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You know what? New thread, pick any one of your warlords, they are now in a space hulk with whatever other warlords are there too. Have fun, make it up as you go along!

*The Chaos Lord Suddenly awakes from inside his ship. It seems to have hit a space hulk... Crew is all dead... He cuts a hole big enough for his terminator armored form to fit through in the hull of his ship, and proceeds to explore.*

GOTHICUS? DID YOU DO THIS? IT IS NOT FUNNY. IF I FIND YOU AND YOU ARE NOT ALREADY DEAD, I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT YOUR OWN INTESTINES!


EDIT: I WILL BE MARKING THE PROGRESS OF THE PASSENGERS OF THE SPACE HULK HERE:

NOTE: IN CHARACTER WHISPERS OR OTHER PRIVATE COMMUNICATIONS SHOULD BE DONE IN PRIVATE MESSAGES.

ANOTHER NOTE: EVERYTHING IS CAPITALIZED HERE TO SHOW EDITS. NOT DUE TO URGENCY OR ANNOYANCE.


WALL MARKINGS: A STAR OF CHAOS, A LARGE GASH FROM WHEN SOLOMON SPUN AROUND.

SOLOMON: IN CRASHED SHIP.

KHARAXX: IN CRASHED SHIP

GIDEON: IN CRASHED SHIP

NERO AND AUTHRIX : IN CRASHED SHIP

MARXX: IN CRASHED SHIP

*A white armoured fist smashes through a bulkhead, soon followed by another. The two hands rip the metal in half, revealing a massive Chaos Astartes in white, very ornate Power Armour, the trims on the armour a slightly reddish metal. A large power axe hangs at his hip and a wicked knife is sheathed on the other side of his body, with a holster containing an unknown pistol-sized weapon directly below it. A combi-melta is chained to his back.*

*He points at the Terminator.*

'You. What is the meaning of this?'

Gideon growls through his teeth as he stomps down, yet another passage. For hours he has walked, ran, and bellowed his rage at the fustration of the never ending corridors. The path he picks through this unknown place varies greatly, and the sights he's seen along his journy distrub him greatly, dispite the horrors he has witnessed and inflicted in his long life. Not ten minutes has passed that the very walls around him had grown teethed maws and clawed hands in an attempt to stretch forth and devour him. With cool detatchment he had dodged and weaved through the thicket of limbs and snapping jaws while striking back with his unasumming power sword humming with joy as it obeyed it's masters will, to eventulaly brake clear of the insanity.
Halting at a junction to check his bearing and signs of passage, he takes the time to also check his warplate for any new battle damage, and is pleased to find only minor scratches and cresent moon markings in the red paint dotting his limbs that allows him to push the matter from his mind.
The last thing he remembers before this benighted place was the thrill of the chase as he hunted his prey through the hive he and his brothers had seen fit to claim as their own. One second he was splashing through the puddled street under the open sky. The next, had found him cacooned in the rusted metal of a starship pitted age and heavy usage.
Instantly he accepted this as the whim of the divine Gods he served, and had begun to hunt for the perpose he had been sent here for. But after hours of fruitless wonderings through the changing landscape had taken it's toll. And he started to doubt his purpose, and began to wonder if this wasn't all just an elaborate prison where the Lords of Chaos had banished him to for all eternity to see out the ages utterly alone in a cruely twisted of fate.
Dispear began to set in at the grim thought, but the raised voice in the distance answered by another broke the spell. Cautious, but elated, he set off down the passage to hunt for the owner of the voices in a bid for answers or blood.

My ship crashed, just took off some misguided rouge trader. Heh heh heh, God Emperor didn't stop me from shoving a powerfist through his torso.
*He reaches down and picks up a power armored severed head, unpainted just like the lord's own.*
I'm looking for my sorcerer. He thinks this kinda of mess is "funny".

*Kharaxx (Which, of course, is the name of the white-armoured warrior) folds his arms.*

'Something ripped me out of the Halls of Blood aboard the Serpent's Revenge and threw me here.

Whoever it was, whatever it was... I want its skull.'

Drawn on by the voices into a new part of the structure, Gideon slips into the ample shadow around him as he proceeds to steal down the final passage. The walls are a mixture of rock and some unknown purple metal, but in the darkness, all is hued black until his flame blue eyelets shine upon them. His sword is held ready in his palm though deactivated, and his ever companion broods with sharpened tounge as it wills him to charge the blade in it's breathless voice echoing inside his brain.
He silences the warp creature inhabiting the blade with a thought as he dims his helmets lenses upon nearing the corner, and with the famed stealth of the brothers of the Sickle Moon, begins to stalk the two figures dominating the room from the shadows.
One is a brute of an Astartes who easily stands a head taller than his companion in his tacical dreadnought armour sporting an array of fetishes, totems, and tropthies about his person. But it is the smaller of the two that truely draws his attention.
His red trim whitened armour and ornate filagre is almost beautiful, complimenting the warrior well who stands with his arms crossed infront of the other. His axe and holtered pistol acompanied by a seathed blade at his side speaks of a love of close comabat which immediatly strikes a kinship with him to the pale warrior. And as the conversation evolves, he begins to find answers to the ones he seeks. And a purpose to his summoning to this dank and darkened place.

((Nice writing, Themanwiththeplan.))

Kharaxx slowly turns his head to the side. Did he hear something? He switches to heat vision and focuses his advanced visor systems on where he suspects the sound came from. Nothing. He tries infrared as well but to no avail. He takes a slow step forward. His armour seems dirty and uncared for, but makes surprisingly little noise as the decay is merely an illusion; beneath the dried blood and dust lies a suit of plate crafted and maintained by an unknown master's hand. Indeed, the step would almost be silent, were it not for the sound of Redmetal bootsoles hitting the metal ship floor and the many chains, skulls and other similar items hanging from his armoured form making their presence known. Still seeing nothing, he switches back to normal vision. With a scowl, he proceeds to increase the sensitivity of his sound-registering autosenses and turns his attention back to the massive Terminator in front of him.

'It would surprise me if we were alone in this derelict. I am Kharaxx, the Glacier Serpents' Master of Berzerkers. I do not recognise your warband... Do enlighten me. But do so quickly, for I have little time to waste here.'

We called our selves The Silver Scourge, we once were several smaller groups, but we stripped off our old colors and joined together, taking whatever we can from the Imperium.
What about you? I have never seen armor like yours.
*The plating above his mouth slides open, revealing bloody and stained teeth, several etched with the mark of Khorne. His face visibly twitches with rage as he speaks*
And if my sorcerer was strong enough to bring you here, and he is hiding these powers from me, I will drown him in his own blood.

'To clarify... Our warband is named the Glacier Serpents. I am Kharaxx, 'the Raging Whirlwind', and I lead the Berzerkers in our host. I serve under the great Lord Kraxis, Allchosen of the Glacier Serpents.'

Kharaxx's expression remains unreadable under his ornate, grim helmet, but the eyes glow a malicious red. He speaks in a surprisingly calm and civilised manner for a warrior of Khorne, but a terrible rage seems buried deep beneath his words.

'And feel free to take your Sorcerer's blood... But his skull belongs only to me and the Blood God.'

He spat on the wall as the Warp finished its work. Blood. Fantastic. Every trip through the damned place brought out the worst in the Bringers of Darkness Chief Apothecary. Or Murdermonger. Whatever his blasted rank was. It didn't currently matter.
'Ugh... Nero?'
'Here, my lord.' The chainblade hummed in response.
'I can't help but feel that perhaps I should learn something from this.'
'Perhaps, sir, the lesson to be learned is to cease goading the Daemon Lord.'
'Aye, perhaps.' The Apothecary spat again, this time just corrosive spit, which proceeded to melt into the bulkhead. 'Wonder where he's sent me this time.'
'It cannot be far.' The Daemon sword tugged south of its own discretion. 'The Daemon Lord will require you back shortly.'
The Apothecary simply shook his head. 'Well, let's not' give him a reason to complain. Onwards.'
'Righto sir.'
So they stalked down the corridors of the... Something, shooing at the leering faces peering from the walls, through blood-slicked passages with only each other and the sounds of the bootfalls for company.
'Sir.' Nero piped up from the Apothecary's hand.
'What is it?' He stopped under a warning light, the bone white of his armour tinted red in the glare, as green eyepieces pierced the gloom ahead. The Apothecary had let the red on his greaves scratch. The gold trim, however, was spotless as always,
'I wish to play a game.'
'Now is not the time for popular cultural references from thirty eight thousand years ago Nero.'
'I was not aware that I was making one.' The blade spoke bluntly. 'However, I do wish to kill some time.'
'How?'
'Well, look at these Daemons in the walls. Perhaps we can make a game of them.'
The Apothecary stopped, a dilemma in his mind. To go on without entertainment would be fatal, boredom as repetitive as this could see one cast to the ranks of the Ultramarines in time - yet, what if this game failed to entertain him? Could he really afford to let Nero hold yet another boring game over him? To torment him with on the long voyages through the Warp? Truly, this was a matter beyond comprehension of most mortals. To be reborn as a Smurf...
Suddenly, fortune struck like a thousand overly-eager Slaaneshi first-timers, as he spotted armoured figures down the corridor.
'Sir?' Nero asked. If a chainsword could smile... The apothecary shook the thought away.
'Not now Nero, look. Astartes.' He started towards them, calling out. 'Hail... erm... you people!' A subconscious thought ran through him, was his armour presentable? Were there enough blood splatters, scrapes and dents?
Wait, of course there are!

Kharaxx's body is still turned against the Terminator, but slowly, like the inevitable onset of doom, he turns his head against the new arrivals. If looks could kill, the stare he gives them would vaporise a large part of the ship's hull, but fortunately Kharaxx is not a psyker so his looks did not kill.

'...Yes?'

*The larger marine attempts to turn his head, but finds it impossible in his bulky armor, klinking the horns of his armor on his shoulder. He sighs slightly and turns completely at the new arrival.*
Welcome.
*Solomon spreads his arms slightly, igniting his lightning claw, twitching his fingers as electricity arched between them, dropping flakes of dried blood. *
I am Overlord Solomon, of the Silver Scourge, WHO are you? Do you want to kill my sorcerer too? At this point you will have to settle for a rib cage if you do.

(Thanks BrotherHaraldus and feel free to spot me in the shadows with a shouted curse to show myself when I lean too far forward to watch something particulary interesting.)

Watching with a growing sense of amusement, Gideon looks on with a smile creasing his lips at the specticle before him. After the heart stopping moment when the pale one known as, kharaxx, had scanned the shadows when his boot had disturbed a pebble where he lay hid in the gloom, he had once again settled down to watch the drama unfold.
At the arrival of the two new Astartes enterance into the opened space, he used the distraction well to slip into the shadowed domes welcoming embace to peer down at the growing throng. His reddened armour inbuilt with an array of dampening fields that hampered the senses, allowed him to blend seemlessly with the darkness around him with his blue flamed eyelets burning with a dimmed hue that was easily missed to the casual eye.
Weapons close to hand, and the ever present voice whispering blood in his ear, he watched his potentual enemies, or future allies for the first signs of weakness while waiting for the Gods to show their hand.

The Apothecary simply shrugged at the other two. 'I care not for your Sorcerer, 'nor your - ' I searched for the correct adjective 'hugeness.' he settled.
'What my master means,' Nero suggested from his hand, 'Is that we would like to find our way off this vessel as soon as possible. If you could provide us with directions, or perhaps-'
'Can it Nero, they don't know gak.' The Apothecary shrugged. 'He's right though. We'd rather just leave, thanks.'

*Stands up a little straighter, "hugeness" he likes that."
A talking chain-sword, that's new. But if you want to leave, my ship could still function if I had enough people to crew it. Mine are dead. *Tosses the severed head from before to the apothecary* If we could separate it from the hulk, and if we patched up the me-sized hole I put in it. THEN we could leave.
*Solomon turns to a nearby wall, and begins to carve an eight pointed star of chaos into the metal.*
I vote we each search for a solution to these problems, and if we kill the sorcerer, all the better, if we find what we are looking for, we meet back here. How does that sound?

Kharaxx slowly shakes his head.

'No. What we must do is-'

Suddenly, as fast as a snake, he whips around and dashes for an opening in the wall. His helmet micro-auspex had detected something. Something small, but still something. And whatever it was, he intended to flush it out. The room reverberates with the sound of his footsteps as the massively heavy Astartes runs across it. As he closes in on the shadows, he draws his large axe with his right hand and pulls out his knife with the left.

He speaks lowly to himself as he runs. 'Whatever you are, now I have you.'

*The terminator armored astartes Wheels around rapidly, looking for the source of the panic, accidentally carving a massive scar into the walls of the hulk.*
WHAT? WHAT IS IT? WHERE?

*A figure leaps from the ceiling*

*Pointing to Solomon*

"So you are the reason of my being here? Well, I, Marxx, shall take delight in gifting your soul to the true chaos god..."

*With unnatural speed, Marxx lunges at Solomon*

" I shall take delight in gifting your soul to the true chaos god..." The new figure rushed forwards to assault the huge one, blood and fury in his eyes -only to be replaced by surprise as his leg caught the flat edge of Nero, sending him sprawling.
'Smooth.' The sword remarked. The Apothecary smirked.
'A quick suggestion. If we're to make it out of here, I suggest we don't start by killing each other.' Unwilling to trust the new arrival, he turned the energised blade of the Daemon weapon towards the marine's prone form. 'Noow how about you play nice, hmm?'

"Fool..."

*Marxx stands up, knocking the daemon blade down with his own*

"For now, fine, but hear me when I say I shall not forget this insult..."
*Points at Solomon*
"And Kharaxx can have your sorcerer, but you are mine"

(How does your character even know the name of mine? o.o And I doubt that he'd be pushed aside that easily. Astartes are strong, but they are also heavy... Especially if they are in full dash! Plus, godmoding just isn't nice.)

(At matt.kingsley - wtf dude??? Me thinks you stole my opening when Kharaxx reacts to the shadows. Please read the WHOLE thread before jumping in.)

(@ Themanwiththeplan: sorry, didn't realise he was reacting to you... woops. I'll change my enterance without really effecting the flow [shouldn't be too hard...]

@ BrotherHaraldus: Powerfist? Marxx is also a Space Marine. Also, overhearing you is how I know)

((Ehm... I ain't mad or anything, but even after the edit, it is still a little godmode over it. You gave poor Kharaxx no chance to dodge, but wrote out the reaction (Getting knocked down) for him.

Powerfist technically does not make you stronger- it is a glove after all, if oversized-, it only punches through stuff. And if you are attacking him, he will strike back.))

!EDIT!
Ignore this. I missed the conversation above.

Kharaxx spots the dark shape coming from above in the last second and rolls, narrowly dodging the falling Marine, but also putting him off course. He curses and hopes he has not lost whatever was hiding in the shadows.

'Another one? What is this, some kind of gathering of misfits and freaks even for Chaos Astartes?'

'Most certainly.' The sword replied, again hovering towards the new arrival.
'Right, you, what's your name? Don't keep me waiting boy.' The apothecary growled beneath his helm.

!Actual post now!
*Solomon takes two thundering steps back, looking at what appears to be an attacker.*
Last time another servant of chaos tried to attack me, I made his skull into a codpiece. Do you want me to repeat this?
*Solomon exposed his mouth once more, he is grinning ear to ear. He looks to the Astartes who threatened him*
Child. Do not attack me. I did not bring you here, and attacking me will only leave the rest of us with less help in our escape.

(@ matt.kingsley - I'm not mad either, but you need kinda ruin something that had been building for a few post now. Don't worry about it though, just look before you leap next time please. Also I noticed your character has appeared from where mine has been lurking which makes no sense)

(@ at everyone else - has my character been exposed now? I am totally confused)

(I thought your character just attacked me.... If he didn't then he was spotted but nothing was done because of the guy jumping in)
(If he wasn't we might have to ignore the last couple of posts...)