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Barbed spires and thorn like spines crowded together, straining to reach the twin captured suns orbiting Commorragh, interconnected by slender arches and jagged bridges. Everywhere, the air was filled with speeding vehicles, winged figures and helions recklessly careening threw the dizzying void. Each craft were creations of stunning beauty, narrow waisted hulls swept majestically backwards, to accomidate the gravitic engines at the rear
Far below, wretchs scrape together a meagre living, dragging the shattered bodies of those that fall into these depths into the darkness. Shadows writhe and thicken as living things, flowing together and attempting to capture those that venture too close.
Coliseums housing thousands of alien creatures forced from their homes entire star systems apart battle each other, as the spectators feed on their pain and suffering. Reavers race at break neck speed above their heads, thrilling the audience with their insane manouveres.
Trillions inhabit this city, although only a fraction have the will to live.... (< )
Active Players:
necrovamp wrote:
Name: Drazill Ynlanden
Race: Dark Eldar
Gender: Female
Role: Mecenary
Kabal name: n/a
Appearance: Tall and slender, she usually just wears a leather suit, it helps her move faster. She has bum length red hair, which is usually tied back in a pony tail, her face betrays years of fighting.
Background: She was a slave once, however a raider captain saw the potential in her as a warrior and kidnapped her one night and forced her into his crew. She spent 20 long years on the raider untill during one battle, the raider was hit by a lasscannon round and smashed to the ground, the only survivor, Drazill found her way to her homeland Commorragh and went into the mercenary business, running dangerous and dirty jobs for all the 'nobel's' who lived there.
Personality: Quiet, Determined, Sarcastic, cold, but sometimes friendly. She loves using prescision, Bombs and big guns to get to her endgame, her favourite weapon is a reaper.
Influence: 50
Dr. Temujin wrote:
Name: Izziath Orvir
Race: Dark Eldar
Gender: Male
Role: Haemonculus
Kabal name: Coven of Splintered Dreams
Appearance: Skinny, even gangly in general, wrinkled skin pierced with rings and ritual scars. Sports extra limbs, two hands and one claw.
Background: First recruited by the Coven's most senior Haemonculi from the ranks of Warriors. Noted for a unique interest in genetics and alteration of the physique. Participated in the infamous raid on the Imperial world Praxis Minoris, in which fifty Adeptus Astartes of the Ultramarines were kidnapped. Often accepts commissions for body alteration, raids, and sometimes assassinations if the price is right. Makes alliances with Archons only to serve his own purposes; not interested enough in Dark Eldar power plays and back-stabbing politics.
Personality: Keeps to himself, always has an eye for Space Marine prisoners for alteration and experiments, slightly paranoid, has a temper problem at times
Influence: 60
TheRobotLol wrote:
Name: Cydre.
Race: Dark eldar.
Gender: Male.
Role: Bounty hunter.
Kabal name: None.
Appearance: Tall, well built and strong with short black hair. Almost always seen wearing his ornate dark red armour and helmet.
Background: Very little is known about the dark eldar known as Cydre, the name is undoubtably a nickname he has given himself over the years. What is known about him though, is that he grew up and lives in the Sprawls. There, he has carved out a living, lending his substantial skills in combat to the highest bidder. 'As long as two dark eldar exist, one will want the other dead', is his most popular saying. Most of the time not spent on the job, he likes to hone his skills against rebelious Hellions and the numerous 'Parched' who haunt the area. No matter the mission, Cydre has never used combat drugs of any sort, he believes completly that they are for cowards and those who lack their own skill.
Personality: Unlike the vast majority of Dark eldar, Cydre is not particularly scheming, and very rarely holds a grudge or lasting hatred. That is not to say he isn't incredibly cunning and intelligent, and can make great elaborate traps and plans. Cydre is usualy cold and highly professional, it would take something amazing to put him off a job once he has it. Although he does not outwardly show it, Cydre takes great pleasure in the hunt, the feeling of hounding someone down and finaly ending them. The sign of his kill, is a finely-carved knife lodged in the spine of his headless victim.
Influence: 50.
black templar wrote:Name: Sather
Race: Black Templar Space Marine
Gender: Male
Age: 560
Role: Gladiator
Kabal name: None
Appearance:
Background: Sather was captured during Purging of Centrati's Eye and taken to Commorragh to partake in gladiator, but he did not get taken without a fight he slayed 20 Dark Eldar who tried to restrain him. Eventually they swarmed him and knocked him out, when he woke up he was at the areana entrence and then thrown in, he battled beast and xeno alike they all fell to his power. When the fight was over he attack the Dark Eldar who tried to bring him back he killed them and found his mighty blade, now he is a favourite of the crowds for his perfect victories.
Personality: Very zealots, aggressive and quiet.
Influence: 45
bouseherb wrote:Name: cogsnag
Race: ork
Gender: ork
age: 410
Role: gladiator
Kabal name: none
Appearance: slightly larger than a normal ork and he has a good part of his body replaced with cyborkonics made with salvaged necron peices
Background: once apon a time he was a mighty big mek then he got shot by a necron heavy gauss cannon somehow survived then the painboy fixed him up good and propa with salvaged necron parts. a couple years later dark eldar attacked his group and captured him but before they got him he slew 21 dark eldar then he triped and got captured then they took him back to fight in gladiator fights. He has never lost a battle and his archnemis is sather for they battled once but it ended in a draw....
Personality: orkish smart for a ork aggressive violent all around ork
influence 46
Great White wrote:
Name: Crax
Race: Dark Eldar
Gender: Male
Role: Assassin
Kabal: The Silent Hunter (Population 1)
Appearence: Handsome, Tall,Shaggy Brown hair, Unusually Strong for his stature
Background: Crax was born into a noble family, which granted him certain things. His entire life he had the ability to have whatever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. He quickly grew to enjoy the finer things in life(or whatever Dark Eldar call finer) Sex, Drugs, Music he all loved. But he enjoyed killing the most. It gave him more pleasure than anything. So he disbanded from his family and led the life of an Assassin. He now roles in the cash, buying anything and everything he wants, waiting for the next kill.
Personality: Charming, using this as a way to get woman and drugs, Backstabber, will kill you for a better offer, Smart, needed for his kills, Fun, hosting many parties being the life of them.
Influence: 70
liquidjoshi wrote:Name: Vandir
Race: Dark Eldar
Gender: Male
Role: Incubus
Kabal name: (We'll see...)
Appearance: :Like a stick in a warsuit.
Background: A trueborn Dark Eldar, he carries the necessary amount of contempt for his tube-spawned peers. He also takes a great amount of interest in other races, particularly Humans and Orks, wondering how such species can be so slow compared to his own lightning reflexes. After rising through the ranks of the Kabal of Shattered bone, he abandoned them after a failed realspace raid, from which only his Archon and his court supposedly escaped alive, and only at the cost of the rest of the Kabal - allegedly including Vandir, who returned to Commoragh attached to the underside of the Archon's own Raider by the hooks on his armour. Upon his return he went to the first Incubi temple he could, and trained in the deadly arts of the Incubi, planning to exact revenge on the Archon that left him, and the rest of the Kabal, for dead.
Personality: Calm anger veils his true feelings. This contemptuous veneer disguises his thoughts and true motives. Willing to do anything to get his revenge, he belongs to anyone that want him, and he thinks can get him closer to his prey.
Influence: Vandir has serviced quite a few nobles in his time, and has made others pay for their mistakes in blood, for cash or through anger. Vandir has 60 influence.
Ovion wrote:
Name: Drychera
Race: Dark Eldar ( Haemonculi Ancient )
Gender: Female
Role: The Mistress of Flesh. ( Leads the ships and forces of the Coven of the Plagued Rat. )
Kabal name: Coven of the Plagued Rat
Appearance: Drychera is a tall, pale creature, with skin like smooth, living wood and a strange internal blue glow. Covered in thick bony plates with the appearance of old bark, she has large branch like protruberances coming from her back and her legs split into a writhing mass of root-like tentacles.
Prefering to 'walk' naked, bar the plate growing from her skin.
Spoiler:
Background: Short: Drychera leads the Coven of the Plagued Rat from within the Thaxar Rift, researching ever more eccentric technologies.
Is in Commoragh to get tech and mandrakes.
Long:
Spoiler:
Originally born to Eldar Nobility, one of the first children birthed after the fall within the pseudo space of Commoragh. While she grew, the Eldar were still reeling from the catastrophic events that created the Eye of Terror, and Commoragh was still forming into the Dark City it is today, her parents were very much set in the Old Ways.
While she was raised under the old ways, her greatest pleasures as a youngling involved stalking through the magnificent gardens of her families holdings, catching and torturing the rats and creatures that invested the city. She eventually started experimenting on them, stitching together her first monstrosities as a young woman. As things in the Dark City began to change, as the Dark Eldar began to form, She eventually became disillusioned by the 'Old Guard', joining one of the fledgling Flesh Cults and in turn becoming one of the first of what would become the Haemonculi. Moving in the shadows, learning from her kin and slowly perfecting her craft.
Continuing her love of creating abominations from rats, she experimented with combining the rodents with those unfortunate enough to cross her path, eventually perfecting genetic manipulation techniques to change her minions from Eldar or Man into a stooped man-rat creature. Decades after leaving, she returned to her families towers, leaving the shadows she had hidden in for so long, with an army of ratmen at her command. She swept the estate, claiming her heritage and giving her former family the option to either join her willingly as a fleshworker, or join her regardless as a member of her vermin forces.
For a time she was content, she had ample wealth and power, and a constant stream of subjects to experiment on. She set up magnificent laboratories among the trees and gardens she'd loved as a child, but eventually she grew bored and ultimately, turned on her own flesh, combining herself with the trees she found so glorious for so long, locking herself away until she felt she'd achieved perfection, combining as much of herself with the trees, as she did the trees to herself.
The addition of the plant like material to her flesh further warped her mind. She became restless, combining flesh and wood with those she thought slighted her to create Grotesques, and living trees with which she communes. Eventually, the trees became a Haemonculi in their own right, doing work alongside their mistress. Starting to make raids on realspace, where she first saw the Dark Eldars ancient Craftworld kin, and their psychic might.
Becoming obsessed with these eldritch powers yet knowing it was the one thing she could not pursue within Commoragh, she commisioned shipwrights to build massive engines and make her towers space worthy, turning her estates into 5 massive starships which left the dark city and took up residence in the Thaxar Rift. In their first centuries within the rift the Coven of the Plagued Rat spent hunting and studying human and eldar psykers, learning how their minds work, learning how their powers work. Then Drychera stumbled on to an impressive find. The site of a long finished battle between a craftworld and some unknown foe, but the prize was the burnt out hulk of the Craftworld. From this she was able to claim large amounts of Eldar psychic technology, including the iron statue of khaine from its heart.
The Coven now has a certain mastery over psyker slaves and their power, as well as the ability to awaken the stolen Avatar by sacrificing Eldar souls to its dark shell. Yet Drycheras madness drives her ever forward, hunting for more knowledge and more power.
She has returned to Commoragh to aqquire new technologies developed since her departure, and to capture some Mandrakes to use in her experiments, currently staying at the Tower of Flesh.
Personality: Drychera still holds herself with the nobility of her upbringing, yet coloured by the madness of the millenia she's spent fused with the trees in her flagship.
She is high born, as old as they come within the Dark City and a Haemonculi of high standing, and expects to be treated with the fear and respect these legacies deserve, and is quick to introduce those who cross her to her trees.
Influence: 90
TheAngrySquig wrote:
Name: Sitza
Race: Sslyth
Gender: Male
Role: Assassin
Kabal name: Kabal of the Tortured Flame
Appearance: Has a serpentine body and four arms
Background: Born of two great bodyguards that guarded Archon Yllax of the Kabal of the Tortured Flame for hundreds of years, he had always been destined for a life of guarding. But when the Archon was killed in the material realm, the Kabal broke down into several groups. The group consisting of Sitza and his parents retained the original moniker. During the fighting for leadership, Sitza's parents were killed by a task force of Black Heart Trueborn, who absorbed the rest of the group into their Kabal. Sitza escaped into the Grand Canal. He joined the gladiator pits and rose to great fame, killing some of the most dangerous beasts of the galaxy. But he never forgot the group that killed his parents and vows to hunt them down one day.
Personality: He won't speak unless spoken to and is very respectful of those around him
Influence: 50
This message was edited 7 times. Last update was at 2012/06/25 13:13:36
Just before its expiration, the creature had managed to morph two extra heads, an overly large thumb, and spine-like bones from its chest area. There were a few shuddering breaths before it died from the traumatic shock. Now it just sat there. Its cooling body now began to bloat as escaping gases and liquids filled up the chest cavity.
"A failure," Izziath sighed. "Amusing to watch as he writhed in pain, so not a total loss." While he mused to himself and put away his tools, two unnaturally-muscular beings stepped from the shadows to drag the transformed corpse away from the table, before melting into the shadows. Their slitted masks betrayed no emotion, if the Wracks could indeed express emotion in the manner at which they could in their previous lives. Meanwhile, a small probe device, an invention of intertwined flesh and cybernetics consisting of knotted muscle and an eye and ear wrapped around a anti-grav generator, floated around him, listening and recording his every word.
"Now, then... Serum #23 is unfit for transformation. Nor is it suitable as a drug stimulant. Perhaps a torture device?" The Haemonculus paused for consideration of this idea, pressing his splayed fingers together in thought. His two smaller hands halted in storing the various syringes, knives and other gore-encrusted equipment. Meanwhile, his claw-appendage scratched at his head, rubbing at the grooves of his geometric scars. It wasn't long before a small bead of blood protruded from his bald head, and ran down the tiny canals carved there. He quietly shuddered in the pleasurable pain before going back to his thoughts.
"Possibly, though there are better, more efficient ways of going about that." After he completed his task, he took a moment to look at a small tube with a sickly yellow substance stored inside. This was the serum he had just used on the unfortunate "patient" just an hour ago. Finally, after pacing about for a few minutes, he dumped the tube's contents into a sink and tossed the glass tube into a bin.
As he strolled out of his laboratory, he continued to mutter and talk to himself about different combinations of proteins and fluids and such. His voice echoed and followed him as he went down the spiral staircase to the dungeons. When he opened the door, a cold wind fluttered past him. The cells were dark and cold. Plasta-steel walls were stained with several fluids and decomposed solids. The hum of energy indicated the invisible barriers designed to keep would-be escapees from leaving the otherwise open cells.
They also were very, very empty.
Izziath frowned. That last experiment was the last of his livestock; the profit reaped from a raid just shy of two months ago, with a great thirty new mon-keigh samples, as well as the newer T'au species as well. And just in the nick of time, for no sooner had the raiders returned to Commoragh, the Haemonculus' patron Archon was found dead, his body twisted up like a pretzel and his eyes, nose, and mouth flowing with blood. Were it not for his speedy transport back to his abode, Izziath would have probably found himself sharing the same fate.
Now, he found himself having to return back outside to find another patron Archon. Outside, where They were probably watching, waiting.
"If only it were easier..."
(Well, it's not much, but it's my first post. Hope it lives up to your standards.)
Lord Judicator Valdrakh of the Atun Dynasty (6th Ed: W:3, L:4, D:0)
H.B.M.C. wrote: Well GW were mostly responsible for the Berlin Wall, so it's natural for some people to harbour resentment towards them.
Drazzill took aim with her shredder rifle, the barrel of the slender gun was protuding from a tiny crack in the wall. She could hear muffled shouts and screams from the pitt as she took aim through the crowd.
She fired, the amunition flew through the dark thick air, through the crowd of onlookers and hit the biggest fighter square in the chest.
Quickly she began to disassemble the gun, putting each part in a small case, the case, was bespoke human skin, but she was sure it was a knockoff. She clicked the case shut and quickly made her way out of the building.
''I wonder if anyone would buy my corpses?'' she thought to herself.
Oh man, the first monster I see I'm going to sneak up behind him, whip out my wand, and shoot my magic all over his ass.
So simple, yet so magnificent, the battle coliseum of the Cult of the Blade Denied rose above the thorn like spires. Speeding vehicles and winged creatures circled above as low born flocked inside far below. As the hour of the games approached, deep horns and sirens began to sound, high above the observation tiers. Fantastically clothed highborn citizenry began to fill the observation decks. The warrior caste followed, standing shouldar to shouldar Honour debts and ancient grudges temporally forgotten as the anticipation of the bloodsport and carnage rushed through the crowds. The Icon of Vect could be seen everywhere, his warriors easily outnumbering all the Kabals combined. They swaggered proudly, pushing their way to the best positions, knowing they were almost immune to any repricusions.
The horns and sirens rang again, with a higher, sharper pitch. This was the summons for the Archons and their Retinues. Elegantly scultted craftsettled on the upper terraces, like a flock of predators. The coliseum quieted, anticipating their arrival. Archon Antilis of the Splintered Thorn, the self proclaimed Queen of Thorns was the first to arrive. A succesion of of other fantastic and threatening figures descended from their own craft, taken up positions with their own kabal, greeted by a rapturous roar from their followers.
Antilis settled into her throne, flanked by tall, statue like Incubi. A sleek, ship like craft landed infront of her. The decks were covered in purple silks and exotic furs before the Incubi blocked Antilis's view. They spread out, suspicously eyeing Antilis's bodyguard, followed by a Archon Kitheil of the Kabal of the Last Hatred, sitting on a grav throne. It slowly floated beside Antilis. Kitheil was one of the oldest living Archons of Commorragh, his appearence resembled a crumbling, dried out mummy. The reapeted consumption of souls to keep his youth has slowly stoped working, as though he built some sort of tolerance to suffering and pain. They exchanged quiet curtesys before Kitheil turned his Throne around, facing the coliseum.
The Succubus of the Cult of the Blade Denied rose on a grav lift to address the crowd.
"We dedicate these gifts to the glory and majest of the everlasting city Commorragh, may it stand eternal! Let the games begin!"
Horns and sirens sounded out, as 21 slaves were forced into the arena. Followed by the mighty form of a Catachan Devil.
"I see the Coven of Splintered Dreams has foregone the gracious invitation to the games, Lady Antilis." croaked Kitheil, his voice dry and humorless.
"Archon (X) rule has come to an end" replied Antilis "He had many enemies, and few friends." Antilis turned towards Kitheil. She knew (X) considered Kitheil
a close ally.
"Long shall we mourn" mocked Kitheil.
The Devil tore apart the slaves, ripping and shreading limbs, and throwing them into the crowd, much to their appeasement.
(I called him (X) because I don't know what his name is yet)
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2012/06/21 19:18:07
Cydre sat motionless in his scratch built home. This area was a cesspool of crime, murder and death, no one would stop him from doing what he liked here, what were a few pathetic hellions next to him? He liked to sit and think like this between missions, he knew it would only be a matter of time until someone would require his 'skills'. He worked alone, he always had. Allies were useful, but teammates were a liability, more chance of getting caught, and one more person to look after. He was unlikely to find anyone of suitable skill down in these slums anyway.
This is a signature. It contains words of an important or meaningful nature.
Drazill had wandered far from the little arena when she was stopped by a surly, tall male, his figure was exquisite and he was a further foot above Drazill.
''You,'' the man said ''jelkhelm says there are games happeneing at the battle coliseum of the Cult of the Blade Denied, here is a list of targets. You know he doesn't like to waste his money, if you don't accomplish the task you will die,''
As the male turned to leave his bodly melted into the darkness.
Oh man, the first monster I see I'm going to sneak up behind him, whip out my wand, and shoot my magic all over his ass.
The skies were notabley quiter on the outskirts of the coliseum. A few scouting Helions zipped back and forth, looking for some easy prey. Zaorth darted from corner to corner, his hide
coat flapping as he dived behind any cover he could find. The streets of the Sprawls were a dangerous place, especially when it was so quiet. High above Zaorths head, great shadows moved past each other, great flashes of brilliant light sparking between them. The momnetary distraction of the coliseum seemed to be ignored by the great Corsairs battleing overhead.
Zaorth cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something. A lone scourge silently landed, perching meters above Zaorth's head, Zaorth froze. It's bird like appendages stretched as it surveyed the ruined shells of buildings around him. Its talon like feet tensed, and it lept up, its powerful wings lifting it up. When all seemed clear, he dove out of cover, and awkwardly sprinted into the doorway of a nearby building.
He reached into his coat, and retrived the piece of hide, an invitation to the games, entrusted to him by his master. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer.
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2012/06/21 20:24:12
As, someone was at the door, an employer no doubt. Getting to his feet, Cydre dons his helmet and walks to the door. Huskblade by his side, he opens the door a fraction, just enough to see the paniced face of someone.
"Yes?"
He says quietly, tilting his head slightly.
"What do you require done?"
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2012/06/21 20:26:54
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He jumped as the door creaked open, glowing eye's pierced through the darkness at him. Zaorth suddenly felt very small.
"Yes? What do you require done?" asked the helmeted figure.
Zaorth fumbled with the hide, dropping it. He gasped, bent down and snatched it back up.
"M-my master requires your services, sire. He wants to meet you at the games, h-here" stumbled Zaorth, as he shoved the invitation towards the helmet, but dropped it again. He whimpered, turned and ran back into the streets, disappearing from view.
Sather waited behind a large gate that was the entrance to the arena, he been here a number of times this time was different they lined up beasts instead of other slaves. He heard the dark eldar placing their bets but Sather was saying his daily prayers to the Emperor. He heard the cheers of the crowd but the chains around his arms and neck stopped him from killing those who held him, one huge applause echoed....it was time the chains broke off the doors opened and Sather entered the arena. He saw a pack of Khymera being led by a Beastmaster, about 6 Hrud and a Great Knarloc. This match was to be great, Sather readied his blade the first to attack was the Great Knarloc it charged Sather, Sather took his blade with two hands and waited as the beast grew closer he ran to the beast's side and slashed its legs, it stumbled and crashed into the arena entrance. Sather walked up to the beast it was crushed and had bits of metal pierced through its flesh, he lifted his blade and plunged it into the beast’s eye. Suddenly the Hrud began to attack each one charging, Sather charged the beast slashing, disemboweling and decapitation each one in a flurry of death. The beastmaster hovered over Sather in rage leading the remaining beasts to attack but Sather had an idea he ran up the Great Knarloc’s body and lept at the beastmaster, bringing his blade through the skyboard sending the beastmaster falling into the beasts bellow. Sather watched as the beasts attack him and when they finished Sather quickly ended them, in victory Sather slammed his blade into the ground and kneeled saying a pray to the Emperor for sparing his life today. He walked over the Great Knalocs’s body and head back through the halls slaying all in his path.
Tali'Zorah: I appreciate what you're doing here, Shepard.
Commander Shepard: Well, I care deeply about the quarian people.
Tali'Zorah: It's good to be back on the Normandy.
Commander Shepard: Let me know if it's too quiet for you to sleep, and I'll find you someplace louder.
Tali'Zorah: Hmm.
Garrus Vakarian: Uh, I was there when you two had your thing, remember? Just get a room and work it out.
Crax slowely opened his eyes, to be greeted by the ceiling. He attempted to get up but was held down. He looked around and found himself in the embrace of three women.
" Well, I guess there was a party last night," chuckled Crax.
As he silently laughed to himself, a hover drone floated over his bed right in front of his face. The glowing robot ( actually it was probably more human than robot) startled him, but he listened to it speak, it's screechy voice aggravating the headache he had.
" You have two messages," Screeched the machine
"What are they?" asked Crax, slowly pulling the arms off him so he could leave bed.
" You have a kill in order, and your parents left you a message," creaked the machine.
" Lovely," said Crax as he began putting on his hunting attire.
He walked to the machine and read the messages, finding who he had to kill. It was an Archon at the arena, big price on his head. Probably be some other hitters there, better get going. Crax blew the women a kiss and ran out the door, putting his helmet on as he went.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2012/06/22 16:42:32
Letting out a mighty WAAAGH! as the gate opened and cogsnag charged out into the fray. in front off him was 2 clawed fiends stalking, a pack of khymera and a great knarloc. as soon as the crowd heard his roar they stood up in there seats for they knew this was going to be good. chargeing forward cogsnag rams into the great knarloc knocking it down where he proceds to rip its head off. at the sight of this the crowd went wild cogsnag then proceds to jump off the great knarloc onto a clawed fiend and punch a bionik fist through its skull. after that he jumps off of that and lands heavily onto a khymera killing it. then he proceds to rip one khymera in half stick his bionik hand inside a khymeras head and then proceds to rip it off from the inside and then he snaps the last ones neck. then the last clawed fiend then strikes but cogsnag was ready and punchs the clawed fiend in the head sending it flying where it slamed in a wall where it dies. then he makes his way back to the hall smashing the 'eads of a couple guards on the way grining all the while.
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2012/06/22 20:51:31
1500 points orks
about to start
looking forward to
do you have enough dakka???
Cydre was nearing the games now, he had killed seven hellions and three reavers on his way here, they had got in his way, a grave error. He was interested in the latest job, a lack of infomation interested him greatly. The mission had better be worth the time taken to get there though, If there was one thing he hated, it was time wasters, and he had killed a few over his highly successful career.
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Perhaps a trip to the Coliseums, thought Izziath. I probably could find a patron there... or at least some live bodies. He smiled at the thought. Though the prisoners there had already been under much pain and suffering fighting others, it paled in comparison to what he could still... present them. Whole worlds of pain had yet to be explored.
Provided, of course, he made the trip there safely. No one, regardless of their stature in the Dark Eldar hierarchy could be considered completely safe. Amidst the scum gangs and the dredges of society, trained killers and sadists skulked in the shadows, waiting for anyone foolish enough to go by with or without suitable defenses. And then, there was... Them.
Ever since his first modifiication to his frame, he was always convinced that some group was watching him, waiting for the first sign of a slip-up to exploit. If others of his kind called him insane, or too inebriated with his own drugs, he would have none of it. He knew They were watching every single one of them. Should they falter but for a moment... perhaps it was best not to dwell on the subject.
For the moment, he would be fine. He was certain to have two specially trained Wracks to hide and keep a look-out for trouble. He also was well equipped for the journey ahead, just a small walk towards the screams of the crowds. Satisfied, but ever vigilant, the Lord of Pain of the Coven of Splintered Dreams strolled to the Blade Denied's ring.
Lord Judicator Valdrakh of the Atun Dynasty (6th Ed: W:3, L:4, D:0)
H.B.M.C. wrote: Well GW were mostly responsible for the Berlin Wall, so it's natural for some people to harbour resentment towards them.
Crax walked to his vehicle deck. He only thought....which one? Nothing too big or bulky he needed something fast, jumping on a reaver jetbike.
" This will do it," he said looking out at High Commorragh.
The city life he loved, amidst the rich, every his family and money could buy. With that thought he took off, racing through the city. It was not long before he could see the arena. This was one unlucky Archon, thought Crax, wondering what he did to deserve the hatred. But then again it was Commorragh, anything was possible.
He was at his seat now, the roaring crowds all around him, they needed pay no attention to the armoured figure amongst them, his helmet's baleful red eyes slowly sweeping the area.
Now he waited.
This is a signature. It contains words of an important or meaningful nature.
Cydre felt a numbing throb grow inside his head, growing into a blinding pain causing him to fell nausious. His mind strained to focus itself.
--A matter has arisen that requires your direct assistence, Cydre--
He looked all around him, the crowds seemed oblivous to the words echoing through out his mind, they seemed lost in the bloodlust and carnage far below.
--The Coven of Splintered Dreams has fallen, leaving an oppurtunity our patrons wish to exploit. Three stand ready to take leadership, three who must fail.--
Cydre fixed his vision on his feet, trying not to vomit from the pain of his straining mind. A figure formed in his thoughts, an ominous figure hidden in shadow.
--The first is close, very close. She stands amongst freinds, discretion is needed, to arise the suspicions of the final two would be....troublesome. She calls herself the Queen of Thorns. Be wary, Cydre, she stands well protected. Failure will be met with dire consequences.--
Cydre gasped as his mind was released, panting for air.
Crax arrived at the arena, but this couldn't be a hand to hand kill. Too many people, know way he could getpast her Incubi before she escaped. Because of this, Crax chose a building across from all the Archons seats. He grabbed his splinter rifle, the sleek gun had been modified to be a silent killer. But he couldn't shoot now, it was intermission, too many people just walking around. He'd have to wait until a fight started. With that he sat and decided to look for other hitters and try to take them out.
Cydre was in position, long-barreled rifle in hand. The target had too man guards, close range was too dangerous for him. The target was in his crosshairs now, but he couldn't pull the trigger, not quite yet. He had to wait. His head still ached from the message, but his aim would still be true. He was ready.
This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2012/06/23 16:41:40
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At last, Izziath reached the massive double doors of the Colliseum. The building itself was a wonder to behold, statues of long-forgotten warriors and intricate sculpts and reliefs of grizzly battles adorning the exterior. Like many others, it held tens of thousands of Dark Eldar who witnessed many scenes of bloodletting and violence.
Izziath would allow himself to go to these events at times, when he perceived he could steal away without notice, but not just to watch the carnage of the games. Sometimes special prisoners would be announced, great monsters from the edges of the galaxy or heroes of warrior races. Izziath paid special attention to these particular events in the hopes of perhaps acquiring them for his experiments. None but the toughest and most durable to pain were up to par with his interests, for he would have need of them when going out to plunder the Realspace for even more subjects.
Speaking of subjects, two guards at the gate lowered their splinter rifles at him.
"State your name and business, Flesh-Dealer!" one shouted.
"My name is Izziath Orvir, Coven of the Splintered Dreams. My business is none of your concern."
"You know the rules," the other said. "Anyone entering the arena when the games are in session require special permission from the Queen of Thorns."
Izziath smiled, revealing pointed teeth. "Oh, but of course. Allow me to see if I still have it..." He made a show of putting his four hands into pockets and pouches. Then, he made a quick whistle from his wizened lips.
From the shadows, twin chains with hooks shot out and embedded themselves into the flesh of the guards. Before they even had time to scream in pain, the chains yanked backwards, pulling the hapless Dark Eldar from their stations. As the Haemonculus opened one of the doors, he could hear impacts against flesh and sinew and muscle slashed or torn apart with glee.
It was intermission by the time he arrived. The crowds were taking a break from the games, stretching out legs and wandering about. At the front were the various member's of the Kabal of the Black Heart. Skilled as they may be in combat, Izziath found them to be rather irritating when they threw their weight about. As such, he made a point not to sit near them, no doubt as it would invite trouble and unwanted attention from Vect himself. Finally he found an empty space near where the great tent where the Queen of Thorns was stationed at. Hopefully, she or any other guests would be wanting of a skilled Flesh-Sculptor such as himself.
When the horns blared to signal the resuming of the games, Izziath couldn't help but wonder two things: What he would do if he could get his hands on one of the Black Heart's cronies on to the slab, and whether anyone was watching him at the moment.
Lord Judicator Valdrakh of the Atun Dynasty (6th Ed: W:3, L:4, D:0)
H.B.M.C. wrote: Well GW were mostly responsible for the Berlin Wall, so it's natural for some people to harbour resentment towards them.
With a horn blare, the games began. Time to get the kill. Apperantly the Queen of thorns had angered some people, and now she was wanted dead. With the games starting again, she was vulnerable. Her Incubi were watching the game, they wouldn't be fast enough to catch the round. Crax had the Archons throat in his sight. Time slowed down, he could hear everything that went on. With a last breath he squeezed the trigger. The round rocketed towards the Archon. But something happened at that moment that Crax did not expect. In mid air, his round collided with another aimed at the same location. There was another killer, and both of them knew it. Now he had someone else to kill.
This message was edited 2 times. Last update was at 2012/06/23 21:10:42
The shot almost startled him to his feet. No, wait, shots. There was more than one shot. Probably two. Was it Them? No, it couldn't be, They wouldn't use something so mundane as assassins. Quickly, Izziath looked around, trying to look for potential windows or small doorways where he/she might be hiding. He looked around to see if anyone else noticed the shots. Suddenly, his hand felt a sharp pain, and he looked at it to see what happened. He saw a what looked to be a piece of crystal embedded into his flesh. Through fate or sheer luck, this one didn't seem to have enough of a killing dose, leaving only a searing pain in his hand.
Lord Judicator Valdrakh of the Atun Dynasty (6th Ed: W:3, L:4, D:0)
H.B.M.C. wrote: Well GW were mostly responsible for the Berlin Wall, so it's natural for some people to harbour resentment towards them.
The Incubi instantly surrounded Antilis, the two shots went unoticed by most of the crowds, but their heightened sense's heard it even over the roar of the games.
"Forgive us, my Archon, but if you will proceed to your sanctum, I will take charge of hunting the assailants." said Ynglinga, her chief executioner.
"What! How many? How armed?" screamed Antilis, throwing her chalice to the ground.
"At least two, my Archon." he said, tilting his helm in acquiescence, conveying orders to the other Incubi who began to spread out, looking for the would be assassins
"Bring these whelps that dare assault the Splintered Thorn before me. I shall show them true pain." she said, looking over to Kitheil.
Kitheil grinned smugly. "This is a nasty concern for us all, Lady Antilis, to think an Archon unsafe even when surrounded by her most capable Incubi" he said dryly
Antilis growled, but did not rise to the bait. She rose from her throne, and headed to her sleek Raider.
Vandir, meanwhile, moved in the shadows behind the scenes, quickly yet quietly pushing forwards, deeper into the internal workings of the theatre. Perhaps this "queen of thorns" will be worth something. After all, all the Archons know each other. He moved from the right side of the passageway to the left, ducking into the shadows. A two man patrol walked past, muttering to each other in hushed breaths, their pale skin catching the twilight that streamed in through the lone crack in the ceiling. Good. I'm near the top. The two passed, and Vandir struck like lightning, rising from his crouched position and striking the closest guard with his Klaive. The blade was unenergised to keep stealthy, but it still delivered a killing blow through sheer weight. The Dark Eldar crumpled, his skull fractured fatally. The Kabal could probably pay for it. Vandir would be gone before the rest of the Black Heart found him. He took the fallen warrior's splinter rifle and fired at his stunned comrade, who took three rounds directly to the chest and fell, the toxins instantly overwhelming his feeble frame. Vandir wasn't massive, at least not by the standards of the Incubi, but he still made most other Dark Eldar feel small, and could overpower most. They both fell silently, and Vandir waited for a few moments, listening for any signs of detection. None. Good. He straightened and set his Klaive, now held one handed, onto his back. He turned to leave, but stopped. He took the power cell from the splinter rifle the second guard had dropped, and the splinter rifle from the first. He might well need it if the Queen refused his offer...
Pretre: OOOOHHHHH snap. That's like driving away from hitting a pedestrian.
Pacific:First person to Photoshop a GW store into the streets of Kabul wins the thread.
Selym: "Be true to thyself, play Chaos" - Jesus, Daemon Prince of Cegorach.
H.B.M.C: You can't lobotomise someone twice.
While all this was going on Drazzill had climbed to the nearest tall tower to the colessum, she would never be able to enter without being found out, and in anyways, it would be harder to escape. As she looked down into the arena while clicking her gun together she noticed a raider was preparing to leave, surrounded by a number of incubi, within the circle of bodies she saw the target. She clicked the last part of her shredder in place and took aim, burning a hole in the targets chest, she squeezed the trigger and the shredder spit forth it's deadly cargo.
Oh man, the first monster I see I'm going to sneak up behind him, whip out my wand, and shoot my magic all over his ass.
Sather reached the exit to the arena, his freedom was in sight but it was defended by 10 Kabalite Warriors to stop anything from escaping. Sather walked up to them and cut them down in one swing he slew them, he looked at the puny door and kicked it down. Sather was now ready to kill all.
Tali'Zorah: I appreciate what you're doing here, Shepard.
Commander Shepard: Well, I care deeply about the quarian people.
Tali'Zorah: It's good to be back on the Normandy.
Commander Shepard: Let me know if it's too quiet for you to sleep, and I'll find you someplace louder.
Tali'Zorah: Hmm.
Garrus Vakarian: Uh, I was there when you two had your thing, remember? Just get a room and work it out.
over the past few months cogsnag has been planing something great so he can escape which came in the form of a gun to blast his way out. he came up with this idea only because he was a big mek who some times used the shokk attack gun. so in the past months he has collected peices of guns from the dark eldar guards he killed and now he had done it is was a lazar of death it has parts of a blaster a dark lance, a crystal from a creature he killed, and many other bits and bobs. and he can attach it to his bionik arm and put on a generator he built to power it. now he was ready he put it on his arm from its hiding place aimed it at the door and roared a WAAAAAGH!! and he charged it up and as soon as the guard peered in the door he fired blowing the door and the guard to smitherens then he ran out to smash some 'eads.
1500 points orks
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do you have enough dakka???
Vandir kicked the door open, following the short passage to the balcony where the "Queen" was meant to be. He half remembered some tale about an Archon that had changed into a tree, and that she had been linked to Xiaril. But the balcony was deserted. Damn! Curses to the gods, another opportunity missed! But suddenly he caught part of a conversation:
"The Lady Antilis is leaving; you had best safeguard her exit if you wish to remain in good favour!" The guards turned a corner and came face to face with Vandir. The Incubus moved first, striking out with his Klaive, green energy buzzing up the blade. The sliced cleanly through the first guard, Vandir spinning to follow through, the spike at the tip puncturing another's head. He pulled up his splinter rifle with one hand, the other still on the blade, and fired, the shots echoing down the passage towards the last guard. He also fired, diamond splinters deflecting harmlessly off Vandir's warsuit. The Kabalite was not so lucky, shards peppering him until his blood mixed with the toxin on the floor. Even as he fell, Vandir broke away, sprinting down the passage frantically. I will not be denied my revenge. He came to a window, and saw the raider about to leave. The archon was just boarding. He had no other option. Vandir smashed the window with the rifle-butt, and jumped.
At that same moment, an odd figure emerged from the arena, yelling a warcry as it did so. Who it was didn't matter; so long as the Archon remained here, and alive. He let the new arrival break his fall.
Pretre: OOOOHHHHH snap. That's like driving away from hitting a pedestrian.
Pacific:First person to Photoshop a GW store into the streets of Kabul wins the thread.
Selym: "Be true to thyself, play Chaos" - Jesus, Daemon Prince of Cegorach.
H.B.M.C: You can't lobotomise someone twice.
With that Crax ran, enraged he missed his kill, he never misses a kill. That other assassin stopped him, but he had a plan. He called his kill cordinator and friend Bumar.
"Bumar, tell the clients I am sorry for the delay. I missed my window of oppurtunity, but don't worry, I have a plan, I'll tell you more when I get home." shouted Crax.
With that he jumped on his Reaver and sped off to find the assassin who messed with his kill and his money. That's something you don't do.
)
1500 points orks
about to start
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