boomed out over the wails of pain with one simple order, "FALL BACK! FOR THE LOVE OF THE EMPEROR FALL BACK!"

Grim stood and frantically he turned around to retreat, tripping as he went. Looking back he noticed he had tripped over Oswin, who was currently writhing in pain, his chest blown to bits and his innards scattered across the tracks. Leaning over Grim grabbed Oswin by the collar and began to drag him towards the train car, adrenaline pumping. Grim reached the car and with help from Jan was able to get Oswin up onto the loading deck. The wounded began to stream in, and quickly the situation was becoming more and more chaotic as the Lieutenant lost control.

The hair stood up on the back of Grim's neck, tuning out the terrible sounds that surrounded him he turned to face down the tunnel. A small blue light was glowing, pulsing almost. Then there was a snap. Grim swallowed. The pulse came rocketing down the tunnel and towards the train car. Grim turned to warn the platoon but it was too late.

The world went black, and all was silent. Slowly a small ringing began, and gradually Grim eased himself into consciousness. He was face down at the side of the tracks, the flickering light of fire dancing over him. He wanted to move, but he simply couldn't, or he knew he shouldn't. Closing his eyes he listened closely, he could hear gurgling and muffled groans, hard and ragged breaths, and the sounds of someone sobbing. But under this Grim heard something sinister, the sound of steps drawing closer and closer. Lots of them.

Grim controlled his breath and waited as one by one he heard the remnants of his platoon executed. Holding his rage he laid still until one of the Xenos approached him. The Xeno gave him a hard kick in the side, hoping for a reaction, but instead got nothing. Muttering something the Xeno moved over to the nearest body and repeated his process. For what seemed like ages the Xenos sifted through the destroyed platoon, before disappearing down the tunnel. Grim gave it a while before finally, he got up and dusted himself off. Looking around it was now him who was searching for life, but alas, he found none. Saying a prayer, and some last goodbyes he found his machine gun and set off the opposite direction that the Xenos had gone, moving along the wall as he went.

Stumbling upon a door, he forced his way inside, only to discover that the room inside was about the size of a large closet. He shrugged and laying his gear down decided it'd be a good place for a rest. Propping his gun under the doorknob to jam the door closed, Grim set about making himself comfortable. Taking off his helmet, he sat down against the wall and rubbed his hand through his hair, letting out a sigh.

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Re: Fool's Gold: A 40k Roleplay

Post by Chaos Farseer » Fri Jan 17, 2014 4:47 pm

The faint rumble of imperial treads and the approaching clatter of Chimera engines distracted Alric from his arm wrestling.
“An' that's two,” said Jeremus as he smashed Alric's knuckles into the dust. Jeremus leaned back onto the squad's Vox and tiredly chewed on a ration bar as Alric stood up. “Doesn't count,” he said while wringing his hands. He flicked on his chrono and looked at it with mild amusement, then shouted up “Hey Reinholdt! Convoy's here. Now get down before a Commie shoots ya.”
A crude rope hammock hung between branches of two thornwoods. It rustled a bit. “It's about time they got here,” growled the scout.
“You also owe me-” A couple of worn gold coins smacked into Alric's forehead. He flipped one in the air with a wide grin and stuffed both thrones into a vest pocket.

The 502nd Luggnum Mechanized Infantry rolled in with pockmarks and torn armor smeared with a layer of dust. Most of the guardsmen formed a protective perimeter between the Chimeras while the rest began setting up tents. Two Gorgons opened up their massive doors and let out a haggle from the Labor Corps, who doggedly hacked at the ground to form trenches for the men and dugouts for the vehicles. Two Hydra squadrons rumbled in behind them, their quad autocannons pointing at the sky. Three massive tankers pulled into the center of the area, the rock beneath them cracking and shattering under the weight of all that promethium. A dozen Leman Russ escorted them in before taking their places at the sides of camp.

Alric let out a low whistle. “Must've been a real bad ambush. They're gonna need a lot more AA.”
“Guess that last tanker didn't make it,” commented Reinholdt. “Wonder where the blueskin planes went.”
“They're probably doing repairs somewhere nearby. Chances are, they'll be fixed up before Command replaces the other Hydra squads,” said Jeremus.

Sure enough, a clutter of Trojans and Atlas crept in, dragging the turrets and the hulls of shredded flak tanks. A few shouts later and a platoon of the Labor Corps surrounded the wrecks.
“They're not gonna get those guns goin' again,” snorted Alric. He stood up and stretched his back. “I'll go give our old friend a visit. You guys go an' refill.”
Jeremus pulled up his pack. “Reinholdt, you're the distraction this time.”
He sneered. “Gladly. Need anything from the armory, Maples?”
“Two kraks, and make sure they're frozen this time,” Alric called back.
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