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Lord Harrab wrote:

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:Yes, a benevolent GM...
To the sacrifical altar! Appeasement underway!

I shudder to think what that is.

Hurr hurr hurr... You don't wanna know.

hmm, this Thread seems to have slowed a tad, can't have that!

So, here's the final section of Farseer Eluna's past, (but first an extra helping of Saint Ferosia.)

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

A fearsome wind howled across the plains around the great host of Imperial Might, its birthplace high in the mounts above the ruins of the secot capital.

It whipped Saint Feorisa hair up and around where she stood at the vanguard of her crusade, Cryptkeeper held low at her side as she stared at the distant fortifications, she knew she had the forces to dig them out, but she had the numerical and logistical advantage, and no desire to combat demoniac hordes within the tight confines of a city. So her artillery were hammering the city non stop for weeks, and little remained of their target by now. Still the Earth-shakers rumbled.

Around her guardsmen where hurriedly digging foxholes, setting up weapon emplacements and bracing themselves for the counterattack that would surely come. Her Astartes bodyguards had been scattered throughout the force, reminding the guardsmen that the Emperor was watching them and expected them to do their duty.

'Movement, Your Holiness." Reported a storm-trooper beside her, passing her a pair of binoculars, "looks like the scum want us to put them out of their misery."

Ferosia said nothing, instead she examined the approaching foes with calculating eyes, noting distantly that it was primarily an armored force, tainted Leman russ tanks swarming around the massive form of a blood-red superheavy, and through the dust-cloud left in its wake she could make out the shrouded forms of troop carriers.

"Let us begin." she said softly, but everyone within sight heard it, and the sound of over three million guardsmen reading weapons cut through the howling wind.

Ferosia lifted her axe above her head, half turning to the Shadowsword and two Baneblade escorts parked at her shoulder, "Will of Steel, are you ready to do the Emperor's work?"
"Ave Imperator!" the Super-heavy tank's commander replied, "Tracking target! Capacitors charged! All supporting forces, brace for volcano cannon fire and support!"

A soft wine grew louder and louder as a bright light began to form at the barrel of the tanks massive weapon then with a blinding flash and rumble like thunder, it fired.

For a split second a bright beam of energy connected the traitor super-heavy to it's loyalist cousin, before even the saint was forced to shield her eyes, when she allowed herself to look again, the Chaos tank was ablaze, the volcano shot having stuck it just below the turret.

a cheer rang out across the Imperial Lines at the sight, quickly drowned out by the rumble of tank engines as the Loyalist armor began to move to intercept the approaching column, spearheaded by the pair of Baneblades and the battle was joined.

soon the western section of the battle had become a ballet of armored vehicles weaving around each other in attempts to get a quick killing shot through their rivals rear armor.

The Imperial Baneblades didn't bother with such nonsense, instead they crushed those hostiles too slow to avoid them beneath massive tracks, before gutting others with bright las-cannon blasts from their sponsons, or annihilating them with a single shot of their main weapons.

confident that the first part of her plan was going to plan, she turned to the area of field directly to her front, where, just as Eluna had predicted, chaos infantry were approaching at a run, taking advantage of the distraction of the imperial tanks to close the distance and even at this distance she could see that they bore the most horrific of mutations, yet they should not be that fast....

"Inform all section commanders," she ordered, "Demoniac forces assail our centre line, have them be alert for possible flanking movements. We take not one step backwards. The Emperor protects."

"For the Emperor!" the men around her bellowed.

Feroisa closed her eyes, hefting Cryptkeeper in both hands before her, listening to the song it sang in her mind, then without full understanding what she was doing, she turned it so the blade was upright, facing the horde, then slammed it hilt first into the soil at her feet.

immediately the wind rose in ferocity, shrouding the imperial line in smoke and dust, then all of a sudden it died, and silence fell.

Yet the dust raised by the storm did not fall. Instead it had taken on the form of guardsmen, these shadow-forms forming a wall between the daemons and imperials, and angelic forms hovered above, their wings beating silently above the battle-line.

The deamons didn't slow at the unexpected reinforcements, and across the line heavy weapons found their range, autocannons scything down dozens of the inhuman hounds that lead the charge, while mortar shells landed behind them, ripping apart the pestilent infinity that followed.

But Ferosia didn't notice, her eyes where locked on the massive daemon at the heart of the horde, lithe and beautiful, yet deeply horrifying, directing the actions of its minions with numerous clawed limbs. a Secret Keeper, Eluna had called it, the embodiment of the Prince of Excess, and the focus of this wave of filth that had spewed from the festering wound that had been the city.

then the Saint was moving, axe held tightly in both hands, and the Angelic host soaring at her side as she charged. this is why she was here, why she had been born, no one else could face this horror and she would ask no other to do so. this was her destiny.

"For Eluna and the Emperor!" she bellowed, then with a crash like thunder, the Divine and Daemonic were locked in the battle for the very soul of the Crusade.

Cryptkeeper now proved her worth as a weapon, seeming to move in her hand to block, parry, and behead the horde of lesser daemons that sought to bar the Living Saint's relentless rush towards her foe. as each died, their was a thunderclap and they vanished, the blade of her axe glowing brightly, the curse of the blade living up to its promise.

Suddenly, she was alone, a circle of waring daemons and Angels surrounded her and the Secret Keeper, the massive creature swaying seductively as it regarded the human before it.

"i've been waiting for you." it hissed, its voice husky and beautiful, "I have so much to offer, if you would but listen."
"Be silent daemon!" Ferosia bellowed, pointing the head of her axe at its face, "I am the Chosen Daughter of My Emperor!'
She swung the axe to a low position behind her, its blade cutting through the loose topsoil, "And now it is time for you to die."

Feroisa charged, a hymn on her lips and his name in her mind as she slashed upwards at the creatures vile heart.
But the Keeper of Secrets moved leisurely aside, its laughter soft and delicate, serving only to increase Feroisa's fury.
the blade in her hand shifted as if to follow the foes evasive action, and the laughter turned to a scream of rage and pain as it severed an arm.

"Yngrnallen!" the Deamon shrieked, its almond shaped eyes locked on the axe, then snapped them up to those of the human facing her, but before it could continue, Ferosia revered the attack and slashed a deep wound across its chest, permitting dark ichor to splash the golden armor of the saint, and the creature dropped with a cry of anguish.

Ferosia stepped forward to finish it, raised the axe high in both hands, and paused in Confusion

Farseer Eluna knelt in the dirt at her feet, her face twisted in pain and shock, trying to hold her entrails inside her body as she looked up at her.

"what-?" Ferosia began, then the daemon struck, driving its fist through the Saints torso with a hiss of triumph.

"i'll claim her soul also," the Keeper of Secrets laughed, as Ferosia fell to the dirt, and licked her blood from its fingers with a long and sinuous tongue, "my Lord will suck her stone dry!"

The daemon threw back its head and laughed, ignoring the twitching of the human at its feet.

"you.....dare...." Ferosia muttered, "you..."
her hand was reaching for the haft of her axe, which had fallen just out of reach, and the daemon, wanting to hear its foe's dying words, leaned in closer,
"you.... dare.... wear her face?" Ferosia threw up her head as her hand found the axe, her eyes ablaze with holy light, "i will see you suffer within the depths of the Void!"
Am explosion of divine energy thew the Keeper of Secrets on to its back, and as quick as it regained its feet, the Saint was faster, surrounded by the flaming form of the aquilla. the daemon tried to strike her down again, and was easily parried, the counter stoke removing another limb, than another, until the secret keeper was nothing more than a crippled torso, unable to flee and abandon its mortal shell by the fury of a living saint.

Ferosia knelt beside her crippled foe and wrapped its hair around her fist tugging its head up so she could whisper in her ear.
"I would tell you to convey this message to your infernal master," she told it softly, her eyes still ablaze, "but i know you will never see him again from your prison in the Void, so you'll just have to remember these words:

"I love two things in this word, The Immortal God-Emperor, and the Woman you tried to imitate, and there is nothing your Dark Lord can offer me more valuable than that."

then with the daemons pleading and promises of power ringing empty in her ears, she adjusted her grip on Cryptkeepers haft, and slit its inhuman throat.

This is sex for my eyes. Post more!

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Post more!

Do a favor and follow your own advise.

Aka Do a event, please?

Devastator wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:Post more!

Do a favor and follow your own advise.

Aka Do a event, please?

I will do it when I have time. Besides, you haven't made an IC post since about page 7 or something.

I would like to join the game or rpg.

Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 27
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 7' 2"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades

Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.

Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 56
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades

Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.

As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?

Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!

Seeing as people are joining, could I?


Character name: Painhook da Fast'un
Character age: 30
Character race: Ork
Character profession: Biker Nob
Character personality: Sadistic, Speed addiction
Character appearance: Burly, Green and just generally orky
Character height: 8'
Character equipment: Big, fast and flashy bike (rocket engine and small wingz-ta help with da jumpin), big choppa, cybork bitz and da painhook- a whip that can be attatched to his bike that has barbed hooks-catching on those (un)fortunate enough to be missed, dragging them behind the insanely fast bike.
Character bio/background story: A speed addicted ork nob. With a big, barbed whip. Part of Warklaws WAAGH. End of story.

I think I'm going to have to drop out of this one
can't keep up and write enough, often enough.

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.

Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 56
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: tactician
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades

Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.

As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?

Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!

Ok will do. I will change the profession -- Bledsoe is a Sternguard Veteran

Rabtorian wrote:Seeing as people are joining, could I?


Character name: Painhook da Fast'un
Character age: 30
Character race: Ork
Character profession: Biker Nob
Character personality: Sadistic, Speed addiction
Character appearance: Burly, Green and just generally orky
Character height: 8'
Character equipment: Big, fast and flashy bike (rocket engine and small wingz-ta help with da jumpin), big choppa, cybork bitz and da painhook- a whip that can be attatched to his bike that has barbed hooks-catching on those (un)fortunate enough to be missed, dragging them behind the insanely fast bike.
Character bio/background story: A speed addicted ork nob. With a big, barbed whip. End of story.

I suggest that you either:
1) Be apart of Gorskar's Waaagh!
2) Be apart of Warklaw's Waaagh!
3) Be the leader of your own (small) tribe of speed freaks.

Otherwise, welcome to the roleplay, read the whole thread and get posting!

Vulkan_He'stan wrote:I think I'm going to have to drop out of this one
can't keep up and write enough, often enough.

Seems like a good enough move.

Element206 wrote:

Darkvoidof40k wrote:

Element206 wrote:I would like to join the game or rpg.

Character name: Tyrial Bledsoe
Character age: 117
Character race: Space Marine
Character profession: Stern Guard Veteran
Character personality: Bold, Natural leader
Character appearance: Dark hair, Green Eyes, 5 o'clock shadow, ostentatious armor
Character height: 8' 4"
Character equipment: MK6 Armor, combi-melta, satchels, frag grenades

Welcome aboard, although.. your Marine is seriously lacking in age and height, so I've taken the liberty to amend this.

As for his profession/rank.. "tactician"?

Other than that; read the entire thread and you're set to go!

Ok will do. I will change the profession -- Bledsoe is a Sternguard Veteran

Updated your profile.

Painhook was enjoying himself. As he and his biker boys drove through the tightly packed men of the imperial guard, he laughed. They lef a trail of visceral destruction, entrails spread all over the place. Painhook caused the most damage. As he drove, Guardsman upon guardsman was sucked under the tires of his massive warbike. The came out the other side a fine, pinkish paste. He took a swipe with his big choppa, decapitating or otherwise killing ten men. The last was smarter than the rest, jumping backwards, out of his way. Unfortunately, the man could not get out of the way in time, and his stomach was sliced open and his entrails caught on the choppa. Even more unfortunately for the man, his innards were so firmly attatched to the rest of his inner workings that he was half turned inside out and promtly smeard across five metres of floor. Painhook couldn't remember having this much fun since that time where he and his boys had a race through that chaos ritual. Heh. Good times. As he drove pain suffering and death were in his wake. One guardsman had his hand sucked into the engine of the bike and one of his knuckle bones was shot back out, passing through his eye and loging through his brain. He twitched and spasmed, fallin g to the ground. Painhook didn't notive. He revved his engine, clearing its gears and sending an arterial shower over those nearby. One man retched and bent over, trying to vomit only to have his torso ripped off by a passing bike. His legs remaind standing for a moment, then toppled over. A man got caught on Painhook's namesake weapon, the painhook. He was dragged behind the bike by the viscous spikes and barbs of the whip and his legs were slowly sanded off by the rough metal floor, his arms coming off in chunks every time he bounced down. he would be dead before too long. Painhook swa a Comissar. Accelerating as fast as possible, his boys following his lead, he drove at the Comissar. It was over in seconds. The man impacted the front of the bike, his legs and waist being puled off by the tire. The forced of the impact caused his bones to smash into a pulp and his spine to come out of his back. His head came off and both eyes popped out. One was held in place by the potical nerve but the other busrt out and flew directly into Fugnut's face, where it liquidised upon impact. Fugnut wiped his face clean, and followed Painhook and the rest of the boys down a long metal corridor.

Gruesome. Very gruesome..


..I approve.

(That was actually a more enjoyable post than some of the others I have seen on here, there were some ways of dying in there that my orky mind had not yet contemplated

I tip my hat to you good sir, a grand entrance!)

Marcus jogged across a cratered landing strip. Nearby the burning wreckage of both imperial and ork planes alike turned the night sky an orange hue. Marcus stopped for shelter under a small bridge over a small trench to avoid falling bombs, bits of planes and other junk. As he went to move Robur appeared from the shadows, just out of nowhere. Marcus almost jumped, normally Marcus could sense the presence of nearby souls through an innate psychic power but there was something about Robur that just made him so damn hard to detect...

"Inquisitor!" Robur shouted out over the din of explosions and flak fire, "It is not safe out here!"

Marcus pointed to a burning streak which zoomed closed and impacted the ground. The unrecognizable plane bounced once... twice.... three times before sliding to a slow, screeching halt. When it finally halted, Marcus raised his eyebrows as he said "I can tell."

"Come with me!" Robur shouted, though he more or less grabbed Marcus' arm before he could reply and was dragged off by what must have been a very stressed out bodyguard...

-------------------

Later, when in a sheltered dugout, the two finally sat down.

"I was hoping to get to Navy Command you see." Marcus started, "I was going to look for..."

"No need to explain yourself for that Inquisitor, but I have to say you were very blunt with the Lord Commissar."

"You were blunt yourself." Marcus said hurtfully, rubbing his arm.

"There is a difference when I'm being blunt to do my job and protect you and where your accusing the Lord Commissar of not for-filling his duty to the Emperor. He is a dangerous man Inquisitor, you must be careful."

"Yes, but I know that we could survive if he ever turned against us. It has been a long time but I found I have a few friends in this task-force."

"The Commissar's bolt pistol trumps your friends Inquisitor."

"Well I still have you..."

"Your mad, you'll get us both killed in the end."

"No Robur, I'm going to get myself killed and you'll die trying to protect me, that's how it works."

Robur chuckled, "I guess" He leaned forward "but your still young, you have yet to learn the subtleties of politics; as you proved today."

"I think I remember you saying the same thing to Felix back on Paxx..."

-------------------6 years previous------------------

They had survived; sneaked, crawled, starved, played dead, hid and ran. By all odds Marcus and Felix should've been dead, but after three days of surviving they were in a hitch.

Caught among 50 members of the mountain resistance. Most were surviving members of the militia who had held off the first waves of attacks at the beginning of the civil war. They were veterans, survivors, like the inquisitor and his student. In a conflict known as ' the Michael pocket' to those few historians who bothered to looked at the relatively unmeaning events of the Paxx X-IIV civil war.

Armed with autoguns, grenades and flak armour; the fate of these outnumbered, outgunned men against Skittari and monster-men as the resistance called them should have been certain death, but something miraculous happened...

---------------------

Marcus ran through the trench, shells fell either side of him. The supposed 'AdMech' forces had been shelling the resistance pocket for three days flat. Quad launcher mortar shells and heavier calibre fire power had been brought to bear against the mountain top base of operations. The motley army of 50 fighting men, less than a platoon, had been cornered in this place. A large stretch of trench lines, bunkers, dugouts and bastions. Overlapping fields of fire, large 'dead zones' and a huge no-man's land between the 'AdMech' and the resistance coupled with terrain allowing only light amour and infantry made sure that it was a death trap.

Marcus slid into one of the bunkers, here the officers and leaders of the rag-tag resistance were gathered round a map of the area. Somehow the resistance had procured a single Leman Russ Battle Tank - Exterminator patten - and dragged it up into the hills. Equipped with heavy bolters on sponson mounts it would be pivotal for the defense of the Michael Pocket, just, that was the problem, everyone was arguing where it was needed.

Moving up behind Felix, Marcus observed the plans. There were two ways into the pocket, via a steep gully or via a flat slope. Armour was expected on the flat slope but a heavy infantry push was expected up the gully. The leaders argued the tank was needed on the slope to halt the armour, the other argued that it was needed in the gully to stop the wave of infantry. In the end Felix put an end to it. Ordering that it should be place by the gully, but some of the men there were to move to the flat slope. If the tank was needed it could fall back to the command bunker and defend both passes. Within minutes of the decision being made the shelling stopped.


They were coming....


Ooc: I would finish this but I'm too tired at the moment.

Edit: oh and Rabtorian, loving the post

Painhook looked over his shoulder. He saw his Deffbikers, as the were known by friend and foe, behind him, and the wannabees behind them. There was Rolla, a monstrous hybrid of Deff dread and warbike, an ork who loved speed and wanted to be dead killy. There was Eata, the slightly mad ork who relished every chance to eat his foes, alive or dead. He was currently licking the brand new red paint job off his bike. Then there was Kwikfiks, a mek who was at first an assistant of the big mek when Warklaw orderd the Deffbikers be the test-bed of any new gadgets who had come to be an expert in these particular bikes, calling them by name as one would a faithful squig. There was, of course, himself, their fearless and peerless leader. And then... then there was Fugnut. The luckiest/unluckiest ork alive at the same time. He was a wierd one. Painhook couldn't put the wierdness down to one thing. Maybe it was being teleported into the wall of the big meks shed and crawling out of a tiny pipe a week later. Maybe it was firing the boomgun welded onto the front of his bike, flipping upside-down and landing on his head. Maybe it was being fired through a Shokk Attack gun with his bike and coming out the other side on fire. Maybe it was taking a lascannon blast to the face. Or maybe it was the fact that he permanently glowed pink after driving through the exact centre of a chaos-boy ritual just at the climax. Or maybe it was one of the smaller things like driving into tanks and always getting zapped by everybodies Wierdoys. Ah well. He could still fight, and drive, which was all he needed to be able to do. The wannabees, or cannon fodder as Painhook liked to call them, were hangesrs on who hoped to be selected to join the prestigious ranks of the Deffbikers one day. Idiots. Painhook gunned his engine and carried on.

Thank the emperor more marines are coming, and orks and now an eldar this is getting better.

black templar wrote:Thank the emperor more marines are coming, and orks and now an eldar this is getting better.

Not for the guard that is. I'm still waiting for an event. Darko said I couldn't RP until then, so I'm kinda bored.

So now we just wait? Patiently?

++++++++SCANNING TARGET++++++
++++++THREAD DETECTED+++
++++STATUS: AWESOME. CURRENTLY INACTIVE+++
++++CO-ORDINATES LOCKED++++
++++PLANNING POSSIBLE HOLDING PATTERN UNTILL FURTHER ACTION IS AUTHORIZED++++
+++++PLEASE STANDBY++++
++++FURTHER CHARACTER HISTORY POST INBOUND++++

White marble amongst a sea of clouds.

She had always loved looking up at the stars.

Eluna stood at the summit of Heaven's Peak, the fearsome winds that prowled the Mountains of the Moon here on this Imperial Shrine world were constant and unforgiving, tugging at the Farseer's robes and hair so much they were horizontal yet no force in the Galixy could tear her eyes from the sight before her.

The Tomb of Saint Feroisa occupied the summit of the Mountain, surrounded by an ocean of white cloud while far above the stars she had loved so much shone uncaring upon the final marker that a proud and noble warrior had ever existed.

Behind The Eldar intruder were the miles and miles of steps that climbed the cliff face of the mountain to lead to this place, accompanied by the fast flowing and Crystal clear waters of the stream that started here, beside the Tomb. Some Mon-keigh legends state it sprang from the rock the moment the Saint had died. They had named the waterfall that fell into the Cathedral gardens as The Tears of The Saint

Eluna could not believe that. She dipped her hand into the water. It was colder than ice. Ferosia had never cried.

Walking as if the strong wind was not present she closed to the marble structure, its surface engraved with Imperial Symbols and statues of her commanders standing seninel at ever corner, their swords raised in mournful triumph.

The thick doors were unlocked, as her vision had predicted, and the Farseer pushed them gently open and stepped through.

Stairs led the way down into the body of the mountain, glowing braziers providing illumination for the pilgim to navigate the path, and Feroisa noted that the walls of the tunnel were as smooth as glass and engraved with the names of soldiers, from lowly troopers and NCOs to Generals and Space Marines, all who had fallen in the quest to reclaim these worlds were here, their memory carved into the rock so that they would also never be forgotten.

For almost half an hour the Eldar descended, her hand running down the sooth surface of the wall of Remembrance as she counted the names, until the passage opened out into a larger one, the floor made with a dark and smooth looking rock that the Eldar knew was not native to any of the worlds reclaimed, but instead had been carried from the Saints Homeword, some backwater on the other side of the Imperium, doubtless that world had been risen to Shine world too, but where she had come from was unimportant to this unusual visitor.

In the centre of the chamber was a Hololith, projecting the worlds reclaimed and the crusade's path between them in a series of lines and crystal like dots, the planets themselves growing larger and displaying facts about the battles raged there as the glowing line reached the, then shrinking again as the Imperial host moved on.

For a while the Farseer watched the display for a while, memories of each battle flashing though her head as she took the time to reorganize her hair, untill the final planet filled the display. the One battle she had missed, and the once where the saint had died. As she had foreseen.

Feeling guilty she wrenched her attention away and to the relics that stood in their own alcoves around the walls. There was the sword she had carried as a Stormtrooper sergeant, the ragged and camo painted armor from that time in the alcove beside it, then the helmet of the Chaod Space Marine that had tired to assassinate her on the day of her rise to sainthood, an Alpha Legionnaire that had taken great pains to gain acess to the saints chambers, only to have his plans ruined by an unwelcome factor.

"Me." Eluna thought proudly as she moved past, examining the Hull plate of the Baneblade "Soul Warden" that the saint had stood on during that celebration where she had honored her non-human friend so.

The opposite side of the room held more treasures, the instructions Feroisa had left for her tomb and her shrine-world that it would live on, suspended in a stasis field so her written hand would never fade, the blood-splattered guard issue notepad note book she had written in on, and the regimental standard of the Armageddon 567th Mechanized that she had been wrapped in as they carried her from the field.

Eluna was now standing before the doors to the tomb proper, engraved with payers to their emperor and inlaid with his symbol, yet that was not why the Eldar hesitated.

She knew that Ferosia had suffered a fatal wound that day, knew that the saint had held onto life for weeks, knew that she had hoped her friend would return before the end, and knew that the final betrayal of her continued absence was what had killed the saint. the wound suffered by the enemy's hand was nothing compared to that of her friend.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Eluna pushed the door open and stepped into the inner sanctum.

And there she was, still wearing the golden armour Eluna had seen her in last, mended to hide the wound, and the saints hands still clasped around the hilt of the axe as she lay as if sleeping within a glass case surrounded by fresh flowers from her Homeworld, and lit by candles that flicked in brackets across the walls.

The shape of the walls intrigued the visitor, and she followed their carved image up, recognizing the folds of the robe and design of the waithbone armor until she came to the marble face of herself, holding cryptkeeper out to the hands of the saint, the haft of the blade forming the central rafter of the roof, and the carved likeness of the sait formed the other wall, the eyes of the two locked in stone across the weapon. an eternal reminder of the duty she had bestowed upon the human woman and the lies she had told for the future of both their races.

Eluna crossed the floor to stand beside the body, reaching into a pouch at her belt and pulling a bright red stone from its depths. with a flick of her hand the clasp of the case opened silently, the stasis field within dissipating as the Eldar woman placed the Soulstone within a recess built for it within the chestplate, gave the blonde hair a gentle touch, then quickly resealed the casket, turning and striding quickly away.

She knew the Human warrior-women that tended this place would not notice her intrusion and addition, yet it would not be a good idea to be here when they returned.

Ouside and back within the grip of the wind once more, she paused to regard the tomb again, then vanished into the dawn light, she had wasted enough time on personal feelings. now she must continue her work, as she had promised the woman that rested below.


The Planet of Radia needed her influence, and the fates were alining one more time.

She would fulfill the role they demand, then perhaps she would finally be allowed to rest beneath cold stone and glass, beside the one person that had known her pain.

Im going to have to respectfully tender my resignation to the RPG. Thought I had time to play, but I dont. Sorry everyone.

Element206 wrote:Im going to have to respectfully tender my resignation to the RPG. Thought I had time to play, but I dont. Sorry everyone.

No problem.

Rabtorian wrote:So now we just wait? Patiently?

Or dance, or something. I'm not sure.
Orders, Dark?

Gorskar.da.Lost wrote:

Rabtorian wrote:So now we just wait? Patiently?

Or dance, or something. I'm not sure.
Orders, Dark?

epfeo!

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ejfq3trfj3irjfi3jrio3qrfjiofn!!

30r43503?

132!kfwew!

vsbds.;g'W~~:err30rdsmcaop aof oaprofewr ekfnmkiwwjr wofdw9rwoaf jgiew krogewtc faifjcm 0gekeg4t afaijac hgrehemwpv vwp pa[ fejfehgoehg a# sjegigjsgegbjvvsg.

Comprende? Good.

Woah dude my head can't go that far down, not THAT flexible

Where the hell can I find a steamroller?

Damn it, Dark, always making me get the heavy machinery...

Chowderhead wrote:Where the hell can I find a steamroller?

Damn it, Dark, always making me get the heavy machinery...

PLAYER EVENT

A Steamroller lands on Chowder, crushing him and causing his body to explode into a massive messy paste all over the ground under the steamroller. An old women destined to die of gonorrhea appears and licks up aforementioned Chowder-paste.


You're welcome.


Hopefully I'll get some event done Friday.

I hate it when that happens. fourth time this week...

Chowderhead wrote:I hate it when that happens. fourth time this week...

It's at least the seventeenth by my count. Meh, what would you know? You're dead.