In the shadowed past, when humanity had only barely grasp the technology to shake the hallowed dust of Holy Terra from its collective boots, an ancient Mercan king spoke of humanity's right to the stars.
While the words themselves have been lost to history's faded memory, the Truth has echoed through humanity's every action across time.
Humanity's destiny has always been to rule the stars.
It is the 41st millennium and you have never seen the stars.
Helvix Prime, fifth world in the Helvixar System, much of its vast surface covered with an inhospitable desert-like expanse ruled by radiation storms and deadly wildlife that is known simply as the Expanse. Two other worlds of note hang in the void around the star Hel, claimed in the name of the Imperium of Mankind: Helvix Prime’s sister world the lush agi-world of Helvin Secundus, and the Mining world of Darr (DR-Sigma-46). The former which primarily exports stock of Grox, stag-horn, and Demi-pack to Helvix Prime for processing into meat products, bone, and leatherwork to feed the vast needs of the Imperium's wars, and the latter a mechanicus claimed rock of ice and rare metals barely clinging to its orbit at the edge of the star's gravitational grip.
A single massive hive city, Elysium, holds grip over Helvix Prime's population of 8.5 billion on the super continent of Styix, all of which lives crammed in the claw-like towers and maze of corroded steel that serve as their existence and salvation to a world that hates them. The hive's massive spires scrap the edge of the world's harsh atmosphere, clinging to life at the rage of the Expanse’s hungry winds. The hive is reigned over by a king-like Governor, who ensures with an iron rule that that its output of product rivals that of entire segmentums. The streets of the hive are stained by the billions of litters of vital fluids that have spilled from the veins of the multitude of beasts processed in this city over the centuries, and the very air holds the hot copper taste of blood.
The hive's nobility live a life of pampered luxury in their crystal-glass spires, surrounded by hordes of serving staff and personal guard forces. Extravagant tribute to the Ecclesiarch ensure their continued place in the society as these princelings of stock casually barter and bid for the shipping rights to worlds worth of foodstuffs, bone, and leather products for the ever-hungry guard forces besieged by the Arch Enemy around the Imperium.
Down in the dark bowels of the hive's forgotten reaches, walking the blade's edge of survival in the lawless reaches of the underhive, are the territories claimed by the merciless gangs. Sublevel 142, known by those who call it home simply as the Edge, clings to the vestiges of humanity by the finest of threads. All who live in the stale dark hold secrets they would rather forget but, unknown to the masses, Elysium itself holds an even greater secret in the forgotten past of these depths. Whispers that echo in the dark and unforgiving shadows. Whispers that have fallen upon unguarded ears.
In the eternal bloodshed of the streets, one gang rises to the top of its local pecking order. The youngest members of the Fangdogs, a gang taking its namesake from a sleek local underhive predator- a cunning, canine-like pack creature the approximate size and shape of the racing hounds of old Terra with a coat of iridescent black-purple scales, that the gang notoriously hunts for its venom celebrate their victory against their local rivals with rot-gut and smile-girls. Some are borne into the gang, others hiding from their family's past, and others unknown of their true origins revel in their newly found notoriety at the local slumbar- the Emperor's Mercy. However, Fate being a merciless and fickle Lady, has far more planned for these freshly blooded members of this lightless fiefdom than even they could ever dream. For it is here, in the mazelike streets of the Edge, that the most unlikely legends are borne…
-No god-modding. You will find me very unkind if this happens.
-As GM my word is final, I ask you respect that.
-Eight sentences minimum post per action thread update.
-If you have any questions, feel free to PM me.
-Life has a habit of catching us all by surprise; if you find yourself unable to post for a while or are losing interest in your character let me know. Just disappearing will not go well for you if you ever show back up. You know the saying about a woman scorned…
-As long as your posts are to the minimum standard (8 full sentences) feel free to post as many times as you want between updates. However, keep in mind the first rule if you feel the urge to expand beyond the bounds of an update.
Accepted members of the Fangdogs:
Deus Mortis: Maria Linetti
Scathiann: Bozjen Kyrre
There are no ‘reserve’ spots in this story, I am looking for a minimum of 6 players (~10 max), but that is subject to change. Do not worry if someone posts up #6 before you.
Name: (You don’t get to give your character a nickname, that gets earned through roleplaying)
Age: (range from 13 to 18)
Appearance: (What do you look like physically? Remember where you are…)
Personality: (What is your character like? Do they enjoy this life in the darkness or do they have dreams of something beyond?)
Background: (Why are you here on the Edge and why are you a member of the gang? Were you borne here in the dark of the lost and the damned or is your family running from a past that was so bad it drove them to hide in the very bowels of the hive? Did you work in the processing factoriums at one time in the past and found yourself unable to stand it? Remember, Helvix Prime is a processing world, breaking down the carcasses of beasts into both foodstuff and leather products- do you have any skills that could have come from working in the lower factories that are useful to the gang? Your gang’s calling is drugs- do you do the drugs you sell, or are you only a pusher? Understand that addiction comes with side effects.)
Equipment: (What do you wear/carry as a gang member? Leather is, as you can imagine, fairly easy to obtain in the hive. Cloth not so much, and semi-clean cloth is nearly impossible unless you are noble- which none of you are. Lamp packs are not uncommon down in the depths, but they are of low quality. Think of what you would need to survive on the streets.)
Weapons: (You are young gangers- Shivs, skinning knives, cleavers, and short knives of pretty much any fashion are commonplace- although none of them are of any quality. Cattle prods and other shock style control rods are common, but also require batteries. Solid slug guns are uncommon only out of the fact that it is nearly impossible to get ammo down here. Las of any sort is only wielded by the higher ranks in the Fangdogs.)
Well now. This. This is interesting.
That is the plan.
A little bit of Necromunda crossed with a nice helping of Dark Heresy.
Here's my character for your reviewing pleasure. Let me know what, if any, changes you'd like me to make :ok:
Name: Maria Linetti
Appearance: Maria’s ash blonde hair is thin, unkempt and about twelve inches in length. Her ears are folded back close to her skull, likely due to the half-face mask she almost perpetually wears. Her predatory eyes are a deep blue, such that in certain lights they can appear violet or occasionally black. Her nose is short, but angular. Her skin is the colour of porcelain, partly due to the lack of light, natural or otherwise, in The Edge and partly due to her breeding. Her teeth have only a slight yellow tinge to them. Her lips are a natural pink colour, but almost as if the colour was painted on years ago and has since faded.
Although older than many of the freshly blooded gang members, Maria is surprisingly unmarked. She bears a few recent scars and burn marks, most notable a gouge in her upper right arm where a bullet nicked her and a burn on her left thigh where flecks of leather are fused with the scar tissue. However, she bears two marks considerably older than these. One a clockwise spiral birthmark just above her hip on her left side. Secondly, at the base of her neck (which she is sure to always keep covered publicly) is a brand none in The Edge recognise. It is a vertical line with a semi-circle 2/3rds of the way down with the circular face pointing downward, a smaller semi-circle 1/3rd of the way down with the circular face points upward and half way down the line is an oval which, with the line passing through its centre, resembles an eye. It marks her as property of The Moon Coven, a prostitution ring which was influential in a level of the Lower Hive until a number of years ago.
Personality: Maria is a hunter by nature. This is more of a product of her environment than a trait she was born with. However, whatever kind of woman she might have been is unknown and all that is left is the woman she’s been forced to become. She is harsh and readily confrontational. Even towards friends, you get the impression that she is sizing up and evaluating you as if wondering, if it came to it, how she could defeat or escape you. Her humour is a harsh and scathing kind, preferring to pick at peoples faults or failings to humour everyone but the victim. She is, however, accomplished at veiling these aspects of personality and becoming instantly amicable, warm and kind. This is nothing more than a façade and a skill she was forced to acquire which she also despises to employ, even as she recognises its uses. Although she would never admit it, she would like to leave the life of politics and death behind. She knows it doesn’t exist, but she dreams of a life free of such risks and paranoia, where she can be at ease without fear of harm. Failing the ability to fulfil such an ambition she’s determined to defy death for as long as possible.
Background: There is a truth that certain commodities are never in short supply or short demand. Helvix Prime is a testament to that. Even within Helvix Prime one thing that is never short of demand is sex. Various strata’s of the Hive have notable pushers of this particular produce. The Edge has the Smile-girls and higher in the Hive there are numerous courtesan houses that serve the nobility. At the time of Maria’s birth, a group that offered their particular brand of produce in a level of the Lower Hive was The Moon Coven. Maria was born, daughter of a whore and an unknown father, into servanthood to his coven.
The early years of her life actually focused little on the art of sex. The few women who had managed to outlast their usefulness as objects but survived served as wet-nurses and taught the young children in their care. The air of sophistication was a high valued commodity in the Lower Hive, for customers wanting to escape the truth of their surroundings or enact revenge on those higher-born than them, and as such Maria was feed on a diet engineered to let her appear high-born. She was also trained in several sports, particularly those focusing on gymnastic ability, a couple of high-brow social activities, such as regicide, and even taught some High Gothic. However, at this point the main thing she remembers is a single phrase from the scriptures; “Ab Imperator viribus sustinebo” meaning “By the Emperor’s strength, I endure”, as well as a few odd words. By the time she was approaching her teenage years, she could have passed for the daughter of an administrator.
However, as was expected, the comfort and security had been little more than preparation for the services she was expected to perform. Although tragically brutal, such brutality harshness would serve her well when she later came to The Edge. As she transitioned to her middle teenage years, she became embroiled in a plot amongst the slaves to the masters of The Moon Coven, both male and female, to escape and find a life not in bondage to another’s will. At the same time, The Moon Coven was in ascendency and its high-quality merchandise was attracting the favour of increasingly powerful members of the Lower Hive. This ascendency would prove to provide the opportunity the hopeful slaves were waiting for.
To celebrate and hopefully court more influential clientele, The Moon Coven held a grand orgy. Pretty much every whore and gigolo that the coven had was presented. Many of the coven’s most loyal customers were invited. Also in attendance were several administrators, officers of the law and even clerics. The Moon Coven had spared no expense in their desire to capitalise on their recent wave of success.
The evening started and everything appeared to be going well. The ante continued to build to a tempo approaching hysteria and it was then that the branded slaves of the coven struck. Weapons stolen throughout the night and those stockpiled for months before were turned on the patrons and masters alike. The first few deaths went almost unnoticed, such was the fever pitch the orgy had already obtained but when they were noticed, panic quickly took hold. Some tried to fight-back and the bloody toll rose higher and higher. Many fled and Maria, along with many of her bond-brothers and sisters, fled in the chaos and scattered to the four winds.
In the wake of the massacre the Adeptus Arbites game down like a hammer. Many of their number had been there of their own accord but, in an effort to preserve the faux-integrity of their institution, the Arbites resigned to hunt down every remaining member of the coven. The Moon Coven and everyone who did or had ever worked with or for them were hunted down. As for Maria, and many of the escapees like her, they simple ran as far and asd fast as they could.
For several months she ran within her level of the Lower Hive, hoping that if she simply hid for long enough that the Arbites would leave her alone. However the Arbites never forgive and they never forget, especially after she was forced kill one of them that got too close to revealing her. Some of her old bond-mates had found work in other prostitution rings and a few others had tried to escape into the higher levels and use their knowledge to blend in up there. Maria would not go back into a life of slavery and she did not believe there was any hope higher up. So, to escape the gaze of the Arbites there was only one direction she could run; down.
Thus, at the age of 17, Maria came to be at The Edge. She was somewhere the Arbites would not pursue her but that did not mean she was safe. She quickly realised that, whilst it did not guarantee safety, she was better off being part of a gang than on her own. As such she quickly joined the Fangdogs but no other merit than because they were the first to accept her. Her ingrained skills as a charmer made her an effective pusher of drugs. Having said that, she has never used them. Frankly, she has had enough experiences with all manner of drug cocktails in her blood-stream to last her a life time and she has no desire to experience it again.
Equipment: Maria deliberately keeps as much of herself covered as she can. The numerous layers also allow several hiding places for drugs and weapons. Additionally, Cloth is hard to come by in The Edge, but Maria has a small piece that she wears as a mask to cover her lower face (from her neck up to over her nose but she can pull it down to cover just her neck). Originally it must have been a pale colour, but years of wearing and contact with pollutants have stained it the colour of smog. She wears a worn triangular leather hat, similar in looks to a colonial hat.
Looking further down, Maria wears a long leather trench coat. Underneath that she wears a tight leather waistcoat, underneath which she wears a thin shirt. Rather than what you might expect, the stiffness of the leather serves to bind her chest and decrease any undue attention she might draw. This combined with the coat she wears serve to render Maria almost androgynous at a glance, which is how she likes it. Her trousers are unremarkable and she wears knee-high flat-soled leather shoes which are padded to enable her to run for longer than you would think in such shoes. She wears thin cloves and leather bracers on her forearms.
Weapons: Maria carries many weapons at any given time. At her waist she openly carries a skinning knife, but she also has a relatively hidden stolen stub pistol. The ammunition for the stub pistol is all but spent and hard to come by. For that reason it’s a weapon she rarely employs and serves mostly as a last resort weapon. At last count she has 5 bullets left in it. The pistol itself sits in a leather holster around the back of her waist, most of the time obscured by her coat and the holster strap that runs round the front of her looks like a belt, but a trained eye would notice its presence. Looking at the pistol out of its holster one would find a heavily worn and filed down weapon, which looks like it might have been once adorned but such insignia has been deliberately, if crudely, erased. This is because it a pistol looted from an Adeptus Arbites corpse and to show such a trophy so openly would surely bring more trouble than the protection it provided was worth. Despite the crudeness with which it was disfigured, its origin would not be immediately obvious, even to a passing Arbite. However, Maria doesn’t know enough about weapon maintenance to have managed to get at the serial number etched inside the barrel and get rid of it without ruining the gun. Additionally, a detailed analysis of its interior components would also quickly reveal whom its original owner might have been.
Her concealed weapons are numerous and sit in sheathes incorporated into her attire. Two thin metal rods slide into her bracers. They are sharpened and slightly serrated. She can tease them by stroking just past her palm so that even if her hands are bound she can get access to them. Two similar rods sit in the outside of her shoes. She carries two small push daggers which slide into the back of her waistcoat. One sits just between her shoulder blades and the other sits at her at her lower back. None of them are particularly durable, but they are sharp enough to cut through flesh and hide, either as a weapon or a means of escape. These weapons are designed to be easy to access and easy to hide so she never has to be unarmed.
Deus- sent you a few details that I need changed before she is good.
Just so everyone else knows, sublevel 142 does have a gang known as the Syrens that is in control of the local smile girls and whore house. They are an all female gang that favours castration in ensuring that no one messes with their members.
Whoa, count me in!
I'll get something up later today.
Right, I've edited Maria as per your comments. Hopefully you're happy with those changes, but if there's anything else please don't hesitate to let me know!
Been a while since I've RPed here but I'm tired of lurking - I'm happy to make my triumphant return! This story seems really promising and I am excited to get started!
Name: Bozjen Kyrre
Appearance: Bozjen would be attractive for someone of his age and economic background if it were not for the damage that life in the Edge has done to his body. Slightly taller than many of his peers in the Edge, Bozjen is thin but strong, with a wiry muscular physique like a feral dog. The first thing most people notice about Bozjen is his mouth; due to years of smoking Cynax, most of his lower lip has rotten away, and all of the teeth in Bozjen’s lower jaw have been replaced with metallic substitutes. The combination gives Bozjen an almost skeletal appearance that many find extremely off-putting. He has a strong jawline, but his nose is crooked having been broken countless times, and the skin on his face is heavily pocked and marked. He wears his dirty brown hair in thin, rope-like dreadlocks that shake and bounce when he moves, and his bloodshot yellow eyes seem to blink far less often than is normal. Most of Bozjen’s leathery pale skin is covered in tattoos of various designs. Some of these tattoos, depicting machine codes and sigils of the Cult Mechanicus, were forced upon him during his years as an Adeptus debt slave; others, crude and jagged like barbed wire, are self-drawn. On the back of his neck, the backs of his palms and his sternum are small metallic rings approximately three inches across; during his years as a debt slave, shock probes would have been plugged into these, administering an agonizing electrical pulse in the event of disobedience.
Personality: There are some people living in the Edge who were meant for better things, those with pure hearts and faith in the Emperor who deserve better than the hot, savage life they were forced into. Some people are simply victims of circumstance, unlucky souls casts into a dark abyss of human depravity and cruelty, who tirelessly swim against the current of adversity and pain to search for meaning in an uncaring world. Bozjen is not one of these people, and what some call hell, he calls paradise. Being addicted to Cynax has rattled his mind, making him erratic and unpredictable, and yet he always seems to be in a good mood no matter how much misfortune comes his way. Bozjen cares almost nothing for the feelings or opinions of others, a disinterest so severe it borders on sociopathy; there are none Bozjen looks out for beyond himself, and as long as he can get paid, he has no qualms with anything he is tasked with. Born a slave and raised a criminal, he is no stranger to violence, and he’s been on the winning side and the losing side of more fights than he can possibly remember. Some in the Edge dream of better things, of life beyond the smog and the blood-scented air; all Bozjen dreams of is a warm bed, a Cynax joint, and a mountain of credits.
Background: Debt slavery is a common practice in countless worlds of the Imperium; it is an easy way for local governments to obtain cheap labor, since the death of a debtor means that their debt is simply passed to their child. Bozjen was born into such a debt, passed on by his unknown mother for reasons lost to time. From his birth until the age of six he was kept in a Mechanicus-owned orphanage, a squat building where children roamed and fought each other like wild animals without supervision or guidance. Once he was deemed old enough to work, he was assigned to manufactorum repair duty – a common job for children. These children, sometimes called “wrigglers” or “grease-worms”, were tasked with crawling through labyrinthine machines in order to find broken parts or jams and repair them. It is dangerous work, and few survive long – it is a testament to Bozjen’s determination and animal cunning that he was able to survive until the age of eleven. It was at this time that the great St. Cyrme’s Riots occurred, a short but violent worker’s revolt across Elysium that left countless millions dead. Bozjen was among the thousands of debt slaves who seized this opportunity to escape the factories and delve deep into the bowels of the city, where Mechanicus overseers either could not find them or could not be bothered to look.
Here, Bozjen first discovered his muse, the one thing that brought joy to his brutal life – Cynax. A powerful opiate-hallucinogen hybrid, Cynax when smoked imbues the user with a lethargic euphoria that lasts anywhere from two to four hours. Although it carries powerful visual effects, mostly changing colors and rippling visuals, it also heightens the senses, particularly vision and hearing. Cynax is also extremely addictive, with a first-time addiction rate of more than sixty percent; Bozjen is one of unknown millions who are irreversibly bound to the drug, and he credits Cynax with allowing him to survive the first few years living in the lower levels of the city. Life in those early years was tough, but he survived thanks to his vicious nature and fighting skills – skills which he quickly honed living on his own. Compared to life as a Mechanicus debt slave, the Edge was practically Bozjen’s Garden of Eden – the first and only place he had ever encountered where he was free to do as he wished.
Now, at the age of 18, Bozjen is a veteran of the dark depths of the Edge – an experienced drug dealer and thug-for-hire, he is almost more animal than man at this point. Times are tough, however, especially for a criminal working on their own, and recent hard times have forced Bozjen to join up with the Fangdogs in order to make ends meet. Bozjen’s background in mechanics and machinery still serves him well in his criminal enterprises, and it was such a background that allowed him to become accepted into the Fangdogs into the first place. Although Bozjen certainly shows due respect to his superiors whenever necessary, he holds no particular loyalty to the gang – he just follows where the money and the drugs come from.
Equipment: Bozjen’s clothes are extremely disheveled and minimal; he prefers to wear little in order to stay cool in the hot depths of the city. He wears a dirty pair of tan leather trousers with large, spiked black boots; he wears nothing on his chest other than a set of studded suspenders that hold his pants up. On his hands he wears rough fingerless gloves, with holes cut out on the backs of his palms where his shock disks are implanted. Strapped to his forehead is a thick pair of worker’s goggles that he wears during combat to protect his eyes; the lenses are cracked making it difficult to see but they have served their purpose well over the years. Slung over his shoulder is a medium-sized satchel that contains his bedroll, his stash of drugs and whatever other meagre possessions he carries; being used to a life of living on the move, he is accustomed to sleeping anywhere he can, and knows wise enough to keep his things on him at all times.
Weapons: Bozjen’s weapon of choice is a long weighted metal rod approximately two-and-a-half feet long which he has attached a crudely cut piece of sharp metal to. It is an effective weapon that has saved his skin innumerable times; with the flat side used as a club and the sharp side used as a crude cleaver, he can just as easily hack flesh as he can break bone. He also carries two smaller knives on him as backup weapons, but the need for these is rare.
Much better Deus, Maria Linetti is accepted.
Well then Scathainn, good to have you back from lurking. Bozjen looks good (in a character sense at least! :laugh: ) and is accepted.
Can I join in on this fine looking game?
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