Twisted Remnants

[The Enemy]

Well, since my first RP idea didn't exactly work out I've decided I'd start a new one. Warhammer 40k, this time around.

RULES
Be polite and considerate of others.
Be sensible and mature.
No one-sentence posts. One paragraph is fine, more after that is even better.
No trolling or flaming, please.
No godmodding!

Those are the rules. Please follow them--and try to post at least one a day or two. Keep it flowing, y'know?

Character Profile Template
Name:
Age: (if applicable)
Race:
Appearance:
Weaponry/Equipment:
Abilities:
Personality:
Other:

The Story
Twisted Remnants takes place on Tiber 9, a swamp planet, dominated by muck and marshes. An imperial colony was established there, bolstered by a nearby imperial guard bastion, but the colony soon fell into disrepair, the only people still living there crackpots and felons. However, the imperial guard fort was maintained, more as a gesture than for any real purpose...

Until one day, when an Ordo Hereticus operative and a small complement of Grey Knights landed. The guardsman commander protested the injustice of such a sudden 'inspection' and was slain for his troubles--the other soldiers quickly learned not to question. All they knew, was that somewhere out in the marsh, was something related to the chaos gods. That was all they wanted to know.

However, the operative did not return from his mission, nor his Grey Knight companions, and the colony astropath sent out a call for an investigation. Very soon, Space Marines turned up, with the sole duty of locating the artefact and destroying it.

But others have their eyes on the prize as well, and it is by no means their intention to destroy it...

Forces:
This section is dedicated to suggesting characters for players to use. It is by no means an order--you are free to make your character however you want him/her/it, these are simply guidelines for the story.

Space Marines - A complement of space marines has been sent to the planet, both to ascertain what happened to the Ordo Hereticus operative and to destroy the chaos artefact, of which the location is unknown. Players will have to search for it, using psykers if they have any. I will narrate clues etc occasionally to help with this.

Chaos - The powers of chaos obviously want to get their hands on the artefact, and to prevent others from doing the same.

Tau - A Tau ship, badly damaged in combat a few sectors away, fled the battle and ended up crash-landed in the swamps. Searching for a way off-world is a priority.

Orks - As one of the world's natural inhabitants, Orks don't care much for Chaos 'shinies', but they simply cannot resist the fighting which is sure to ensue over said 'shinies'.

Eldar - Psychic emanations from the artefact have drawn Eldar to the planet. They will stop at nothing to ensure that it is destroyed, and the planet's inhabitants alongside it.

Imperial Guard - The bastion has a vested interest in finding the artefact. It could be worth quite a bit to the right people...

We will start the roleplay proper when enough people--probably 3-4--have joined. However, feel free to start, and get it flowing. New players, feel free to join in at any time. Just have a reason for being late to the conflict in your entry post.
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My Character
Name: Drakken Ennl
Age: 517
Race: Chaos Space Marine - Thousand Sons
Appearance: Wears standard Thousand Sons Rubric Marine armour. There is nothing under the armour.

Weaponry/Equipment:
Bolter - Thousand Sons 'Varg' Class

Chainsword - 'Hell's Teeth' Pattern

Thousand Sons Rubric Marine Armour

Abilities:
Acrobatic - Despite wearing bulky power armour--and being dead--Drakken is still quite acrobatic. He has a half-metre-high vertical leap, and is only slightly slower than a cantering horse when running at full-speed. He can also execute combat rolls to evade enemy fire with ease.
Psychic - When Drakken was affected by the Rubric of Ahriman, he was not quite powerful enough in the psychic arts to resist its full effects, and was scourged of his flesh like the other Rubric Marines. However, despite his 'death', he retains enough psychic power to chain his ancient mind within the shell of his power armour. What is left of his psychic strength after this feat is barely enough to shift rocks.
Personality: Drakken is a silent and eternal warrior. He is still bitter concerning Magnus' betrayal of the Thousand Sons, and hopes one day to take revenge--though he knows not how. He speaks little, and cryptically besides when he does.
Other: Drakken is a Thousand Sons chaos space marine.

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Drakken surveyed the area around his drop-pod with a world-weary air of tired boredom. It had been a long time since he'd fought anyone or anything, having spent so long standing motionless, sleeping away the years in fitful, restless slumber. He'd been worried that perhaps his fighting skills had eroded, but the second he laid hands on his bolter, his old confidence returned--confidence born of triumph and victory, not of falsity and assumptions.

Three more Rubric Marines stood behind him, but they were little more than mindless automatons. Some sense of the Thousand Sons fighting spirit remained in them yet, but they could not think for themselves. It made Drakken sad; the Thousand Sons had been mighty once. With a sigh, he ordered them forward, taking his first steps on Tiber 9. His superiors had ordered him here in order to find some artefact--something the chaos gods wanted, and badly.

His power armour was predominantly blue, striped with gold and helmeted with a crest reminiscent of ancient Egyptian head-dresses. His bolter was of an ancient, post-heresy Thousand Sons design, but the chainsword in its scabbard on his back was a fairly recently-developed 'Hell's Teeth' pattern weapon. Silently, he looked around. This world was one great, big, disgusting swamp. He would be happy when the fighting started, happier still when time came to leave.

"Forward, marines." he said blithely, not bothering to add an inflection to his words, "Forward for the glory of the Thousand Sons."

For a moment, he could almost believe that one Rubric Marine had whispered a battle-cry...
But it was just his imagination.

[Esiphas]

Name: Weedy Firegut and Weeder
Age: N/A
Race: Ork (and a grot, technically)
Appearance: www.fantasyflightgames.com/ffg_content/rogue-trader/news/into-the-storm/21_ork_kommando_smith.png (Weedy)
lh6.ggpht.com/_qZFCKYa644I/Sj6diO3nLwI/AAAAAAAAEaQ/9zkvXiAN2UA/s288/DaGrotmissarFront.jpg (Weeder)
Weaponry/Equipment: Weedy carrys a Knife, covered in deadly toxin, and a modified Snazzgun- he calls it a ''Snazzshoota''. It is capable of firing any one (or many of one) of a bullet, a toxic bullet or a lazer, shrapnel shells or even a plasma round. He also wears ''Weedys well good Gitfinda'', which is 3 gitfindas rolled into one which allow him far more accurate shhoting, as well as heat and x-ray vision. Weeder carrys a stick, (Good fer bonking enemies) and a Ridiculously heavy Infernus pistol, which weeder can only fire due to his brain addled belief it weighs nothing at all. They also carr a veriatey of stealth and assassination equipment.
Abilities: The deadly duo of ork and grot, despite being small (even by snotling standards, Weeder is barely tall) are excellent at stealth, and are ''good at shootin''. They are never seen apart, and whilst together, Weeder has been known to draw on Weedys strange waagh energys... and leave a few beffudled squigs in his wake. (His stick, a previously uncovered chaos relic, is in fact a Tzeentchian wand that can transform its atrgets into beasts. Weeder, who alwasy has squigs on the brain, has never turned anything into anything but a squig.)
Personality: The two are typical Kommando's- quiet, educated (by ork standards) and ''kunnin as 'ell.'' They enjoy nothing more than the sound of an ''esploding noggin'' and will often share a ''good laff'' when they pop their enemys skulls. The reason these two creatures are friends- and Weeders psychic ability- remains an absolute mystery. If either one knows, they are keeping Schtum.
Other: N/A

[The Enemy]

Cool.

[Esiphas]

ooc- Looks like you and me for now...

Ic- Weedy grumbled as he plunged his climbibg knife into the tree again. He hated the swanp. It was too dirty, to wet and too cold. He liked a good fire. But the swamp was his friend irts murky water, Thick trees abd shadowy recesses make it the perfect spot for kommando operations "How ya doin Weeder?" Hw geunted weder was sitting on the baxkback, tinkering with a dud stickbokb. All of a sudden it lit, got thrown 30ft and then hit yhe swamplands with a crash and fwoosh.

[Edzilla]

Name: Arachnae
Age: 47(25)
Race: Craftworld eldar
Appearance: fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/203/d/6/Warp_Spider_by_Sokil_Su.jpg
Weapon: Spiderbite dual powerblades, death spinner
Abilities: As a warp spider Arachnae is unparalleled with the use of warp jumping. He has only had a problem once, when he teleported into nurgles realm, he got out quickly.
He has also developed his unique fighting style, when at close quarters he uses his blades and spinners to make tiny incisions along opponents bodies, although the injury seem minor Arachnae cuts nerves, veins and arteries, leading to death by blood loss or complete immobilisation.
Personality: Outside of combat he is light hearted and will enjoy a joke. Inside he is a whole new person, the only noise he makes being the whistling of his blades. He has a sense of honour so will often show himself to the enemy before killing him.
Other: Arachnae was born on Nacrentei

IC: Arachnaes ears picked up on the noise, he was alone and the beautiful silence was interrupted by the crude instrument. "A pity, now someone has to die."
He headed for the swamp, teleporting from tree to tree. The mangroves were hard to navigate, wood was rotten and slimy, a cruder being would have fell but he had taken harder paths. He landed at the explosion sight and stooped. Pulling the remains of a stick bomb out the water. "(please do not swear)," he thought. He hated orks, there anatomy was complicated, nerves none existent. ,"judjing by the fact that he hadn't yelled yet probably a commando."

[The Enemy]

Far off in the distance, Drakken heard the muffled thud of explosives. It seemed that foes had already arrived to test the forces of chaos. Well, they would meet their match in the Thousand Sons. Quietly he ordered the four Rubric Marines forward, leading from the front as he descended into the swamps proper.

There were imperial guardsmen on this planet, but most likely they were still holed up in their fort, awaiting space marine reinforcements. Therefore, it was probable that his opponents were either lone infiltrators, or perhaps the vanguard of a larger force. No space marine would have been so careless to use an unsilenced weapon without proper information of the foe's whereabouts, and besides he had neither seen nor heard drop-pods crash, screeching from the skies above.

His vague psychic abilities--the only thing binding his mind to his body--also seemed to sense another presence, but that was an unreliable source. He made a mental note to make certain his immediate enemies were dead before moving on from a skirmish.

Slogging, through the swamps, he thought about unsheathing his chainsword and simply hacking his way clear. But, that would make too much noise, and alert others to his presence. So instead, he made his way forward--and before long, saw a blurred outline in the trees ahead, half crouched in the boughs of a dead mangrove, that had fallen. The figure appeared graceful, and he could almost sense the residual warp energy from a personal teleporter device. An Eldar, a creature of the ancient gods.

Raising his bolter, he took aim...

[Esiphas]

Weedy heard the soudn of sme thing teleporting, and slunk silently into the tree's. Whispering to Weeder, he said ''Dis is your fault ya know. Shuldnt be messin with stikkbombz in a sneakin operashun.'' Weeder nodded, his eyes wild and racing. ''Is one of dem Eldar...'' Weeder said, his voice low too. Weedy nodded. ''Wiv a tellyporta no less. One of dose Worp Spiders, or sumfink.'' Weeder raised a small device into the air, and fired. A grenade shot by the eldars head, and embedded itself in a tree by a sharpened point. Within econds, the eldar was surrounded by thick, metallic smoke, which would burn the blood if inhaled. Weedy then sprinted off at at Tanget into the Forest, leaping from a tree to teh ground. ''Good work.''

[daboss]

Name: Kharnak the Slaughterer

Age: N/A

Appearance: t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS0Hb-0ZE5iiLIl-JaDnGDbJQV57D6JuZ8cFVVpbZshXaPlSew9PA

Race: Chaos

Weapons: Chainaxe, Plasma Pistol

Abilities: Bloodlust: When in battle, Kharnak will go berserk and destroy all that stand in his way. This proves a problem to allies....
Daemonic Power: Kharnak is a favored son of Khorne, granted the ability to increase his strength in battle

Personality: Kharnak lives for battle, and will try to find more skull for the skull throne whenever he can. If this involves fighting other legions, so be it. He only cares for himself, and enjoys letting the blood splatter on him in a fight.

[daboss]

He was lost. Again. When Kharnak was tasked with recovering the artifact for Khorne in return for Daemonhood, he thought it would be simple to find. Suddenly, as he was muttering curses about the jungle always being "too clingy to my armor", the sounds of battle erupted ahead of him. Praising Khorne, he charged toward the general direction of the fight, only to be enveloped in a metallic smoke a few minutes later........

[Edzilla]

Arachnaes heightened senses flared. Grenade, south south east. He warped. Blocking the orks path. Knocking them both over. Arachnae leapt to his feet, and adopted his battle stance. One blade forward, the other down by his side. "I would rather I didn't have to kill anyone, but such acts of aggression cannot be tolerated. He struck aiming for the orks arm nerve.

[Esiphas]

Weedy rolled as he was knocked back, and croched as Weeder effortlessly lifted the Infernus pistol up. ''Wat'cho want, Eldar?'' Weedy grunted. He had his knife ready in his hand quickly. As the Eldar went for a strike, weeder fired the pistol, a ray of scorchig, destructive energy incinerating a large area of shrub, forcing the eldar to dodge. Weedy readied his knife, and drew his pistol, His special gitfinda activating, looking for the eldars location.

[Lanesend]

Name: Lieutenant Franco DeSoya

Age: 42 (which is rather old for a member of his platoon)

Race: Human, Imperial Guard

Appearance: Lt. DeSoya is a short, muscled and a bit fat veteran with short graying hair. His many scars show he has seen a lot of battles on quite a few different worlds. He always wears a (catachan) military outfit, but he refuses to wear any marks showing his rank, out of fear of being singled out by a sniper.
in reality it is not too difficult to see he is the platoon leader, as the rest of his colleguas are at least half his age. He is also rarely seen without a cigar in his mouth. Lit or unlit. (He is known to chew his last cigar for weeks if he can't get new ones)

Weapons: Laspistol, Powersword, frag and krak-granades.

Abilities: Apart from being a combat veteran of many years, he commands one of three platoons left in the Imperial Fortress. It consists of 33 guardsmen with two flamers, a granade launcher and a scout-sentinal with an auto-cannon. They have been waiting for reinforcements and supplies for the last 18 months.

Personality and background: Normally the platoon would be lead by a young career officer, but during the last battle of the Grishuk campaign, an overzealous commissar executed all three officers in the platoon. Thus pushing the veteran sergeant in the leading position. DeSoya has a lot of trouble taking the role of platoon-leader, because frankly, he hates officers.

Other: The 120 guardsmen left in the fortress are split up into three (small) platoons. They take it in turns to either guard the fort, guard the remnants of the imperial colony or patrol the jungle. At the moment, DeSoya's team is on jungle-duty. But he is hesitant to go out of the fortress, with all this talk of chaos-relics.

[Lanesend]

DeSoya had almost dozed off in the moist heat of this emperor forsaken planet, when one of the young Guardsmen, Vincetto, started yelling. “Lieutenant, wake up! All hell just broke loose in the swamp to the south of us.” DeSoya opened one eye. “Lemme guess. In the direction the Grey Knights went a couple of weeks ago?” He’d been waiting for trouble, ever since that blasted Inquisitor and his party disappeared into the marsh. The guardsman paled even more. “Aye, sir. You think it’s them?” DeSoya opened his other eye. “Yeah, it must be them”, he sighed, “Let Sergeant Apone assemble his team. Make sure he packs the flamer this time. I don’t want to get stuck in that grab-grass again!” Vincetto saluted, “Yes, sir!”, and left to find his sarge.
Sighing again, DeSoya started packing his gear. He heard a low thudded sound rolling out of the damp swamp. He thought for a moment and picked up the vox. "Dixon, wake up, you lazy dog, are you deaf?! Get the Sentinal ready." After a few seconds the vox crackeled to life, "No use, sir. We're almost out of shells for the auto-cannon."
Sighing again, he made his way down the fort to the gate.

There were 11 of them. Lieutenant DeSoya and Sergeant Apone led the unit. Guardsman Vincetto close behind them, carrying with him a half-full flamer, together with the heavy vox-pack. DeSoya smiled at that. Apone didn't like being told what to do, especially from a grunt.

They crossed the 100 yard deep fire-zone in front of the gate and went into the swamp. Sometimes they heard a faint noise in the distance, but for the rest it was quiet. Almost peaceful.

"Okay, men. Look sharp." DeSoya hated it when he sounded like an officer. "We'll be seeing action very soon!"

[daboss]

Kharnak came out of the smoke slowly, and began walking in the same direction, hoping to find an enemy. Suddenly, he came upon a squad of guardsmen stalking through the jungle. He waited for as long as possible, and then he was upon them. Swinging his Chainaxe, hot blood spurted from the chest of the first guardsman over Kharnak. Kharnak screamed his praise to Khorne, and leaped into the midst of the squad, swinging left and right. The sergeant of the squad swung with his power sword, but only managed to cleave a piece of armor off of his shoulder plate. Kharnak then proceeded to pick up the sergeant, throw him into a tree 100 feet away, and pick back up his chainaxe. He then decapitated two more, and fired his plasma pistol into the pack of a guardsman carrying both a flamer and vox-caster. The explosion engulfed Kharnak, and he strode out of the inferno with his armor still alight, and shouted a praise to Khorne as the few remnants of the squad retreated, the sergeant stumbling along behind them.

"Five kills," said Kharnak as he turned back to where the noise of battle was still coming from "Not too bad of a start."

[Lanesend]

DeSoya had jumped into a ditch after the hasty retreat they had to make from that *thing*. One by one, the remnants of Apone's squad stepped into the knee-deep pool, where the lieutenant had found some sort of a hiding place.
"Apone, headcount!" DeSoya shouted, looking around for the sergeant. The big man then appeared and fell into the ditch, covered in blood. He didn't look in any shape to perform a headcount, let alone lead the squad to safety.
"Vincetto, call the base and let them sent reinforcements!" He was only answered by the sobbing sounds of the wounded squadmembers. He then remembered the explosion and let it sink in. The vox was destroyed, no back-up would come.

He picked himself up. "Come on, dogs. You still live don't you? Do you want to be found hiding in a ditch, by that Inquisitor?" It worked. One by one, the men stopped sobbing and stood up again. Even Apone, who was still bleeding heavily, gave a week salute.

Carefully checking his surroundings, DeSoya switched on his powersword and stepped out of the ditch, followed by the wounded sergeant and the last five squadmembers.